“Did you see his tattoo?” I ask.
“Yeah. And so much for the stereotype of scrawny nerds being the only ones fascinated by aliens. That man is huge, and mean looking.”
“Take my phone, Sam.”
“What? Why?” he asks.
“You have to follow him. Take my phone. I’ll go into the house. It’s obvious there is nobody there or he wouldn’t have locked the door. Henri might be in there. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
“How are you going to call me?”
“I don’t know. I’ll find a way. Here.” He reluctantly takes it.
“What if Henri isn’t in there?”
“That’s why I want you to follow that guy. He might be going to Henri now.”
“What if he comes back?”
“We’ll figure it out. But you have to go now. I promise, I’ll call you the first chance I get.”
Sam turns and looks at the man. He is fifty yards away from us now. Then he looks back at me.
“Okay, I’ll do it. But be careful in there.”
“You be careful, too. Don’t let him out of your sight. And don’t let him see you.”
“Not a chance.”
He turns and hurries after the man. I watch them go and, once they vanish from sight, I walk up to the house. The windows are dark, each one covered with a white shade. I can’t see in. I walk around to the back. There is a small concrete patio leading to a back door, which is locked. I walk the rest of the way around the house. Overgrown weeds and bushes left over from summer. I try a window. Locked. All of them are locked. Should I break one? I look for rocks among the brambles, and the second I see one and lift it from the ground with my mind an idea occurs to me, an idea so crazy that it just might work.
I drop the rock and walk to the back door. It has a simple lock, no deadbolt. I take a deep breath, close my eyes in concentration, and grab hold of the doorknob. I give it a shake. My thoughts move from head to heart to stomach; everything is centered there. My grip tightens, my breath is held in anticipation as I try to envision the inner workings. Then I feel and hear a click in the hand holding the knob. A smile forms on my face. I turn the knob and the door swings open. I can’t believe I can unlock doors by imagining what is inside of them.
The kitchen is surprisingly clean, the surfaces wiped down, the sink free of dirty dishes. A new loaf of bread sits on the counter. I walk through a narrow corridor into a living room with sports posters and banners on the walls, a big-screen TV sitting in a corner. The door to a bedroom is off to the left side. I poke my head in. It’s in a state of disarray, covers thrown aside on the bed, clutter atop the dresser. The foul stench of dirty laundry covered in sweat that has never dried.
At the front of the house, beside the door, a flight of stairs ascends to the second level. I begin walking up them. The third step groans under my foot.
“Hello?” a voice yells from the top of the stairs.
I freeze, holding my breath.
“Frank, is that you?”
I stay silent. I hear somebody stand from a chair, the creak of footsteps on a hardwood floor approaching. A man appears at the top of the stairs. Dark shaggy hair, sideburns, an unshaven face. Not as big as the man who left earlier, but not exactly small either.
“Who the hell are you?” he asks.
“I’m looking for a friend of mine,” I say.
He screws his face up into a scowl, vanishes and reappears five seconds later holding a wooden baseball bat in his hand.
“How did you get in here?” he asks.
“I would put the bat down if I were you.”
“How did you get in here?”
“I am faster than you are and I am far stronger.”
“Like hell you are.”
“I’m looking for a friend of mine. He came here this morning. I want to know where he is.”
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know who you are talking about.”
“You’re one of them!” he screams. He holds the bat as a baseball player would, both white-knuckled hands at the thin base poised to swing. There is genuine fear in his eyes. His jaw is tightly clenched. “You’re one of them! Why don’t you just leave us alone already!?”
“I am not one of them. I’ve come for my friend. Tell me where he is.”
“Your friend is one of them!”
“No he isn’t.”
“So you know who I’m talking about?”
“Yes.”
He takes a step down.
“I’m warning you,” I say. “Drop the bat and tell me where he is.”
My hands are shaking from the uncertainty of the situation, from the fact that he has a bat in his hands while I have nothing but my own abilities. I’m unnerved by the fear in his eyes. He takes another step down. There are only six stairs between us.
“I’m going to take your head off. That’ll send your friends a message.”
“They aren’t my friends. And I assure you, you’d be doing them a favor if you hurt me.”
“Let’s see then,” he says.
He comes racing down the stairs. There is nothing I can do but react. He swings the bat. I duck and it hits the wall with a thud, leaving a large splintered hole in the wood panel. I come up after him and lift him in the air, one hand gripping his throat, the other in his armpit, carrying him back up the stairs. He flails, landing kicks to my legs and groin. The bat drops from his hands. It bounces hollowly down the stairs and I hear one of the windows break behind me.
The second floor is a wide-open loft. It is dark. The walls are covered with issues of
I throw the man to the ground. He scoots away from me and stands up. When he does I put all my power into the pit of my stomach and direct it towards him with a hard forward-thrusting motion, and he goes flying backwards and crashes into the wall.
“Where is he?” I ask.
“I’ll never tell you. He’s one of you.”
“I’m not who you think I am.”
“You guys will never succeed! Just leave Earth alone!”
I lift my hand and choke him. I can feel the flexed tendons beneath my hand even though I am not touching him. He can’t breathe and his face turns red. I let go.
“I’ll ask again.”
“No.”
I choke him once more, but this time when his face turns red I squeeze tighter. When I let go he begins to cry and I feel bad for him, for what I’ve done to him. But he knows where Henri is, has done something to him, and my sympathy ends almost as soon as it began.
After he catches his breath, and between sobs, he says, “He’s downstairs.”
“Where? I didn’t see him.”
“In the basement. The door is behind the Steelers banner in the living room.”
I dial my phone number from the telephone atop the middle desk. Sam doesn’t answer. Then I pull the phone from the wall and break it in half.
