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Sean
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Jason Eastman? What are the odds?
Come to think of it, the odds are pretty good. It wouldn’t be the first time my littermate, or “brother” as I referred to him with Geri, faked his own death to escape the bonds of a relationship gone stale.
The real question is what the hell are they doing conjuring up the dead right after they were just rescued from a madman? I had prepared myself for the worst—seeing Geri distraught, maybe even traumatized, watching the hunters and the RCMP comfort her while I hid impotently in the bushes, chewing on the anguish of not being there for her and knowing I’m the cause of her trauma.
But Mary may have had a point. My perception of Geri as a traditional kind of girl might be a little off base.
There was a pause in the conversation after Lisa dropped that bomb, but Geri quickly recovers. “Are you kidding me? Eastman is your boyfriend’s last name?”
“Yeah. Why?” Lisa asks.
“I know an Eastman. Sean Eastman,” Geri says.
“Is he your boyfriend?” Lisa asks.
I can’t help it—I risk taking a peek to see Geri’s reaction to that question. She has her chin thrust out, her back rigid, and her eyes fixed on the Ouija board. “No.” She doesn’t really say the word so much as she pronounces it to give it the clang of finality.
She’s good and pissed off at me. Now I’m wondering if my decision not to tamper with her memory of me telling her I can’t offer her a future after I had my hands all over her near-naked body was the right way to go.
I might have some groveling ahead of me.
“Alrighty then,” Lisa says.
Geri raises her eyes, looks right at me, and I hit the ground, flattening myself out. I hold my breath while I wait for her to get up, cross the decrepit foundation, look over the edge at me, and demand to know what I’m doing here. What am I going to tell her? I don’t wear contacts, so that’s out. Feign a heart attack? A concussion from the criminal who was holding her captive?
“It’s a sore spot right now,” Geri says. “And that’s not why we’re here, anyway.” I silently start breathing again. “So, we just concentrate on Jason?”
“Yeah, and I’ll ask questions. Hopefully, he hears us and answers.”
I’m trying not to laugh, but if I was seventeen again and hiding in Geri’s backyard, and she and a friend were doing this, I would call Jason and put him on speaker right now.
But we’re not in the McKennas’ backyard. We’re at a crime scene, and I’m waiting for the police to bring out the deranged criminal and lock him in the back of one of those RCMP vehicles so I know which one to spring Bale from.
“I’m here in Algonquin Park, Jason,” Lisa says. “It’s beautiful, just like you said. Are you here with me?”
Maybe I should throw a rock and spook them, get them to move somewhere else to talk to the undead Jason.
“I just want to know that you’re happy.” Lisa’s voice hitches on a sob. “That there’s a heaven or someplace spirits go. That you’re not just gone.”
I’m going to kick Jason’s ass the next time I see him.
The sound of the female officer calling out to them interrupts their little séance. “Excuse me, ladies, you need to stay with the vehicle. Please.”
“Sorry,” Geri says in a low voice to Lisa and, in a louder voice, “We’ll be right there.”
“That’s okay. It wasn’t going to work, anyway.” The resignation in Lisa’s voice is palpable. I hear them pick up the Ouija board and leave.
I wait a full minute before chancing another look. The hunters are all out of the old house now, standing in a group between the building and the parked police cars. The female officer is holding the back door of the SUV open while Geri and Lisa climb into the back seat. Then she closes the door, gets into the driver’s seat, and wheels the SUV around to face the way she came in.
Only when the women are safely out of eye contact do the three other Mounties emerge from the falling-down building with their man in cuffs. Two burly officers flank Bale, each with a death grip on his upper arms. They march him toward the white RCMP van with angry purpose, while the officer in the lead opens the rear door. Bale is going willingly, stumbling to keep up, and he knocks his head on the roof of the van as they guide him into the back. The officer holding the door slams it shut, double-checks the lock to make sure it’s secured, and then bids his adieu. He gets into the black SUV containing Geri and Lisa, and the vehicle takes off.
The other two officers linger to talk to the hunters, and I catch snippets of their conversation, including the hunters volunteering to stay and meet the investigators who are on their way. Finally, the Mounties get in the van and leave. The two officers are sitting up front, and Bale is in the back with his hands cuffed, surrounded by steel-mesh glass and reinforced plating.
Staying on my belly, I do a backward military crawl to the line of fir trees standing sentinel along the old property boundary, grab the pack I hid among them, and hightail it out of there. It takes me less than a minute to get to the section of the abandoned road that has been claimed by the roots of an eighty-foot pine tree. The van will have to keep left to avoid the trunk of the tree and the thickest part of the root.
I shrug my pack off my shoulders and take out the three spikes of twisted iron I nabbed from the park’s decommissioned railway. I drive each one into an exposed root, spacing them six inches apart with the sharp tips pointing upward. After I’ve laid my spike strip, I jump twenty feet to the first of the lower branches of the pine then climb to the larger, bushier branches for cover. Then I wait. If all goes according to plan, the vehicle will stop just two or three feet beyond the trunk of the pine I’m in, which will give me quick and easy access to the back of the van.
My high position gives me a nice view, and I catch a flash of sun glinting off the white roof of the vehicle in the distance. I look the opposite way to see if the SUV carrying Geri is visible, but I don’t see anything. They’re probably a good five kilometers ahead of the van. I wish I knew where they were taking Geri and Lisa. Selfishly, I’m hoping Geri will insist on going back to the lodge so I can see her. Mark’s truck is still there, and her things are still in her room, so there’s a strong possibility she’ll want to go straight there.
Eventually, the van comes lumbering around the corner, driving a slow, steady pace as it bounces in and out of potholes and over tree roots. As predicted, the driver steers the vehicle to hug the left side of the overgrown road, and the hiss of air escaping the tire is like music to my ears. The brake lights glow red as the vehicle comes to a dead stop just a few feet beyond the trunk, passenger’s side turned toward me.
Both officers get out with their weapons drawn and do a sweep of the woods surrounding them. They don’t think to look up, but even if they did, I’m well hidden in the prickly evergreen. They do a walk about, swinging their .308 rifles this way and that, a thorough search by police standards.
“Do you see anything?” the driver asks.
“Nothing,” his partner says.
“Keep watch, and I’ll check out the van.” The driver deposits his rifle on the driver’s seat.
The one keeping watch lowers his rifle, his tension easing, while the driver checks out the tire and the undercarriage of the van.
“There are a couple of spikes sticking up out of the tree root,” the driver says, standing up. “Somebody put them there, and my guess is our friend in the back of the van. Probably a trap for unwanted guests or potential victims. Take your pick.”
“We didn’t hit them on the way in,” the other officer says.
The driver shrugs. “Guess we got lucky.”
The other officer returns to the vehicle, his back to me, puts his rifle down on the passenger’s seat, and makes a call. He puts it on speaker so the driver can hear.
“Everything okay, Sergeant?” a male voice asks over the speaker.
“Negative. We have a flat tire. Looks like our missing link rigged the road with spikes.”
“We didn’t hit anything,” the voice says.
“I didn’t say it was well rigged,” he says. “It’s not like the guy’s a genius.”
The driver walks around the vehicle to stand next to his partner. His back is now turned to me as well.
“The prisoner is still secured?” the voice asks.
I drop out of the tree along the back of the trunk, where I stand less chance of being seen, aiming for the tree root to muffle my landing.
“He’s not going anywhere,” the officer confirms.
I dash to the back of the van.
“It’s going to take me about twenty minutes to change the tire, so we’ll be delayed. Have you heard from the investigators? Do you have their ETA?” The sound of the driver’s voice drowns out any small noises I make when I insert the electronic lock pick into the keyhole. It’s a little piece of Pleiadian technology capable of tapping into the car’s electrical system and popping the lock.
“They might be there before you finish changing the tire,” the voice says. “Do you want us to call it in?”
When I ease open the door, Bale is there ready to bolt. I grab him, throw him over my shoulder, and take off.
“Thanks, but we’ll call it—what the hell was that?” I hear the driver exclaim.
Damn it. They spotted us. I’m hoping we were just a big blur and they don’t know their perp has an accomplice.
As I zigzag my way through the forest growth, a bullet whizzes off to my right and embeds in a tree. I’m thinking that officer has some mighty quick reflexes to get a shot off at us, considering how fast I’m moving. The second shot is well out of range, though. My guess is they’ll come after me, give chase until they run out of breath or think better of it, then fall back and put together a search. But even if they comprehended how fast I was moving, they’ll still cast the dragnet far short of my abilities.
Bale is grunting with the effort of being over my shoulder while I run, making enough noise to attract attention. “Can you try to keep it down?”
“Your girlfriend sacked me,” Bale says. “I’m still in pain.”
I can’t help the snort of laughter that comes out of me. That’s my girl. It was probably a good thing she was chained to the wall or else she might’ve done worse to him.
We run the rest of the way to Shag Lake in silence. Tom Whitman is waiting for us when we reach the shore.
“You pulled it off,” Whitman says as I set Bale on his feet.
“Said I would,” I reply. “Geri and Lisa were given protective custody out of there. Both ladies have no recollection of the event, and pretty soon, this whole unfortunate mess will fade away.”
Whitman is smiling an ear-to-ear grin, staring at Bale. “Goddamn, you’re ugly.”
Bale’s facial muscles tense into a grimace. “They better be able to put my face back like they promised.”
I give Bale a pat on the back. “Mlindr is a magician. You’re in good hands.”
“And on the bright side, you now have field experience,” Whitman adds.
While they banter, I concentrate on contacting the emissary. It only takes me a few tries this time, my close proximity to the spacelab strengthening my signal.
Me: Peace to you, Emissary.
Emissary: Peace to you, Sean.
Me: We have completed the mission. Bale is here, so please send a submersible. He’s very anxious to get his old face back.
Emissary: It’s being dispatched now. Are you sure everything went according to plan?
Me: Mostly. There is a small chance that the police saw me, that they know their prisoner had an accomplice in the escape.
Emissary: Then you need to get back to the lodge and establish an alibi as quickly as possible. Is that all we need to be concerned with?
Me: It sounds like you were expecting something else.
Emissary: Ambassadress Hofer is almost impossible to read, but I thought I sensed dark intent, so I have been concerned. It’s probably just my distrust of someone who invests so much time in learning how to mask her thoughts instead of learning how to be open and communicate with us more effectively.
Me: Is she still on the spacelab?
Emissary: She and the commandant left shortly after you.
Me: Should I come aboard with Bale? It would give me the opportunity to check in on Kasnid.
Emissary: Thank you for the offer, but you should return to the lodge. And Kasnid is doing fine. Mlindr expects a complete recovery.
Me: Peace to you, Emissary.
Emissary: Peace to you, Sean.
I interrupt their banter. “The submersible is on the way, so I’ll leave you here.”
“I’d say thanks for rescuing me, but the whole thing was your idea to begin with.” Bale points to his face. “And I better not be stuck looking like Bigfoot for the rest of my life, Eastman.”
Whitman’s phone buzzes and he takes it out and looks at the screen. “See you around, Eastman.” He walks a few steps away to take the call.
I give Bale a curt salute and take off.
I make it back to the lodge in plenty of time to prove there’s no way I could’ve had anything to do with the escape of the prisoner. Odds are I won’t even be questioned, but if I am, there are lots of people in Joe’s Grill who have seen me drinking coffee and working on my laptop because I’ve been down here for hours, reading the latest test results on the metal I’m developing at MIT. At least it gives me the appearance of legitimacy as well as keeping my mind occupied while I wait for news on the police investigation and for Bale and Whitman to return to the lodge. Their helicopter is still parked in the backfield, just a millionaire and his pilot lured here by the excitement of the Bigfoot hunt. But I expect them here any minute to check out and go home because it was all just a criminally deranged hoax. Most importantly, I’m waiting to find out where Geri is and how she’s doing.
She doesn’t have her phone, or her laptop, or any communication device on which I can contact her, and it’s driving me nuts. It doesn’t help that Mary keeps pointing out that back in her day they didn’t have cell phones and lived by the code that no news is good news. I told her that was great and asked if she could please start calling around to her friends to see if anyone has a contact inside the local police department.
I even introduced myself to Anand, the reporter attached to the Bigfoot hunters, when he came downstairs for dinner. I sussed him out to see if he had heard from the hunters, and I learned that Kenneth Broughton had called to tell him what had happened and that they were waiting for the investigators. That’s the last Anand had heard from them.
So basically, I’ve been sitting on my ass in a diner, going silently insane.
I need to get out. Move. Do something.
I pack up my laptop, toss back the last swig of cold coffee, and head upstairs to my room. Even though I’m positive she’s not there, I knock on Geri’s door just in case I missed seeing her come back. But there’s no answer. I go into my room and stash my laptop in the desk. I’m just getting my jacket on to go for a hike when I hear the helicopter gearing up.
Unlocking the balcony door, I step outside, look across to Whitman and Bale’s helicopter, and see the propellers just starting to move. Why the hell didn’t they stop at the front desk to check out and let me know everything went according to plan?
I’m about to hop over the rail when I catch sight of a hotel guest on the top floor, sitting quietly on his terrace. Just my fucking luck.
The sound of the helicopter reaches a pitch, and it starts to lift off the ground. Not that they needed to check in with me, but it would’ve been a nice gesture.
I stomp back into my room, slam the balcony door shut, and grab my jacket, thinking a run will do me good right now. Maybe I’ll even run to the McKennas’ and see if Geri is there.
I’m tempted to phone her mom, but I don’t think her mom knows that she was missing, and I don’t want to alarm her. No, I have to wait this out. I have to wait for Geri to come back here and get Mark’s SUV and her things from the room next to mine.
The Bigfoot hunters are just getting back when I start down the stairs. They’re talking boisterously, excitedly, saying something about how the Mounties always get their man. A few curious diners have trickled out of Joe’s Grill to see what the ruckus is about, and I hear Ken Broughton distinctly say, “He escaped custody, but the police got ’im.” Then he laughs.
I jog the last few steps, trying to keep the shock off my face, trying to come across as just another curious bystander.
I head straight for Bert because I feel as though I know him better than the others. I’ve talked to him a couple of times. “Hey, Bert. What’s going on? You guys find an actual Bigfoot?”
Bert blows out a huff, his fleshy cheeks puffing out with the action. “I wish. Turned out to be just some fonchok in a costume. Bastard must’ve broke a few thousand dollars worth of our equipment. If he wasn’t dead, I’d sue him.”
“Dead?” I repeat. “Who is dead?”
“The ugly som-a-bitch whose been parading around as Bigfoot and kidnapping girls. We caught him today,” he says proudly. “Called the police and they came and arrested him, but he gave them the slip. They fired shots at him but didn’t find the body until a few hours ago. Like I said, the Mounties always get their man.”
He’s dead? Bale is dead? It has to be a mistake.
I remind myself to tread carefully because I’m not supposed to know anything. I’m not even supposed to know that Geri is involved. “Whoa, back up. What exactly happened?”
Bert’s face is red with excitement as he launches into his story. “Thought we were closing in on a Bigfoot, when we heard screaming, the blood curdling kind that makes a weak person turn tail and run de other way. But that’s not us. We came to Canada to help find dat missing girl, and dat’s just what we did.” He puts a hand on Ken’s shoulder, who stands straight and proud. “My good friend marched right into dat buildin’ and found this man with the face of a Sasquatch holding Lisa Hornsby and that reporter, Geri McKenna, captive. The ladies were chained to the wall like animals. And I found a Bigfoot costume.” Bert shakes his head in disgust. “Sick bastard.”
“He had Geri McKenna?” I ask in shock. It’s not hard to fake, considering I’m reeling over the news that the ugly som-a-bitch whose been parading around as a Bigfoot kidnapping girls is dead. Didn’t I just watch Bale and Martin leave in the helicopter?
Bert grips my shoulder and gives me a sympathetic squeeze. “Sorry. I thought you knew your girl was missing.”
“We had a fight last night.” I run my hand down my face. “I just thought she was avoiding me today.”
Murmurs of sympathy ripple across the now solemn group as I play the role of the guy who just found out his girlfriend was being held by a madman. “Where is she now? Do you know?”
“I overheard one of the officers say they took the girls to Pem River or something like that,” Jackson says.
“Pembroke?” I ask.
Jackson shrugs. “Could be.”
“And what about the guy who kidnapped them?” I ask. “You said they have him?”
“We said they have his body.” Ken’s chin tilts downward, and his faded blue eyes level me with a stare. “This must be a lot for you to take in, son.”
“Are you certain he’s dead?” Ken’s eyebrows shoot up in question. “I want to make sure he’s no longer a threat to Geri.”
Ken nods understandingly. “Yeah, I’m one hundred percent sure he’s dead. When we heard he had escaped out of the back of the armored police vehicle, we volunteered to help hunt him down because there ain’t no better trackers than us. That’s what we do. Right, boys?” A loud chorus of agreement goes up from the group. “Louey found him in some bushes, dead from a bullet in the back.”
“Who shot him?” I’m thinking it can’t be possible. I left Bale waiting for the submersible.
“The officers escorting him think one of them hit him,” Ken says. “They fired a couple a shots at him when he took off. Probably crawled into that bush to die.”
“Oh my God.” I put a hand to my forehead. “I gotta go. I gotta go find Geri.”
“Sorry to have to give you that news,” Bert says.
“No, thank you for telling me,” I say before running up the stairs.
As soon as I’m alone, in the privacy of my room, I contact the emissary. It takes a frustrating ten minutes before I get through to him. My heart is racing, and I’m anxious to get to Pembroke and see Geri. But first, I need to know what the hell happened.
Emissary: Peace to you, Sean.
Me: Peace to you, Emissary. I just discovered that Martin Bale is dead. Can you confirm that?
He doesn’t answer right away, and I know something’s up. Something has happened.
Emissary: It is not for us to interfere in EUC business.
Anger laps at the emissary’s thoughts, ebbing in and out as he fights to control it, to remain diplomatic and understanding.
Me: What business did the EUC have killing Bale?
Emissary: The commandant sent an official explanation some hours ago. The EUC has been uneasy with the presence of the authorities in the park and the risk their search poses to exposing our existence. The police now have their missing person, the Bigfoot mystery has been solved, and the criminal they believe to be responsible for creating all the mischief is dead.
My thoughts are racing as I realize the EUC played us. An escaped prisoner would warrant a hunt; a dead one would bring an end to the case. But the ambassadress kept that plan to herself because there’s no way Bale or I would’ve played along if we knew the stakes. There’s no way the emissary would’ve allowed it to happen.
I work to constrain my riotous thoughts and narrow them down into a single phrase that says it all: I understand. Because I do understand. I understand that I have to abide by the EUC’s decision and suck it up whether I like it or not.
Me: I need to find Geri. Make sure she’s safe.
Emissary: I agree. Although we have conveyed to the EUC our displeasure of being lied to and the ambassadress has apologized, I do not trust her. Therefore, I’ve spoken to the council about employing Geri. Mary and Joe Ross will soon retire, and we need a replacement. An immediate appointment to the hybrid program will bring Geri into our circle and give her some immunity from the actions of the EUC. And perhaps on the side we can use her expertise in social media.
My night with Geri has been on continual replay in the background of my mind, and I zero in on that moment when I mentioned having her come to work for the Pleiadians. I remember the look of sheer excitement on her face and her exclamation of are you serious?
Me: I think she might like that.
I think she might like it a lot.