― Voltaire

––––––––

“Being deeply loved by someone

gives you strength;

while loving someone deeply

gives you courage.”

– Lao Tzu

CHAPTER 1

––––––––

ROB HERNANDEZ DIDN’T know what the hell was on his gurney in the rear compartment of his ambulance.  He’d seen a lot of things in his career as a paramedic.  He’d been to gruesome accident scenes. Witnessed abuse of every kind.  He’d had a naked man attempt to hijack his rig.  He’d even been called to a scene where a man had covered himself in his own feces to avoid arrest.  But none of that—not a single instance he could recall—compared to what he had in the back of his ambulance. 

What, not who.  The patient had been called a man, but he hardly resembled one.

The man—and he used that term loosely—made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and quiver.  He was told it was a man.  But he’d never seen a man look quite like this...thing...did. 

Thing.  It wasn’t the most respectful noun he could use.  He’d certainly never used it before.

Rob had never considered himself a jaded man.  He was seasoned to circumstances that would make most others faint, but not jaded.  It was seldom that a patient in his rig unsettled him as intensely as the one currently on board did.  Feeling a shiver tiptoe up the length of his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature, Rob recalled recent praise he’d received from one of his professors. He’d been told that his ability to compartmentalize his feelings was a gift.  A gift that would make him a fine doctor in the near future.  He laughed to himself and thought, Yeah, it’s a gift alright. That is, if medical school and ambulance calls didn’t kill him first.  He did have that ability.  It was necessary to keep his sanity.  After all, no one ever called an ambulance for happy occasions.  Each call was fraught with panic and intensity. If he allowed himself to get swept up in it, he’d crack for sure and be of no use to those who needed his help. 

Breathing deeply, he reminded himself that the man in back was no different from the rest.  For all he knew, the poor bastard suffered from some kind of genetic defect that made him look like he was part lion.  Regardless, the guy was half dead.  Uneasy or not, half dead men didn’t cause trouble.  Not the kind of trouble that caused him to feel as he felt that is.  So he forced the fact that his patient, despite having both eyes closed and lying there seemingly lifelessly, still managed to look as sinister as any creature ever created to the back of his mind.  Sinister-looking people were not new to him.  Neither was the man’s stature, which was enormous and dangerous-looking.  Big, creepy people had been in his rig before.  He just had no idea why this felt so different.  He couldn’t put his finger on it.  The strange, almost primal unease that had his nerves on edge as they would be if he’d been confronted by a ferocious dog at a patient’s house.

Whatever it was, he needed to push past it and do his job.  He needed to transport the man to the hospital.

“How’s he doing, Joe?” Robert asked his partner, fellow paramedic Joseph McCauley, who was riding in back with the patient.

“I don’t know, man.  His pulse is thready; I can barely feel it.  He’s lost so much blood with these holes blasted in his shoulder and chest.  I’ll be surprised if he makes it to the ER,” Joe stated as he depressed his middle and index finger along the point of the carotid artery on his man’s neck.

Holes.  The word struck a chord within Rob, primarily because the word “hole” didn’t adequately describe the bloodied craters that littered the man’s body.  Notwithstanding the wounds, he still breathed and maintained a pulse much to their astonishment.  He and Joe, both trained professionals, had had difficulty detecting the slight throb at the base of his throat.  The faint beat, along with weak breathing, denoted life.  It was odd how the man survived his wounds.  He not only breathed, but surprisingly managed to be intimidating as well, though logically that made little sense.

While contemplating all that was transpiring with his patient, he absently depressed the accelerator.  The road conditions were treacherous and the rain-slickened streets of Harbinger Falls were narrow and winding.  Driving just slightly faster than the speed limit was dangerous so he slowed as he approached an intersection.

“We gotta move things along, man,” Joe called from the rear, clearly noticing the deceleration. “This guy’s circling the drain.”

“Circling the drain” was Joe’s shorthand for dying, and fast. 

As Rob moved toward the intersection, the traffic light facing him turned red.  Slowing to a near halt, he immediately checked the flow of traffic in all directions.  Every vehicle was stopped in response to the wailing of his siren and its accompanying flashing lights.  For good measure, he sounded his horn, which issued less of a blare and more of an electronic buzz, to warn any vehicles who dared entertain the notion of proceeding along on their route and getting in his way. 

Once he safely passed the intersection, Rob called back to his partner.

“Hey Joe, how’s he doing?” he asked.

“Not good, man.  Not good at all,” Joe replied solemnly as his hands worked frantically over the colossal man. 

Found at the Martin residence and assumed an alleged attacker, their patient had sustained multiple gunshot wounds.  Rob and Joe were not informed of the patient’s name.  According to Melissa Martin, a very frightened teenage girl, she and her friends had met in the woods behind Harbingers High School and had been ambushed and chased by him.  He’d allegedly intruded in the Martin home shortly thereafter and had threatened her and her father.  He was ultimately met by Melissa’s shotgun-wielding father.

The nameless man’s behavior and the details surrounding it were for the police to investigate and determine.  Keeping the guy alive until they made it to the hospital was Rob and Joe’s job. 

With the hospital in mind, he was curious to see and hear the reactions to the man’s appearance from the emergency room staff.  After all, the guy looked unlike any human being he had ever laid eyes on.  Not only was he unusual looking, he was also huge. Rob guessed he had to be about seven feet tall and weighed more than three hundred pounds.  Both he and Joe were fit and strong, but they’d struggled to load him into the rear of the rig. 

The man’s enormous body was also enshrined in thick ropey muscle tissue.  So dense were the fibers that Joe, who had ten more years than him as a paramedic and also served his country as part of a medic unit dispatched overseas to aid in a Middle Eastern conflict, had struggled to run an IV.  Penetrating what seemed to be foreign matter beneath the man’s skin had proved to be nearly impossible.  Rob imagined that the staff at Harbinger’s General Hospital would have an array of questions regarding that and so much more.  He would love to hear the answers to all of their collective questions, but for now, he was charged with his patient’s safe arrival.

Rob proceeded along Hoyt Road, a residential street.  He would follow it to the next intersection and turn onto Route 53, a state road that would lead him directly to Harbinger’s General.

Precipitation, which had been alternating between rain, sleet and wet snow all night, had picked up in intensity.  Large droplets pelted the ambulance, drumming noisily.  The windshield wipers delivered a rhythmic accompaniment to the cacophonous pounding of the rain.  As on edge as he was, the beating of the rain and thumping of the windshield wipers in conjunction with the howling of his ambulance siren became a maddening musical arrangement to Rob’s ears.  Normally, he’d be only mildly aware of the noise.  But not now.  Not today.  And it all stemmed back to his patient. 

Approaching the juncture where Hoyt Road led to Route 53, he saw that no cars were present.  Though it was not a heavily frequented crossroad, he depressed the horn and issued the electronic buzz once again both before and while he proceeded across the interconnected streets.  As he traversed the connected roads, a black van appeared out of nowhere.

He couldn’t see a driver.  He didn’t have time.  The black van rushed toward him, seemingly unable to stop.  Blurred by wind-driven rain and not appearing to brake, the black van deviated slightly askew, as if avoiding a direct impact.  Robert had nowhere to go.  He stomped on the brake pedal.  Decelerating too quickly, the ambulance went into a full skid. 

Frantically, Rob tried to direct the rig.  If he turned left, he would crash his ambulance squarely into the black van.  Continuing straight would place a telephone pole directly in his path.

With no time to react, he veered right, hard.  The black van veered right, as well, forcing its bumper to roughly graze the port side of the ambulance.  Metal shrieked, offended by the abrupt encounter, sending angry sparks thrashing and flaying about briefly in the descending rain.

The impact of the black van colliding into his ambulance sent Rob careening farther to the right. 

“What the hell!”  Joe shouted from the rear. 

“We’ve been hit!”  Rob yelled back as he tried to regain control of the ambulance.

But it was too late.  Landscape rushed at him faster than his mind could comprehend.  The needled boughs of an immense pine tree loomed just a few hundred feet ahead. 

Without a second to spare, he jerked the steering wheel of his ambulance to the left, barely avoiding a head-on collision into the trunk of the pine.  Instead, the passenger side bumper met with the trunk and exploded against it.  Wood splintered as the tree sagged and drooped, dangerously canopying the ambulance.

Beneath its bowed trunk and the covering of innumerable green spines and barbs, the front half of the ambulance was buried.  He found himself pinned beneath a mangled mess of metal.  His right leg, in particular, was trapped below the collapsed and crumpled dashboard.

Dazed and dizzied, he touched his fingertips lightly against his forehead and immediately inspected them.  Wet and bright red, his hand revealed a bleeding wound in the vicinity of his hairline.  He’d been slammed headlong into the steering wheel.  His head had also ricocheted off of the safety glass of the driver’s side window.  Had he not been wearing his seatbelt, he would have certainly gone straight through the windshield.

Pain radiated from his pinned right leg.  But he was too thankful to be alive to focus on the pain.  Immense gratitude for his life was abruptly interrupted however, as something in his peripheral vision caught his attention.

He turned his head, slowly, to the left to look out the driver’s side window of his ambulance.  To his surprise, the black van that had sideswiped him drawing the accident had pulled off the road parallel to his rig but just slightly farther down the road.  More curiously, there was activity at the rear of the instigating vehicle.  He lowered the window to get a clearer view.

Not taking his eyes off the van, he called to his partner Joe.

“Joe! You all right back there?”

Rob waited for an answer.

“Hey Joe, this is not the time to mess around!  Something’s going on here.  I’m not sure what,” Rob mumbled more to himself.  “Hey, you okay?”

When Joe did not respond, Robert attempted to turn in his seat but was immediately met with a blistering ache that smarted and throbbed, white hot and intense.  He was forced to train his gaze on the rear-view mirror.  When he did, he saw that his partner was slumped over their patient, motionless. 

“Joe!” Rob called out, emotion cracking his voice.

With his leg wedged beneath the battered control panel of the ambulance, Rob was incapable of helping his partner, his friend.  Helplessness was an alien feeling to him.  His life had been shaped by helping others, his career precipitated as a result of his unique ability to act and react wisely and swiftly when others could not.

Despite his knowledge and training, he sat, unable to attend to Joe, or free himself, and in need of help.  Exasperated by his predicament, Rob gripped his head in his hands and gently squeezed his temples before raking his fingers through his thick, brown hair.  Movement around the black van distracted his frustration at once, however. 

The rear doors of the van swung open and out of the back, two figures emerged.  Though obscured by hammering, wind-driven rain, Rob was able to discern that the pair differed dramatically in size and that both were decidedly male.  The smaller of the two was bespectacled and gave the impression of instructing the larger, gesturing animatedly with his hands as his lips moved.  The smaller man’s face was hardened, serious.  The larger man moved immediately, as if on command. 

Something about the nature of their interaction unnerved Rob though, and alarmed him.  An indescribable feeling of terror settled upon him.  He could not pinpoint exactly why.  He was reluctant to take his eyes off of the man with the glasses and his apparent subordinate. 

After several seconds of spirited signaling, the smaller man of the pair seemed to have impressed whatever point it was he sought to make.  The more imposing of the duo began looking at the ambulance. At Rob.

The larger man came toward him. Rob gasped as he realized it was hardly a man at all.  Advancing was a creature more bizarre looking than the one on the gurney behind him.  He nimbly moved toward Rob’s disabled vehicle.  Rob was surprised by how agile the being was considering its lack of discernible facial features. 

The closer it progressed, the more horrific the image became.  Nearly transparent skin did little to sheathe the expansive, vivid entanglement of veins and capillary networks that webbed its malformed head.  Lidless eyes shrouded in a thick, milky film darted from left to right, seemingly unfocused, searching.  A defined nose was absent from its facial construct but two asymmetrical holes appeared to serve the purpose of nasal openings.  Lips were also missing from the abomination, though a line gave the impression that a mouth may reside beyond it.  Rob pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and rubbed vigorously.  The logical voice in his brain dictated that what he was witnessing was a concussive effect, a hallucination.  He had just been in a car accident.  His memory of it was clear.  He had hit his head more than once. 

With his eyes still pressed shut, he reasoned that the horrifying image progressing in his direction must be a product of a trauma to his brain. 

Slowly, he opened his eyes. 

And when he did, the blasphemous image was gone.  Rob nearly laughed out loud, relieved.  But relief was a luxury he couldn’t afford as two men remained in the rear of the vehicle, one with mortal injuries, and his partner whose injuries had not yet been assessed.  He breathed deeply to calm himself and formulate a plan of action.  He needed to release himself from the tethering of the safety harness in order to unpin his leg enough to reach for the radio transponder and call for help.  With the press of a button, another ambulance would be en route with the assistance of the police department and fire department.  He just needed to free himself. 

Suddenly, he saw that his partner’s Swiss Army Knife lay behind the passenger seat. 

He twisted his torso rearward.  Squirming and wriggling sent an intense flare of pain from his ankle that continued up his leg to his hip.  The slightest movement had a similar impact.  But the actions, no matter how excruciatingly painful, were necessary.  He needed to get the Swiss Army Knife. 

Deciding against prolonging the pain, he turned in one swift motion.  A wail of agony sounded from him, a voice that belonged to him but sounded foreign to his ears, as he finally succeeded in rotating to the rear section of the ambulance.  As he did so, he was met with a pair of cloudy black eyes. 

The monstrously deformed atrocity was in the back of his vehicle.  It appeared to be looking at him, though its filmy eyes refused to focus.  The line of its mouth turned up at each corner revealing small, pointed, bud-like teeth.  The creature’s expression became even more offensive, more hideous as it appeared to smile demonically at him.  Dizzied by what resembled a six-foot fetus leering at him, Robert felt an inherent need to scream, to flee.  But sound escaped his lips. 

His mind struggled to process what his eyes beheld, the impossible arrangement of virtually absent features.  With his heart knocking violently against his ribcage, Rob felt an innate fear the likes of which he had never felt before.  His survival, the most primitive aspect of his humanity, took precedence over all else in the presence of the faceless man.   

“No!”  Robert heard himself screaming over and over again.

Seemingly unperturbed by Rob’s cries, the fiend calmly turned from him and busied himself in the rear of the rig.

With impossibly webbed fingers, the beast dexterously detached every line from the colossal man in back.  Then, effortlessly, the faceless man tossed Joe to the floor of the patient compartment.  A sickly thud indicated that his partner had suffered grave injuries from the collision with the black van, and he was powerless to break his fall in any way.

The passenger side of the ambulance was puckered, the door a chaotic mess of contorted metal.  Safety glass littered the seats.  Rob frantically surveyed his every escape option.  They were limited at best for one whose leg was not pinned down by a mangled dashboard, nonexistent for one in his predicament.

Flooded with fright, he recognized that death loomed on his doorstep quite literally.  A faceless Grim Reaper, devoid of his razor-sharp sickle, stood armed with a countenance created in hell and waited to claim him and drag him into the fiery depths from which he came.

As his pulse thundered in his ears, Rob guessed that if the beast was able to cast his partner aside with ease, as if he were as weighted as a ragdoll, then the creature must possess superior strength, supernatural even.  His heart rate accelerated dangerously at his last thought.

His head began to spin as sheer panic muddled and confused any coherent thoughts from evolving within his brain.  Rob did not want to die at the hands of the faceless freak.  He needed to free himself, immediately.

Rain lashed against his face through his open window as a gust blew and volleyed fine, needle-like barbs of icy precipitation across the ambulance.  The imploded passenger-side window created a perfect cross-breeze for the sleet.  He felt its moisture but not the sting of its coldness.  Fear and shock dominated such sensations.  Survival instincts prevailed.

Without allowing the scream that desperately desired to be released from the depths of his being to escape, Rob struggled against the agonizing pain emanating from his trapped leg.  He wrestled and thrashed against the destroyed dashboard that imprisoned his limb.  An animalistic instinct urged him on, enabled him to ignore the unfathomable pain in his leg.

As Rob fought to free himself from the wrecked console, he felt compelled to keep his gaze trained on the monster in the back compartment.  He looked on with equal parts horror and astonishment at how adroit the webbed digits on each hand worked.  Expertly and rapidly, the featureless monster had detached and detangled the multitude of electrodes, tubes and probes that functioned to keep the near-dead man on the gurney alive.  The faceless creature had unbuckled the man and was attempting to lift him.

Rob’s mouth hung ajar as he gaped in wonderment. Though he and his partner, Joe, struggled to place their patient on the gurney and in the ambulance, the faceless abomination hoisted him up with ease and draped him across his malformed shoulder.  His featureless face attempted a smile once again, this one more malevolent and hideous than the last, before turning and walking toward the black van.

The sight of the deformed being moving effortlessly across the street with the massive man slung diagonally across him, nearly dragging along the wet pavement, was illogical, bizarre.

The rational voice in his head argued against what he was seeing, what he had seen, that all of it had to be a nightmare, a delusion.  Logic dictated that monsters did not roam the earth and abscond with arbitrary people from ambulances.  Therefore, none of what had transpired could be true.  Such occurrences simply did not happen. 

Certain that his visions were mere fallacies of an injured brain once again, he felt a brief sense of giddiness despite watching the creature disappear into the rear of the black van across the street. 

He gripped his head in his hands and laughed aloud, a frantic, crazed sound.  He was overwrought, strained beyond acceptable parameters.  Yet oddly his stress was tinged with relief, his mind comforted by assurances that what he was seeing was an illusion.  But instinct balked at rationale. 

His respite ended abruptly when the creature reappeared.  And he was not alone.  The small man with the glasses accompanied him and gestured animatedly again.  Only this time, he pointed to the ambulance, he pointed to Rob.

The creature nodded and the small man climbed into the driver’s seat of the black van.  The abomination followed.

He saw the faceless man emerge from the concealment of the black van once again and advance.  In his misshapen hand, he held a bottle with a rag dangling from its opening.  The container held a liquid of some sort.  Rob squinted, strained his eyes to discern its contents. 

The featureless beast reached his other hand into his front pants pocket and retrieved a lighter.   He pushed a crude-looking thumb to the lighter then pulled it back, rolling a metal flint wheel.  A bright, yellow flame appeared. 

He watched in horror as the faceless atrocity placed the flame to the rag dangling from the fluid-filled bottle before hurling it toward his rig.  It spiraled through the air with laser-point precision, careened through his open window and shattered against the dashboard.

Rob released a sound from his body, a hoarse, primal scream of sorts, before a bright light more radiant than a thousand suns, burst before his eyes.  The light consumed him, blinded him temporarily with its magnificence, before his body became enveloped in flames.  He experienced the purest of pain, unbearable, overwhelming pain, before the world fell silent and darkened forever.

Chapter 2

––––––––

“ONE MAY HAVE A BLAZING hearth in one’s soul, and yet no one ever comes to sit by it,” Mr. Clancy began.  “At least that’s what the famous artist Vincent van Gogh was quoted as saying.”

Mr. Clancy was tall, dark and handsome and in his early thirties.  He was also Melissa’s art teacher.  While most girls rushed to guidance to sign up for his class because of his looks, she opted to do so because of how challenging his course was. His dynamic lectures were infused with passion, enthusiasm and pithy quotes.  He constantly assigned projects and research papers and scheduled fieldtrips as often as he could.  All of it had been effective at distracting her in recent months.  Being busy kept her from focusing on how much she missed Gabriel. 

Until today.

“As you can see when examining van Gogh’s pieces like Starry Night Over the Rhone and Wheatfield with Crows, loneliness is evident.  In Wheatfields, the sky appears angry; the landscape is vast and sad.  The overall tone of the piece is one of extreme desolation, of solitude,” Mr.  Clancy continued.

Today’s lecture was touching upon a raw nerve.  Typically, Melissa enjoyed her teacher’s interpretations of various pieces.  This one wasn’t enjoyable.  It was painful. 

“In Starry Night Over the Rhone, we see distant, almost intangible heavens as the backdrop of the piece.  Two lovers walk along clutching each other as lights in the distance are reflected off the water.  To me, it is a haunting image, melancholy, and forlorn,” he went on.

Melissa felt immobilized by a kindred sense of understanding of the late Mr. Vincent van Gogh.  His work echoed her sentiments: sadness, loneliness and despair. But her distant, intangible heavens were unlike his.  They were neither stars nor the anticipation of a realm of paradise beyond earth.  It was Gabriel.

Gabriel James was the distant, intangible light she longed for. 

Though they hadn’t been together long and many considered her incessant pining ridiculous and unnecessary, she loved Gabriel.  She couldn’t change that.  She would if she could.  She didn’t want to feel as she felt.  Who would?  Everyone thought she’d be over him by now.  They didn’t get it.  They didn’t understand.  She’d fallen for him, hard and fast.  And he seemed to share her feelings.  He had been willing to die for her, had risked his life for her safety.  She’d always thought that kind of love and devotion didn’t exist.  Or that it was like the Loch Ness monster in that everyone had heard of it, but no one had actually seen it in real life.  She’d been wrong.  It wasn’t urban legend or science fiction.  It was real.  And her feelings for him had developed just as unexpectedly as his arrival to Harbingers Falls.

Over the last few months, she’d tried to pick apart her feelings for him and his for her.  But try as she may, she realized it was love.  She was certain of it.  Their love was rare, the subject of romantic films and novels.  The fact that he was the product of altered genetic material by the deranged geneticist Dr. Franklin Stein was an issue she’d struggled with initially but overcame quickly.  After all, he was not what he was created to be: an emotionless experiment sent to transform humanity.  His physical perfection was as much a success on his creator’s part as it was an attribute she enjoyed.  Thankfully, he was much more than his exquisite appearance.  Emotions had evolved in him, emotions he claimed she was responsible for awakening, and kindness transcended his looks.  Each of his unique and magnificent qualities made accepting his absence that much harder.  Their love story, the likes of which authors penned about and Hollywood producers sought scripts for, ended far too soon.  Parting with Gabriel had felt more like a horror film.

Far away in an unknown corner of the planet, Gabriel sequestered himself just before Thanksgiving.  Melissa had been left to either answer or deflect innumerable questions surrounding his abrupt departure.  But the countless inquiries had proved far easier to cope with by comparison.  Her broken heart posed a greater challenge.

For weeks after Gabriel left, Melissa had had no communication with him.  The silence had been agonizing.  It had left her feeling empty.  Alone in a way she’d never experienced, where she could be in a roomful of people yet still feel utterly alone.  The kind of loneliness borne of loss. 

Weeks turned to months.  Life dragged on.  Winter had been a dark and dreary time.  Just when she’d given up hope of ever hearing from him, Gabriel contacted her.  But their correspondence had been irregular at best.  Unpredictable and unreliable.  Sometimes she’d get a cryptic text or email.  Other times a call.  Days could pass or weeks.  When she wasn’t feeling overwhelmingly sad and nervous, she found herself feeling a bit angry.  It was all too much for her.  How patient and understanding was she supposed to be?  Everyone had their breaking point.  They had a unique set of circumstances.  Gabriel much more than her.  But it hurt.  All of it hurt.  She tried to stop caring.  To just let it go.  But her heart simply wouldn’t cooperate.

Sadness eclipsed Melissa’s life and enveloped her in darkness.  Communication with Gabriel was minimal and kept her hanging on, but also kept her from moving on. 

Her father had been instrumental in preventing her from slipping into a deep, depressive state, from being completely encompassed by gloom.  He did not shy away from her grieving as other fathers might have.  True to his personality, he tackled his daughter’s first heartbreak head-on.  She never would have expected him to be so honest and open with her regarding matters of the heart. 

Melissa’s mind swirled around the painful memory of the very first days and weeks after Gabriel left.  She succumbed to the familiar pain only briefly before a voice distracted her from her brooding.

“Hello!  Earth to Melissa!” Alex exclaimed from her seat beside her.

“What?” Melissa replied testily.

“Mr. Hotness just gave us our project and you haven’t moved.  Did you even hear him?”

“Yes,” Melissa lied.

“Yeah right! I know when you’re lying,” Alex accused.  “I know it’s hard to concentrate.  This guy is so hot I can barely focus on what he’s saying.  I wish he’d just shut up and take his shirt off.  Right?”

Melissa did not respond. 

“You do have eyes don’t you, Melissa?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You do realize we have, like, the hottest teacher on the planet, right?”

“He’s okay I guess.”

“Just okay? Are you kidding me?” Alex asked incredulously.  “The guy is off-the-charts gorgeous!”

“Whatever, Alex.  If you say so.”

“Are you ever going to join the living?  I mean, my God, it’s been like five months.  When are you going to just get over Gabriel?” Alex asked.

“I don’t know,” Melissa answered honestly.  “Maybe never.”

“Well, you’d better get your shit together.  Spring break is coming up and I don’t want to spend it with some sorry-ass girl all moping over a guy.”

“Don’t worry, Alex.  I’ll be fine,” Melissa asserted.

Though Melissa told her friend she would be fine in a matter of days, she knew it was a lie.  She could not be certain she would be fine in weeks, months, maybe even years.  She would not be fine until Gabriel returned.

For five months, Gabriel had been communicating with her sporadically, sending her text messages and e-mails.  They had spoken on the phone only a handful of times, but hearing his voice managed to buoy her spirits enough to get her through the seemingly interminable weeks of non-correspondence she was beginning to resent.  The rational part of her brain understood that Gabriel’s absence was warranted, necessary even, but her heart begged to differ.

Though she took comfort in knowing that he was safe, she was not comforted in the least being kept in the dark regarding his whereabouts.  She did not have the slightest clue of his location.  All of the unanswered questions festered at times, and gave way to doubt.  Once a seed of doubt had been planted in her mind, invariably, a field of insecurity would grow. 

The insecurity overwhelmed her at times.  It had been far worse in the beginning, during the first days after Gabriel left.  Shortened days were spent at school, where the entire student body wondered where three of their four most beloved athletes had gone.  Melissa had shared what she’d seen in the woods; that she believed they were dead.  But their bodies were never found and doubt abounded.  Furthermore, the doubt of her classmates was confounded because Eric Sala, the only other person present in the woods that remained in Harbingers Falls currently, had not corroborated her account.  His presence, along with his silence, was a source of confusion for Melissa.  She wondered if his reticence was out of fear, fear that his attack on her, though thwarted by Gabriel hurling an aluminum baseball bat at him as he was about to strike her, would result in charges brought against him.  Regardless, everyone maintained his or her own opinions and speculated about various potential scenarios regarding what happened to Kevin, Chis and John.  They did not know the truth.  But Melissa did.

Melissa knew they had been murdered in the woods behind Harbingers High School, that Eugene, Dr. Franklin N. Stein’s earliest and most lethal creation, was responsible for their deaths.  Her knowledge was an unimaginable burden more weighted than any she could fathom.  As classmates guessed about the circumstances surrounding the trio’s disappearance, their whereabouts and fate, Melissa silently agonized over the information she possessed.  She knew the full story, had heard their tortured screams as they suffered at Eugene’s hands.

Their screams still echoed in her memory, kept her awake some nights.  Her friends did not know the full extent of what had happened in the woods five months earlier.  She had told them as much as she could and had shared with them more than she had shared with the rest of her classmates and the police, but withheld details that were too haunting to speak of, to relive.  Daniella and Alex did not know what life was like for her, how she not only bore the burden of Gabriel’s absence, but the unspeakable truths. The memories that accompanied those truths served to trouble her in multiple ways as well.  She could not bring herself to tell them everything.  They worried so much already. Her friends loved her and wanted her to be happy again.

“Enough is enough, Melissa,” Alex said and returned her thoughts to their conversation.  “You have to accept that he might not be coming back.”

Her words stung.  Melissa had no retort.  She did not know for sure whether Gabriel would ever return.  All she had was a promise he made to her five months earlier before he climbed out of her window to the roof of the garage and disappeared into the night. 

Melissa looked to Alex. She shrugged in defeat and struggled to steady her voice.  “You’re right,” she replied.  “What can I say? You’re right.”

“Shit! Please don’t cry.  I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Alex panicked.  “I’m just sick of seeing you so sad all the time.  You’re better than you were, don’t get me wrong, but not right by a longshot.”

“Girls, I believe you were given an assignment,” Mr. Clancy reminded them.

Alex and Melissa immediately busied themselves rummaging through their supplies.  Alex bent down and pretended to look through her backpack for a phantom article.

As she bowed forward, she whispered to Melissa, “I can think of an assignment I’d like him to give me” and then winked and smiled mischievously.

Melissa began to laugh softly at first, then more heartily.  Suddenly, she could not control herself.  She laughed hysterically until tears spilled from her eyes.

“Is something funny, Miss Martin?” Mr. Clancy asked.

Melissa couldn’t answer.  She couldn’t catch her breath.  She hadn’t laughed in what felt like an eternity.

Classmates turned in their seats to gawk at her but she didn’t care.  The laughter felt too good.

“Perhaps you need to excuse yourself, Miss Martin,” Mr. Clancy concluded in frustration.

Melissa sucked her cheeks in and tried to compose herself.  She tipped her chin up in defiance of the fit of giggles that threatened once again.

“I’m fine.  Really,” Melissa managed then turned to look at Alex who stared at her wide-eyed.

She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly before focusing on her assignment.

Once adequately collected and confident a recurrence of laughter was at bay, she worked diligently and continued until the electronic pealing of a bell signified the end of her advanced placement art class. 

As she gathered her belongings, Alex spoke.

“Geez, I know I’m funny but what the hell?” she asked.

“I don’t know.  Maybe I had some kind of breakdown or something,” Melissa speculated.

“Maybe,” Alex agreed.

“I just couldn’t stop laughing.  I don’t know why.”

“Well whatever the reason, it was good to hear you laugh again, that’s for sure.  I was beginning to forget what it sounded like,” Alex quipped.  “By the way, you snort a little when you laugh.”

“Thanks, Alex,” Melissa said and rolled her eyes.

“I’m just saying, it’s not attractive to make pig sounds when you laugh,” Alex joked.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Melissa responded with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Alex laughed.

“Seriously, though.  It was good to hear you laugh,” she said earnestly.

“Even if I snort?”  Melissa smiled.

“Come on! Don’t be an idiot.  I’m being serious here.”

“I know, I know.  I just don’t want to get into a heavy conversation, that’s all.”

“No complaints here! I would much rather talk about Mr. Clancy’s ass.”

“Oh brother!  I gotta go, Alex,” Melissa said.

“All right, we’ll pick up this conversation later, you can bet on that.”

“Oh, I’m sure we will,” Melissa said and offered a tortured smile.

“See you later.”

“You bet!”

Melissa strode away from Alex and headed toward her third period English class.  Mr. Adams implemented the exact opposite teaching style of Mr. Clancy.  The boring nature of his lectures was a guarantee that her mind would begin to wander.  And when her mind strayed, it invariably found its way to thoughts of Gabriel. 

Of late, her thoughts flirted with “what ifs.”  She wondered what her life would have been like had she never met Gabriel.  What if she met him but never allowed him to get close to her?  What if he chose to stay rather than leave?  The last “what if” was the most painful to pose; it was the only one that had ever been an option. 

No matter how many times she entertained such notions, she always chastised herself immediately after.  Gabriel was everything to her.  He had his reasons for leaving, even if the most selfish part of her refused to comprehend them.

Regardless of whether every part of her understood his absence, the fact still remained that she was in Harbingers Falls and Gabriel was elsewhere on the planet in a secret location.  Melissa knew the time had come for her to make a concerted effort to stop thinking about him and accept that which she could not change, that which she had no control over.  She needed to move on.  She hoped he would return.  But with each day, week and month that passed a return seemed less likely. 

Acceptance struck her like a blow, winded her briefly, before Melissa clutched her books tightly to her chest and moved resolutely to her English class. 

Chapter 3

––––––––

A STAFF LANDED AGAINST Gabriel’s temple and interrupted his tormented thoughts.  The blow sent him tumbling to the ground.  He immediately scrambled to his feet, refocused and intended to answer the hit with a counterattack.

“Ha! I got you!” Yoshi celebrated.  “And landed you on your, well, ass, as they say in America.”

His training partner, Yoshi, was a dexterous and skilled fighter.  Though small in stature, Yoshi was renowned in his village as one of its elite martial artists.  Their numbers were few, but Yoshi was counted among them.  He had earned the respect of his peers.  And Gabriel had learned a lot from him.

“Don’t get too excited.  My ass never touched the ground.  Yours, however, will be dropped in about two seconds!” Gabriel warned.

“Talk, talk, talk!” Yoshi taunted as he lunged forward with his weapon.  “Why don’t you shut up and focus?”

“What makes you think I wasn’t focused?” Gabriel replied as he sidestepped the jab.

“Lately, the only time I can drop you is when you’re distracted,” Yoshi conceded verbally but continued his onslaught.

“So you admit I’m the better fighter!”

“Yeah right! You wish!”

“I don’t know.  That’s some tough talk for the number three man in the county.”

Incensed, Yoshi attacked, wielding his weapon ferociously and unrelentingly.  Gabriel was impressed as always.  Their weapons clashed again and again, neither man willing to surrender to fatigue after hours of training in frosty conditions.  Yoshi, accustomed to the volatility of the climate, was expertly trained in the ancient art of Kalarippayattu and wielded an otta, a curved, wooden stick, lethally if need be.  Gabriel knew that his friend exercised restraint when they sparred, that if he so chose, their match could turn deadly.  Save for his instructors, Yoshi had never been bested in a sparring match; until Gabriel arrived.

Five months earlier, Gabriel had arrived in Motuo County, a small community in the Tibetan Autonomous Region.  After researching the area, he found that it was one of the few places in Asia still untouched by the modern world, that Motuo was one of the remotest areas on the planet and therefore perfectly suited for the purpose of his disappearance. 

After a grueling trek through frozen portions of the Himalayans that included crossing a six hundred and fifty-five-foot-long suspension bridge, Gabriel reached Motuo located in the Nyingchi area of southeastern Tibet, on the lower reaches of the Yarlung Tsangpo River and found it to be all that it was renowned for.

During his first moments in Motuo, he had found himself submerged in clouds and mist, surrounded by imposing peaks and steep ravines superimposed against a paradisiac backdrop.  Before long, however, birds had begun to sing in the forest.  Sunshine had poured through the fog and woods and created rainbows.  The golden light had sliced through the condensation and revealed azaleas and vanilla orchids along with large white lilies that blossomed in vast fields. 

When Gabriel had arrived, he had been fully convinced that Motuo County was a mirage, a figment of his exhausted imagination.  His conviction had transformed, however, when a man appeared from the veils of vapor.  Clad in a felt hat, trousers, sheepskin robe and leather boots, the man had loomed in the mist a threatening presence.  Gabriel had hesitated at first when it appeared as though the man had disappeared.  Then, without warning, the man had reappeared, as if he had been a manifestation of the fog, and attacked him.  He had wielded a short, wooden weapon and struck Gabriel several times.  It wasn’t until Gabriel had been in a prone position, that Yoshi had addressed him.  Gabriel had realized in that moment that he had neither experienced a mirage nor stumbled into an unexplored paradise.  He had, instead, met the first villager of Motuo County.

Yoshi struck him again, interrupting his recollection of their first run-in.  He attempted to strike Gabriel a third time.  He could not allow his sparring partner the moral victory of hitting him again.

As Yoshi thrust his otta forward, Gabriel twisted and dodged the blow.  He then lunged forward, extended his arm to his side then swept his weapon at Yoshi’s feet.  Though his weapon did not achieve what he’d intended it to, it did catch one of Yoshi’s feet and offset his balance.  He stumbled backward, nearly fell but quickly recovered and was distracted from further engagement by a sound in the distance. 

The faint tolling of a gong resonated through the trees, shivered off leaves and brush.  They both immediately recognized the sound and its purpose and lowered their weapons; their training session had come to a conclusion.  Neither Yoshi nor Gabriel ever lowered his weapon otherwise.

They began gathering their apparatus and moved from the small clearing to its edge and began their trek across the frozen landscape.  Where vanilla orchids once bloomed in abundance and had infused the air with their sugary-sweet aroma and had reminded him of Melissa, dried and tangled vines now stood.  He had been thankful for the dramatic change of season, of plant-life.  Passing through fields of fragrant flowers that bore the same scent as the girl he loved but was forced to leave had been more challenging than he’d imagined.  It had been unbearable.  He preferred to avoid things that reminded him of her. Thinking of her, of his time spent in Harbingers Falls, was imprudent.  Geography, weather and open investigations conspired and prevented him from being with her.  Remembrances merely reinforced his worry, his frustration.  He needed to protect her from what he believed to be the inevitable return of Dr. Stein but he couldn’t.  He tried to drown out the frustrated voice inside of him that screamed for his return to America, to Melissa, by focusing on the sound of his boots crunching on frozen soil.  Watching his feet offered little in the way of reprieve.

Ahead of him, Yoshi traveled, seemingly free of the burden of worry.  He envied his friend briefly, but was snapped from envious thoughts as a slender frozen branch whipped him in his face.  Gabriel cried out.

“What the hell!  Ouch!” he spat.

Yoshi spun around and laughed.  “Oh man, that must have hurt! Guess we’ve got to work on those reflexes, huh, Gabriel?” He turned back around and continued toward the village, laughing most of the way. 

Yoshi had a robust sense of humor.  Born and raised in Mutuo County, he had experienced hardship and the wrath of highly unpredictable weather conditions, yet still managed to find humor in whatever situation he was in, even if it meant laughing at someone else’s expense.  He also considered himself an expert on American culture and surprised Gabriel by being fluent in English.  Yoshi traveled to a distant village when weather conditions permitted and submerged himself in countless books about America in the local library.  There, he had utilized instructional DVDs accompanied by workbooks and mastered the English language, determined to someday visit the United States.  When Gabriel had arrived speaking English and with intentions of returning to America, Yoshi was fascinated.  They became friends almost instantly; Yoshi had welcomed him to their community as soon as he had been sure Gabriel did not intend to harm them. 

Trust had been established between Gabriel and Yoshi rapidly.  Yoshi’s family took him in much as they would a family member.  He became a relative of sorts to Yoshi, lived with him, trained with him and worked the family farm with him.  He had been adopted into a group of veritable strangers and offered food, shelter and friendship.  Gabriel had never experienced friendship with another. He hadn’t been afforded the time to do so in Harbingers Falls.  He had also never experienced what it was like to be part of a family unit.  He’d read about families and was well-versed in the various roles each member played, but had never been a part of one.  He welcomed the warmth and hospitality of Yoshi’s family and cherished his function within their group.  Yoshi became his brother and for that reason.  He’d confided in him the secret of his origins.  He’d admitted his reason for arriving in Motuo County.  Gabriel had told him about Dr. Stein and Eugene and about Melissa.

“You look pretty miserable.  I’m guessing the whole branch to the face incident is not the reason,” Yoshi guessed.

“My mind is elsewhere,” Gabriel admitted.

“You’ll go back soon.  You’ll be there to look out for her again.”

Gabriel couldn’t help but notice that Yoshi emphasized the word “you” slightly.  He wondered if he were hinting at something.  He decided to find out.

“Geez, do you think I’ll be capable of protecting her all by myself?” he mocked.

“Well, you should be.  I trained you, so you’ll be fine.”

“Of course I will.  My skills are all a result of your hard work and dedication not mine,” Gabriel joked.  “And since you’re the real talent here, you’ll come with me when I return.”

“Naturally,” Yoshi said quickly then appeared to realize Gabriel was inviting him to visit America.

Yoshi snapped his head to look at Gabriel, hesitated initially and looked away then looked to him again, as if, for a fraction of a second, he didn’t trust that his ears really heard what he thought they did.  When he faced Gabriel a second time, his expression was one of complete astonishment.

“Are you serious, man? America?” Yoshi gaped.

“Yes, Yoshi, America.  You’re kind of slow for an expert, aren’t you?”

“I can live with you being the brains I guess as long as you admit I’m the talented one of us and know your place.  Master,” he pointed to himself.  “Student,” he pointed to Gabriel.

“Whatever you need to make yourself feel important,” Gabriel said sarcastically.

Yoshi ignored him and began chattering about his future trip to America.

“I can’t begin to imagine how amazing it’ll be.  All of the skyscrapers.  The streets of gold.”

“There are no streets of gold, I assure you.  None that I know of at least.”

“But there are skyscrapers, right?”

“Yep, there are skyscrapers.  I’m not sure if we’ll necessarily see any, but they’re there.”

“I know, I know.  The only sight you want to see is Melissa,” he taunted.

“That’s right,” Gabriel said and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “No worries.  You won’t be disappointed.  Melissa’s more impressive than a tall building.”

“To you maybe, you big girl! I’ll have to meet her then see a skyscraper before I can make an informed decision.”

Gabriel laughed and clapped Yoshi on the back.

“You are quite a character, Yoshi.”  Gabriel shook his head then repeated, “Quite a character.”

“So I’m told time and time again.”

Gabriel and Yoshi resumed their journey back to the small village they resided in.  Each home in the hamlet was made exclusively of wood and was situated on nearly two hundred acres of land.

As they walked, Gabriel’s mind returned to his earlier days in Motuo County, how he had come to learn the art of Kalarippayattu. 

While most students of Kalarippayattu began training at approximately seven years old, Gabriel was invited to begin his at Yoshi’s recommendation as a teenager.  Exceptions had been made for him at Yoshi’s request.  It helped that Yoshi’s father, Anil, was both the gurukkal and a master in the martial art of Kalarippayttu.  As the supreme spiritual leader of the village and their fiercest warrior, Anil performed an initiation ritual at which time Gabriel was admitted into the kalari, the school where the martial art was taught.  The sacred ceremony included Gabriel placing his right hand then forehead to the ground as a sign of respect, submission and complete acceptance of the master, the deva, and the kalari itself.  Anil then placed his hand on Gabriel’s head, blessed him and prayed for him. 

Though Gabriel did not subscribe to the particular doctrine of thought Yoshi and his people did, he respected the sincerity of it, and valued the honor and virtues it encompassed. 

As a novice in Kalarippayattu, he had much to learn but little concentration.  His thoughts continually drifted to Melissa; he could not harness in his rage and redirect it.  He had struggled with his inability to protect her, to seek retribution for the attempt made on her life.  He could not reign over the worry that plagued him. Worry that his creator, Dr. Stein, had reneged on their agreement and pursued Melissa directly or indirectly.  Gabriel fully understood that he was of no use to Melissa if he returned to America too soon and was arrested for the murders of three of his classmates, but felt he needed to do something, nevertheless. 

Feelings of helplessness had fueled his anger and apprehension and did little to facilitate his training with Yoshi during his initial time in Motuo County.

But quickly, Gabriel learned to push his emotions to profounder areas of his mind and readdress them when not training.  Once he released himself from the bounds of anger and surrendered completely to his instruction, he advanced.  He entered at the first stage, Meithari, and rapidly progressed through the remaining three until he reached the same level of proficiency as Yoshi.  Yoshi was second in the village only to his father and had been Gabriel’s mentor, had counseled him in each rigorous sequence of exercises and complex jumps, fostered his discipline through balance–both physical and mental. 

The Monpa people had never seen a student move through the stages of Kalarippayattu as quickly as Gabriel had; they were not privy to the secret of his origins.  Only one member of their clan knew that Gabriel had not lived on earth for seventeen years as his peers had, that he was created with superior genes in a laboratory in the Russian Far East by Dr. Stein.  Yoshi was the sole protector of his confidence in the village and the second person on the planet with whom Gabriel shared it.  Yoshi knew about his augmented DNA, about Stein, and why he left the United States.

Yoshi’s father, Anil, was not informed of Gabriel’s beginning.  He regretted not being able to share the most key piece of information about himself with the sage.  Instead, he cringed inwardly each time Anil admired his skill, celebrated his remarkable improvement and distinguished him with praise.  Anil regarded him with such reverence that Gabriel feared he viewed him as champion of sorts, sent to defend the great mysteries of their region.

Gabriel knew that in Tibetan, the word “Motuo” meant hidden and mysterious lotus.  Anil and his people held that theirs was the most mysterious land in Tibet.  After all, one need only look around to confirm such an assumption.  Like the land, Gabriel was a mystery.  He had singly survived the adversity of the landscape, the elements and the climate.  He had become proficient in their ancient and nearly extinct language of ‘Olekha in a matter of days as opposed to years.  He also had the necessary skills and control to improve at an unprecedented rate in the art of Kalarippayattu.

Under Yoshi and Anil’s tutelage, Gabriel had acquired stamina, mental alertness and poise to complement his genetic endowment of strength.  It took him several weeks to be a comparable match for Yoshi when training, an unparalleled feat.  When the moment did arrive and he was a not merely suitable match for his mentor, but had surpassed him, Yoshi did not begrudge Gabriel outright.  He grumbled from time to time but, for the most part, was gracious in his acceptance of his reduced ranking within the colony; his fierce competitiveness ended beyond the walls of the kalari.

Reflecting on Yoshi’s diplomacy, Gabriel could not help but smile.

Gabriel walked beside Yoshi for several miles in silence passing women in home-spun wool gowns carrying baskets containing various vegetables and fruits.  Each greeted him and Yoshi deferentially, reverently.

When they finally reached Yoshi’s home that he shared with his father, mother, siblings and Gabriel, Anil waited for them.  With no roads in Motuo whatsoever, Anil stood, knee deep in brush wearing a sleeveless fur vest that hung nearly to the top of his leather boots.  With a fur hat perched atop his head, Anil appeared royal, impressive. 

“Hello, Yoshi, Gabriel,” Anil addressed them.  “How was your training today?”

“Excellent father, I landed Gabriel on his backside,” Yoshi bragged.

“Technically, sir, I landed on my side,” Gabriel offered.

“He dropped you, huh? It appears you are less able to control you feelings these days. You are distracted,” Anil said sagely.  “Soon you will be able to check on her and be less distracted.  Your questions will be answered and your curiosity satisfied.”

“Sir?” Gabriel asked genuinely confused.

“You will be contacting her sooner than you thought,” Anil announced.

Excitement bubbled in his belly. 

“Sir, are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Anil asked with a deadpan expression then continued.  “The weather will be favorable in the coming weeks.  It would be wise to take advantage of nature’s gift.  The days forthcoming will be the best suited for travel.  We will be blessed with unseasonable warmth.  You will be able to go to Pai Village and contact her, find out if all is well.  I suggest you leave at dawn.  Take Yoshi.  The four-day trip to Pai will be without difficulty.”

Gabriel was familiar with Pai Village, had traveled there often over the last five months to contact Melissa.  But harsh weather conditions between his arrival in November and the current month of April had severely limited his visits to the area.  Even still, the pathways were covered in ice and snow with another month of unpredictable conditions on the horizon would make travel difficult.  Anil’s prediction for milder weather was unexpected but welcome.  Anil was rarely wrong in his estimation of upcoming weather.

“You are happier already, Gabriel.  It is evidenced in your posture,” Anil observed.

Gabriel’s spirit was buoyed.

“Father, Gabriel has asked me to accompany him to America, when he is finally able to return,” Yoshi blurted out excitedly.

“He did, did he?” Anil asked staring directly at Gabriel.  “Funny, he did not discuss such a matter with me.”

“Sir, I was going to speak with you about it, but I assumed there would be ample time for us to discuss it with you.  I don’t anticipate my return to America to be anytime in the near future.

“Yoshi, do you want to go to America?” Anil asked.

“Yes, father.  Absolutely.”

“You do realize it is very different there than it is here,” Anil warned.

“Yes father, I know it is different.  But I want to see different things.  Cars, skyscrapers, roads paved in gold,” Yoshi began.

“Yoshi, there are no roads paved in gold.  I told you that earlier, remember?” Gabriel interrupted.

“Whatever, maybe you’ve just never seen them.  I can believe what I want.  Anyway father, I want to see the world, eat the fast food.”

“You are seventeen years old, a grown man now.  I trust in your judgment and training; I know you can take care of yourself.  I would not stop you from experiencing anything that you would want to in life.  I can only hope that when you’re through eating fast food while driving on streets of gold you will want to return to us.”

Anil stepped back and began to turn from Gabriel and Yoshi but paused to add, “Eat and then rest.  You will leave at dawn.”

Gabriel did not consider the hour he’d be waking at or the conditions he would face.  Personal inconvenience was of no consequence to him.  He would speak with Melissa, be given proof of her safety.  Confirmation of her well-being granted him peace of mind, quieted the unrest that raged within him.  He would hear her voice and be pained and reassured simultaneously but it would be sufficient to calm his inner turbulence.  At least for a while.  Until he could return.

Chapter 4

––––––––

THE FACELESS MAN NEVER traveled in the daylight hours.  To do so would have drawn far too much attention to his differences.  He journeyed at sundown, cloaked in shadows and night, concealed by darkness.  Forced to leave the only home he’d known, he had fled, scared but determined to save himself.  He had known he could not stay any longer, that if he wanted to live he’d have to leave. 

He had been commanded to do horrible things by his maker.  He had been told his bad deeds had been necessary, deserved even, but the faceless man had not been sure.  Though he had questioned his maker’s commands internally, he had been unable to ignore them.  He’d felt compelled to do as he was told.  He didn’t know why.

Sitting in the coppice on the outskirts of Veteran Park on the warm, moonless spring night, the faceless man stared in the distance at a large, bronze statue of a kneeling soldier, momentarily relieved of the burden of his past actions.  The statue and the surrounding park was illuminated by cast-iron lampposts painted black and crowned with three globes each.  From where he was situated, he was granted a clear view of the statue yet maintained his concealment. 

The bronze statue on bended knee held him, soothed him.  With his helmet at his side and one hand at his brow, the soldier stared somberly at the ground below.  The faceless man was sure that there were people who had cared about the soldier, people who had loved him.  He wondered what it would feel like to be loved. 

No one cared about him.  No one loved him.  The soldier had been lucky.

The faceless man had not been so lucky.  Early on he had discovered that he was alone, that conventional humans were a cruel species reluctant to accept him.  His only hope, the very one that kept him moving and offered him the will to live, was that somewhere in the world, the perfect friend for him existed. Someone kind enough to see past his unique exterior.  He had seen himself in a mirror in his former home.  He knew he didn’t look quite like his maker or other humans he had seen.  He did not resemble the handsome soldier statue either and did not have the same sad eyes.

His maker had told him that he was a product of an untimely end to his handiwork, that the urgent need for a formidable ally had superseded his proper formation.  Dr. Stein had said that he’d been taken from his development tank far too early—earlier than was possible to allow for a meaningful, productive life of service to him.  He’d been told that he was a monster who would never be able to integrate into society.

He did not like what his maker had said.  His maker’s words had been cruel.  They had hurt him then.  They hurt him still. 

In the silence of the thicket that bordered Veteran Park in the presence of the striking soldier statue, the faceless man relived the pain his maker had caused him, heard the words spoken in his cold voice, felt their chill.  He hugged himself briefly to fend off the frostiness.  Though the ambient temperature was moderate, he shivered.  The memory of their last interaction was fresh in his mind.  He felt as though he were sitting in Dr. Franklin N. Stein’s laboratory, attempting to express his misgivings.

When the faceless man had resisted Stein’s commands by gesturing with hesitance and grimacing at the orders, his maker had become very angry.  He had shouted at him, had hurled a glass container at him.  He had wanted to strike back or at least prevent his maker from throwing things at him, but something inside him had made such an act impossible.  He had tried in vain to lift his arms in retaliation, had willed them to move but they had not cooperated.  Instead, he had felt his insides tremble and had found it difficult to breathe.  His pulse rate had sped dangerously.  The world had spun around him.  He’d felt as though he’d fall to the ground.

Hugging himself tightly in the undergrowth, the faceless man suddenly found it difficult to breathe once again.  His heart thundered. He heard it pounding in his ears just as it did the day he’d realized he wanted to leave. 

He could still hear his maker’s voice echoing in his ears telling him that no one defied him and that he would die just as soon as the others were fully formed.  Stein had expected him to surrender to death. 

Even still, five months after his fateful interaction with his maker, the notion of giving up his life willingly sent a chill down his spine.  His maker had insisted that he simply agree to die, to accept it as easily he’d accept a meal.  His maker had had very unrealistic expectations.  He did not want to die.  He was newly born.  He had not yet experienced life, save for the horrible things he had been ordered to do.

Day after day, in his short existence at Dr. Stein’s laboratory, the faceless man had been given directives then banished to a room the size of a closet.  For him, it had felt more like a cell or a cage because each night, the door had been locked from the outside.  His maker had locked him in there.  Like an animal or criminal devoid of rights and privileges.  He’d known he’d done nothing wrong.  He had done just as his maker had instructed, yet remained imprisoned in a tiny room. 

His captivity had grown very upsetting to him.  He had felt trapped and confused by his maker’s rules, why his maker had thought it necessary to punish him with confinement.  He had also refused to willingly accept death once Stein’s new creations were born. 

As part of the next phase of his maker’s plan, other creations like him had been formed and were in the process of development.  They would remain in their tanks for a predetermined amount of time that was far shorter than the gestation of a human being conceived by conventional means, but far more effectual.  His maker had told him that their births would signify a momentous moment in the history of humanity; that a great transformation would begin.  The birth of the new creations did not represent a significant event to the faceless man. It was more like a death sentence.  He had known what would’ve been expected of him, that once they had grown and matured and were ready for release, he would no longer be needed.  Dr. Stein had made it clear to him that once the new creations were born, he would be required to surrender his life.  He had fretted over his death many nights while locked in his tiny room.

One night, when his internment had grown particularly unbearable, he had rested on his cot and looked at the ceiling of his small space.  He had noticed a large metal grate affixed with screws.  He had become curious about where the ventilation opening led, and if, perhaps, it led outside of his room.  He had been certain it would lead to a fascinating locale.

That night, he had stood on his cot and excitedly yanked the vent from the ceiling.  Tiny screws had dropped to the floor, but he had not cared.  He had thought he was embarking on an adventure.  He had dropped the grille to his cot, hoisted himself up and wriggled into the opening. 

Once inside, to his dismay, the ventilation duct had not been interesting in the least.  In fact, it had been rather terrifying.  The channel had been narrow and dark and littered with spider webs and insects, both living and dead.  The space had been so tight that it had greatly restricted his movement and had caused him to feel an overwhelming sense of confinement.  He had been forced to slither forward as there had been no room for him to twist and return to his room.  The farther he had moved from the meager light provided by the opening to his room, the darker and scarier the ventilation duct had become.  He’d had to close his eyes tightly, had to resist the urge to stop moving and succumb to fear. 

He had slid through the dusty darkness for less than fifty feet, eyes still shut, before he had happened upon another grate.  He had felt it with his face and immediately opened his eyes.  Dim light had pushed back the dark slightly, and he had wanted nothing more than to be in the light.  He had pushed against the grate with his large, webbed fingers and the screws had yielded under their pressure.  The grate had fallen off easily and he had dropped to the room below.

Grateful to be standing once again, he had squinted and allowed his vision to adjust to the light of the room; the light had been dim but far brighter than the gloom of the duct.  Once his eyes had adjusted, he had realized where he was, that he stood in Stein’s laboratory, a laboratory that led to the outside.

The prospect of freedom had been an unexpected and irresistible temptation.  He had been outside on rare occasions and had found the outdoors fascinating.  The lure of independence, of choice, had been too great to ignore.  He had decided that returning to his room was not as appealing as liberation.

So he ran.  He ran as fast as he could away from the life that enslaved him.  He had felt it vital to get away from the horrible little man who wanted to kill him.  He had fled the laboratory and the grounds of Dr. Stein’s property without a real plan.  He’d known only that he wanted to find a friend.

Sadly though, as time passed, the faceless man had begun to recognize an unfortunate pattern: everyone he had come in contact with seemed to share in his maker’s estimation of him.  The people he had encountered were rarely able to suppress a scream, much less forge a friendship with him.  They had reacted negatively, hostilely in some cases, toward him.  They’d screamed at him and had attacked him.  He quickly realized that acceptance would be a challenge. 

The faceless man began to linger in locales that were less inhabited, favoring darkened alleys and abandoned buildings.  When in these locations, he unearthed many people like him, people who were displaced, people who had been relegated to darkness.  They were vagabonds, unwanted and unloved, who pushed their meager possessions about in carts and carriages and ate out of trash cans.  He thought them kindred spirits.  He was wrong, of course.  His vagrant peers excluded and rejected him vehemently, violently.  They proved mean, and scary. 

Without food, shelter, or companionship, he roamed alone, forced to urinate and defecate in the wilderness and feed on small creatures indigenous to the area.  He survived primarily on rabbits, raccoons and squirrels and the occasional rat.  He drank and washed in streams and ponds. 

Most days, he was afraid and lonely.  But living a lonely and rootless life was still preferable to the life he’d previously led.  His maker had used him to hurt people, kept him locked in a tiny room then wanted to kill him.

Though the faceless man had fled from the captivity of his maker’s laboratory after being informed of his impending destruction months earlier he re-experienced it regularly and in vivid detail.  Just recalling the fact that Stein had wanted to exterminate him as if he were a loathsome pest of some sort caused him to feel each emotion as if it were occurring in the present. 

He shivered again and clutched his body closer as if physically trying to hold himself together, fighting a phantom force that sought to dismantle him.  He knew his maker’s call for his death had been unfair, unjustified. He knew that much was true.  He could not object to it, could not articulate his desire to live. He was incapable of speech, and therefore unable to argue on his own behalf.  He couldn’t plead with his maker to spare him.  Not that Stein would’ve.  The faceless fan valued his life, even if Stein did not.  He knew that Dr. Stein was nothing more than a mean little man.  

His maker was not unlike other humans he had met.  Everyone he had come across had been unkind.  They shrieked at the sight of him.  He could not imagine why they could not see past his differences.

As he sat with his knees tucked against his chest and his arms wrapped around them, he wondered if Stein had been right, if no one would ever accept him as he was.  As he contemplated such an idea, an overwhelming sentiment swelled within him.  He felt a profound sense of sadness for himself.

Fortunately, the sadness was short-lived.  His resolve countermanded it.  He was determined to seek out a compassionate person, one who saw past his miscreation.  He had heard talk of one who’d managed to see past another of Dr. Stein’s creations and cared about him deeply.  That is what he wanted, what he was determined to find, a person who would not condemn him for his origins but would celebrate him, instead.  He refused to accept that his experiences represented the whole of humanity.  Gabriel James had found a person who cared about him, and so would he. 

A warm breeze gusted, stirring the plants and blossoms around him.  In the distance, the bronzed and bowed statue did not waver.  His gaze remained fixed on the earth beneath him, cast down in perpetual despair.  The faceless man breathed in the sweet spring air and realized he did not wish to be like the gilded soldier after all.  He wished, instead, to be like Gabriel.

Chapter 5

––––––––

THE DAYS HAD BEEN PASSING by mercifully fast.  Three had elapsed in what felt like the blink of an eye.  For months, Melissa submerged herself in the details of her days, allowed them to carry her like a mighty tide guiding an ocean.  Most days she felt as though she were bobbing in a vast body of water, being pulled along by forces beyond her control.  Schoolwork, family obligations, and her friends united and acted as a current towing her through each day, week, month, through life.  But the last three days had been different.  Melissa felt more like herself than she had in five months.  She felt energized and enlivened. Almost happy.

Melissa felt as if she’d awoken from a hideous dream.  And though she felt slightly battered, she was beginning to feel again.   

Situated in the back seat of Daniella’s car on her way to school, Melissa felt at ease for the first time in a long time.  She missed Gabriel. That fact remained unchanged.  But something had changed within her, something inexplicable and profound. She felt more at peace with her circumstances. She wondered if she were letting go of Gabriel.  Such a notion had been unfathomable earlier.  It kind of seemed improbable still.

Melissa could not quite pinpoint exactly what has transformed and did not feel like exhausting herself trying to figure it out.  She was grateful for the reprieve and that was enough to sustain her.

“This has been the longest week ever.  We are so going out tonight!” Daniella affirmed exuberantly.

“I know! I can’t wait! I have the hottest outfit,” Alex agreed.

“What should I wear?” Daniella asked. 

“Something slutty!” Alex joked.  “I’m just kidding.  Just wear that green top with your skinny jeans. The dark-wash ones.  Your ass looks smokin’ hot in that.”

Melissa listened to Alex and Daniella chatter on about their weekend plans, had done so absentmindedly for several months.  Earlier on, just after Gabriel had left, they’d asked her to join them all the time. She’d refused all the time.  As time passed, however, her friends had begun asking less and less frequently before they stopped asking altogether.  Her two best friends no longer bothered to try and include her in their plans as their invites had always been declined.  She hadn’t been offended by their exclusion before. She’d been relieved to no longer go through the motions of getting an invite, turning it down then listening to angry or pity-filled appeals.  Now, however, she felt differently. She wanted to be included.

“Hey, what should I wear?” Melissa heard herself ask.

“Oh my god, Daniella, pull over!  I think I’m going to have a heart attack!” Alex chided.

“Melissa, are you really going to come out with us?” Daniella asked incredulously.

“I’m thinking about it,” Melissa answered.

“Don’t think!” Alex urged.  “Just come!”

“Yeah, it’s been, like, forever since you came out with us,” Daniella added.  “You have to come! Greg is having a huge party at his house.  His parents are away so it’s going to be epic.  He has an indoor pool, Melissa!”

“It’s going to be off the hook!  That guy is loaded.  I’m excited to just see his house, everything else is a bonus,” Alex said.

Melissa was suddenly panicked by what she was feeling.  Excitement, an emotion she’d been virtually devoid of over the last several months, swelled within her.

“You have to come, Missy! We miss you,” Daniella begged.

She felt dizzied.  Her heart raced.  Her hands felt frozen.  She felt nauseated and elated simultaneously.  In her belly, a swarm of butterflies had emerged from their chrysalides and flitted about, beating their wings.

“Count me in!” she blurted out.  “I’m coming to Greg’s party!”

“Yay!” Daniella cheered.

“Wait a sec,” Alex interrupted. “You’re not going to come with us and get drunk and start crying about you-know-who are you?”

Although she could not be completely sure that that would not happen, Melissa felt confident she would be okay and that the night would pass tear-free.

“No,” she said.  “I’m not going to cry this time.”

“Are you sure?” Alex asked skeptically.

“Of course,” Melissa lied.

“So you’re over him?” Daniella asked softly.

Melissa considered her question briefly before answering.

“I don’t know that I’m necessarily over Gabriel.  I’m just not going to sit home all the time waiting for him to call or text or e-mail.  I mean, I’m sick of being sad all the time.  I’m sick of feeling pathetic, you know?”

“Yeah, you have been pretty pathetic,” Alex stated plainly.

Daniella elbowed Alex.

“What the fuck was that for?” Alex asked.

Melissa watched as Daniella shot Alex a warning glance.

“Sorry,” Alex mouthed.

“Guys, stop it! This is what I’m talking about,” Melissa began.  “You think I don’t see what you guys are doing?”

“We’re not doing anything,” Daniella answered.

“Yes you are.  You treat me like a mental patient!”

“We’re sorry, sweetie,” Daniella said.  “We don’t want to upset you.”

“No! Stop apologizing.  I’m the one who should be apologizing.  I’ve been a zombie for the last few months. You guys have had to tiptoe around my feelings.  I mean, it’s unfair that you have to be like that around me and watch what you say or don’t say and what you do or don’t do.  It’s ridiculous.   I’m ridiculous!”

“You’re not ridiculous.  You’re hurting.  We just want to make things easier for you,” Daniella replied.

“Yeah, we’re sick of seeing you upset all the time.  We want to help any way we can,” Alex added.

“Well, it stops today,” Melissa asserted.  “Starting today, things are back to normal.  No more moping and crying and waiting.  You don’t have to hold back anymore and coddle me.”

“Great!  You mean we don’t have to pretend to understand why you’d want to waste your time boo-hooing over a guy you barely knew?” Alex asked.  “A very hot guy, don’t get me wrong!”

“Alex!” Daniella exclaimed.

“What?” Alex replied.

“You don’t have to be rude about it!”

“No, Daniella, Alex is right.  I shouldn’t sit around crying over him.  I mean, he’s probably off somewhere having a great time which is why he hardly ever even calls anymore so why should I be upset?”

Her question was rhetorical and her friends dared not offer so much as a hypothetical or lighthearted retort.  But Melissa was certain the same questions that ran rampantly in her mind crossed theirs as well.  She had wondered if his infrequent contact with her was a result of waning interest more than risk factors.  Recently, she began to doubt his feelings for her.

As soon as she felt the familiar doubt, which invariably precipitated hurt, begin to encroach, she forced it to the back of her mind, refused to let it ruin her newfound sense of calm.

“So, I’ll ask again, what should I wear tonight?” Melissa asked and redirected the conversation back to a lighter topic.

“Something slutty, like I told Daniella,” Alex joked.

Melissa laughed.  And it felt good.  She giggled with her friends as Daniella parked in the front lot of Harbingers High School before they gathered their books and entered the building.

As Melissa walked down the hallway toward her locker, she couldn’t help but feel an energy swirl about her.  There was excitement in the air; she felt it the moment she walked in.  It was electric.  Some students passed, gesturing to one another animatedly.  Others whispered eagerly.  Something significant had happened, Melissa just wasn’t sure what.

“I gotta go,” Alex said unaware of the buzz around her.  “I can’t be late, like, ever again or I’ll get detention.  Later!”

“Bye Alex,” Melissa said distractedly.

“See ya, Alex,” Daniella replied.  “Melissa, I have to go too.  I have a test first period.”

“Go, go.  I’ll see you later.”

Melissa watched as Daniella disappeared around the corner into the stairwell then refocused her attention to the odd flurry in the hallway.  More of her classmates had gathered and stared down the long corridor pointing and gesturing.  She strained her vision to see what was causing the commotion.  She could not quite make out who or what she was seeing. 

She began pushing her way through the crowd that had amassed. 

As Melissa got closer, she could make out that a tall figure that appeared to be the center of all the attention.  She kept moving, pressing passed onlookers.  She saw that there were two slightly shorter figures flanking the person at the end of the hall and kept moving toward them. 

When she was finally close enough to see who was responsible for the ruckus, she felt her breath catch in her chest.  Her knees weakened.  Her mind spun like tires in mud, spinning and struggling to gain traction when all the while the only progress that was made was deeper submergence in mire.  What she witnessed seemed impossible, unbelievable.  Thoughts swirled and eddied about.  None of them made sense.  She felt faint.  Surely it couldn’t be him.  She hadn’t seen him in five months and was certain she’d never see him again.  But he had returned.

Her heart began to race and, though she felt cold, perspiration dampened her forehead and palms.  Her pulse raced dangerously.  Her knees threatened to give way beneath her.  She felt lightheaded and unsteady.  He seemed to float toward her, an apparition materializing.

A hush seemed to have befallen the hallway, save for the rapid thumping that resonated in her ears.  Everyone around her appeared to be moving with infinitesimal slowness, as if they were actors in a film reel moving in slow-motion. 

Standing at the end of the long, student-filled hallway a familiar face smiled at her showcasing his blindingly white smile and single dimple in the center of his right cheek.

Melissa felt the color drain from her cheeks as Kevin Anderson winked at her then waved coyly.  Terror, unlike any she had ever experienced, prickled along her spine.  Her insides shivered.  He grinned broadly as if sensing her horror at the sight of him. Confident.  Antagonizing.  She wanted to run from him, keep running, and never be forced to lay eyes on his menacing expression again. 

Kevin Anderson was dead.  His presence implied that he had returned from the grave. And he was not alone.  Beside him, Chris Mace and John DeNardi stood, as they always did in the past, very much alive.

The situation was nightmarish. They were all dead.  She had heard their tortured screams, knew that they suffered at the hands of Eugene.  She had seen their mangled corpses.  The scene had been gruesome, their deaths violent.  Their return was impossible.  They could not be at Harbingers High School. 

Her mind continued to roll and turn incapable of gripping a solid thought.  Each idea seemed to flow past her like a phantom, ephemeral and evanescent.  She worried she was hallucinating or suffering an emotional episode of some sort.  Kevin, Chris and John appeared to have returned, impossibly, from the dead and she felt her world upend.

Chapter 6

––––––––

DR. FRANKLIN NICHOLAS Stein’s footsteps echoed along the corridor of his new laboratory in Santa Ynez, California.  The layout was similar to his two previous research facilities, save for the fact that this one existed above the ground as opposed to buried deep within it. 

The heels of his leather dress shoes clacked rhythmically on the pristine tiled flooring.  He moved swiftly down a path in the center of his lab.  On either side, stainless-steel tables loaded with magnification apparatus, centrifugal equipment and computers lined the walls.  Beakers of every imaginable size, along with innumerable test tubes in holders, sat atop shelving units and occupied the far wall.  His new space, though organized, immaculately clean and nearly identical to the others, still unnerved him. The work area was far too bright.  Despite room darkening shades installed at each window prior to his arrival, abundant sunshine still permeated minuscule gaps in the treatments and managed to light the room. 

Dr. Stein despised sunlight and daytime in general.  He hadn’t relocated for the sunshine or beaches.  He had selected Santa Ynez for its obscurity and although it was just a car ride away from the densely populated city of Los Angeles, it offered rustic anonymity without sacrificing modern convenience.  An additional element also added to the allure of his proximity to a major city as well: defiance.

Nestled in the Santa Barbara Wine Country, he felt as though he were hiding in plain sight.  Such a notion amused him given that his creation had had the audacity to banish him from his previous residence, as if he were a subordinate and not the other way around.  Gabriel had attempted to blackmail him into leaving the country and living out his remaining days in exile in an isolated niche of the planet.  While Gabriel had succeeded in banishing him from his stunning residence in Harbingers Falls, complete with a state-of-the-art underground facility, he had not succeeded in chasing him to the far reaches of the planet.  He had been driven, instead, to Santa Ynez. 

Stein loathed Santa Ynez and all of its quaint shops and folksy inhabitants.  Others flocked to such places and adored the western-style architecture and the niceties exchanged with every person who passed along the narrow stretch of land that served as the main artery of the community.  The only reason he had selected such a ghastly location was because of its scarce population and the expansive land upon which he could develop.  With roughly four thousand four-hundred people in the area, few eyes were on him.  It was unlikely that he would be recognized.

He had selected a modern home set on twenty acres of semi-rural property.  The house boasted seven- thousand square feet in the main living space and an additional twelve-hundred feet in the guest quarters and gave Stein ample room for his laboratory.  After brokering a deal several years earlier with sellers who had relocated to Austria, he had begun construction on his lab as soon as the deed was his. 

He had maintained the home befitting his unique needs and taste unbeknownst to both Gabriel and Eugene.  For years, the house stood empty but at the ready for his occupancy.  Complete with all the amenities he required, he had contracted a company years earlier to renovate the guest suite to a laboratory. 

His laboratory was vital to his residences as it was the place he spent most of his time.  And since his work area once existed as a guesthouse, it already had a bedroom for the infrequent times he elected to sleep.

The rest of the living space was impressive.  He appreciated the spaciousness and luxuriousness of it, though he had no use for the floor-to-ceiling windows in nearly every room, each offering a view of the land it was situated on.  He guessed other humans would enjoy the vista.  He, however, held little esteem for nature, least of all in a state as garish as California. 

Looking around at his new research facility and all of its sophisticated equipment, he knew he outclassed all other humans, that they were lesser beings.  He knew he ought to belong to the new breed of beings he was creating, despite their disappointing performances of late.  First, Gabriel presented with a flaw, and then Eugene.  Eugene’s failure had been shocking. 

Eugene had been defeated, a fact that had haunted Stein in the days after his relocation to Santa Ynez.  He lived now because of the quick-thinking and talent of his maker, but had been beaten by Gabriel.  Gabriel had been designed for battle only not as deliberately as Eugene.  He didn’t possess the inherent instinct or the training Eugene had, yet still managed to adapt and best a trained killer.  Had Dr. Stein not been present to rescue Eugene, he would have perished. 

He had barely made it to his new facility with Eugene in time to save him.  His ferocious creation had retained a pulse, but it had been weak.  Once in the van, he had been submerged in Stein’s unique development fluid in an enormous cistern to begin the process of healing.  He could have let Eugene die.  The thought had crossed his mind.  But cloning Eugene would have been far too precarious an undertaking.  Even for a geneticist as exceptional as he was, there would be no guarantee that the end result would be as perfect a predator as Eugene.  And to train another, possibly inferior fighter, would have taken too long.  Based solely upon practical, rational factors, he opted to save Eugene. 

Stein briefly considered Eugene’s near-death at Gabriel’s hands a failure on his part but soon realized failure was not possible for someone as gifted and talented as he.  Eugene’s defeat was neither a failure nor a disappointment, but a testament to his genius.  Gabriel’s adaptation, his ability to trump Eugene’s formidable brawn with his intelligence, was a result of Stein’s brilliance.  Gabriel was his most recent creation and therefore possessed his most recent improvements.  Those improvements were invaluable to his future project despite the evolution of sentimentality in Gabriel.

Gabriel was meant to be the future of humanity.  But he hadn’t guessed Gabriel would evolve beyond what he’d been capable of anticipating.  He’d predicted enlightened thinking, possibly even his development of telekinetic powers in the future.  He attributed any and all of Gabriel’s successes to his own genius, his ability to unlock and unleash areas of the brain heretofore unused.  What he did not anticipate was that Gabriel would fall in love despite modifications made in his temporal lobe and the deep limbic system of his brain that prohibited him from emotionality.

Months of experimentation and analysis revealed the reason for Gabriel’s flaw.  Stein was reluctant to accept any responsibility for said flaw, but conceded that future creations would be developed with a greater sense of superiority, that Gabriel was far too humble, too modest.  Stein had wanted him to blend into society, which had been a grave oversight on his part.  The purpose of future creations would not be to integrate, but to shun the human beings that occupied the planet.  The new race would regard humanity with the same disdain human beings regard insects and rodents.  The thought of mating with one would be utterly repugnant, deviant.  The only species they would be attracted to and mate with would be ones he produced and at his discretion.

It had been extremely difficult coming up with the formula for his new creations, especially since his attention had been divided.  He needed to refocus his concentration and devote himself entirely to his new project.  But before he could do that another matter needed to be addressed.  He needed to dispose of Gabriel.

Gabriel’s existence was a constant threat to his body of work.  A threat that needed to be eradicated.  Dr. Franklin Stein needed to carefully root Gabriel out of hiding.  To do so, he had a plan, a plan he was certain would be effective at drawing Gabriel from his lair.

He had cloned Kevin, Chris and John, the three teenagers Eugene had killed in the woods of Harbingers Falls.  He had taken their corpses and used their DNA to replicate them with the assistance of his creation tank.  After extracting the necessary tissue, he had disposed of the bodies by cremation.  The three teenagers had been recreated for the sole purpose of returning to Harbingers Falls.  Their bodies had never found, therefore their return would not generate suspicion.

Rebirth and reintroduction to their peers had been the easiest part of the process for Stein.  The re-creation process had proved far more daunting than he had anticipated.  When recreating them, he had been careful to not alter or augment their brains or make any changes that would have risked changes in appearance.  Such restraint had been challenging. Dr. Stein was a man who recognized the need for improvement among humanity, and made it his mission to remedy it. 

He had refrained from tampering with their cognitive processes but had taken the liberty of enhancing their muscular development by upgrading their fast-twitch responses and speeding their recovery time capacity.  The result was overall strength enhancement without any other modifications.  Strength enhancement was a necessary component of Stein’s plan. The three teens needed to be strong enough and fast enough to crush Gabriel.

With three of them, equally matched in strength to Gabriel and outnumbering him, his demise was all but guaranteed.

The rebirth of Kevin, Chris and John had been successful.  Dr. Stein had been pleasantly surprised to discover that when cloning a human being using their preexisting DNA as opposed to intermingling augmented genetic material, it resulted in the preservation of the temporal lobe of the brain. With their temporal lobes identically replicated, their memories had been preserved as well as their appearances and personalities insofar as he could tell.  Outwardly, they were exactly as they had been.  Yet despite the seeming success of his endeavor, Stein was reluctant to deem it a victory.  He was hesitant to trust that the three flawed creatures could carry out his plan by themselves.

With such distrust weighing heavily upon him, Stein, ever the pragmatist, decided to enact an alternate plan; a contingency plan.

He paused and stroked his chin as he stood before a massive stainless-steel tank that occupied the far corner of his laboratory.  On impulse, he turned the large wheel affixed to it and began opening the container.  Through the thick, opaque fluid, he saw that Eugene’s arm moved slightly.  He knew it would not be long before his plan was set into motion.

His plan was to have the three teenage humans draw Gabriel out from where he hid.  He hoped Gabriel was not certain the three had been dead when he had seen them in the woods.  Uncertainty would pave the way for curiosity, a need to see for himself whether Kevin, Chris and John were, in fact, alive.  If all went as planned, Gabriel would return to Harbingers Falls and find more than just the three teens.  He would find Eugene and meet, ultimately, with his demise.

Chapter 7

––––––––

THE UNEXPECTED RETURN of Kevin, Chris and John sent shockwaves throughout the school.  Their names were on everyone’s lips.  Melissa struggled to regroup after her initial shock at seeing them and felt as though she were in a nightmarish trance for the remainder of her day.  She existed in a daze, listening to her classmates go on and on about the astonishing reappearance of their beloved classmates.  She alternated between numbness and the persistent urge to vomit at every mention of their names.  Adding to her uneasy feeling was the fact that her name was invariably mentioned each time theirs was.  After all, everyone knew that she was the person who had claimed that they were dead, not merely missing.  Their return brought with it the return of weighted stares.  Fellow students stared in her direction again, regarding her with suspicious eyes.  Judgmental eyes.  She felt as though the day could not end soon enough.

When finally it did, Melissa rode home with Daniella and Alex who also discussed the homecoming of the popular trio.

“Holy shit! Melissa, what the fuck is going on!”  Alex said, echoing the sentiment of everyone in the car.

“This is insane.  It’s just, crazy! All of it is crazy!”  Daniella exclaimed.

“Melissa, I thought that you said that they were dead, that you saw their bodies.  You said that freak that broke into my house killed them.  I don’t understand what the fuck is going on,” Alex said struggling to stay calm.

A stunned silence befell Daniella’s typically lively carpool.

Within seconds, it ended, however.  Alex turned in her seat to face Melissa who sat in the back seat.

“Well!”  Alex began, her statement sounding like an accusation.

“Well what? Are you asking me if I was making it up?”  Melissa countered as her anger began to rise.

“Dead people don’t just become, I don’t know, undead and go back to their normal lives,” Alex persisted.

“Don’t attack me!” Melissa fired back.  “I know what I saw. I didn’t stop and take their pulses while I was running for my life, if that’s what you want to know!”

“Then what made you so sure they were dead?”  Alex asked coolly.

“Uh, the fact that Kevin’s head was crushed for one thing,” Melissa answered sharply.

“This doesn’t make any sense at all,” Alex added.

“What do you think is going on?”  Daniella asked.

“It has to have something to do with Stein, I told you the crazy things that he was working on,” Melissa said.

Melissa had shared with her friends the nature of Dr. Franklin N. Stein’s work. That he was a genius geneticist who experimented with human cloning.  Alex had seen Eugene and it became necessary for her to offer an explanation. She did not, however, include in her explanation one small detail: that Gabriel could be counted among Stein’s experimental creations.

“Are you trying to tell me that you think this Stein guy brought them back to life?”  Alex replied

“I don’t know what I’m trying to say Alex, I don’t have an explanation.  I just know what I saw, and they were dead.  Why are you acting like this?” Melissa asked.

“Look Melissa, I’m sorry all right.  I don’t want to sound like I’m attacking you.  I’m just totally freaked out and I want to know what’s going on.”

“You don’t think that I do, too?  I’m the one who is going to be considered a nut, or even worse, a liar.”

“Well, you’re going to have to just lay low until we figure out what’s going on.  Maybe they staged it to look like they were dead that night or something,” Alex said

“So you’re saying they created an elaborate hoax, and took off for five months just to make me look bad? That seems a little far-fetched,” Melissa said

“Oh, and this Stein guy bringing them back from the dead seems more logical to you?” Alex mocked as they pulled in to Melissa’s driveway.

Melissa promptly climbed out of Daniella’s car and thanked her for the ride home.

“Oh and I’m not going to lay low,” Melissa stated.  “I’m still going to Greg’s party tonight.  There is no way I’m going to let them intimidate me, not this time.”

“Good, you shouldn’t,” Daniella said.

“Yeah, fuck them. Of course you should still go.”

“Don’t get me wrong I hope that they’re not there tonight.  But they’re not going to get me to lock myself in the house and hide.”

“Okay then we’ll pick you up at eight,” Daniella said excitedly.

“All right I’ll see you guys at eight,” Melissa said as she shut the car door and walked toward her house.

Melissa unlocked her front door and walked in.  The familiar smell of home did little to ease her anxiety. Questions began to form in her mind.  Would Kevin, Chris and John be at Greg’s party so soon after their mysterious return?  If they came, would they approach her?  Would there be a scene as there almost always was since their initial meeting?

As Melissa agonized over the answers to her questions, she busied herself with household chores.  She began washing pots in the sink and loading the dishwasher with plates and glasses.  When she’d finished that task, she moved on the hamper and separated white, light and darkly-colored clothes before running a load of towels.

When the rumble of the garage door interrupted her dinner preparations, Melissa realized she had lost track of time, and was thankful for it.  Within seconds, she heard the door to the garage open and the predictable sounds of her father shuffling into the hallway.

“Hey, Missy!” he called out.

“Hey, Dad!” she replied.

She waited for the sound of work boots hitting the hallway floor before she inquired about his day.

“How was work?”

“It sucked like every other day.  How was yours?”

“It sucked, too.  And oh yeah, Kevin Anderson, Chris Mace and John DeNardi showed up at school today.”

Melissa watched as her father’s stainless-steel coffee thermos nearly slipped from his hands and tumbled to the floor.  His eyes grew wide and his mouth fell agape.

“Yeah, I know.  That’s exactly how I felt.  How I still feel,” she commented on his astonished expression.

“What? I mean, how?” her father stammered.  “Holy shit, Missy, I thought they were dead. You told me they were dead, that that psycho killed them.”

“And I told everyone else too, because I saw their mangled bodies.  I heard their screams.”

As Melissa spoke, her father stared at her with confusion apparent in his every feature but intently, concernedly.  The sound of the doorbell interrupted their conversation.  It rang once.  Then almost immediately it rang a second time, exemplifying the impatience of whoever waited on the other side of the door.

“Who the hell is ringing the bell now?” her father asked. “Geez!  And the jerk is impatient, too.” He turned and walked toward the door.  “Okay, keep your shirt on!  I’m coming,” he called out.

Melissa shrugged, equally as confused as her father. 

She peeked around the corner and watched as he answered the door, only to find a police officer standing before him.

“Well, if it isn’t Chucky Miller,” her father stated as his frustration with the dual doorbell rings quickly segued into downright unfriendliness.  He did not bother to mask his dislike of the officer standing opposite him.

“That’s Officer Charles Miller,” the police officer replied puffing out his chest and emphasizing his rank.  “And I’m here to see your daughter.”

Melissa watched as he father stiffened then asked, “For what reason?”

“I’m interested to see if there is anything about the statement she gave five months ago that she’d like to change seeing as how there are now three corpses going to school with her,” Officer Miller replied haughtily.

“Now hold on a second,” her father said heatedly. “She already gave her statement quite some time ago. I’m pretty sure her story will be the same.”

“I believe I asked to see your daughter, not you, Chris.”

“That’s Mr. Martin to you, son,” her father replied derisively.

Melissa’s heart pounded against her ribcage.  She knew that it was not possible that Kevin, Chris and John could have survived.  She knew something else was going on, but she would never be able to tell the police what she thought without sounding like a crazy person.  She would not betray Gabriel even if she could get them to believe her.  Their reappearance—the whole scenario—was a total mess.  And now, it seemed her credibility was being called into question.

Without thinking, Melissa stepped out from the kitchen and blurted, “I told you what I saw and what happened.”

She did not temper her tone when she spoke to Officer Miller.  She did not restrain her frustration at his implication.  Under any other circumstances she would have spoken more respectfully, would have regarded a police officer with higher esteem.  But Melissa had heard the name Chucky Miller spoken on more occasions than she cared to admit.  She knew of his less-than-esteem-worthy past.

Charles “Chucky” Miller had been the neighborhood troublemaker when she was a child.  Years later, her father had hired Chucky to work for him in the produce department at the A&P, as a favor to his parents, a lovely couple whose only conceivable fault was their inability to see their son for what he really was.  But Chucky had not lasted long and had been fired after just a few months.  Chucky had never forgiven her father for firing him, and neither did his parents.  Her father had been shocked to see him at the Harbingers Falls annual fall festival two years earlier donning a police officer’s uniform.  He had always assumed he would have extensive involvement with the police, just on the opposite end of the spectrum.

Now, as he stood before them accusatorily, the situation felt wrong to Melissa.

“Well Melissa, let me tell you what I think happened,” Officer Miller began but not before allowing his eyes to travel up and down her body and linger on her breasts.  She felt her skin crawl as he continued, “I think you and this Gabriel guy hired someone to beat the shit out of Kevin and his friends.  You know, a little revenge for what he allegedly did to you, but the thug got carried away and almost killed them.  Then when the guy showed up at your house to collect, Gabriel shot him and took off.”

Melissa froze as Officer Charles Miller spoke irately, jabbing a finger animatedly all the while.  Judging from his words and demeanor, he had already decided on what had happened and had convinced himself that it was a fact rather than an opinion.  And he wasn’t finished.

“I wonder, did he kill the ambulance driver, too?  Where is he, Miss Martin?  Surely, you must know.”

Melissa did not have time to answer.  Her father interjected.

“All right Chucky, that’s enough!  It’s time for you to go!  You were a punk when you worked for me and now you’re a punk with a badge.  How that happened, I’ll never understand!”

She watched as, much to Officer Miller’s chagrin, her father abruptly shut the front door.

“I think that went well.  How about you?” her father asked employing his usual sarcastic sense of humor.

Melissa did not respond verbally.  Instead, she rolled her eyes.

“Come on, Missy, everything is going to be okay.”

“No dad, it won’t. I mean, after everything that happened to me and Gabriel because of Kevin and those guys and now Gabriel is gone and they’re back,” Melissa rambled, her mind thinking faster than her mouth could speak.

“Maybe Gabriel has some idea about what’s going on.  Call him and ask him.”

“Dad, you know I can’t call him.  He doesn’t even have a phone wherever it is he’s staying,” Melissa said, frustration lacing her every word.

“All right, calm down.  When he calls you or texts you, ask him.  There must be some sort of explanation for all this.”

Melissa wasn’t so sure about his last statement, but she was certain she wouldn’t be hearing from Gabriel anytime soon.

“That’s not going to happen,” she muttered.

“What’s not going to happen?” her father asked.

“Jeez, Dad, you have hearing like a bat!”

“Well?”

“Nothing, Dad.”

“Don’t ‘nothing, Dad’ me.  Spill it.”

“There’s nothing to spill.  That’s the problem,” she erupted. “Gabriel hasn’t called me in I don’t know how long.  I have no idea where he is, or who he’s with.  It’s like he’s gone for good.  Like everything he said to me was a lie—all the love stuff!”

“He said he loved you?” her father prickled.

“Yeah, whatever, Dad, a boy loves me—or so I thought—but that’s not the point!”

“Yeah, it kind of is the point.  Speaking of which, did you two, you know... umm when two people love each other...they...want to share their love...and express their love,” he fumbled.

“Gross Dad! Are you trying to have a conversation with me about the birds and bees now, seriously?”

“No. I mean, yes.  Well, kind of.  I think you know what I’m trying to ask.”

“We didn’t, okay?”

Melissa could see her father’s face relax along with the rest of his body, which had become visibly tense and intensified incrementally as he tried clumsily to ask if she and Gabriel had slept together.

“So you’re just sad because you miss him and think he’s not coming back not because you gave him something he can’t give back.”

Melissa stared at her father briefly before she rolled her eyes at him and retreated to her room.

He called up to her as she reached the top of the staircase.

“Love you, too Missy!”

She shut her door and immediately went to her bed.  She stretched out on it and tried to wrap her mind around all that had transpired during her day so far.  It had been surreal, nightmarish. Seeing Kevin, John and Chris at the end of the hallway, feeling her knees threaten to collapse beneath her had been more frightening than any nightmare she had ever had.  They were dead. She was certain of it.  She wished Gabriel would call her at that exact moment, willed the phone to ring, but it did not.

With the staunch silence of her phone ringing in her ears, she rose from her bed and shuffled to her closet to set about picking out an outfit to wear to the party she’d regrettably agreed to attend.

What’ll the night have in store for me, she wondered.  A part of her didn’t want to know.

Chapter 8

––––––––

GABRIEL AND YOSHI JOURNEYED from Motuo County to Pai Village on foot.  They traveled along ice- and snow-crusted trails, and endured cold that, though warmer than usual, blistered nevertheless.  But Gabriel remained unbothered by the elements, or by the fact that he could no longer feel his feet.  He would not stop walking until they reached Pai Village.  Pai Village promised modern conveniences he hadn’t enjoyed in recent months.  Electricity, indoor plumbing, phone and Internet connection awaited him there.  Internet service was what connected him to the rest of the modern world, and to Melissa. 

Thoughts of Melissa had kept him moving along frozen paths, and had kept his heart warm along the way.  He fantasized about hearing her voice, and envisioned her smiling face as she spoke.  He had not had the privilege of hearing her voice in quite some time.  The weather had been too harsh, the conditions too dangerous for travel.  This particular trip had been unexpected but welcome.  He and Yoshi were headed for a local Internet café.  There, he would either call or message her depending on the time of their arrival.

After what felt like an eternity spent walking along a frozen jungle, they reached Pai Village.  Pai Village was a stark contrast to Motuo County.  Bustling with people and filled with modern shops, the area was thriving and lively.  Though he appreciated the energy of the village, he could not wait to get to the café.  He also did not like how the villagers stared at him and Yoshi, how those who roamed about the streets browsing in local shops took notice of them immediately.  Their clothes and travel gear along with most elements of their appearance suggested rural heritage.  For that reason, neither of them blended in.  But most people focused their attention on him rather than Yoshi. They eyed him from head to toe, scrutinized him intently.  Passersby studied his attire, but their eyes invariably focused on his face, lingering on it longer than he was comfortable with.  In the last five months, he had become accustomed to the treatment he received in Motuo County, how the villagers expressed appreciation of one another subtly, silently and respectfully.  Such discretion on the part of the Monpa people allowed him to forget that his maker, Dr. Franklin N. Stein, had endowed him with superior genes, that his construct was branded as superior.  He cringed at his maker’s hubris, his narrowed scope of vision that allowed him to think only in absolutes: superior or inferior; subordinate or insubordinate.  For Stein, there was no in between.  In Motuo, a member of the community was judged primarily by his or her contributions to the group, by his or her achievements.  Whether it was the family they raised, the art they mastered or the animals they drove across the region, the Monpa people placed tertiary value on physical appearance.  In fact, the majority of homes did not even possess any form of reflective glass.  Gabriel respected their values.  And he loathed his reflection.

As he walked through the heart of Pai and the area became more densely populated, he became increasingly uneasy.  His face, deemed aesthetically perfect by Dr. Stein, was a constant reminder of his plight, the never-ending question of his being.  The bane of his existence rested in one question: was he, in fact, human?  He had not been born of man and woman.  He had not been conceived by conventional methods.  He was the product of deception and thievery blended with genius, created without emotion to weed out what his maker condemned as “imperfections” in humanity.  His advent was an offense to the highest deity to which any religions prayed.  Gabriel was well aware of the circumstances.  Yet, feeling had evolved within him.  A conscience developed in spite of being conditioned otherwise.  He felt human by every definition of the word.  But his origins continually plagued him, his worries exaggerated by the unwanted attention he received as he moved toward the Internet café on the corner.

“There it is,” Yoshi said excitedly.  “I’m surprised you’re not running.”

“Believe me, I’d like to.  But I don’t want to draw attention to us, you know.  I want to blend.”

“Oh yeah, Gabriel, no one is paying any attention to us. We blend,” Yoshi replied sarcastically.

Gabriel turned to his friend and shoved him.

“Let’s not get started here, Gabriel, then we’ll really draw attention to ourselves,” Yoshi said returning a shove then gesturing to his otta.

Gabriel laughed.  A trio of women turned and stared at them, then just at Gabriel.  The women nudged one another and whispered then giggled.  Gabriel did not understand what they said. Their dialect was foreign to him.

Yoshi smirked and rolled his eyes as the women giggled and continued along.

“What was that all about?” Gabriel asked.

“They like the way you look,” Yoshi replied.

“Oh.”

“It’s not a bad thing, Gabriel.  I thought Americans like it when others find them attractive.”

“I can’t speak for the population of an entire country, but I’d rather disappear in a group.”

“Good luck with that,” Yoshi said mockingly.

“You know Yoshi, when I first met you, you were much quieter.  Now you’re a smartass as we say in America.”

“Smartass, huh? That’s a swearword, right?  And it’s generally considered insulting if I am correct, right?”

“You are correct.”

Yoshi did not pursue a verbal response.  Rather, he smiled and erected his middle finger to Gabriel.

Gabriel laughed aloud then said, “Case in point, my friend.”

Gabriel and Yoshi opened the door to the Internet café and were met with bright overhead fluorescent lighting and over a dozen kiosks.  Each cubicle housed a desk, computer terminal and chair.  For a small, timed usage fee, Gabriel was granted access to the outside world.  To Melissa.

Yoshi seated himself in a booth and Gabriel occupied a stall right beside him.  His hands trembled as the computer wheezed and sputtered to life.  He would e-mail Melissa first and hope that she received it on her cell phone.  If she were available to talk, he would call her immediately from a landline phone.  He could not wait to talk to her, and hoped his timing was okay.  But before he started typing, Yoshi tapped him on the shoulder.

“What the hell Yoshi?  I’m in the middle of something here! What is so important?” he said sharply.

“Check the Harbingers Herald archives.  That’s what’s so important,” Yoshi replied levelly.

Gabriel didn’t know why, but he felt his heart sink in his chest.  He often scanned the Harbingers Herald archives, the local newspaper of Harbinger Falls, before they left the cafe for stories that might hold significance to him. Stories that suggested Stein had resurfaced.

As he skimmed the headlines, one from several days earlier caused his breath to catch in his chest.  He blinked several times, certain that his eyes had somehow deceived him.  But they had not.  The words raged impossibly from the Harbingers Herald website.  “LOCAL TEENS MAKE DRAMATIC RETURN” the front page from the previous day read.  Below it was a picture of Kevin Anderson, Chris Mace and John DeNardi.

Gabriel felt his mouth go dry.  He tried to swallow but could not.  The back of his throat blazed.  The room began to spin.  He struggled to regain his composure and focus on the words before him. 

The article continued and explained how three local teens, all celebrated athletes from Harbingers High School, had disappeared mysteriously and were believed dead according to an eyewitness statement.  It stated that, although no bodies were ever recovered, the circumstances of their disappearance had been suspicious and that the police department, along with the entire town had feared for Kevin, Chris and John’s safety and well-being.  In an interview with the Harbingers Herald reporter, the three had claimed to have been spending time abroad.  They had stated that they had made an impulsive decision to travel overseas together without bothering to inform their parents, friends or family.  In the interview, they had apologized profusely for causing worry to those closest to them.

Gabriel’s mind reeled as he stared at the monitor.  What he was reading seemed impossible.  He had seen their corpses firsthand after Eugene had attacked them.  He’d been running for his life and hadn’t had the time to stop and inspect their bodies.  But judging from the condition of the bodies he’d glimpsed, they had been dead.  Their bodies had been so badly beaten, so dreadfully positioned, that survival had seemed impossible.  They had been dead.  Gabriel had been certain of it.  

As he quickly searched his mind and replayed the scene in the woods from five months earlier, no doubt had existed then that Kevin, Chris and John had been killed.  But now, he hesitated.  Uncertainty began to invade his thoughts.  A new idea began to present itself, an idea that was more stirring than three teenagers surviving an attack and deciding to travel abroad.  He began to worry that Dr. Franklin Stein was responsible for their dramatic return.

The room began to spin again.  Thoughts raced through his mind, disjointed and unclear.  Stein’s possible involvement suggested dire circumstances.  It also meant that Stein had not upheld his end of their agreement.  He began to doubt what he’d seen in the woods behind Harbingers High School five months earlier.  As far as he had known, Stein had not had the ability to resurrect someone from death; he could only form them from their most basic building blocks.  Furthermore, if Kevin Chris and John were re-creations, Stein would have had to have taken their bodies from the woods unassisted.  Too many questions existed, too much doubt abounded surrounding that fateful fall night.  He suddenly realized it would be necessary for him to see for himself whether their return was as they had stated in their interview, or if something far worse had happened. 

A sharp pain in Gabriel’s hand distracted him, forced him to look away from the computer monitor.  He had been unconsciously gripping the desk with such pressure that the flimsy corrugated wood began to splinter and had speared his hand with one of its jagged shards.  He glanced down and noticed that a rivulet of red trickled from his hand.  His hand smarted and bled, but he ignored it.  He did not waste time dwelling on his bloodied hand, a more important matter pressed.  He needed to read on.

Gabriel frantically scrolled through the archive, traveling back in time farther and farther until he reached November of that year.  He scanned several articles frantically searching for one in particular.  He stopped when he found the article concerning the ambulance explosion the day he left in late November.  The article stated that the bodies of two paramedics had been recovered.  Though burned beyond visual identification, their dental records had indicated that they were Robert Hernandez and Joseph McCauley.  The body of the unidentified patient they had been transporting had never been recovered.  Due to the intensity of the fire, he had been presumed dead. 

The details of the patient’s condition were topped by the sensational nature of the accident, and as a footnote, the piece commented on the lives, careers and contributions of the paramedics.  Gabriel did not need to read the name of the patient in the ambulance that exploded.  He knew it had been Eugene, that it had not been a coincidence his body had never been found and that the drivers were dead.  He had always assumed that Stein had been responsible for the accident, that he had taken Eugene’s body to conceal his research.  He just never understood how such a feat had been possible, and why two men had had to die in the process.  If Stein had been capable of taking Eugene’s body, then he would have been capable of finding a way to take Kevin, Chris and John’s bodies as well.

Staring at the article from November, nothing made sense in his mind. The timeline, the ambulance explosion, the disappearance of the patient and the return of Kevin and his friends...nothing added up.  Melissa’s safety could no longer be guaranteed.  She was in danger.  

Trembling with rage, he rose from his workstation and tapped Yoshi’s shoulder.  Yoshi removed his headphones and turned to face Gabriel.  His eyes registered understanding in them.

“Melissa is in danger, I need to go,” Gabriel said levelly.

“We will go then,” Yoshi said.

“You’re not going with me to America.”

“You’re not going without me.  You’ll need all the help you can get.  I just need to tell my family.”

“There is no time to return and tell your family, Yoshi.  I have to leave now.”

“I see,” Yoshi stated solemnly and hesitated.  

“You go back.  Go be with your family.  This is not your fight, Yoshi.”

“If it is your fight, then it is mine as well.”

“No, Yoshi.  This is not a sparring match.  This is real.  There is a good chance you will never return here alive. You have a family who needs you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Yoshi attempted sarcasm.  “As you are well aware, I am a much better fighter than you.  I trained you, remember.  So I’ll come back to Motuo County when I’m ready.  Furthermore, you will not be risking my life.  I’m going with you because you need my help and we are brothers.”

“Yoshi, that’s nice but—” Gabriel began.

“But nothing,” Yoshi interrupted. “And don’t go getting all misty-eyed on me, Ms. James.  I said I’m going, so I’m going.  End of discussion.  We’ll go to America and end this once and for all.  Then you can show me the skyscrapers and roads paved in gold as planned.”

Gabriel took a long look at Yoshi and realized he wouldn’t accept ‘no’ for an answer.  He sighed and conceded, “Fine, but we need to leave now.”

Chapter 9

––––––––

EUGENE OPENED HIS EYES but saw nothing, just a murky film shrouding his field of vision.  He blinked to clear the coating and discovered his efforts were ineffective, useless.  Blinded, he began to panic. He tried to breathe but felt his mouth fill with coagulated matter.  He immediately sought to move his arms, but his movement was met with resistance, with density.  His limbs pushed against a thick substance.  Thicker than water, the fluid in which he was suspended was viscous but parted with little exertion on his behalf.  As soon as he realized he could easily move against it, that his strength was sufficient to do so, he brought his hands to his chest where he remembered bloodied chasms to be.  There were none.  His body was intact.

Rage immediately washed over Eugene, drowning him.  Instantaneous images flashed in his mind’s eye. Vivid memories began rushing back.  Gabriel’s face appeared over and over, flooding him with anger so pure, so unadulterated, he struggled to name it and doubted he had ever experienced it before.  Tremors racked his body uncontrollably.  He made no effort to resist them or restrain them.

Gabriel James, his maker’s beloved creation, had shot him in Melissa Martin’s home.  He remembered feeling the bullets blast against his skin, exploding into his flesh.  He fought and clung to life, determined to complete the coveted task of murdering Gabriel.  He had not accomplished that which Stein had expected of him.  He had failed.

Eugene felt his blood race through his veins and thunder in his ears.  Failure was foreign to him, unheard of.  Sightless and breathless, he thrashed and flailed. He felt metal walls all around him. Balling his massive fists, he found a hard, slightly rounded surface and began pounding.  He struck and hammered until he felt it buckle beneath his might.  The harder he hit the more incensed he became.  He kicked and punched until he felt the walls around him yield.

As the structure of his containment surrendered, a light unexpectedly appeared.  A crescent shaped sliver appeared at first, then the brightness grew quickly and the gelatinous substance began to drain.

He gasped for breath, ravenously inhaling oxygen as a bespectacled face appeared before his.

Helmeted with thick, black hair, the face was haggard but recognizable. It belonged to Dr. Franklin N. Stein.

“Hello, Eugene,” his maker said.

“Where am I?” Eugene demanded.

“You’re safe. Don’t worry,” his maker replied.

“Where am I?” Eugene growled.

“You’re in California, the land of eternal sunshine. And it would behoove you to calm down. You do not want to destroy the very equipment that has kept you alive the last five months, do you?”

Eugene fought to calm himself, to harness the tempestuous ire he felt bubbling within him.  He looked around and recognized his surroundings.  He was situated in a large, steel tubular container identical to the one that facilitated his initial development.  The thick, milky fluid that had just drained was an augmented version of amniotic fluid Dr. Stein had created.

“Kept me alive? I wasn’t dead?” Eugene heard himself ask incredulously.

“No, Eugene. You almost died,” Stein began. “And to think, Gabriel, along with the help of a few lowly human beings, nearly killed you.  It’s hard to believe, I know,” Stein goaded.

His maker shook his head from side to side in exaggerated dissatisfaction before adding, “So disappointing.  I expected so much more from you, Eugene.”

Eugene felt the venom seethe within him and threaten to brim.  He exercised the modicum of restraint he possessed and reined in the compelling urge to resume pounding his enormous fists against the cylinder, pummel it until it collapsed, surrendered to his will.  His breathing became short and shallow again.  He strove to regulate it, to conceal from Stein the burning hate he experienced unceasingly.

“Relax, Eugene, I’ll have you out of there in a few moments. Just be patient.  I know it’s tight in there,” Stein said.

It was evident his maker mistook his anger for physical discomfort with confinement.  Eugene relaxed marginally.

“Fortunately, I was able to save you before you were hauled off to some inferior hospital only to be treated by an incompetent, sleep-deprived intern.”

“How did you do it?” Eugene asked.

Stein was deep in thought, thinking out loud.

“I suppose I could have let you go.  I’m certain you would have died.  But then I would have been forced to start over—the creation process, the training, the education—it would have taken so much time.  This way was not nearly as neat, but easier nevertheless.”

“I’ve been in here for five months?” Eugene questioned.

“Yes, Eugene.  You spent five months submerged in the highest quality amniotic fluid I have ever fashioned.  I had to tailor it to your specific needs.  You required greater amounts of growth hormone for healing those nasty wounds Gabriel and his little friends caused,” Stein pushed.

“I will deal with them,” Eugene promised.

“Yes, yes, Eugene. I’ve heard that from you before.  Of course, if you had dealt with them as I asked you to, this never would have happened.  We wouldn’t be having this discussion,” Stein reminded him.

Eugene felt his rage mingle with a new emotion: shame.  It wasn’t enough that Gabriel had been the one chosen to transform humanity, but now he had succeeded in disgracing him as well.  He inhaled deeply to push back his rising bile, instantly shaking off the fleeting feelings of indignity and replacing it with rancor.

“Yes, Dr. Stein, you’re right.  If I had killed Gabriel and Melissa as planned, this would not have happened,” Eugene agreed and gestured to his surroundings.

“Well, as long as we understand each other,” Stein said levelly.  “Let’s get you out of there.”

Eugene watched as Dr. Stein began turning a large, steel wheel affixed to the cistern.  Little by little, the reservoir opened lengthwise.  When it had parted sufficiently, Eugene swung his legs out and placed his feet on the concrete floor below.  He leaned forward to stand and was shocked to discover that his lower half was capable of bearing the totality of his weight.  His knees did not collapse, his ankles did not crumple.  His legs felt strong and sturdy.

“You seem fine, Eugene.  How do you feel?” Stein asked.

“I am myself.”

“Do you feel any weakness at all, or dizziness?”

“No.  I feel strong, stronger than ever,” Eugene replied as he stretched and flexed his formidable arms.

“Excellent, I have a plan that will allow you to redeem yourself, Eugene.  A plan that would give you the opportunity to dispose of Gabriel once and for all.”

“I’m listening.”

“I have reproduced Kevin Anderson, Chris Mace and John DeNardi, the three boys you murdered in the woods in Harbingers Falls.”

Eugene was careful to keep his facial expression neutral despite the outrage and incredulity he experienced.  He could not fathom a suitable explanation for time, resources, and above all, the remarkable talent his maker had expended to recreate three contemptible teenage humans.  He tensed every muscle in his face in an effort to abstain from twisting it into a mask of rage. 

Through taught lips he asked, “Why would you do that?”

“Are you questioning me Eugene?”

He felt as though he would explode.  Though it went against the indoctrination of his maker, instilled at his inception, Eugene bristled at the condescension in Stein’s voice, the arrogant and accusatory tone.  But he knew he needed to guard his resentment and judiciously choose his words as well as his own tone of voice.  He could not risk inflaming his maker; he could not risk termination.

“No, I’m merely wondering the reason for resurrecting three useless humans.”

“There is a reason for everything I do, as you very well know.  Gabriel has threatened to expose me if any harm comes to his pathetic little girlfriend.  To ensure her safety he has left her and moved to some unknown location.  I have recreated the three teenagers and sent them back to Harbingers Falls. Their return will get Gabriel’s attention wherever he’s hiding and draw him back.  After all, he believes that they’re dead, and will suspect that I have a hand in it.  When he returns to protect her, you will be there and kill them both.  Afterward, you will also need to dispose of the three clones. We cannot leave any loose ends.”

“I won’t disappoint you again.” Eugene stated.  The explanation had pleased him by offering opportunity to do what he did best, to kill.  Excitement replaced offense.  He found himself barely able to contain his eagerness at the prospect of murdering Gabriel and Melissa, as well as the three re-creations.

“You will need to be careful. I have augmented their physical prowess and implemented a new method I’ve been working on.  They were infused intravenously during their development in the tank with various hormone combinations to heighten their fast-twitch responses and muscle tissue production.  The serum acts as a cleaner, more sophisticated anabolic steroid.”

“So they will be stronger and faster than normal humans?” Eugene asked carefully concealing that the added challenge excited him further

“Yes, Eugene, they will, I thought it was important that if they had the opportunity to dispose of Gabriel themselves they would not find themselves at a disadvantage and fail.  There appears to be a problem though. The boys seemed far more motivated than I expected.  I am extremely concerned about their mental stability.  Identically cloning ordinary humans without improving their mental capacity is not something with which I have ever experimented.  Until now, it would have been a waste of time. My objective, as you know, has always been to improve mankind not recreate its flawed beings.  I’m concerned that their newfound strength and agility, combined with their fragile mental state, could prove problematic.  The sooner you return to Harbingers Falls to monitor the situation, the better.”

“So the plan is for me to babysit three teenage boys and wait for Gabriel?”

“You can think of it any way you like, though given your recent performance, babysitting would not be an unsuitable assignment for you.”

Eugene stared angrily at Stein; the insults were becoming increasingly difficult to endure and threatened to edge out his growing anticipation of sanctioned murder.  Stein seemed determined to test his innate inability to lash out verbally or physically.  His makers words incensed him despite the truth they maintained, Eugene had failed him.

“I will complete my task this time, Dr. Stein. You have my word,” Eugene promised.

“You had better, Eugene. I will not tolerate failure a second time,” Stein concluded and began walking toward a reinforced door that led outside.  The clacking of his heeled dress shoes stopped abruptly as he paused and looked over his shoulder to add, “There is a Hummer in the garage.  I would leave for Harbingers Falls as soon as possible if I were you.”

His comment was not a suggestion, it was an order.  Eugene immediately moved to an empty computer workstation and began searching for the most direct route from California to Harbingers Falls.

Chapter 10

––––––––

THE WEEKEND HAD PASSED fast, faster than Melissa would have liked.  She had not been in a hurry to return to school, had not been looking forward to seeing Kevin, John and Chris roaming the halls of Harbingers High School once again.  It had begun on Friday afternoon with an unexpected and unpleasant visit from Officer Miller.  That visit, combined with the anticipation leading up to a party at a classmate’s house, had thoroughly unnerved her and set an unfortunate tone for the remaining two days before a new school week began.

Friday night had been spent with Alex and Daniella at Greg’s party avoiding any form of interaction with Kevin, John and Chris.  Eric had rejoined them as soon as they’d arrived.  Just as Kevin’s many other followers aligned with him, Eric, also resumed his role as the fourth in their nasty quartet.

She noticed how their arrival at Greg’s house generated a commotion similar to celebrities arriving on a red carpet.  Everyone seemed intent upon making some form of contact with them.  Wide-eyed and adoring, her classmates approached Kevin and his crew with awe and admiration that was as unnerving as it was nauseating.  She watched as the foursome set about chatting and socializing with their adoring fans.

Kevin and his group had immediately established their presence and confirmed their authority.   They worked the party, doing nothing short of signing autographs. They shook hands, fist-pounded and high-fived their way through the crowds.  To avoid contact with them, Melissa would shepherd Daniella and Alex to another room just as Kevin, John, Chris and Eric moved into a room with their followers in tow.  Each time she glanced in their direction to signal it was time to leave, Eric’s eyes had met hers.

He’d stared at her with intensity she had found truly disconcerting.  She didn’t bother to tell her friends and make them aware of her discomfort and desire to leave.  She didn’t want to ruin their evening. She simply continued to find excuses to leave every room they entered.

As a result, the evening unfolded like an elaborate game of hide-and-seek, only she experienced no form enjoyment in playing as she’d assumed the role of the player who was continually pursued.  In fact, she recalled that hunted felt like a far more appropriate word for what had occurred.

Each moment she’d spent narrowly escaping a confrontation with Kevin and his friends had crept at a cruel and sluggish pace.  Petty and pigheaded, time had refused to comply with her fevered need to leave.

When finally the moment did arrive and Melissa had left the party, she’d felt as though she’d been liberated from imprisonment.  She nearly danced out of the front door smiling, until she caught a glimpse of a familiar set of eyes boring through the void in her direction.  As she met Eric’s gaze, she sensed something more than whatever concentrated emotion he sought to psychically direct toward her.  There was genuine urgency in his stare, desperation even.

Melissa could only speculate about what encouraged such intensity, especially since Eric had all but vanished after Kevin, Chris and John’s disappearance, once his friends were no longer staples of everyday life at Harbinger High School.  He had vanished, more completely than even she had, into the backdrop of the student population.  He hadn’t spoken to her or so much as looked her way in quite some time.

After months of silence, Eric seemed to reappear as if resurrected from the bottomless depths of obscurity in which he’d concealed himself.  Melissa found it curious how he appeared from the oblivion reenergized, readied, and oddly intent upon her.  He immediately fell in step with Kevin, Chris and John as if he, too, returned from the dead.

For five months, she had enjoyed his absence.  It had made her life slightly more tolerable in the wake of all that had happened.  But with his return, unrest resumed.

On Friday night, he stepped out from the shadows in which he’d hidden and made plain his latent feelings toward her.  He had glowered so intensely, unsettlingly, Melissa felt the need to avoid him altogether.  She couldn’t quite place the look he wore on his face and was reluctant to name it, though she’d had a fair guess at what likely fueled it.  At the party, she’d wondered whether it was an inherent need to complete unfinished business between them, and whether Kevin, Chis and John’s return prompted Eric’s newfound boldness.  After all, without the support of his friends, he hadn’t had the protection and motivation necessary to seek retribution.

As Melissa stood in the hallway of Harbingers High School and briefly relived the lowlights of her weekend, Eric’s eyes continued to haunt her.  Many questions arose in her mind.  Was he sorry for what he had done?  She highly doubted he was.  Was it pure malevolence she saw in his eyes?  She deemed that far more plausible.  She guessed his focus on her was born of anger—of hatred even—and that he intended to complete whatever torturous payback he felt she deserved.  She would likely bypass social purgatory altogether and be cast into social hell instead, unless he was planning something far worse.

A shiver slithered down the length of Melissa’s spine before she opened her locker and began collecting her textbooks.  As she fumbled with her belongings, she heard footsteps approach.  They advanced quickly, with purpose.  She immediately worried that whoever advanced was doing so hurriedly, to surprise her and catch her off-guard.

Her heart began to race and a familiar sense of dread filled her.  She quickly stuffed her books in her backpack and slammed her locker shut.  She turned, fully prepared to square off with the hasty individual who was within her reach.  She looked up, dizzied by anxiety with vision partly blurred by eyes moistened from concern only to see Alex standing before her.

“Ugh, I have trapped gas,” Alex complained as she patted her chest and screwed up her exquisite features.  “That’s the last time I’m getting a breakfast burrito.”

Relief washed over Melissa like rain on a hot summer day.  She relaxed and found herself smiling and shaking her head.

“You said that last time,” Melissa reminded. “And the time before that. And the time before that one as well.”

“All right, all right! I get it.  Save the lecture!  I’m in pain here.  Who cares if I get another one ever again?”

“Um, you should.  But that’s just a guess,” Melissa said jokingly.

Alex belched loudly.

“Ah, finally,” she said, relief lacing her words. “Whoa. I feel so much better now.”

“Okay. Glad to hear it. By the way, where’s Daniella?” she asked.

“Daniella said she’d catch up with us later,” Alex replied.

Before Melissa was able to ask another question, Eric rushed toward her, his face etched in stone.  With his jaw set, his brow furrowed and his lips pressed to a line that bordered on frowning, Melissa braced for hostile words.  The closer he loomed, the more terrified she became.

“What the hell is his problem?” Alex asked, not realizing he was looking directly at Melissa.

“I’m not sure, but I think it has something to do with me.”

“The fuck it does!  You’re not going through this shit anymore,” Alex said heatedly.

Eric was upon them, his posture tense and threatening.

“Melissa, I need to talk to you,” he said tersely.

“Get the hell out of here, Eric,” Alex spat.

He didn’t turn to look at Alex. He didn’t even respond.  He behaved as though he did not hear her.

“Please, Melissa, I need to speak with you. Alone.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Eric,” Melissa heard herself say as her legs threatened to give way beneath her.

“You don’t understand. It’s not like that,” Eric stressed.

“Not like what, Eric?  Not like you’re gonna tackle her in the woods?  Or slap her?” Alex hissed.

Melissa opened her mouth to speak, but the words were lost on her lips when she looked up to see Kevin rounding the corner, with Chris and John flanking him, headed straight toward her.

Suddenly, her heart thundered in her ears, racing dangerously.  Her stomach churned violently, her breakfast in danger of expulsion. Shaking and nauseated, Melissa stepped back and began to turn from Kevin.

“Where are you going in such a hurry, Melissa?” Kevin taunted and smiled revealing the singular indent in his right cheek.  “I would hate to think you’re leaving because of me,” he continued.

“Let’s get out of here,” Alex urged tugging at Melissa.

“She’s a big girl, Alex. Let her fight her own battles,” Kevin ordered.

Melissa leaned back and whispered to Alex, “Go get Arlene. Hurry.”

Arlene Cardwell, a retired corrections officer and current hall monitor, was a no-nonsense enforcer of the rules. And she was not a fan of Kevin Anderson, living or dead.

“I’ll be back with help,” Alex promised.  “This bullshit is not starting again.”

Melissa pushed forward.

“I’d love to stay and chat, Kevin, but I have to get to class,” she attempted.

“Not so fast, bitch,” he spat.  “We’re not finished here. In fact, we haven’t even begun.”

“And what exactly does that mean?” she asked, though she feared she already knew the answer.

“It means now that we’re back, things are going to be bad for you. Unimaginably bad.”

“What?” she asked incredulously as she felt the world spin on its axis.

“And soon, your little pretty boy will be back to save you and we’re gonna finish him off.”

“No, no, no,” she heard herself say.

“Oh yes.  And when we’re finished with him, we’ll have plenty of time to entertain ourselves with you,” he said and licked his lips.  And then he leaned toward her and whispered with his lips nearly touching her ear, “When the three us finish having our fun with you, were finally going to fucking kill you.”

Melissa did not remember fainting.  She did not remember dropping her bag or hitting the cold, hard floor.  She recalled seeing Kevin Anderson’s face haloed by the florescent overhead lighting, his sandy blond hair, expertly styled as usual, his deep brown eyes generously fringed with dark blond lashes and his gleaming white teeth.  She recounted how contradictory it seemed, how incongruous it was, that he should retain such an innocent, angelic appearance while he spewed such venomous words.  His full lips stretched across his bleached teeth seemed out of place, as inappropriate as a Ken doll manufactured as Jack the Ripper.  His exterior was not representative of his interior.  That was the last coherent thought she had before the world took on a nightmarish quality, eddying and swirling in a dizzying whirl of sounds and colors.  And then...darkness.

Chapter 11

––––––––

EUGENE DROVE ALONG the endless stretch of highway, oblivious of the monotony of travel, until an urge to kill awakened him from his slumberous state.  Five months of inactivity had left him with a vague sense of fogginess, of digression from his true purpose.  He was hesitant to precisely place what he was experiencing, but was relieved by the easily-identifiable impulse to murder.

No matter how strong the need to kill pressed, however, the unnamed feeling pressed as well.  It inflamed him to reflect upon sensations that stirred within him beyond his yearning for bloodshed.  Possessing emotion was a useless attribute unique to humans. He deemed pondering emotions more futile than humans themselves.  Nevertheless, for the purpose of identification, Eugene considered the feeling that threatened to ruin the realization of his hateful reverie.

As he did so, he reached a shocking conclusion.  The sensation he was experiencing was self-doubt.  Designed free of the burden of emotion, he resisted the revelation at first. He refused to concede to such a pedestrian sentiment.  After all, a superior being like him did not feel anything profoundly beyond hate, least of all insecurity.  In the interest of preserving the perfection of his single-emotion capacity he decided that insecurity threatened to hinder his potential performance and warranted immediate examination.  He scrutinized the events before his five-month hiatus and immediately identified the culprit of his uncertainty: Gabriel.

Gabriel James, the ever-present thorn in his side, was the reason he doubted himself.  Gabriel had surprised him with his girlfriend, Melissa, who had unexpectedly made violent use of a kitchen knife, and her shotgun-wielding father.  Both of them had joined forces with his nemesis and coordinated an attack.  Neither Gabriel nor the pair of humans was capable of defeating him on their own.  They had needed to arm themselves and unite to even pose a challenge.  They had gotten lucky.

Eugene allowed a bitter chuckle to escape him.  He found the pathetic trio’s victory unimpressive. Laughable.  Though their uninspiring conquest was just that, it had succeeded in putting him out of commission for an unacceptably long period of time.  Being confined to a steel creation tank, unable to do what he excelled at, for five long months had caused him to question his abilities.  He worried his razor-sharp skills had been dulled.  Fretting over his aptitude was unacceptable and a waste of time, time that needed to be spent gaining ground and getting closer to Gabriel.

He determined that the best way to remedy needless worry was to reassure himself of his unique talent. He needed to prove to himself that he could perform at the same stratospheric level he’d always maintained.  He needed to kill, soon, to confirm his competence.

Healing in his maker’s augmented version of amniotic fluid had served its purpose; he felt strong, but unmotivated until the present.

A fresh wave of wrath surged through him.  He would kill again and redeem himself.  He would kill Gabriel and Melissa, of that he was certain.  But in the meantime, a practice exercise designed to sharpen his skill and bolster his confidence was necessary.  A training drill involving multiple murders would serve both purposes.

Under normal circumstances, unsanctioned murder was forbidden by his maker.  Eugene seldom disobeyed his maker’s edicts.  However, the nature of his predicament demanded revision to the rules in place, they demanded defiance.  Continuous training had been an integral part of his development and remained a crucial component in maintaining his advantage over humanity.  His DNA necessitated that he engage in regular hunting, therefore killing without orders from Stein could not be considered wrong given the circumstances.  His unofficial drill was an essential step in readying himself for his most important task: killing Gabriel and Melissa.

Of course, he would not allow himself to diverge from his most momentous undertaking.  His mission would remain on schedule.  He would merely prepare along the way.

Anticipation overcame Eugene.  He felt obliged to answer the call to kill. He needed to act and immediately formulated a plan.  Months of rejuvenation had left him with a thirst that needed to be satiated. He hadn’t realized its urgency until the root cause of his lethargy was identified.

Behind the wheel of his behemoth Hummer H1 Alpha, a violent tremor racked his body.  His grip on the steering wheel tightened as the wrath he longed for finally simmered and smoldered within.  Indecision melted away and rage replaced it.  He had many miles to travel before reaching Harbingers Falls and knew that such a distance would be impossible to close if he did not kill.  The intrinsic need to pursue and conquer prey was woven into the fabric of his being. Carnage was more than a simple desire for him.  It beckoned him like a lustful lover and did not dismiss him until its need was met. 

Gripped by bloodlust, he pulled off the highway at the next exit and searched for a residential neighborhood.  He pulled his laptop computer from the backseat and accessed the Internet.  He started searching for criminal activity between his current location and Harbingers Falls. He sought criminal activity in surrounding states, specifically those where the suspects or assailants had been identified in some way.  He planned to target criminals because of their ineffectual function in society. The police would not bother wasting a tremendous amount of time or taxpayer dollars searching for their slayer.  They would likely assume the deaths of delinquents as retaliatory, a drug deal gone awry or revenge for wrongdoings.  Regardless, he was confident he would be doing the state a service by disposing of its offenders.

As he perused various sites concerning useless factions of equally useless humans, he happened upon a particularly active and misguided group responsible for several incidents in the neighboring state of Pennsylvania.  They called themselves white supremacists, a term he deemed positively absurd.  The basic tenets of their membership stated that they expressly believed they were superior to all others racial and religious groups and therefore entitled to dominate them.

As he narrowed his search, he learned that a local chapter of the neo-Nazi group had been orchestrating violent attacks on people who possessed deeper shades of pigmentation than themselves and those who worshipped differently.  Eugene decided he would visit one of their local haunts.  In fact, he needed to do so.  No one would miss the bigoted miscreants, not even their kin, with whom they likely sought to copulate in order to preserve what they believed to be their true Aryan bloodlines.

Eugene felt the corners of his mouth twist, bearing his lethally pointed incisors.  He pulled them downward and suppressed a grimace that would likely startle fragile-minded and easily frightened humans.

He focused his thoughts instead on slaughtering the beings who proudly assumed membership in an elitist club.  He thought about the irony contained within such membership, how such lowly creatures could actually believe themselves better than others.  No one particular group within the set of humanity could boast bragging rights; they were all inferior beings.

Anticipation swelled within him.  He began to tremble, barely able to contain his agitation, his eagerness. He would find a motel and rest for the afternoon before his training exercise would begin that evening at a known hangout of the neo-Nazi gang that was believed responsible for many of the violent crimes committed in their neighborhood.

He started his car and pulled out of concealment then proceeded down the tree-lined lane.  He crossed several similar streets until he reached a main thoroughfare.  He continued until he found a shabby-looking, no-name motel with two cars parked in front.  He quickly turned in to the lot, climbed out of his vehicle and entered the motel office.

After a brief encounter with an elderly man wearing the thickest eyeglass lenses he’d ever seen, Eugene procured a room at the far corner of the L-shaped outfit.  He visited the vending machine and bought two sandwiches with questionable-looking meat and cheese inside and two colas before retiring to his room.  He needed to rest before his much-anticipated pursuit commenced.  And according to his research, he would be pursuing quarry accustomed to violence.

His insides trilled at the thought of toying with adversaries familiarized with brutality and savagery.  They made for a more interesting experience.  Though his aggression invariably trumped theirs with ease, it was still far more exciting when victims offered a fight.

He wrestled the urge to leave without delay and murder them in broad daylight, but reconsidered the ramifications of such actions.  Stein would be less than pleased. Instead, he ate his sandwiches and drank his colas and soothed himself into a vitriol-filled trance for the next four hours.

Once the sun had set and the earth was blanketed in darkness, he roused himself from his meditation and prepared for his expedition.

Chapter 12

––––––––

THE FACELESS MAN HAD begun his journey, but hadn’t progressed in several days.  His attention had been diverted.  He had been watching someone of particular interest to him.

He had found her by accident.  Wandering through a wooded area on the outskirts of a small town in Pennsylvania, he had heard a sweet, melodious voice.  He had never heard a sound so inviting, so enchanting.  Drawn to it, he had felt compelled to follow it, to find the source of the captivating sound.

And he did.

As he expertly navigated a labyrinth of low-growing weeds and bramble, the voice began to sing a song about a farmer who had a dog unfortunately named Bingo.  He had never heard such a song but was mesmerized by it.  He had been so enthralled by the lyrics and intonation that the underbrush chafing at the delicate skin of his legs was numbed.

Once he arrived at a clearing, the sight he beheld left him breathless.

He was greeted by a field of plastic and metal arranged interestingly in an array of primary colors. Brightly painted and gleaming, each piece of equipment looked inviting.  Chutes, some curved and some straight, sloped down from ladders in a variety of heights.  U-shaped slabs of brilliant rubber dangled from chains enveloped in rubber tubing.  Miniature horses and rocket ships wobbled precariously from large springs that emerged from the grass like bouncy blossoms.

The faceless man felt excitement well up inside of him, brimming and teeming like carbonated bubbles.  At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to climb over the short, chain-linked fence that separated him from the colorful wonderland and discover the purpose of each piece of apparatus.

Just as he raised a formidable foot to the top of the fence, movement beyond the playground halted him.  He remained perfectly still and waited to see what stirred.

And then he saw her.

Bathed in the ethereal glow of dusk, she emerged from a haloed door and floated across a small patch of grass to a network of ropes held together by a pulley.  She held in her hands a large, rectangular piece of paper with over a dozen brightly colored handprints on it and began to affix it with clothespins. Once the paper had been properly hung, she stepped back to admire the shiny marks.

The faceless man gasped then struggled to exhale, sheer delight held him captive, spellbound, as her lips spread slightly at first, then so much so that her cheeks formed near-perfect circles on either side of her face.  He found her breathtaking.

Much smaller in stature than he with thin, fragile-looking limbs, she had light blonde hair that was cropped closely to the nape of her neck and at the sides.  The top hung like flaxen veils across her forehead and framed her elfin features, each tiny and refined, save for her eyes.  Her eyes were pools of deep brown.  Striking and large and fringed generously with long lashes, they penetrated the growing darkness and were unmistakable despite the onset of twilight.  They peered into the early evening as if they had looked right at him.  He imagined that her eyes held him briefly; that she had looked directly at him, even though he knew she’d gazed at some distant point beyond him, before she’d returned her focus to the hodgepodge of prints hanging from cording.  Then she turned and reentered the lighted building.

The faceless man knew then that he would have to see her again.

Each day since, he returned to that same spot in the woods behind Sunbeams Nursery School and watched her.  He risked exposure by lurking in the daylight hours rather than sleeping.  But sleep had evaded him.  His mind refused to rest.  He needed to see her.  His need supplanted whatever jeopardy he placed himself in.

He had spent each of the last three days watching as she shepherded a dozen children from the building to the outdoor play area.  He observed her delight at their enjoyment.  They would run and frolic in the warm sunshine of early spring chasing butterflies or picking flowers.  She read them stories and sang songs with them.  She never yelled at them or shrieked.  She never beat them or had she attacked them.  In fact, her actions were tender and affectionate, gentle.  She was the epitome of kindness.

He knew from observation that the spritely, doe-eyed woman was incapable of meanness.  He was certain of it.  So sure was he that on the fifth day of surveillance, a rainy day, he became emboldened by confidence and ambled up to a window of the building.  He crouched in a clustering of tall shrubs and afforded himself a closer view.  The pane had been raised to allow fresh air to circulate. Fortunately for him, it also awarded him the privilege of hearing her voice.

He listened and stared intently through the opened window as a situation arose.  A boy unexpectedly erupted after being given instructions to sit in his seat for a midmorning snack.  He refused to comply with her instructions.  He began flailing his arms erratically, shouting and crying simultaneously.  One of the boy’s arms even struck her in her porcelain cheek as he flapped and floundered.

The faceless man was frightened by the boy’s outburst and had been positive she would have to strike him for being so mean to her.  To his shock, she didn’t strike him back.  Instead, she did something rather odd.  She squatted down beside him, opened her arms and embraced him tenderly.

The boy was soothed instantly.  She held him in her arms for what seemed like an eternity before holding him at arm’s length from her and using the back of her hand to brush away tears that remained on his face.

Mollified, the boy began to comply with her original request that he be seated and consume the nutritious snack she had offered him.

From the interaction he witnessed between the little boy and the elfin angel, the faceless man had received all the proof he would need.  He knew she was incapable of cruelty.  To be doubly sure, though, he decided he would wait until sunset and follow her home.  After all, a person did not pretend at home.  He had not wanted to risk being hurt by yet another unkind, malicious human.  He required one last piece of reassurance before he would offer himself to her.

He resolved to observe her one last time, in the comfort of her domestic habitat, before forging what he perceived as the beginning of a lifelong friendship.

That night, after the children had left, tables had been sanitized and chairs had been upturned upon them, she locked the doors and exited the building.  The sun had just retreated into the horizon line in brilliant shades deep orange and salmon to darkening breadths of violet sky.  The surrounding woods were been blanketed in cyan shadows.  He waited in the obscurity for her to begin her voyage home. Shockingly, she didn’t travel to the adjacent parking lot.  She began walking.  Such a gesture had further supported his belief in her goodness. Only a truly conscientious human being would elect to employ her natural machination as opposed to a pollution–peppering automobile to move about the planet.  He was been impressed.

He followed her, allowing her to gain a considerable head-start before he shuffled, at an inhumanly swift pace, after her to her house only a few blocks away.

Cloaked in shadows, he watched her from her window, saw that she lived alone.  From such an intimate vantage point, he was able to scrutinize her every move, her behaviors when no one was watching.  She was so peaceful, so serene, radiating light and love curled up on her couch with a book in her hands, he contemplated stepping up to the front door and showing himself  to her in that moment.  But doubt prevailed.  And he skulked away unable to muster the courage to meet her.

The world had wearied him, jaded him.

He left her house and scrambled to his retreat in the woods beyond Sunbeams Nursery School confident that rest would reveal the self-assurance he sought.

After another day of watching and waiting in the misty shadows beyond the windows of her classroom, the faceless man felt buoyed.  He could not fully comprehend why exactly he had felt as such; he simply knew he would meet her in the hours forthcoming.

Just one sleep and he’d meet her...

The next day, a fine mist of rain was falling.  The air was thick and humid.  He decided he would rest before their first official meeting and stepped from his bush-covered crevice of the school and dashed across the play area to his lair beyond the chain-link fence.

Resting against a sycamore with his knees drawn to his chest, the faceless man tried to close his sparsely lidded eyes and induce sleep.  As he rested, he could hear her mellifluous cadence.  Thanks to his superior hearing, her voice sounded as clear and strong as it would if she were standing before him.  The sound should have soothed him.  But it did not.  Relaxation and sleep eluded him.  Instead of drowsiness, he felt a rush of anticipation.  It abounded inside him crowding out any lingering feeling of doubt and despair. Suddenly restless, sleep no longer felt necessary.  He needed to move, to stretch his legs while he contemplated the dawn of a new phase of his short existence.  He would go to her the next day and make plain his desire for friendship.  He was certain she would be kind to him, embrace him as she did her students.  She would accept him as no one else ever had.

He rose to his feet and began to walk, optimism encouraging his every step.  He did not intend to go anywhere in particular he just needed to put his nervous energy to use.  He would never rest if he did not exhaust the seemingly indefatigable enthusiasm within him.

He wandered deeper and deeper into the more heavily forested territory beyond his hideout.  Fog blanketed the woods, clinging to branches overhead and adhering to intertwined vines that crept with serpentine stealth from the forest floor up trunks until they extended sinuously and wrapped themselves in a helix formation around boughs.  The farther he moved into the woodland, the more challenging walking became as creepers reached from underfoot in a brazen attempt to topple him and dense vapor sought to disorient him.

The faceless man refused to be deterred by his surroundings on the eve of the most momentous day of his life.  He continued, instead, through milky condensation until he arrived at a familiar location.  Crossing the threshold of the woods, he stepped down on pavement.  And there it was.

Her house stood alone at the end of a narrow lane of cracked blacktop flanked by massive cedars.  The limbs of the cedar trees drooped as if carrying the fog as they would the weight of wet snow.  Their appearance gave the impression of majestic mustached watchmen guarding the neighborhood.  They stared out sightlessly through an intimidating network of needles, as if poised to dispatch their prickly spines at the first sign of an intruder.

The sightless sentinels ignored the faceless man as he passed, however.  Nettles were never hurled at him as he proceeded toward her home.

He was vigilant as he passed neighboring homes.  He watched for people milling about but there were none. Just him. And pale shapes of curdled mist that pressed to casement windows, gazing in like peeping toms, deciding whether the inhabitants were conducive to their spying.

With a dormered roof, cedar-shingle walls, trumpet vines espaliered along the roof line and an ivy-covered porte-cochere, the cottage could have easily been replicated from a storybook and constructed to full-scale by a talented architect and construction crew.  The cottage was a striking contrast to the colder, more modern homes on her block.  But they lacked charm and whimsy.  Her home seemed as unique and special as she was.

As he drew closer, he saw that a cheerful light glimmered and twinkled along the beveled edges of the diamond-shaped pane of glass on her front door, as though a person of magical power resided within.  He knew she was not home, that the light was a ruse for wayward intruders, and stepped onto her property.

He walked under the plant-covered awning that preceded her front steps and briefly imagined a horse-drawn carriage would have suited the fairytale appeal of her home before he moved up the treads and, using a spare key he found beneath a ceramic frog found on his last visit, opened her front door.

Nothing had changed since he last viewed her there.  Furniture had not been moved, decorations had not been replaced.  He listened intently for the sound of stirring from within the dwelling. When certain that it was, in fact, temporarily vacant, he breathed deeply, inhaling the fragrant aroma that infused the air. He detected a faint scent of lavender and vanilla.  The perfume was spellbinding, inviting.

He began searching a stack of papers spread haphazardly on a table in the entryway.  Each article was addressed to Lisa Evans.  He found the unearthing of her mail to be a most fortuitous and beneficial discovery as friendship would best be forged if he knew her name.  Though he could neither speak her name nor share his own as he was incapable of speech and remained unnamed, knowing her name made him feel more acquainted with her, closer to her, like a friend. 

Thrilled with his newly acquired information, the faceless man felt readied to meet Lisa Evans in moments rather than hours.  He decided to wait until she arrived, refused to allow the passage of time to wither his confidence.

He seated himself on her floral-printed sofa and eagerly anticipated her arrival.

And as if the karmic powers of the world had conspired to right the many wrongs perpetrated against him since his creation, a sound at the front door fostered his hope and indicated that his new friend was home.  He waited until she entered and hung her slicker on a hook in the foyer before he rose from the sofa and approached her.

She didn’t see him right away, but from the slight change in her posture, she sensed a presence.

“Hello?” she called out.  “Is anybody there?”

Unable to call out to her and alleviate her fears, the faceless man rushed toward her from the concealment of the shadows.

As he hurried her way, he saw her eyes widen and the color drain from her complexion.  He did not mean to startle her and raised his hands in a gesture of submission, of friendship.  She did not understand his gesture and began to scream.  The shrill, piercing sound hurt his ears.  She screeched and cried out, shouting unimaginable profanities at him, words he didn’t think a schoolteacher could possibly know.

She yelled unendingly. Her shrieks became so fevered that the faceless man began to panic.  He didn’t understand her reaction, how she could respond with such negativity to him when he meant her no harm.

He reached his hand out to her, to touch her arm.  She jerked it away from him and screamed more vulgar language at him.  With no other option, he lurched forward and grasped the lower half of her face firmly in his hand.  He needed to silence her in order to make her understand his desire for friendship.  As his hand brushed the soft skin of her lips, she reached up her elfin hands and began to claw at him.  She scratched and bit and kicked at him with every ounce of might contained within her diminutive body.

The faceless man was mystified by her behavior.  She had seemed so nice before, so kind and accepting. Now, however, she was being so cruel.  He pulled away his gnawed hand and replaced it with his other, only this time he pressed harder to stop the horrendous sound that resumed.  Strident and high pitched, her scream sounded nothing like her honeyed singing voice or her sweet speaking voice.  He continued to push harder and harder against her mouth, fearful that she’d thrash again and unwilling to hear her restart her earsplitting shrieks.

Before long, she ceased to resist his efforts.  The screaming stopped and so did her flailing.  He wondered if perhaps she’d finally come around to the idea of him.  He removed his hand from her face and saw that her eyes were wide, wider than usual.  But her doe-eyed stare was vacant.

He let go of her immediately and her body fell to the floor lifelessly.

The faceless man fell to the ground as well.  He curled into a ball and clutched his knees to his chest in the fetal position.  It had been the worst day of his existence yet.  He had been sure she would be kind to him, certain they’d be friends.  But he had been wrong.  She turned out to be a cruel and horrible person just like everyone else he’d encountered thus far.  He pitied himself.  He was a treasure, not a monster.  He had been nothing but mistreated since his inception.  He began to shed tears of sadness for himself and his unfortunate fate.  He started to doubt once again, doubt he’d ever find a friend.  But he quickly remembered that he still had one chance.  He would complete his journey and travel to Harbingers Falls. He would find Melissa Martin.  She would be his friend undoubtedly.  After all, she had lovingly accepted Gabriel James, a fellow creation of Dr. Franklin Stein.  She would accept him, too. Love him even.  If goodness existed in the world, he would find it, and he suspected it resided in Harbingers Falls.

Chapter 13

––––––––

LEADEN CLOUDS ADVANCED determinedly, pressing their way past waning rays of gold across the spring sky. In the distance thunder rumbled.  Trees shivered and turned over their tender leaves, shining an eerie, iridescent shade of jade against darkening heavens.  Branches whipped and lashed about as the wind began to gust. Gabriel and Yoshi were driving directly into a storm’s path.

The rising wind rocked the rental car as they traveled along Interstate 98, a highway canopied by American Sycamore trees that led directly to Harbingers Falls.  Thunder growled again like a starved and angered beast, snarling and roaring a ferocious warning.  Lightning flashed and the wind howled thrashing boughs as they surrendered new foliage to its might.

Outside, the light had been besieged, eclipsed. Inside the rented 2012 Jeep Cherokee, however, optimism prevailed.

Though time spent traveling did little to allay Gabriel’s worry, he couldn’t help but feel excited.  Despite hours spent moving about that left him feeling powerless and incapable of defending Melissa, his frustration and restlessness abated as he moved closer to Harbingers Falls.  Such feelings were a welcome reprieve from the more than fourteen hours spent flying from China to New York during which time Gabriel’s mind entertained various scenarios that would have been judged science fiction by most rational people.

Yoshi, on the other hand, appeared to be in awe of all he had seen.  While Gabriel labored testily through the chaos of the airport terminal after they had landed, his travel companion chattered incessantly about the thrill of flying, the lights, the people, the shops, and more specifically, New York.  With countless places to eat and shop, John F. Kennedy Airport functioned as a city within a city and did nothing short of amaze Yoshi.  He stared with mouth agape at every site proffered.

From the passenger seat of the Cherokee, Yoshi remained enthusiastic and eager to discuss what he’d seen.

“I can’t believe how exciting this place is!”  Yoshi said, enamored by his limited American experience.  “I knew there would be lights and people, but I never imagined there would be so many.  And the roads... they’re paved!  All of them!  They’re not paved in gold, but wow!  How did you sleep ever in such an exciting place?”

“It’s a challenge, Yoshi,” Gabriel admitted, recounting his many sleepless nights spent contemplating his growing feelings for Melissa, then agonizing over revealing his origins to her.

“And this place we’re headed...Harbingers Falls... is it as exciting as the terminal?  Does it have as many lights and people as Kennedy Airport?”

“Not quite.”

“Does it have the restaurant with the golden arches?”

“Yes. Two in fact”

“Two arches or two restaurants?”

“Technically, both.  There are two restaurants. Four arches total.”

“Excellent!” Yoshi said enthusiastically.

As far as Gabriel could tell, the apex of the many high points of Yoshi’s trip thus far, had been dining at McDonald’s.  They stopped there to eat while in the airport. Yoshi had expressed his delight rather verbally, oohing and ahhing throughout his meal.

“There are other restaurants, too, you know,” Gabriel offered.

“Are they as good as McDonald’s?  Do they have the French fries?  If so, I would like to try them all,” Yoshi declared.

“Some do, some don’t.”

“We will go to the ones that do, right?”

“Um, we’ll try.  We have to find Melissa first.”

Thunder rolled once again, closer this time.  Lightning struck in the distance, lighting the horizon.  Large droplets of rain began to fall slowly at first, then faster.

“I can’t wait to meet Melissa. I’ve heard so much about her,” Yoshi said.

“You’ll like her. She’s...” Gabriel began but lost his words as he pictured her face.

“Beautiful,” Yoshi teased.

“Yes, beautiful, and even that’s an understatement.” Gabriel agreed. “I just hope she still likes me.”

“From everything you’ve told me, there is no need to worry.”

“I’m not so sure.  A lot of time has passed.”

“It’s only been five months.  That’s nothing.”

“She may not feel the same way for me anymore.  Five months to a teenage girl is a lifetime,” Gabriel worried aloud.

“Not where I’m from, a man could leave his wife and go on a journey for years, and when he returned, it would be as if no time had passed. Love is love. Time can’t change that.”

Gabriel’s throat tightened around the words he was about to speak. “It’s different here, Yoshi.”

“What do you mean different?”  Yoshi asked puzzled.

Gabriel took a moment to compose himself. “I mean that people are different, there’s so much going on all the time.  So many distraction. They’re just much quicker to move on with their lives I guess.” His voice caught on his last sentence.  He hoped Yoshi hadn’t caught it.

“After only five months?  Not possible if she felt about you the way you said she did.”

“Maybe.” Gabriel shrugged. “We obviously weren’t married. We weren’t even together very long.” An ache spread through his chest.  “I probably took it a lot more seriously than she did.”

Yoshi leveed a look his way. “I doubt that,” he said

“When I was with Melissa, it was the first time I’d ever experienced feelings. It’s no wonder that I haven’t been able to think of anything but her, he tried to rationalize. “But it certainly wasn’t like that for her.”

“Okay, but you told me that she felt the same way about you?” Yoshi’s brows gathered in confusion.

“Think about it, Yoshi. We were only together for a short time and now I have been gone for five months. I’ve barely even been able to contact her. Anyone would have moved on.”

“I still don’t get what being gone for a few months has to do with your relationship.  Feelings are feelings.  They don’t change that quickly.”

“But they do. Feelings diminish over time.”

“I don’t believe it.” Yoshi said with confidence.  “They do not diminish if they were real.”

“Well, if I’d been here this conversation would be far less relevant.  Being on the same continent would have helped.  Having unlimited Internet and phone access would have helped.” Gabriel’s mind spun in dizzying circles around all the reasons Melissa would have to have moved on.

“But you didn’t. So?”

“So maybe she forgot about me.  I couldn’t even tell her where I was.  I wasn’t reachable.” He was certain the silence that spanned between them had been resounding.  Communication was key to any relationship. Even as a novice to emotionality he knew that much.

“You had to do what you had to do to survive.  It’s not like you picked up and moved to Motuo County for fun or something, though I am partial to my home just for the record.  You never would have left her if you didn’t absolutely have to.”

“She was the only person I’ve ever loved, I shouldn’t have left.”

“Are you saying you don’t love me?”  Yoshi asked sarcastically as he leaned toward Gabriel and batted his eyes dramatically.

“Not even a little!”  Gabriel retorted.

Yoshi laughed then added, “Don’t worry about it. When you see her you’ll see that I’m right, that nothing has changed.”

“I doubt it.”

“Wow, you’re really difficult.  And acting kind of like a girl.  Maybe after this car ride, I will be an expert on girls,” Yoshi mocked.

“Shut up!  You don’t understand,” Gabriel said irritably.

“Oh no!  Miss James is getting mad.  Look out!  She may throw one of her high heels,” Yoshi continued.

Gabriel kept one hand on the steering wheel and launched the other into Yoshi left arm.

“Ouch!  You’re a testy little girl, aren’t you?”

Gabriel raised his fist again and Yoshi raised both hands meekly.

“Okay, okay.  Point taken.  No need for violence.  I know you’re sensitive,” he railed again and promptly deflected a blow intended for his bicep.

“Cut it out Yoshi. I’m serious,” Gabriel said plainly.

“All right, all right.”

“Don’t you get it, Yoshi?  Just as quickly as it began, it could have ended.  For her.”

“Stop worrying.  Everything will be fine, Miss J–,”  Yoshi began but was interrupted by Gabriel’s balled fist blasting against his shoulder.

As Gabriel leaned and punched, his other hand on the steering wheel jerked to the right as well.  The Cherokee lurched dangerously on the rain-soaked highway, veering into the adjacent lane.  Fortunately, he and Yoshi were the only ones driving on the road at that moment.  Other motorists appeared to have headed the warnings issued by the National Weather Service that advised against traveling in the path of the dangerous storm.

“Whoa, man!  Focus on the road!  You can’t help Melissa if you’re dead,” Yoshi declared.

Gabriel did not respond. Instead, he took his friend’s advice and concentrated on driving.

Rain pelted the windshield and the wind blew more forcefully.  After flexing its muscles temporarily, the fiendish storm confronted intensely and became fierce.  Silvery streaks flashed threateningly across the iron sky, tearing at ashen heavens until they hemorrhaged furiously.

The wipers on the Jeep Cherokee worked frantically to clear the windshield from the assault.  A formidable vehicle in most weather, the Cherokee proved an excellent choice.  Gabriel had never selected a vehicle himself, his maker had chosen for him.  When the moment arrived at the rental station in the airport terminal, he opted for a vehicle that closely resembled his hunter-green Ford Explorer.  A midnight-blue Jeep Cherokee was the closest match.

After picking the vehicle he desired, Gabriel was informed that cash was not an acceptable form of currency and that a credit card was needed for insurance purposes.  He had quickly contemplated the ramifications of such a transaction before nervously offering a credit card to the teller.

Before leaving Dr. Stein’s residence in Harbingers Falls, Gabriel had taken a substantial amount of cash and several credit cards.  He was reluctant to use the cards as the accounts were linked directly to his maker’s; a paper trail would begin.  Certain that Stein would closely monitor the activity of the missing cards, Gabriel had used them only a handful of times.  He was loath to announce his arrival in America much less his arrival in New York.

Horizontal rain blustered as the storm raged on.  Gabriel’s eyes remained on the stretch of road before him but his mind wandered.

With Yoshi silenced and only the weather to contend with, the rest of the trip passed quickly.  In what felt like seconds rather than just under an hour, the exit sign for the neighboring town of Darling appeared.

In just a few short miles, Gabriel would be in Harbingers Falls and with Melissa Martin again.

Chapter 14

––––––––

EUGENE TRAVELED LESS than fifty miles to his destination and after consulting his GPS navigation system confirmed his arrival at a clapboard house that had been converted to a tavern.  Colonial-style with heavily timbered framing, a gabled roof and central chimney and doorway, the architecture suggested construction in the 1700s and meticulous maintenance.  Eugene’s extensive education enabled him to perceive such subtleties.

The Rider Motorcycle Club was inconspicuous looking from the outside.  To the untrained eye, it looked like any other biker-friendly hangout:  a neat row of motorcycles aligned in front, Harley-Davidson and American flag decals affixed to the doors.  The bar was identical to any other that favored motorcycle-riding clientele. But Eugene knew otherwise.  He knew its inhabitants were far more vested than the colors they donned, that they were united by hate.  By fear.

Eugene despised the fearful.

He parked his Hummer in the gravel-filled lot alongside the building and walked to the front door.  He tried the door and half expected it to be locked due to the virtually nonexistent light in the narrow windows.  When the handle turned and he pushed open the door, he saw a sparsely populated clubhouse of sorts.  Drab and dimly lit, the interior of the saloon was not consistent with the exterior.  It displayed a weathered bar area with stools, a pool table and roughly six round tables.  As he looked about, Eugene guessed that every surface would be sticky, grimy. Filthy humans, he thought.  He inspected the space further and thought it deserted save for the faint sound of music coming from an open door to the rear.

Light poured from the entryway illuminating pictures along the walls.  A mustached man with slickened black hair stared out angrily from behind his glass enshrinement saluting with his right arm extended straight ahead at shoulder level while his banded left arm held his hat across his body.  Eugene had never noticed how much Dr. Franklin Stein resembled Adolf Hitler until the present.  Hitler hung alongside Ku Klux Klan photographs, and Confederate and Nazi flags draped on the walls.

Voices loudened from beyond the doorway and footsteps approached quickly.  The inhabitants of the bar had become aware of his presence.

Five men moved through the doorway. One brandished a pool cue.  All had smoothly-shaven heads. All were heavily tattooed.  Eugene wondered why they, or anyone else for that matter, would voluntarily mutilate their bodies with such atrocious shapes and colors.  Having childish pictures drawn on one’s flesh was a premise so ridiculous, only a human could have thought it up. Yet, so many humans did.  It was as if one had decided it was a good idea and the rest followed suit, like a flock of wretched sheep. Eugene believed that it was this very behavior that was the ruination of mankind, their inability to think rationally, and for themselves.  Instead of self-guided learning and exploration, they wandered aimlessly, incapable of any form of originality.

Eugene longed to execute them where they stood for their unoriginality, their pathetic need for acceptance.  They strode through confidently, clad in matching leather vests over denim jackets with a red and white patch bearing a Greek mythological figure of a winged harpy at its center on the breast pocket. Just below the patch was a Greek cross with the four ends of the arms bent in a clockwise direction.  Also known as a swastika, the insignia was the clearest indicator of white supremacy in Western countries.  He fought to suppress laughter at the notion that the idiots with matching bald heads, identical outfits and similar ink drawings disfiguring their skin, actually considered themselves superior to anyone, living or dead.  The idea was preposterous, pathetic.

He watched as the men stopped in their tracks as soon as they saw him.  They said nothing, just looked on in silence.  Eugene did not speak either.  He simply stepped up to a stool at the bar and sat, waiting to be served.

A burly, barrel-chested man in his mid-forties walked behind the bar and stood before Eugene.

“I’ll have a draft beer,” Eugene ordered and placed money on the bar.

The bald and brawny biker looked quizzically at him then set about retrieving a glass and filling it. Eugene divided his attention between the man before him and the mirror.  The reflective glass enabled him to keep an eye on the others that milled about.  They were all well-constructed humans, hearty-looking and substantial.  Eugene could not wait to engage them.  He could feel the tension mounting in the room, could smell it in the air.

He spied one of the men move at his back.  A tall man with pale eyebrows and a swastika tattooed on his throat approached the seat beside him.  He ordered a beer from the barkeep as well.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Neck Tattoo said then trained his gaze on Eugene.

“You know this is a private club, right pal,” he stated more than asked.

“I do,” Eugene answered flatly while staring straight ahead.

“You don’t look like a member from another charter.”

“Because I’m not. Do I look like a bald-headed fool who has people scribble on my skin for entertainment?”  Eugene interrupted.

The man with the neck tattoo became visibly agitated. He appeared to be calculating his next move. Eugene fought back a tremor of excitement.

“What’re you doing here then?” Neck Tattoo said between clenched teeth.

“I thought it was Ladies Night,” Eugene stated calmly and turned to face the man with the neck tattoo.

He discerned the look of surprise on his face.  The man with the neck tattoo was clearly not used to defiance.

“Ladies night,” he spat with confusion lining his features, then looked to the barkeep.

“Yes, Ladies Night,” Eugene affirmed as he turned and looked at the rest of the men in the bar. “Is it not? Because all I see in in front of me are six little bitches.”

Eugene loathed the use of colloquial lingo and profanity, but felt it necessary in his current circumstance. Low-functioning humans related to such debasing language and responded strongly to it.

“Bitches? Why don’t you take off those glasses and that cap, asshole?” the man ordered as he stood up and faced Eugene.

“Why don’t you try and take them off me?” Eugene responded calmly.

At that, the bartender produced a shotgun he’d likely grabbed from beneath the bar, cocked it and pointed it directly at Eugene.

Eugene disdained armaments of any kind.  He believed weaponry was reserved for the weak and cowardly, and in this instance, the unoriginal.  He abhorred how human beings clung to their shiny guns, falsely comforted by the power they erroneously offered.

“You think you’re fucking funny, pal?” the man with the shotgun asked.

“I say we waste him and throw his body in the river,” Neck Tattoo said.

“You walked into the wrong bar asshole,” a voice said behind him.

Eugene smiled a full, teeth-baring smile. Neck Tattoo jerked his head back, shocked.

“Oh, I’m in just the right place,” Eugene replied as he immediately snapped his hand forward and grabbed the barrel of the shotgun, aiming it away from himself as the bartender pulled the trigger.

The weapon discharged with a thunderous boom and blasted against Neck Tattoo’s chest, a bloodied crater left in its wake.

“What the fuck!” one yelled.

“Kill that mother-fucker!” another rallied.

Eugene then yanked the gun, pulling with the entirety of his might, as the barkeep refused to relinquish his grip.

The shotgun and the barkeep sailed over the bar.  Eugene maintained control of the gun and landed the burly barkeep on his back.  Stunned and in a prone position, the barkeep did not have time to react to the enormous booted foot that crashed down against his neck, crushing his windpipe and severing his spine instantly.

With the shotgun in his hands, Eugene aimed it at the remaining four men.

A hush befell the motorcycle club.

The identically-dressed, bald humans adorned with inky symbols about their exposed flesh began to produce an enchanting aroma.  Their scent perfumed the air. Eugene pushed back the rising exhilaration within him, wanted to delay his enjoyment.  He turned his head to one side, away from the Neo-Nazi club members, to savor the smell of fear briefly.

As he did so, the men became emboldened.  They stepped backward, awakened from their stunned silence and immobility.

“Oh, I bet you wish I didn’t have this gun,” he said.

Eugene proceeded to eject the residual shells from the shotgun and threw the emptied weapon behind the bar.

Seeing his gesture, the men exchanged quick glances then charged.  Eugene smiled as he caught the first man in stride and grabbed him by the back of his head and slammed him face-first into the bar.  As his upper body bounced back ricocheting off the worn wood of the bar, it revealed crushed and distorted features, crumbled and misaligned from impact.  Blood bubbled from his nose and mouth as he wheezed his final breaths.

Eugene wished he could prolong the man’s death and extend his anguish and suffering and gaze in his eyes as life escaped him. But such luxuries could not be afforded.

He allowed himself a fleeting glance at the dying man as a biker rushed him from behind.  The man dropped his shoulder as he charged, making plain his intention to tackle Eugene to the ground. What the foolish, testosterone-driven human motivated by emotion did not anticipate was Eugene’s lightning fast reflexes.

Eugene caught the supremacist in the seconds before his shoulder smashed into his body and hurled him over the bar.  His body slammed against the glass behind the bar.

Bottles of liquor placed on ledges along the length of the glass crashed to the ground as the mirror itself exploded, showering innumerable shards of in every direction.  Dichroic slivers rained to and fro like shimmering daggers.

The rusher remained unmoving in a pile of broken bottles and bloodied glitter.  Eugene was certain he had not survived the impact.  If the Neo-Nazi biker somehow retained a modicum of vitality, Eugene would not be able to enjoy its evaporation.

Two others remained.  One still held his pool cue and descended upon Eugene immediately.

Eugene turned just as the stick was being swung at his head.  He reached up a massive hand and grabbed at it, snapping it in half.  He turned the cue in his hand aiming the splintered and jagged edge outward then thrust it into the man’s abdomen.  The stick passed through with the ease of a knife passing through warm butter and jutted out from his lower back giving him the appearance of a grisly human kebab.  Color drained from the impaled man’s face as he bled out.  His features twisted in shock first, then pain.  Eugene wanted to stay with him, to watch his lifeblood leave him and enjoy his slow death.  But he did not have time for such a luxury.  Another remained.

The last man standing did not exhibit fear outwardly, but his body chemistry suggested otherwise.  Eugene detected the vaguest whiff of fear-tinged sweat.

With his head gleaming in the overhead lighting like a pallid, spectral dome, the remaining man projected bravery.  Eugene doubted any human could be foolish enough to still believe he was capable of posing a challenge to him.  He wondered how, despite his display of obvious superiority and power, the man remained delusional and believed he had a chance at survival.

“You don’t scare me, asshole. I’ve killed bigger than you on the inside,” he declared defiantly.

Eugene guessed his bold talk was more for his own encouragement than intimidation.  Prison references did not impress him. It simply indicated that his poor attention to detail and overall sloppiness had gotten him caught and subsequently incarcerated.

The man moved toward him swiftly and swung at him.  Eugene allowed the punch to connect with his face and land against his jaw.  When the blow barely registered any pressure, he was promptly disappointed.  He thought the man would have more power.  He ought to have more power.  He was not shoddily constructed or laden with excessive body fat as most other humans were.  He was tall and muscular, a formidable specimen by lesser, human standards.

Clearly heartened, the man struck again.  The strike collided with Eugene’s nose and shattered his sunglasses.  The man paused and regarded Eugene’s feline eyes and finally displayed fear.

Satisfied, Eugene spoke.

“My turn,” he said calmly then lashed his fist forward at full force into the man’s ribs,

Bone surrendered readily to his strength, collapsing and crumpling on contact.

The man howled out in pain but his scream was silenced by Eugene’s balled fist striking his jaw, fracturing his face and mangling his features.  The man fell to the floor unable to catch his breath.

Eugene felt the excitement swell inside.  Only this time, he did not deny himself.  Rather, he picked the writhing man from the floor by his flaccid neck and rewarded himself with an unadulterated view of his death.

The man stubbornly clung to life.  Eugene began to apply steady and deliberate pressure to his throat, squeezing just hard enough to prolong his passing as he suffocated, slowly.

As Eugene dropped the man’s lifeless body, a powerful ripple of pleasure flowed through him, rose and crashed like a colossal wave breaking in a frenzied sea.  His body tensed at once and held momentarily then released gradually.

Gratified, Eugene scanned the room, appreciating the carnage.  He realized that his time spent regenerating in Dr. Franklin N. Stein’s laboratory did not hinder his performance or dull his razor-sharp senses; he hadn’t lost a thing.

Chapter 15

––––––––

MELISSA STOOD IN HER kitchen and leaned against the counter dumbfounded.  Still clutching the receiver of the cordless telephone in her hands she remained, with mouth agape, confounded by a phone call she’d received moments earlier from Eric Sala.  During their brief conversation, he informed her that he was on his way to her house.

She could not begin to fathom what had precipitated his call and refused to speculate.  Entertaining wild ideas would not serve her.  Conjecture was a waste of time.  She would know the reason for his visit soon enough. In the meantime, it was necessary that she remain calm. She needed to think clearly before, during and after their meet.  She breathed deeply to steady her trembling hands and replaced the receiver to its charging cradle as heavy footfalls thundered down the steps.

“Hey Missy, how do I look?” her father asked as he outstretched his arms and turned.

“Like a man who’s going to clean up at the tables,” she replied.

“That’s my girl! That’s what I like to hear!”

She did not reciprocate his enthusiasm.  Unable to mask her worry, she bit her lower lip and turned from him.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Eric called,” she began.

“That dirtbag friend of Kevin’s?”

“That would be the one.”

“What the hell did he want?”

“He wants to talk. Now. He’s on his way here as we speak,” she said.

“What could he possibly have to say to you after all this time?”

“I have no idea, Dad.  I am so confused.  I’m totally freaking out!”

“I don’t have to go, you know,” he offered.

“Yes you do! You are going.”

“Not if you need me I’m not,” he protested.

“Dad, come on, be serious.  You put in for two personal days to play in this poker tournament, talked about it every day for the last two months.  You are going.”

“How can I leave now that this clown has called and is possibly stirring up more trouble?  The answer is I can’t and I won’t.”

“No way!  I’ll call Alex as soon as Eric leaves right in front of you and make plans to stay at her house for the weekend.  I’ll be safe there.  I mean, with her brothers, come on!  I’ll be safer there probably than I am here right now.  Her parents will be around, too.  No worries.  Go.  Enjoy yourself.  You deserve it.”

Melissa’s father did not say anything for a moment.  He appeared to weigh her words and consider her argument.  She watched as his eyes darted from one side to the next as if literally searching for a sound rebuttal but came up empty.

Finally he grumbled, “Fine.”

“Then it’s settled, you will go to the Connecticut woods and play some poker!” she said trying desperately to seem cheerful.

“I’m not leaving for a while.  I’ll be here when that jackass Eric gets here.  And I’m not leaving until he’s gone,” he assured her.

“Great.  I wouldn’t want it any other way,” she said, relieved.

Suddenly parched, she walked toward the refrigerator in search of a beverage.  As she placed her hand on a bottle of iced tea, the doorbell sounded.  A wave of nausea rolled through her belly.  Eric waited on her doorstep.

Carrying the bottle, Melissa crossed the kitchen and walked to the front door.  After taking two deep breaths to calm herself, she opened the door.

Eric Sala, tall and lanky, stood framed by the entryway.

“Hey,” he said nervously.  “Can I come in?”

Before she could answer, he was in her house looking anxiously over his shoulder before shutting the door behind him.  His eyes were rimmed with dark crescents, his features haggard.  She could only describe his overall demeanor as terrified.  Eric looked terrified.

“I didn’t see your car.  Did you walk?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah, I cut through the woods behind your house just to be sure I wasn’t being– ,”

“Hello Eric,” her father interrupted as he stared at Eric with contemptuous eyes capable of intimidating the toughest of adversaries.

“Oh, uh, hello Mr. Martin, I didn’t know you’d be here.  I can leave if you want?” he asked just Melissa.

“Please stay,” her father answered robotically.

Eric looked at Melissa imploringly and asked in a hoarse whisper, “Can we speak privately?”

“Sure,” Melissa answered, uncertainty lacing her every word.  “We can go up to my room.”

Melissa began climbing the staircase, with Eric in tow, to the second floor of her house.  At the top of the steps, a long hallway waited.  At the far end was a bathroom that neighbored her bedroom.  Her father stomped up behind them and stopped them before they entered.  He spoke to Eric.

“I’ll be right across the hallway in my room, you got that?  If I hear anything I don’t like, you’re gone,” he warned in a voice that was a low growl.

The word gone hung in the air.  There was a sense of permanence in the way he had spoken it, of irreversibility.  With her father’s message clear, Melissa ushered Eric in to her room.

“Wow, you really like purple,” he joked nervously as he gestured to her frilly lavender comforter and matching curtains.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” she replied icily.

He sat on her bed with his back to the window.

“Eric, what do you want? Why are you here?” she heard herself ask in a strong, clear voice.

He rubbed his palms down the length of his jeans as if smoothing phantom creases from his thighs to just above his knees.  The single hoop earring he wore in his left earlobe quivered as he parted his lips to speak.

“I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Well, since I allowed you here unannounced and uninvited after you tackled me in the woods behind our school, I’d think an apology would be in order for starters,” she said firmly.

Eric shoulders slumped. His pale cheeks became streaked with red.  He raised his hands, palms out, and said, “I don’t think an apology would cut it, Melissa. I screwed up, bad. Things are far worse now, so I’m paying, believe me,” he rambled.

“What are you talking about?” she asked impatiently. “If you came here to start crap, my father is right across the hall and he’ll kill you, trust me.”

“I’m not here to hurt you, honest.  I’m not going to do anything to you. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then I’ll ask the question again: why are you here?”

“Because Anderson and the others, they aren’t themselves.”

“What, they’re reformed,” she asked sarcastically.

“No, no.  You don’t understand.  They’re not who they used to be.  The people you see aren’t them.”

“Are you on drugs?”

“No, come on, I don’t do drugs anymore,” he pleaded.

“Then what do you mean?”

“They’re not who you think.”

“Then who are they?”

“What are they is a better question,” he mumbled.

“Huh?”

“It can’t be them, Melissa.  I saw their bodies in the woods that day.”

“That’s not what you told the police,” she countered testily.

“Yeah, I know.  I told the police I didn’t see them.  I wished I hadn’t seen them then. Kevin, Chris and John, they were dead.  I know they were,” he fought back tears.  “The guys now, the ones who came back from wherever, are worse.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine.  Every cell in her body seemed to shudder simultaneously, contesting at once the question that burned in her mind, the question she felt bound to ask.

“Who do you think they are, Eric?” she asked in a voice that quavered.

“Monsters,” he replied with conviction.

Melissa felt the room begin to spin.  A vivid memory appeared in her mind’s eye.  She remembered seeing a monster less than half a year ago.  It had been submerged in thick, opaque fluid in a large cylindrical tank in a far corner of Franklin Stein’s underground laboratory.  Alien in appearance, it had resembled an adult-sized fetus.  She remembered how it transformed before her very eyes.  She agreed with Eric’s assessment; Kevin, Chris and Eric were very much monsters.  But she reasoned that they had not been grown in a deranged geneticist’s lab like the creature had been, nor had they been assigned the gruesome semblance associated with the word “monster” that had been indelibly etched into her psyche.  She winced involuntarily and wrapped her arms around her body for she knew monsters did, in fact, exist, and in multiple senses of the word.

“Monsters?” she asked and feigned incredulity.

“Melissa, I know it sounds crazy.  I hear myself saying it and to my own ears I sound bat-shit crazy.  But that’s the only word I feel describes them. They’re out of control.”

“How so?” she asked, but did not want to know the answer.

She watched as Eric’s fair skin paled even further and a look of utter fright claimed his features.

“The first night they came back I was stunned, believe me.  I couldn’t wrap my mind around it the first time I saw Kevin. I mean, I thought it was some kind of after-effect of a bad trip or something.”

“Okay,” she rolled her hand forward in a gesture meant to encourage the point of his story to arrive sooner.

“Anyway, we went out to celebrate.  We went to that club down on First Street in Darling, The Terrace Club.  They had been drinking when they picked me up; nothing new about that.  But when we got there, they did shot after shot of tequila then drank beer after beer.  It was insane.  Those guys could always drink, but they put away an inhuman amount of liquor, and didn’t seem all that drunk.”

Melissa couldn’t help but pick up on yet another reference to their less-than-human characteristics.  She did not comment on it or react visibly.  She listened intently as he continued his story.

“It wasn’t just the crazy drinking that got me, though.  It was how they were acting too.  They’re usually jerks, but smooth about it, you know?”

“Oh I know,” Melissa said acidly.

Eric’s pallid skin adopted crimson bands again.  He looked down sheepishly.

“Continue,” she ordered him.

“They just started getting loud and rowdy, grabbing girls and stuff, you know, groping.  They were being total assholes.  I was embarrassed but I didn’t say anything.  I couldn’t.”

“Of course, you couldn’t,” she said sharply. “Eric, none of this makes me think there’s anything unusual about them, just that they were drunk and aggressive; seems pretty typical, to me at least.”

The scarlet smatterings that colored Eric face expanded.  He ran his palms down his thighs once again and one of his legs began to bob up and down incessantly.

“I know what they’ve done to you, what I’ve done to you,” he said quietly. “But believe me, if you let me tell you the rest, you’ll see what I’m saying.  You’ll believe me.”

“Okay,” she said softening slightly.

“So they started dancing up on these girls on the dance floor, really grinding on them and the girls got pissed.  They pushed them off.  Three guys saw this happening and stepped in.  A fight almost broke out and we got bounced out.  Turned out, there had been complaints about us, or them rather, from some other people and the girls and the owner had us kicked out.  The other guys, they stayed and got to hang out. Kevin, Chris and John were pissed.  They were flipping out like I’d never seen before.”

Eric paused.

“Is that it, Eric?” Melissa asked calmly.

“I wish it were,” Eric replied and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Have you ever been to the Terrace Club?”

“No, never,” Melissa answered.

“The parking lot there is set way back, far from the club and far from the street. It has lights but they’re those ones that give off the creepy yellow light.”

“Sodium vapor street lights,” she informed him. “They cause less environmental pollution.”

“Yeah, sodium vapor street lights, sure.  So the lot is lit by them and it’s pretty dark and Kevin tells us we’re going to wait for the guys in the parking lot, wait for them to come out and kick their asses.  I told them I wanted to leave.  They got really pissed and started calling me a little bitch.  They’d never been like that with me before, Melissa.  I can’t explain it.  They were different from the guys I’d been best friends with since we were kids.”

“Hmm,” Melissa managed, held by his account.

“We waited for those guys for three hours until like two in the morning when the last of the people cleared out.  We were in his car in the far corner of the lot.  No one saw us.  We watched the guys come out with the girls they stuck up for.  They walked them to their car, talked for another, like, twenty minutes, exchanged numbers and the girls drove off.”

Eric’s disposition darkened dramatically, visibly.  He took a deep breath and blew the air out through pursed lips.  As he raised his hand and raked it through his spiky black hair, she could see it trembled.

“There were a few cars left in the lot that probably belonged to employees. It was deserted except for the guys that they argued with in the club.  Kevin jumped out of the car; John and Chris followed.  I got out last.  I wanted no part of a fight but I went with them because,” Eric’s voice faltered and trailed off briefly before he continued.

“Right away they started cursing at the guys.  They turned to face us and looked shocked.  Next thing you know, Kevin, John and Chris were on them.  I mean, I couldn’t believe how fast they moved; they were just there, right on top of the guys from the club, pounding on them.  The guys never stood a chance.”

Eric swallowed hard.  His eyes brimmed with tears.  Melissa could see the pain in his face, the torment.

“Next thing I knew, the guys from the club were on the ground and Kevin, Chris and John were going crazy, punching them and stomping on them.  The club guys, they were screaming in pain, screaming for them to stop.  But they didn’t seem to care or even notice the screaming.  I tried to stop them Melissa, I tried,” he said in a voice cracking with emotion. “But they were frenzied, just swinging and kicking. They threw me to the ground.  I half-expected them to start stomping me, too.”

Tears streamed down Eric’s cheeks as his eyes stared straight ahead, unfocused.  When he trained his gaze on Melissa, his fear was palpable.

“They just kept going, Melissa; they killed them,” he whispered huskily.

Melissa felt chills spread over her entire body, expanding outwardly from her core in lacey threads of ice. She knew the story.  She’d heard about it in the news, read about it in the newspaper.

Her eyes met his and filled with tears as she said, “I know about them, the three kids that were killed from Marlboro. It was all over the news!  That was just last week.  Their bodies were found outside of the Terrace Club.”

“Those are the ones,” he affirmed. “Those are the guys Kevin, Chris and John murdered.”

Murdered; the word sent about another onslaught of anxiety.  Melissa sat on her bed beside Eric.  They both sat in silence staring at the floor below.

After a moment, Eric spoke.

“The murder, it wasn’t even the worst part, if you can imagine that,” he said bitterly. “The ride home was unreal, like something straight out of a horror movie.”

“How so?” Melissa asked and, once again, didn’t care to hear the response.

“They were laughing about it.  On the way home, they laughed about killing those guys, like it was some kind of fucking joke or something.  I sat there stunned.  I couldn’t say a word.  I couldn’t believe what I saw, couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  It was like a nightmare,” he gasped and broke down crying.

Melissa wasn’t sure how to respond to his tears.  He was raw, vulnerable, but had attacked her not long ago.  She felt for him, but only to an extent.

“When they dropped me off that night, they asked me if I was cool with what happened.  Like anybody could be cool with seeing three people murdered, then hearing the murderers laugh about it all the way home,” he said bitingly.  “I said I was fine, that everything was cool but I don’t think they bought it.  They also told me not to tell anyone, that if I did there would be a problem.”

“Oh God,” was all Melissa could manage.

“If they find out I told you or anyone else about this, they are going to kill me.  I know it.”

Eric began to sob after his last admission.  He cried, hard, releasing whatever anguish he’d held for the last week, or perhaps the last five months.  Melissa had no way of knowing for sure. But she was certain his tears were ones of terror, and repentance.

Though reluctant to offer him any form of consolation, she knew what it was like to be in mortal danger, had a working knowledge of fear; after all, she’d been an intended target.  Eric was defenseless, pathetic at best.  She awkwardly placed her arm around his shoulders and patted stiffly.  He responded eagerly and collapsed into her and wept.

Melissa allowed him to rest against her as he cried. She left her arm around his shoulders, despite her reservation and tears of her own that threatened, for what felt like forever.  She would wait until he was sufficiently calmed before she attempted to convince him to go to the police.

Chapter 16

––––––––

GABRIEL HAD BEEN PUT to many tests in his short existence.  He had survived extraordinary circumstances, contended with a ferocious enemy and survived an assassination attempt.  He had also loved for the first time, a phenomenon he was constructed to never experience. Navigating the winding roads of Harbingers Falls, he relived each exhilarating moment spent with Melissa and, despite the dire circumstances he suspected that prompted his return, he was thrilled.  His heart pounded wildly, threatened to beat out of his chest. The excitement inside him was electric.  He felt lightheaded, elated.  The moment he’d awaited for five long months was finally upon him.  He’d dreamt about it, saw her face vividly in his memory, but couldn’t wait to see her in person: her clear, emerald eyes, her full lips, her lengths of golden brown hair.  Every part of him hummed and buzzed excitedly.  He would wrap her in his arms as soon as he saw her, inhale the sweet scent of her skin before holding her at arm’s length from him and looking at her, enjoying her every feature.

Turning on to Blackstone drive, Gabriel James could not think of anywhere else he would have rather been.

“You’ve been really quiet,” Yoshi observed.

“Just thinking,” Gabriel replied.

“Don’t worry.  Everything is going to be fine.”

Gabriel said nothing.

“Seriously, it will.”

“I don’t know.  It’s been so long.  I can’t wait to see her.  But what if,” Gabriel’s voice trailed off.

“What if what?  What if she’s with someone else?”

“Well, yeah.  You know that’s what I’m worried about.”

“Listen, from what you’ve told me, that’s highly unlikely.  She loves you and you love her.  All you need to do is see her.  Once you’re with her, you’ll see that nothing has changed.  Her feelings will be the same as they were five months ago.  Trust me.”

“Yoshi, I have to admit, it’s kind of hard to argue with someone when he’s just told you exactly what you want to hear.”

“I’m not telling you what you want to hear.  I’m telling you what I sincerely believe to be true.”

“So, you really think nothing’s changed?”

“Well maybe something,” Yoshi said solemnly.

“What?  What do you mean?  What do you think will be different?  Tell me!” 

“Well, it’s hard to say exactly.  It could be any number of things.  For starters, her hair may be different.  I’ve read in several gossip magazines that girls often cut their hair when they are sad.  Melissa may have chopped all her hair off.”

Gabriel exhaled sharply, relieved, and then said, “I don’t care if she has buzzed all her hair off, she will look just as beautiful to me.  And don’t believe everything you read in gossip magazines.  Not all American girls are like the starlets you read about.  Women and America are really misrepresented by those kinds of magazines.”

“Hey I like my Tattletale Weekly!  I’ve learned a lot of useful stuff about popular culture from them,” Yoshi said.  “Wait until we get to her house before you judge my information sources.  She could have a purple Mohawk for all you know.”

“I doubt it, Yoshi.”

Yoshi did not offer any further opinion.  Instead, he sat silently in the passenger seat of Gabriel’s rented Jeep Cherokee as they drove up Melissa’s street. 

“How can you possibly be calm at a time like this,” Gabriel asked and grabbed Yoshi by the arm.

“Hey, eyes on the road!  You don’t want to see her for the first time in five months wrapped around a tree do you?”

Yoshi was quiet for a second then added, “I’m happy for you.  I’m happy you’re finally going to get to see her.”

“Thanks, man.  I can’t wait.  And I’m nervous as hell.”

Gabriel could not stop smiling as he drove up her hill.  His face began to hurt from doing so as her house came into view.  He slowed to a near crawl as he approached and felt a familiar feeling of excitement surge in his stomach before he noticed that her bedroom light was on.  Eager to see her, he parked the Cherokee four houses away.

“Is this her house?  Where’s the big tree you told me about?” Yoshi asked.

“No, this isn’t it. We passed it.”

“Why?  Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong.  We’re going to walk to her house, cross her property and climb the tree to her window.”

“Wouldn’t the front door be easier?”

“Well, yes, of course.  But I’m guessing her father is home and would not be too thrilled to see me after what happened last time I was here, how I just took off and left Melissa to deal with the police and everything.  And how I hurt his daughter.”

“When you put it that way, I can see why you’d want to avoid him.  He’s probably not a big fan of yours,” Yoshi replied. “It sounds like the tree is the best route.”

They both climbed out of the Jeep Cherokee and began walking up the steep incline of Melissa’s street. Each residence was uniform in construct, only subtle variations in choice of shutter color or siding hue differentiated them.  Composed predominantly of working-class residents, the members of the Blackstone Drive’s community dutifully maintained their property.  Gabriel noticed that each lawn they passed had been mowed, flower beds were meticulously upheld, and shrub shapes were maintained.  The overall landscape was neat and orderly, a refreshing departure from the unpredictability and, at times, unruliness, that defined the environment of his previous habitat.

“All the houses are exactly alike,” Yoshi commented.

“Kind of,” Gabriel agreed.

“Is that how all neighborhoods are in America?”

“No, not all, but who cares, really?  Look over there, look what this neighborhood has that’s unique,” Gabriel said pointing to the eastern-facing houses that bore odd numbers.

Beyond the odd numbered houses, the sun hung low in the sky, almost disappeared into the horizon, its vanishing light a faint glow in the west.

“I see.  Sunsets for one side of the street, sunrises for the other.  Interesting,” Yoshi said but didn’t seem interested in the least.

Gabriel believed his friend would have been happier in a less suburban setting, one with tall buildings and bright lights.  But Yoshi’s entertainment was not his foremost thought.  Furthermore, he was far too distracted to entertain such thoughts.  Everything around him shimmered and thrived.

The air smelled sweet and green with hints of lemon grass and lavender scenting it.  Everywhere he looked, something bloomed.  Daffodils, tulips and magnolia lined driveways, cherry blossoms and early azalea blooms made debuts in front yards.  Blackstone Drive flourished with signs of spring.

Gabriel, like the street he treaded upon, was awash with hope and vitality.

And then he saw her house.  The light of her bedroom lamps cast a faint golden glow onto the garage that shelved below it.  He felt his breath catch in his chest, couldn’t believe he was actually standing underneath her room, that he would hold her in his arms in a matter of minutes.

He looked beside the house and smiled.  The mature oak looked bigger.  Though he was sure it hadn’t gown taller in the last five months, he knew it grew wider.  With an abundance of leaves that assumed a fluorescent hue in the light of early evening, the oak looked considerably fuller, robust.  All the brightly colored leaves intertwined in an elaborate web of boughs reaching and stretching upward, outward.  He marveled at the majestic guardian of the Martin home, and eagerly wanted to climb it.

As if reading his mind, Yoshi spoke.

“It’s been a while since I climbed a tree,” Yoshi said slightly embarrassed. “You think I can get up there?” he asked and pointed to the lowest branch which was several feet taller than he.

“Sure you can.  You were born and raised in Motuo,” Gabriel encouraged.  “Remember?  No electricity.  No supermarkets.  You hunted in the wild.”

“Thanks Gabriel, but I really don’t need a pep talk.  The problem is less about my abilities–which are superior to yours, by the way–and more about the fact that I can’t even get my leg to the lowest knot.”

“First of all, those things on the tree are not knots Yoshi, their called galls and they occur when a tree is recovering from an injury or stress; it’s like a lump of scar tissue.”

“What, now you’re a tree doctor or something?”

“No, I just learned a lot of stuff when I was with Stein.  He wanted me to be well-rounded, well-informed.”

“With useless information, I guess.”

“It wasn’t useless.  You learned something just now, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Yoshi answered slightly exasperated.

“Are we going to do this or not, because there’s a gorgeous girl just a tree-climb away who I’d like to see rather than stand here and argue with you.”

“Fine, say no more,” Yoshi agreed and rubbed his chin as he looked again to the enormous oak.

“I’ll give you a boost,” Gabriel promised then stooped and offered his interlaced fingers for his friend to step upon.

Yoshi stepped into Gabriel’s hands and hoisted himself up onto a sturdy outstretched branch.  Once he was confident that the branch could uphold his weight, he stood up and looked down at Gabriel.

“This thing is huge,” he called. “What kind of tree is this?”

“It’s an oak tree,” Gabriel answered readying himself to reach for the same bough.

Once Yoshi was farther up in the massive tree, Gabriel began climbing.  His hands trembled as he reached for the first branch.  His pulse kept rhythm loudly in his ears.  He pulled himself up and lifted his leg so that he straddled the bough first, then moved to a squatting position.  He stood quickly, stretched and grasped another branch, and another, and another, until he reached the roof of the garage.  Yoshi waited for him at the edge as he stepped from the tree.

“This is it,” Yoshi began. “This is what you’ve been whining about for five months.”

“Please, Yoshi! Stop trying to ruin this for me!”

“Sorry,” Yoshi said sincerely.

They scampered up the length of the garage roof.  When they reached the sill of her window, Gabriel peered inside, expecting to see Melissa’s face just beyond the glass staring intently at her laptop computer as he’d seen her do on numerous occasions in the past.  He did not see her face. She was not seated at her desk focusing on her computer.  She sat on the edge of her bed with her back facing him, her long hair trailing almost to her waist.  And she was not alone.

Gabriel moved closer to her bedroom window.  With his face nearly pressed against it, he saw that Melissa’s arm was wrapped around a male figure.  Thin with a large frame and bristly black hair, he leaned into her, his body resting intimately against her. 

Gabriel felt as if he’d been struck in the stomach.  He struggled to breathe.  His eyes burned and his mouth went dry.  He blinked several times to expunge the moisture that accumulated suddenly, unexpectedly, and blurred his vision.  He turned to Yoshi who sat waiting with his back against the siding that framed the window.

“Let’s go.  This was a mistake,” he said levelly.

“What?  What are you talking about?  This is what you’ve been waiting for.”

“Did you not hear me?” Gabriel said sharply.  “I said let’s go!”

“What the hell’s your problem?”

“Look, Yoshi, I’m not in the mood for your crap right now.  Let’s just get the hell out of here. Okay?”

“I don’t get it. Why?”

“You really want to know Yoshi?”

“Yes, I do!”

“Look! Look in the window and tell me what you see!” Gabriel ordered.

Yoshi stepped up to the window and looked in.

“She moved on,” he said apologetically.

“Yes, she moved on!  And I am not going to interrupt her date to talk about the possibility that Kevin and his friends were somehow saved by Stein and sent back to do who knows what,” Gabriel said heatedly.

“All right, all right, calm down.  Let’s get out of here.”

Yoshi moved down the garage roof, gripped a branch and descended the oak with dexterity that implied he’d done it hundreds of times.  Gabriel moved toward the tree but paused to look over his shoulder at Melissa and her supposed new beau.

In the instant that he did, Melissa and the mystery guest parted.  Gabriel turned his body and rested on all fours.  He stabilized himself in such an awkward position by carefully tensing his leg muscles and engaging his upper-body strength.  He strained to see.  He tilted his head to get a better look, then saw the boy’s profile and immediately wished he hadn’t.  He recognized the boy with Melissa, and felt as if a dagger had been thrust through his heart.  Despite his education and broad knowledge base, he could not, for the life of him, understand why Melissa would choose to be with the boy on her bed.  He felt disappointed and disgusted.  He did not want her to be with anyone else, least of all the person she was with.

Eric Sala sat beside Melissa on her bed and gazed longingly at her.  Eric Sala was the boy she had embraced just seconds ago.

Gabriel struggled with what he was looking at.  He could only view Eric as an outspoken member of Kevin’s gang, a jerk and a troublemaker.  He could not envision him as someone she would choose to spend time with, much less hug.  Eric had been responsible for many of Melissa’s miserable days, had assisted Kevin with his attack against them in the woods five months earlier and had even gone as far as personally assaulting her.  In fact, Gabriel’s lasting memory of Eric was of him tackling her to the ground then straddling her while restraining her with one hand, and raising the other to strike her into submission.  He could not fathom how his act of violence, added to the numerous verbal attacks, had been pardoned by her, how he ended up in her arms.  The situation did not make sense. 

Part of him wanted nothing more than to make his presence known, confront them both and demand an explanation of their relationship.  But that very primitive part of him, the part that wanted to act irrationally, did not dictate his actions.  Though such an act would have undoubtedly been gratifying momentarily, he knew it would have repercussions.  He knew nothing good would come from acting impulsively.  Ultimately, he did not want to embarrass or hurt Melissa, though he was hurting. 

Gabriel felt heartbroken.  It was a foreign feeling for him.  He had never been hurt by one he loved. Melissa was the only person he’d ever loved.  He did not know what to do.  He felt hot and cold, confused and enlightened, angry and sad.  All of his emotions seemed to conflict as he experienced them simultaneously.  He felt dizzy and nauseated and struggled to catch his breath. 

Without warning, the surface he knelt on seemed to give way beneath him. He didn’t realize he’d relaxed the muscles that held him upright in his unsafe position.  Shock caught him off guard, diminished his natural defense instantaneously.  He began to fall.

Melissa’s bedroom window, illuminated with soft, golden light, rushed away from him. The lower half of his body raced toward the driveway below. Gabriel’s body scraped along asphalt shingles until his feet caught in the seaming of the gutter.

Yoshi called out from the ground below.

“Gabriel, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Gabriel lied then slid his feet gingerly along the drainage trench until he reached the edge of the roof. He reached for an outstretched branch and quickly navigated the entanglement of leaves and boughs until he reached the lowest one.

When his feet landed upon sturdier ground, his chest began to tighten.  His eyes continued to burn. He dared not speak, didn’t trust that his voice would project without faltering.  He did not look at Yoshi who walked alongside him down Blackstone Drive.  He kept his head turned from his friend and looked to the skyline.

Clouds assembled, swiftly strengthening their ranks and readying for rain. The air felt weighted with moisture, a preemptive maneuver before the complete strike began.

They moved swiftly down the hill and arrived at Gabriel’s vehicle.  Once inside, Gabriel turned his key in the ignition and the engine roared to life.  He allowed the Jeep to idle for several seconds as he collected his thoughts.  His brain struggled to comply with what he demanded of it.

Frustrated, he pounded the steering wheel with his fist. Smarting and angry, Gabriel fought to focus on the original reason for their return. Instead, his rational thought process was muddled, blindsided by unforeseen events and unimaginable pain.

He rubbed his eyes with both hands, determined to purge the image of Melissa hugging Eric Sala from them. But the more he rubbed, the more intense the sensation of sand wedged beneath his eyelids became. So he gave up, stared straight ahead and shifted the Jeep into gear.

He drove to the end of Blackstone Drive and stopped at the stop sign. Rain drops began to fall.

“We’ll get a room for the night. I need to shower and sleep,” Gabriel said wearily.

“Do you want to talk about what just happened?” Yoshi asked.

“I can’t.”

“Then what’s the plan?”

“We’ll find a motel and get a room for the night. In the morning, we’ll head over to Harbingers High School and I’ll find Melissa and try to see what’s going on.  At least I know she won’t be on a date there.  After we talk, we’ll have to figure things out from there.”

“If you aren’t with Melissa anymore and it’s you this Stein is after, then she won’t be in any danger, right?”

“Wrong,” Gabriel began. “She’s still in danger because of all she knows, everything I showed her the night I told her about me.”

Gabriel’s chest began to ache more penetratingly. He felt as if his heart were being drilled against with a jackhammer. He remembered, in vivid detail, the night he’d told her of his origins. He remembered what she wore, how she smelled, what she ate. He remembered how she delighted in the efforts he made to make the evening perfect and how she glowed when he told her he loved her.

He also remembered the stricken look on her face when he shared with her his darkest secret, the expression of horror when they went to Stein’s underground lab and unearthed a partially formed person in the development tank.

He started to think that perhaps he would have been better off just letting her go then.  If he had embraced the anger and hurt, merged them together perfectly enough, he would have been capable of killing Stein when he’d had the chance. 

Gabriel grew tired of entertaining what ifs; they were a futile waste of energy. The fact of the matter remained that he loved Melissa. Melissa appeared to have moved on, but was still in danger. He would not allow harm to come her way, harm he was responsible for, simply because she no longer possessed feelings for him. He had left her. The materialization of his biggest fear was his own fault.

He avowed silently as he drove along the darkened and winding roads of Harbingers Falls to right the wrongs he had initiated, right them and then leave for good.

Chapter 17

––––––––

FROM DEEP WITHIN THE folds of lengths of velour drapery that smelled of mothballs, the faceless man rose from his crouched and concealed position and pressed his face to the window.  He couldn’t believe what he had just seen, wondered whether his eyes had deceived him.  Squinting, he looked again to be sure and found that, to his delight, his original perception held true; Gabriel James had left Melissa Martin’s home.

Moments earlier, he had looked on in horror as Gabriel, accompanied by a man of short stature, had marched up Blackstone Drive and onto the Martin property.  Terrified, he had watched, certain that Gabriel had returned to take Melissa away.  If that had happened, he would never get to meet her, to become her friend.  He had traveled so far, endured unspeakable hardships and experienced countless disappointments almost exclusively at the hands of human beings.  All of his suffering would have been in vain had Gabriel taken Melissa from him.  But he had not.

The faceless man smiled revealing his pointed teeth.  The torment he’d withstood would at last be rewarded.  He had withstood so much, persisted in the face of innumerable individuals who sought to hurt him.  Procuring a home next to Melissa’s for surveillance purposes had been among the many ordeals he had braved to be near her, so close to friendship.  He shivered as he remembered what he’d been through.

He had hidden in the wooded area behind the homes in Melissa’s neighborhood and watched, waiting to see whether a welcoming person stood out from the rest, someone who would invite him into their home and understand his objective though he could not explain it.  But few people milled about in the evening and by day, the street was virtually deserted.

After two days of deliberating and wrestling with his overall distrust of all humans, the faceless man, about to give up, spotted an elderly woman stepping out of her home and onto her porch to retrieve her newspaper.  Someone had callously thrown it in the bushes that hugged her entryway.  He had watched as she toiled and labored to get down her steps and then strained to reach her paper.  All the while, he had noticed how her kindly face never pursed in anger; she never shouted an explicative, just grunted softly.  With a tuft of wooly, white hair perched atop her head, doughy skin that was deeply lined, she looked soft and gentle like a rumpled pillow, worn but wonderful.  And her house bordered Melissa’s.

The elderly woman turned out to be a disappointment as all others had that he’d encountered.  Her appearance was not representative of her personality.  He had not been particularly shocked to find she was cruel.

He was shocked, however, when she first attacked him with a mop, and then a rolling pin.  She swatted and whacked with speed that contradicted the network of creases that marked her skin.  She had beaten him with vigor.

The faceless man had tried to calm her, make her see he did not intend to harm her, that he simply needed a place to rest and spy on her neighbor, but the inability to speak complicated matters.  He’d had no choice but to shove her off of him; she simply would not stop hitting him.

He had learned many things since leaving Dr. Franklin Stein’s laboratory.  Among those many things, he had discovered that elderly people such as Melissa’s neighbor were brittle.  They were brittle and mean.

Her meanness and brittleness had been her demise.

He felt a shiver pass through him once again as he recalled his interaction with the old woman, how she had been so unpleasant, so hurtful toward him.  Tears began to threaten as he felt genuine pity for himself.

He fought back his sadness, refused to shed one more tear for the cruel and despicable people of the Earth.  He would not fret, had no time to.  He had more intriguing things to think about, to dream about.  Melissa Martin was in his field of vision.  Gabriel had left without speaking to her.  He had simply watched her as the faceless man did, only closer.

But Gabriel would undoubtedly return.  Surely creations like them could never turn their backs on someone willing to accept them, to embrace them.

The faceless man resolved to act immediately.  Delaying would only give rise to opportunity for Gabriel to take her from him.  He would not allow that to happen.  Melissa would not only be his friend, she’d be his savior.  She would deliver him from a life of loneliness and isolation, of torture and ridicule.  He had seen her benevolence in action, had witnessed her magic.  A boy had been to her house at the same time as Gabriel.  He was tall and long-limbed with black hair that prickled unnaturally from his scalp.  He had come to her sad and broken, had cried to her.  She did not scream or curse or attack him with mops or kitchen tools.  Melissa embraced him and made him feel better.  He was certain she would do the same for him.

The only obstacle that remained was finding a way to explain his feelings to her, to make her understand he wanted friendship and acceptance, that he wanted love.  Thus far, surprising people with his friendship had not gone as he’d intended.  As it turned out, human beings did not favor surprises.

Chapter 18

––––––––

ERIC SALA LEFT MELISSA’S house feeling equal parts relieved and apprehensive.  Though he had taken a calculated risk and entered through the front door of her home, he did not dare endanger himself by repeating such an action.  After explaining to her the nature and severity of his worries, she offered him an exit through the family room at the rear of the house.

He had traveled on foot.  Parking his car three blocks away, leaving it inconspicuously sandwiched between a mobile home and minivan, Eric had traversed a considerable stretch of woods, crossed one of her neighbor’s backyard and walked up the remainder of her street to her front door.  Such precautionary measures had been necessary then, were necessary still.

The sun had set about an hour ago.  Clouds had filled in where navy expanses should have dazzled with infinite celestial jewels.  The evening sky was dark, darker than usual.  Mist clung to treetops.  The air was cool but balmy.  A preternatural silence had befallen the surrounding area.  Eric wondered if the fog had acted as a blanket of freshly fallen snow would have, muffling and quieting everything in its wake; it seemed as though the rain was falling soundlessly around him.

He cut across Melissa’s small backyard and went directly into the woods beyond it.  After crossing a small seasonal stream, swollen with the wealth of spring rain the area had seen and residual winter snow that had long since melted, Eric moved deeper into the woods.  He was immediately swallowed by the abundance of growth around him.  Branches, crisscrossed at every turn, threatened to gouge his eyes, undergrowth tugged at his pant legs and fog gathered conspiratorially, disorienting him and robbing him of his vision.

A branch snapping behind him sliced through the milky mist and echoed through the void. Eric’s pulse quickened, as did his pace.  Certain that someone was pursuing him he moved faster, clumsily jogging through a riot of twisted, entangled branches.  Sweat dappled his clammy skin as he looked over his shoulder.  Movement behind him, unseen but distinct nevertheless, skyrocketed his racing heart rate.  He began to run.

With each foot momentarily off the ground in each step and his nearly nonexistent sense of depth perception in the darkened and shrouded woodland, Eric tripped.  He toppled face-first to the ground below.  He never saw the fallen tree in his path.

Facedown on the ground, he did not move right away.  He paused briefly and remained as still as he could.  He listened for the sound of footfalls, but heard nothing over the rush of blood against his eardrums.  Once he felt confident that he was not being tracked, he rose to his feet, brushed the debris from his clothes and sprinted to the edge of the woods where his car waited on an unfamiliar street in a neighborhood that was not his.

Street lights illuminated the pavement but reflected against the thickening fog.  The sound of his own footsteps lulled him into thought.  He began to replay his conversation with Melissa.  He wondered whether he’d made a mistake by telling her, yet felt it necessary to unburden himself.  He reasoned that it had been necessary to share what happened with her.  After all, she had been there when Kevin, Chris and John had been killed.  She was part of everything he’d been through.

But something about his visit with her left him feeling unsettled.  He could not quite pinpoint what it was, but something did not feel right.  As he mulled her reaction over, he came to the realization that Melissa had not reacted as he’d expected her to, the way anyone else would have.  In fact, other than tearfulness, she hadn’t had much of a reaction at all.  He had assumed she would think he’d lost his mind and need a tremendous amount of convincing.  He had thought he’d have to talk to her more than once to make her understand.  To his surprise, she had accepted everything he had to say, even the things he’d speculated.  Nothing had shocked her.  She had been upset, but by no means as shocked as he’d anticipated.

One point she had impressed upon him was the necessity of going to the police.  She had suggested he go right away, even offered to go with him.  Eric knew he could never go to the police, and though she had seemed to fully comprehend the magnitude of the situation, as well as its utter weirdness, Melissa could not have possibly understood the danger he was in.  If he were to go to the police, he was sure he’d be killed.  He had seen the look in their eyes as they mercilessly executed the guys from the club, their maniacal, crazed expressions.  She hadn’t been there.  She had no way of knowing.  But she’d believed him, and having someone to share his fears with did help.

Eric felt slightly buoyed as his car came into sight.  Just where he’d left it, his dented Ford Escort waited between the vehicles he parked it between.  Nether Kevin, Chris nor John waited against it.  In a few hundred feet, he would be behind the wheel of his car and on his way home.

His faint glimmer of optimism was dimmed, however, when he became aware of a presence.  He did not see who loomed ahead, but felt another with him.  The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he heard footsteps against the pavement.  They began slowly at first, then picked up in pace quickly.  Whoever was coming had undoubtedly seen him, and was coming right at him.  Faster and faster, the sound rushed toward him.  With nowhere to run to and few places to hide, Eric ducked between two garbage cans at the end of a car-filled driveway.  He crouched just in time to see a pair to light-up running shoes gallop past him.

A jogger, he thought.  A jogger going for an evening run had advanced and nearly scared him to death.  Relieved, Eric arrived at his car; he got in and locked the doors, then started the engine.  He raked his hands through his hair and smiled.  He would be home in a matter of minutes.

He pulled out of the space he’d parked his car, a small niche between a behemoth camper and a minivan, and drove to his house.  He could not wait to walk in the front door and head straight upstairs.  His parents would certainly be home, his mother in the kitchen experimenting with a new recipe from the food network, his dad leaning against the counter telling her all about his day.  He longed for the sounds of chatter, of laughter, of home.  He would strip out of his soiled clothes dirtied from his fall in the woods, take a hot shower and join his parents for a much-needed dose of normality.

Eric couldn’t help but smile, a rare expression he seldom produced in recent days, as he parked across the street from his house.  Each window was illuminated.  The outline of his parents was framed by the kitchen window.  He locked his car doors and trotted toward his house.

As he began walking up his driveway, a car turned onto his street.  Headlights blinded him temporarily.  He froze as he discerned the make and model of the car.  It was a black Infiniti G37 Sports Coupe, and it belonged to Kevin Anderson.

Kevin pulled into Eric’s driveway and opened the door.  And he was not alone.  Chris and John occupied the passenger seat and back seat respectively.

“What’s up man?” Eric asked and tried to sound nonchalant.

“Nothing, man, nothing at all,” Kevin said tightly.  “We’re just heading out to get some beers and hang, thought you’d like to join us,” Kevin suggested, but the tone of his voice implied that he was not suggesting that Eric join them, but rather ordering it.

“I can’t tonight.  My parents are home and they’ve been on my shit about my grades.  You know how that is,” Eric attempted.

“Don’t be a punk.  Blow off your parents or tell them you’re going to a study group or something.  Or better yet, don’t tell them anything,” Kevin said testily.

“I don’t know, man.  I think they’d freak out,” Eric replied.

“Who gives a shit?  Aren’t you going to be eighteen in, like, two months?  Come on!  Stop being a punk and get in the fuckin’ car,” Kevin commanded.

Eric knew he could not refuse them, that refusal would imply disrespect, and he knew what happened to those who disrespected them.  His only chance of survival would be to go out with them, play along with whatever game they were playing, and pray that they did not know of his meeting with Melissa earlier.

Reluctantly, Eric agreed to go with Kevin, Chris and John.

He climbed into the back seat of Kevin’s car and glanced at his house.  He saw the basketball hoop in the driveway and remembered exhausting himself when he was nine, trying to perfect his layup so he could show his dad when he returned from work.  He saw his mother’s rosebush out front just beyond the porch. He remembered planting it there as a Mother’s Day’s surprise for her five years earlier and how she enjoyed clipping the blooms and filling the house with vases of crimson roses.  He had grown up in the house and made so many memories there.

Eric heard the automatic lock engage in Kevin Anderson’s car, saw his parents’ silhouettes in the kitchen window and, with a tear rolling down his cheek, realized he’d never see them again.

Chapter 19

––––––––

MELISSA HAD WATCHED as Eric dashed across her backyard and into the wooded area behind her house.  He disappeared into the thicket quickly, his gait like that of a deer, graceful, agile, and frightened.

He had shared with her information that compounded her worst fear; that Kevin, Chris and John had returned from death and were more dreadful than before.  Her hands trembled still.  She wondered if they’d ever stop trembling.  She wanted nothing more than to run upstairs and tell her father everything, beg him to stay with her and not drive two and a half hours away from her for a weekend poker tournament.  But she knew that it was not an option.  She could never tell her father about Kevin and the others.  She could never tell him about Gabriel, Stein or Eugene either.  To do so would all but guarantee her father would have her committed to a mental health facility.

Instead, she hugged him tightly and watched as his taillights trailed down her street and vanished out of sight.

Her house suddenly felt far larger than it actually was, and far more vulnerable.  She set about fortifying every entry point.  Starting with the front door, she engaged the deadbolt then moved to the backdoor off of the family room and to the door that led to the garage.  She then went to the basement and double-checked that the casement windows had been closed and locked after her father’s workout.  When satisfied that the basement was sufficiently secured, she turned off the light and returned to the main level of her house.

The curtains in the kitchen billowed.  She did not remember opening the kitchen window but shut it immediately and locked it nevertheless.  Drops of water stippled the sill.  The late afternoon drizzle had graduated to wind-driven rain.  She watched from the recently closed kitchen window as it whipped and lashed treetops in her neighborhood before checking the remaining windows in the living room and dining room.

Once all were closed, she ascended the staircase to call Alex and make plans for her to spend the weekend with the Georgopoulos family.  She would then gather her toothbrush and other personal effects, pajamas and a few outfits and head over to Alex’s.

She looked to her desk and saw that her cell phone did not rest on its charger.  She did not see it on her bed either.  As she scanned her room she realized it could be anywhere, lost in a sea of clothes and shoes strewn about the floor.  She began to pick up articles of clothes from the floor, frustrated by her lack of housekeeping, when a tapping sound startled her.

She paused, dropped the clothes in her hands and listened.

Then she heard the tapping sound again.  It came from near her desk.  She froze and held her breath, waited for the sound again.

The taps sounded again in quick succession, and it came from her window.

Her heart beat wildly.  She could think of only one person who had tapped on her window, and that was five months ago.  Excitement fluttered in her stomach as she quickly smoothed her hair with her hands and walked to the window.  She was certain that Gabriel waited on the other side of the glass; that he had returned from whatever exotic destination he called home for nearly half a year after hearing of Kevin, Chis and John’s return and had returned to protect her.

The dimness of early evening combined with the brewing storm outside prohibited Melissa from seeing anything in the glass but her reflection.  She immediately crossed the room and moved to the window where the tapping originated.  She placed both hands on the casing and pressed her face to the pane.  She guessed that Gabriel, wanting to surprise her, had backed away and off to the side.  Melissa did not want to delay their reunion any longer.  If Gabriel waited on the other side of the glass and had been responsible for the tapping as she suspected, she refused to waste more time.  She immediately threw open the sash and then the screen.  She stuck her head out.  Rain beat against the roof of the garage.  But she did not see him.

Crestfallen, Melissa had erroneously believed he awaited her beyond her windowpane.  In all likelihood, a branch, propelled by the gusting wind, had been responsible for the tapping.  Leaving the screen open, she closed the sash and resumed her search for her cell phone.

As she rifled through her untidy room, she heard tapping at the window once again.  Cautiously heartened, she went to the window without hesitation.  This time, a face stared back at her.

Shock briefly deprived her of voluntary movement, rendered her speechless.  The world went silent around her.  She did not hear the rain and wind; she did not feel the balmy breeze blowing against her skin.

The face that looked back at her was neither Gabriel’s nor her own reflection.  It was monstrous, inhuman, and moving closer.  It reached its arm at her spread its webbed fingers outstretching its hand toward her.  Instinct screamed for her to back away as the world regained sound.  Each noise resounded loudly, echoing and reverberating at an amplified volume.

She took two steps backward, sheer fright commanding her back, away from the hideous beast that advanced.  Her feet became entangled in a pile of clothes and suddenly she was falling.  She put her hands out to her sides, reaching blindly for something to hold on to, but grasped papers on her desk with her fingertips.  She felt the back of her head meet with the wood of her bedframe before everything went black.

***