Pat Bertram
Home Page
Bertram is a reader, writer, researcher trying to find a place in the real and virtual worlds.
Bertram says: I am everyone who has written a novel and tried to get it published–500,000 of us a year. Since only 50,000 books are published each year, and perhaps only 100 are by first-time novelists, getting published is like winning a lottery. But someone does win. This year it might be me.
Bertram says: I am everyone who has written a novel and tried to get it published–500,000 of us a year. Since only 50,000 books are published each year, and perhaps only 100 are by first-time novelists, getting published is like winning a lottery. But someone does win. This year it might be me.
A sample of Bertram's writing: the first two chapters of a work in progress.
Light Bringer
a novel
by
Pat Bertram
Prologue
Gripping the steering wheel, Helen Jenks peered into the darkness beyond the cone of illumination and searched for any sign she was almost home. The fallen snow, however, obscured familiar landmarks; she wasn’t sure she was on the right road, or any road at all, for that matter. Up in these hills, so far from town, the county didn’t bother to plow. Nor were there any tire tracks to guide her.
Where was everyone?
She sighed. Home in bed, probably, where she would be if she hadn’t pulled a double shift at the hospital.
Becoming aware of an odd drone, she cupped a hand behind an ear and tried to isolate the sound from the rumble of the Volkswagen engine. Was something wrong with the bug? Oh, please, no.
All at once the sky lit up. She leaned forward for a better view and caught sight of a brilliant star that seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat, growing brighter with each pulsation.
All at once the sky lit up. She leaned forward for a better view and caught sight of a brilliant star that seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat, growing brighter with each pulsation.
She sat back and rotated her head around her stiff neck. Maybe it was Venus. Hadn’t she read that at certain times of the year, under certain conditions, Venus could be as big and as bright as the moon?
Leaning forward again, she saw the star pulse one last time, then wink out. As she was getting used to the darkness it left behind, it reappeared, darted toward the horizon, and vanished. So, not Venus. Perhaps a meteor or two.
She listened for the drone, but that was also gone. Good.
Ten minutes later, she noticed a pin prick of light in the distance: her porch light. Don’t let your guard down, she cautioned herself. You’re not safe yet.
When at last she parked in front of her old frame house, she pried her fingers off the steering wheel and stumbled out of the car. Except for the dings and pops of the cooling engine, the world was silent, appearing so new and untouched, she hesitated to mar the opalescent expanse. Then her eyebrows drew together. The snow wasn’t untrodden after all. Tracks led to the house where a small gray creature huddled against the door.
She clapped her hands. “Shoo. Shoo.”
The creature did not move.
“Go on. Get,” she shouted.
The creature still didn’t move. Was it dead? This wouldn’t be the first time a dying animal had been attracted to the warmth seeping out of the house.
She approached gingerly, relaxing when she saw that it was only an old gray blanket that had somehow ended up on the stoop. She started to bend, thinking to pick it up, then she straightened. Bad idea. Who knew what vermin had taken refuge in the folds.
Before she could figure out what to do, the blanket moved. She jumped back and stared at it. The blanket moved again, giving her a glimpse of a coppery curl.
She lifted the bundle, cradled it in her arms, and drew back the blanket. Two dark eyes, shining with intelligence, gazed up at her.
She sucked in a breath. An infant, no more than nine months old.
As the infant continued to gaze at her, its eyes brightened to a gleaming amber. Then it smiled at her—a welcoming smile, both joyous and knowing, as if it had recognized a very dear friend.
Helen’s smile was tight. “Who are you?”
A chortle was the only response.
“And who left you here?” She glanced at the tracks. They led in only one direction—toward the house.
Feeling a little dizzy, she crouched down to examine the tracks more closely.
They were footprints. Tiny footprints in the snow.
She staggered to her feet and followed the footprints to see where they had originated, but there were no prints beyond her driveway. No tire tracks, either, other than her own. It was as though the baby had appeared out of nowhere and headed straight for her front door. All by itself.
Shivering a little, she studied the baby. The amber eyes staring back at her gleamed with laughter as if inviting her to share a joke.
A helpless feeling washed over her. “What am I supposed to do with you?”
The baby’s eyes darkened, and Helen knew it was mulling over the question, but how she knew she couldn’t say.
“I guess the first thing to do is get you out of the cold.”
The eyes brightened.
Once inside, Helen switched on a light, turned up the heat, then lay the baby down on the couch and unwrapped the blanket.
It was a girl, and she was naked. There was nothing to show who she was or where she had come from. For the most part, she looked normal for her age, though her legs and feet seemed too well developed. They were also very cold and wet. Helen rummaged in her linen closet for a soft towel, then briskly rubbed the tiny limbs.
The baby’s eyes gleamed amber.
“Now what?” Helen asked. A nurse, she was used to caring for the young, but only in a hospital where everything she needed was readily available. Well, she would just have to make do.
When she returned after fetching an old tee shirt that might suffice for a diaper, the baby was gone. She found her in the bathroom, trying to climb up on the toilet. Helen lifted her and held her on the seat. The baby looked at her with dark, dark eyes. Helen averted her gaze.
Back in the living room, with the child settled on the couch again, Helen dangled the tee shirt from her fingers. She didn’t want to insult the girl by diapering her, but what else could she do? Her own underwear would be much too large.
Seeing the baby’s eyes brighten, she looked behind her to see what had caught that amber gaze: her collection of dolls. The small dolls were arranged on shelves; the larger ones sat primly on a faded blue loveseat.
“Good idea,” Helen said. “I think the clothes from one of the big dolls should fit you.”
But the child wasn’t paying attention to her. She climbed down off the couch, toddled over to the loveseat, and picked up a rag doll that was almost as big as she was. Clutching it to her chest, she plopped down on the floor.
Within seconds she was sound asleep.
Helen put the baby on her bed, surrounded her with pillows, and covered her with a comforter. Then, yawning, she curled up on the couch and wrapped an afghan around herself. She knew she should call the sheriff’s office, but she was too tired to have to deal with all that bureaucratic nonsense. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
It was still dark when the sound of singing woke her. Thinking the clock radio had clicked on, she hurried to the bedroom to silence it before it disturbed the child’s sleep.
She paused in the doorway, and stared. The little girl was sitting in the middle of the bed, rocking the doll, and singing in the sweetest voice Helen had ever heard.
Tears came to her eyes as she listed. Though she could not distinguish an individual words, the song spoke to her of loneliness, of loss, and perhaps of love found.
Blinking rapidly, she stole away.
In the morning, she fixed oatmeal. While watching the child eat, she picked up the phone and dialed the sheriff’s number but disconnected the line before the call went through. Still grasping the receiver, she called the hospital and told her supervisor she wouldn’t be able to come in that day.
The baby grinned at her and banged the spoon on the table.
“You never did tell me who you are,” Helen said. “What am I supposed to call you?”
The little girl opened her mouth and made a soft sound as though trying to expel something from her throat. Her eyes darkened. She opened her mouth again, and this time a word floated out on a breath.
“Rena.”
“Rena?” Helen said. “Your name is Rena?”
Rena smiled and gave her an amber look.
Day after day, Helen picked up the phone to call the sheriff but instead called the hospital, claiming to be ill. And perhaps she really was ill, she thought. She certainly wasn’t her normal self. She had never particularly liked children, hadn’t seen the point of them, but she couldn’t bring herself to part with Rena. The child intrigued her. More than that, she made her feel alive.
Not knowing how long she’d have with Rena, Helen begrudged every moment of sleep. She rose with the dawn and was greeted with a sunny smile.
After straining to get out that first word, every hour, it seemed, Rena expanded her vocabulary. One day during their second week together, Rena climbed up on Helen’s lap and gave her a hug.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” she said. “It is very kind of you.”
“You’re welcome,” Helen said. Then she sighed. “I’ve been selfish keeping you the way I did. I really should have tried to find out who you belong to. Do you know who your mother is?”
Rena laughed and clapped her hands. “Helen.”
Helen swallowed a lump in her throat and kissed the top of the silken head. When she could speak again, she said, “Do you know where you came from?”
Rena’s eyes darkened. “No.”
“Do you know how you got here?”
Rena’s eyes grew even darker. “I don’t remember. I was just a baby then.”
Helen’s heart contracted. For all her grown-up ways, Rena was still a baby, and deserved a better life than she could give her. Tomorrow she would call the sheriff for sure.
But she didn’t.
A few days later, shortly after putting the child down for an afternoon nap, Helen heard Rena singing her strange and lovely song. She waited until the last aching note dissolved into silence, then entered the room.
“Can’t you sleep?”
Rena’s eyes blazed amber at the sight of her, but darkened almost immediately.
“We have to leave,” she said in a low voice that was more compelling than any shout. “Urshu says it is no longer safe here.”
“Who is Urshu?”
Rena pointed to a corner of the room. “Him.”
“I don’t see anyone.”
Rena paused, cocking her head as if listening. “He says only I can see him.”
Helen hid a smile. So, Rena had an invisible playmate.
“Why do we have to leave?” she asked, playing along.
Another head tilting pause. “They’re coming for me. And when they do, they will kill you.”
Any desire to smile instantly evaporated.
Who is “they,” she wanted to ask, but Rena’s eyes were such deep pools of blackness she knew the answer would not be forthcoming.
“How much time do we have?”
“Urshu says no more than four hours.”
Helen’s mind churned, thinking of all that needed to be done before they could leave. Packing the Volkswagen, of course. Closing out her account at the bank. Stopping by the hospital. Buying a few things at the store.
“I need to run errands,” she said, “but I don’t think you should come in case somebody sees you. Will you be okay if I leave you here alone?”
Rena’s eyes brightened. “I won’t be alone. Urshu will watch over me.
“You never did tell me who you are,” Helen said. “What am I supposed to call you?”
The little girl opened her mouth and made a soft sound as though trying to expel something from her throat. Her eyes darkened. She opened her mouth again, and this time a word floated out on a breath.
“Rena.”
“Rena?” Helen said. “Your name is Rena?”
Rena smiled and gave her an amber look.
Day after day, Helen picked up the phone to call the sheriff but instead called the hospital, claiming to be ill. And perhaps she really was ill, she thought. She certainly wasn’t her normal self. She had never particularly liked children, hadn’t seen the point of them, but she couldn’t bring herself to part with Rena. The child intrigued her. More than that, she made her feel alive.
Not knowing how long she’d have with Rena, Helen begrudged every moment of sleep. She rose with the dawn and was greeted with a sunny smile.
After straining to get out that first word, every hour, it seemed, Rena expanded her vocabulary. One day during their second week together, Rena climbed up on Helen’s lap and gave her a hug.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” she said. “It is very kind of you.”
“You’re welcome,” Helen said. Then she sighed. “I’ve been selfish keeping you the way I did. I really should have tried to find out who you belong to. Do you know who your mother is?”
Rena laughed and clapped her hands. “Helen.”
Helen swallowed a lump in her throat and kissed the top of the silken head. When she could speak again, she said, “Do you know where you came from?”
Rena’s eyes darkened. “No.”
“Do you know how you got here?”
Rena’s eyes grew even darker. “I don’t remember. I was just a baby then.”
Helen’s heart contracted. For all her grown-up ways, Rena was still a baby, and deserved a better life than she could give her. Tomorrow she would call the sheriff for sure.
But she didn’t.
A few days later, shortly after putting the child down for an afternoon nap, Helen heard Rena singing her strange and lovely song. She waited until the last aching note dissolved into silence, then entered the room.
“Can’t you sleep?”
Rena’s eyes blazed amber at the sight of her, but darkened almost immediately.
“We have to leave,” she said in a low voice that was more compelling than any shout. “Urshu says it is no longer safe here.”
“Who is Urshu?”
Rena pointed to a corner of the room. “Him.”
“I don’t see anyone.”
Rena paused, cocking her head as if listening. “He says only I can see him.”
Helen hid a smile. So, Rena had an invisible playmate.
“Why do we have to leave?” she asked, playing along.
Another head tilting pause. “They’re coming for me. And when they do, they will kill you.”
Any desire to smile instantly evaporated.
Who is “they,” she wanted to ask, but Rena’s eyes were such deep pools of blackness she knew the answer would not be forthcoming.
“How much time do we have?”
“Urshu says no more than four hours.”
Helen’s mind churned, thinking of all that needed to be done before they could leave. Packing the Volkswagen, of course. Closing out her account at the bank. Stopping by the hospital. Buying a few things at the store.
“I need to run errands,” she said, “but I don’t think you should come in case somebody sees you. Will you be okay if I leave you here alone?”
Rena’s eyes brightened. “I won’t be alone. Urshu will watch over me.
Chapter 1
The two men standing outside Philip’s door were dressed like Mormons on a mission, but their faces were immobile, their eyes cold.
Philip stepped back from the peephole, wishing he could run away, but with his ankles the way they were, he wouldn’t get very far before they caught him. Besides, what difference did it make? They already knew everything about him; they’d been watching him a long time.
When he opened the door, one of the men, an African-American with thin lips, said, “Philip Hansen?”
“Yes.”
The man held out identification showing he was from the National Security Agency. “I am Agent Derrick. May we come in? We need to ask you some questions.”
Philip glanced at the other man, a Caucasian with red lips like a girl’s, who narrowed his eyes and stared at him.
Philip stepped aside to let them enter. “What’s this about?”
Neither man responded. Agent Derrick’s gaze shifted from the faded blue couch to the twenty-inch television to the three-year-old computer sitting on a wooden desk. Red Lips continued to stare at Philip.
When he could not stand the silence any longer, Philip blurted out, “I know why you’re here.”
“So tell me.” Derrick focused his attention on him. “Why are we here?”
“I think you’re concerned about the books I’ve been checking out of the library.”
Derrick raised one eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Ever since I first noticed it, I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out what could possibly have brought me to your attention, and the only thing I can think of are the books about conspiracies and cover-ups I’ve been reading.”
“What makes you think we care about the books you read?”
“Someone does. After all, the government knew what books Oswald took out of the library, and that was before computers, even.”
“What is ‘it’?” Red Lips asked.
“It?”
“You said ‘ever since I first noticed it.’ What is ‘it’?”
Cold fingers of fear crawled up Philip’s spine. He glanced from one man to the other. “You mean it doesn’t belong to you people? Then someone else is having me watched. What have I been reading that’s so threatening?”
“You don’t know?” Derrick asked.
“No. I don’t.”
Red Lips thrust his face close to Philip’s. “What is ‘it’?”
Philip backed away. “Stay there. I’ll show you.”
The two agents exchanged glances but remained where they were.
Philip stood very still. Detecting a faint density in the air to his left, he turned toward it and spread out his arms until they were extended to their full span. He advanced slowly, weaving from side to side, keeping the dense air ahead of him. When he had herded it into a corner, he cast a brief look in the agents’ direction.
They were looking at him with identical expressions of wariness, each with a hand resting on his weapon.
Philip smiled to himself. If they really didn’t know what it was, the next few seconds should prove interesting. He reached behind him for the spray bottle he kept in his back pocket, and all at once both weapons were pointed at him.
“It’s just lemon juice,” he said in a soothing voice, though he wasn’t sure who he was trying to calm. Himself? The Agents? It?
He sprayed the corner with the juice, and for just as long as the droplets hung in the air, it was visible.
He inhaled sharply. Even after all this time, the sight of it spooked him. It was taller than he, at least six feet. Though it vaguely resembled a human with a hunched back, a huge head, and arms held close to its sides, there was nothing human about its features: a tiny slit of a mouth, round owlish eyes, and a long nose so flat it was barely perceptible. Two protuberances on the top of its head could be ears or horns or vestigial feelers. It looked iridescent, but that was only because of the mist of lemon juice that adhered to the body; the thing itself had no color.
“Shee-it,” Red Lips breathed, wide-eyed.
“What the hell is that?” Derrick demanded.
Seeing Derrick’s trigger finger twitch, Philip yelped, “Don’t shoot! It’s already gone. See?” He sprayed the corner; the lemon juice stained the wall. “Besides, I’m not sure it can be killed. It might be a hologram or a virtual . . . a virtual whatever.”
All at once Red Lips came up behind him and slammed him into the wall. The spray bottle fell to the floor. Red Lips jerked Philip’s arms behind his back and tightened handcuffs around his wrists. He propelled him to a hassock, pushed him into a sitting position, and stared at him.
Philip tried to speak, but all that came out of his mouth was a wordless croak. He summoned up some saliva and tried again. “You didn’t have to do that; I’m not going anywhere.” He kicked out his legs to show them the braces he wore. “I can’t run with these on.”
Red Lips pressed his gun against Philip’s cheek hard enough to draw tears. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, pal, but I’m sure going to find out.”
Derrick started opening and closing the desk drawers. He kept glancing behind him as if he thought the thing were looking over his shoulder.
He turned around and glared at Philip. “If that thing so much as lays a hand on me, you’re a dead duck.”
Philip started to get to his feet. Red Lips shoved him back down and pressed the gun to his cheek again.
“Where do you think you’re going,” he growled.
“I was going to see if I can find it.”
Red Lips shifted from foot to foot and ran a finger around the inside of his collar. “Do you think that bug man is still here?”
“I don’t know.” Despite the watery feel in his stomach, Philip was surprised to find that he was quite calm. Perhaps it was because the agents had also seen the thing and been frightened by it. At least now he knew he wasn’t delusional; the thing really did exist.
Derrick finished giving the desk a cursory search, looked in the hall closet, then headed for the bedroom, feeling about him as though he were blindfolded.
A few minutes later, he called out, “Hugh, can you come here a moment? I’ve found something.”
Hugh cast a warning glance at Philip, then left to join his partner. Philip could hear them muttering to each other. He squirmed on the hassock, wondering what they had found.
Becoming aware of the density in the air that signaled the presence of the thing, he stiffened. It moved behind him, then passed over his hands. The cuffs jangled as they fell to the floor.
“You hear something?” he heard Derrick ask. There was a moment of silence, then, “Man, that thing is making me jumpy.”
Philip stood up and stretched. He felt something at his back, pushing against him, and all of a sudden he wanted to laugh. The thing was herding him now!
He moved to the door, which had swung open all on its own. He slipped through then hurried as fast as he could down the short corridor. He paused when he got outside, but then he felt the thing nudging him toward a dark, late model sedan. The car door opened.
Philip looked from the car to his apartment, trying to decide which was worse: the thing or the NSA agents. Finally, after being given another push, he shrugged and climbed into the passenger seat. The door closed. The engine turned over.
He braced himself, expecting the car to peel away from the curb, but it drove off at a sedate speed.
Feeling ridiculous perched next to the invisible driver, he slid down in his seat until his head was beneath the window. By all the stop and go driving, he could tell the vehicle was keeping to side streets where traffic was minimal.
When the car picked up speed, he raised his head. They were on Parker Road heading away from Denver.
He was just beginning to relax, having decided the creature didn’t mean him any immediate harm, when the car pulled over and the door opened. The next thing he knew, he was standing by the side of Arapahoe Road several yards from the vehicle, which was still on Parker Road.
As he was glancing around, thoroughly bewildered, a silver Camaro convertible with a black top skidded to a stop. The passenger door opened.
He hesitated, thinking of all the stories he’d ever heard about the misadventures of hitchhikers, but when he was given a nudge, he hunched his shoulders in resignation and climbed into the car.
Half expecting another invisible driver, he was pleased to see a girl with curly blond hair smiling warily at him.
“I’ve never done this before,” she said. “My mother’d kill me if she found out.” Sculpted eyebrows drew together over big hazel eyes as she studied him. “You’re not a serial killer or anything, are you?”
“No.” Then he added before he could stop himself, “But if I were, I’d hardly admit it, would I?”
“I guess not,” she said in a small voice.
Hearing a car accelerate, Philip looked behind and saw the dark sedan proceeding south down Parker Road.
When he faced forward again, he noticed the girl staring after the vehicle.
“That’s weird.” She gave a little laugh that sounded anything but amused. “I thought I didn’t see anyone driving that car.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “You must think I’m a real wacko.”
“Not at all. I think you’re just nervous at having picked up a total stranger. Would you rather I tried to find another ride?”
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “No. That’s okay. What do we do now?”
“We leave.”
“Oh, yeah, right.” She pulled into the line of traffic surging west on Arapahoe Road. “I’m not going far this direction. Just to I-25.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Grand Junction. I was visiting my sister. She lives on Smoky Hill Road. She just had a new baby—it’s so tiny, and it has the cutest little fingers and toes. They look so real! But now I’m going home. I’m leaving for college soon—my first year—so I have to get ready. Shopping and stuff. Where are you going?”
Philip closed his eyes for a moment. Where was he going? He thought of the towns they would be traveling through on the way to Grand Junction: Salida, Gunnison, Montrose, Delta.
“Delta,” he said, remembering that Chalcedony, where his friend Emery Hill lived, was not far from there. Even though they’d been out of touch recently, Emery would probably let him spend the night.
The girl bounced a little in her seat. “This is going to be fun. I’m glad I picked you up after all.”
“If you were so worried, why did you stop?”
A look of uncertainty crossed her face. “I don’t know. It was like my car pulled over all on its own.”
The two men standing outside Philip’s door were dressed like Mormons on a mission, but their faces were immobile, their eyes cold.
Philip stepped back from the peephole, wishing he could run away, but with his ankles the way they were, he wouldn’t get very far before they caught him. Besides, what difference did it make? They already knew everything about him; they’d been watching him a long time.
When he opened the door, one of the men, an African-American with thin lips, said, “Philip Hansen?”
“Yes.”
The man held out identification showing he was from the National Security Agency. “I am Agent Derrick. May we come in? We need to ask you some questions.”
Philip glanced at the other man, a Caucasian with red lips like a girl’s, who narrowed his eyes and stared at him.
Philip stepped aside to let them enter. “What’s this about?”
Neither man responded. Agent Derrick’s gaze shifted from the faded blue couch to the twenty-inch television to the three-year-old computer sitting on a wooden desk. Red Lips continued to stare at Philip.
When he could not stand the silence any longer, Philip blurted out, “I know why you’re here.”
“So tell me.” Derrick focused his attention on him. “Why are we here?”
“I think you’re concerned about the books I’ve been checking out of the library.”
Derrick raised one eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Ever since I first noticed it, I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out what could possibly have brought me to your attention, and the only thing I can think of are the books about conspiracies and cover-ups I’ve been reading.”
“What makes you think we care about the books you read?”
“Someone does. After all, the government knew what books Oswald took out of the library, and that was before computers, even.”
“What is ‘it’?” Red Lips asked.
“It?”
“You said ‘ever since I first noticed it.’ What is ‘it’?”
Cold fingers of fear crawled up Philip’s spine. He glanced from one man to the other. “You mean it doesn’t belong to you people? Then someone else is having me watched. What have I been reading that’s so threatening?”
“You don’t know?” Derrick asked.
“No. I don’t.”
Red Lips thrust his face close to Philip’s. “What is ‘it’?”
Philip backed away. “Stay there. I’ll show you.”
The two agents exchanged glances but remained where they were.
Philip stood very still. Detecting a faint density in the air to his left, he turned toward it and spread out his arms until they were extended to their full span. He advanced slowly, weaving from side to side, keeping the dense air ahead of him. When he had herded it into a corner, he cast a brief look in the agents’ direction.
They were looking at him with identical expressions of wariness, each with a hand resting on his weapon.
Philip smiled to himself. If they really didn’t know what it was, the next few seconds should prove interesting. He reached behind him for the spray bottle he kept in his back pocket, and all at once both weapons were pointed at him.
“It’s just lemon juice,” he said in a soothing voice, though he wasn’t sure who he was trying to calm. Himself? The Agents? It?
He sprayed the corner with the juice, and for just as long as the droplets hung in the air, it was visible.
He inhaled sharply. Even after all this time, the sight of it spooked him. It was taller than he, at least six feet. Though it vaguely resembled a human with a hunched back, a huge head, and arms held close to its sides, there was nothing human about its features: a tiny slit of a mouth, round owlish eyes, and a long nose so flat it was barely perceptible. Two protuberances on the top of its head could be ears or horns or vestigial feelers. It looked iridescent, but that was only because of the mist of lemon juice that adhered to the body; the thing itself had no color.
“Shee-it,” Red Lips breathed, wide-eyed.
“What the hell is that?” Derrick demanded.
Seeing Derrick’s trigger finger twitch, Philip yelped, “Don’t shoot! It’s already gone. See?” He sprayed the corner; the lemon juice stained the wall. “Besides, I’m not sure it can be killed. It might be a hologram or a virtual . . . a virtual whatever.”
All at once Red Lips came up behind him and slammed him into the wall. The spray bottle fell to the floor. Red Lips jerked Philip’s arms behind his back and tightened handcuffs around his wrists. He propelled him to a hassock, pushed him into a sitting position, and stared at him.
Philip tried to speak, but all that came out of his mouth was a wordless croak. He summoned up some saliva and tried again. “You didn’t have to do that; I’m not going anywhere.” He kicked out his legs to show them the braces he wore. “I can’t run with these on.”
Red Lips pressed his gun against Philip’s cheek hard enough to draw tears. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, pal, but I’m sure going to find out.”
Derrick started opening and closing the desk drawers. He kept glancing behind him as if he thought the thing were looking over his shoulder.
He turned around and glared at Philip. “If that thing so much as lays a hand on me, you’re a dead duck.”
Philip started to get to his feet. Red Lips shoved him back down and pressed the gun to his cheek again.
“Where do you think you’re going,” he growled.
“I was going to see if I can find it.”
Red Lips shifted from foot to foot and ran a finger around the inside of his collar. “Do you think that bug man is still here?”
“I don’t know.” Despite the watery feel in his stomach, Philip was surprised to find that he was quite calm. Perhaps it was because the agents had also seen the thing and been frightened by it. At least now he knew he wasn’t delusional; the thing really did exist.
Derrick finished giving the desk a cursory search, looked in the hall closet, then headed for the bedroom, feeling about him as though he were blindfolded.
A few minutes later, he called out, “Hugh, can you come here a moment? I’ve found something.”
Hugh cast a warning glance at Philip, then left to join his partner. Philip could hear them muttering to each other. He squirmed on the hassock, wondering what they had found.
Becoming aware of the density in the air that signaled the presence of the thing, he stiffened. It moved behind him, then passed over his hands. The cuffs jangled as they fell to the floor.
“You hear something?” he heard Derrick ask. There was a moment of silence, then, “Man, that thing is making me jumpy.”
Philip stood up and stretched. He felt something at his back, pushing against him, and all of a sudden he wanted to laugh. The thing was herding him now!
He moved to the door, which had swung open all on its own. He slipped through then hurried as fast as he could down the short corridor. He paused when he got outside, but then he felt the thing nudging him toward a dark, late model sedan. The car door opened.
Philip looked from the car to his apartment, trying to decide which was worse: the thing or the NSA agents. Finally, after being given another push, he shrugged and climbed into the passenger seat. The door closed. The engine turned over.
He braced himself, expecting the car to peel away from the curb, but it drove off at a sedate speed.
Feeling ridiculous perched next to the invisible driver, he slid down in his seat until his head was beneath the window. By all the stop and go driving, he could tell the vehicle was keeping to side streets where traffic was minimal.
When the car picked up speed, he raised his head. They were on Parker Road heading away from Denver.
He was just beginning to relax, having decided the creature didn’t mean him any immediate harm, when the car pulled over and the door opened. The next thing he knew, he was standing by the side of Arapahoe Road several yards from the vehicle, which was still on Parker Road.
As he was glancing around, thoroughly bewildered, a silver Camaro convertible with a black top skidded to a stop. The passenger door opened.
He hesitated, thinking of all the stories he’d ever heard about the misadventures of hitchhikers, but when he was given a nudge, he hunched his shoulders in resignation and climbed into the car.
Half expecting another invisible driver, he was pleased to see a girl with curly blond hair smiling warily at him.
“I’ve never done this before,” she said. “My mother’d kill me if she found out.” Sculpted eyebrows drew together over big hazel eyes as she studied him. “You’re not a serial killer or anything, are you?”
“No.” Then he added before he could stop himself, “But if I were, I’d hardly admit it, would I?”
“I guess not,” she said in a small voice.
Hearing a car accelerate, Philip looked behind and saw the dark sedan proceeding south down Parker Road.
When he faced forward again, he noticed the girl staring after the vehicle.
“That’s weird.” She gave a little laugh that sounded anything but amused. “I thought I didn’t see anyone driving that car.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “You must think I’m a real wacko.”
“Not at all. I think you’re just nervous at having picked up a total stranger. Would you rather I tried to find another ride?”
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “No. That’s okay. What do we do now?”
“We leave.”
“Oh, yeah, right.” She pulled into the line of traffic surging west on Arapahoe Road. “I’m not going far this direction. Just to I-25.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Grand Junction. I was visiting my sister. She lives on Smoky Hill Road. She just had a new baby—it’s so tiny, and it has the cutest little fingers and toes. They look so real! But now I’m going home. I’m leaving for college soon—my first year—so I have to get ready. Shopping and stuff. Where are you going?”
Philip closed his eyes for a moment. Where was he going? He thought of the towns they would be traveling through on the way to Grand Junction: Salida, Gunnison, Montrose, Delta.
“Delta,” he said, remembering that Chalcedony, where his friend Emery Hill lived, was not far from there. Even though they’d been out of touch recently, Emery would probably let him spend the night.
The girl bounced a little in her seat. “This is going to be fun. I’m glad I picked you up after all.”
“If you were so worried, why did you stop?”
A look of uncertainty crossed her face. “I don’t know. It was like my car pulled over all on its own.”
contact: 