The woods are dense. The full moon still shines but there is little light coming from it. I turn my hands on so we can see. I start to shiver. Panic sweeps through me. How will I explain this to Henri? I’m wearing what now look like singed cutoffs. My head is bleeding. So is my back, along with various cuts on my arms and legs. My lungs feel as though they are on fire with every breath I take. And Sarah is in my arms. She now must know what I can do, what I am capable of, or at least some of it. I’m going to have to explain everything to her. I’ll have to tell Henri she knows. I already have too many strikes against me. He’ll say someone will slip at some point. He’ll insist we leave. There’s no way around it.
I set Sarah down. She’s stopped crying. She looks at me, confused, scared, bewildered. I know I need to get some clothes and get back to the party so that people aren’t suspicious. I need to get Sarah back so people don’t think she’s dead.
“You’re okay to walk?” I say.
“I think so.”
“Follow me.”
“Where are we going?”
“I need to get some clothes. Hopefully, one of the football players has a change of clothes for after practice.”
We start walking through the woods. I’m going to circle around and look inside people’s cars for something to wear.
“What just happened, John? What is happening?”
“You were in a fire, and I got you out of it.”
“What you did isn’t possible.”
“It is for me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I look at her. I had hoped never to have to tell her what I’m about to tell her. Even though I knew it probably wasn’t realistic, I had hoped to stay hidden in Paradise. Henri has always said never to get too close to anyone. Because if you do, at some point they’re going to notice that you’re different, and that will require an explanation. And that means we have to leave. My heart is pounding, my hands are shaking, but not because I’m cold. If I have any hope of staying, or of getting away with what I did tonight, I have to tell her.
“I am not who you think I am,” I say.
“Who are you?”
“I am Number Four.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Sarah, it’s going to sound stupid and crazy, but what I’m about to say is the truth. You have to believe me.”
She touches her hand to the side of my face. “If you say it’s the truth, then I’ll believe you.”
“It is.”
“Then tell me.”
“I’m an alien. I am the fourth of nine kids sent to Earth after our planet was destroyed. I have powers, powers unlike any human, powers that allow me to do things like I did in the house. And there are other aliens here on Earth who are hunting me, the ones who attacked my planet, and if they find me they will kill me.”
I expect her to slap me, or laugh at me, or scream, or turn and run away from me. She stops and looks at me. Looks right into my eyes.
“You’re telling me the truth,” she says.
“Yes, I am.” I look into her eyes, willing her to believe me. She stares searchingly at me for a long moment, and then nods.
“Thank you for saving my life. I don’t care what you are or where you’re from. To me you’re John, the boy I love.”
“What?”
“I love you, John, and you saved my life, and that’s all that’s important.”
“I love you too. And I always will.”
I wrap my arms around her and kiss her. After a minute or so, she pulls away.
“Let’s go find you some clothes and get back so people know we’re okay.”
Sarah finds a change of clothes in the fourth car we check. They’re close enough to what I was wearing— jeans and a button-down shirt—that no one will notice the difference. When we reach the house we stand as far away as possible while still being able to see. The house has collapsed in on itself and is now nothing more than a twisted heap of blackened coals soggy with water. Wisps of smoke sporadically rise, looking ghastly in the night sky. There are three fire trucks. I count six cop cars. Nine sets of flashing lights but no sound to go with them. Few people, if any, have left. They’ve been pushed back, the house cordoned off with yellow tape. The police officers are questioning some of them. Five firemen stand in the middle of it all, sifting through the rubble.
Then I hear “There they are!” yelled from behind me. Every set of eyes in the crowd turns my way. It takes me a full five seconds to realize that it is me the person is referring to.
Four police officers walk towards us. Behind them is a man holding a notepad and tape recorder. While we were looking for the clothes, Sarah and I agreed on a story. I came around the back of the house where she was watching the fire. She had jumped out of the second-floor window with the dogs, who had run away. We had watched away from the crowd, but eventually drifted over and joined it. I explained to her that we couldn’t tell anyone about what happened, not even Sam or Henri, that if anyone found out the truth, I would have to leave immediately. We agreed that I would answer the questions and she would agree with whatever I said.
“Are you John Smith?” one of the cops asks me. The officer is of medium height, and stands with his shoulders hunched. He isn’t overweight but is far from being in shape, with a slight paunch and an overall look of softness.
“Yes, why?”
“Two people said they saw you run into that house and then come flying out the back of it like Superman, with the dogs and the girl in your arms.”
“Seriously?” I ask in disbelief. Sarah stays beside me.
“That’s what they said.”
I fake a laugh. “The house was on fire. Do I look like I was inside a burning house?”
He scrunches his eyebrows together and rests his hands on his hips. “So you’re telling me you didn’t go in there?”
“I came around the back to try and find Sarah,” I say. “She had gotten out with the dogs. We stayed back there and watched the fire and then came over here.”
The officer looks at Sarah. “Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Well, who ran into that house, then?” the reporter beside him chimes in. It’s his first time speaking. He watches me with shrewd, judging eyes. I can already tell that he doesn’t believe my story.
“How do I know?” I say.
He nods his head and writes something in his notebook. I can’t read what it says.
“So you’re telling me these two witnesses are liars?” the reporter asks.
“Baines,” the officer says, shaking his head at him.
I nod. “I didn’t go into the house and save her or the dogs. They were outside.”
“Who said anything about saving her or the dogs?” Baines asks.
I shrug. “I thought that’s what you were implying.”
“I didn’t imply anything.”
Sam walks up with my phone. I try to fix him with a stare to tell him the timing is bad, but he doesn’t understand and he hands me my phone anyway.
“Thanks,” I say.
“I’m happy you’re okay,” he says. The officers glare at him and he slinks away.
Baines watches with his eyes squinted. He’s chewing gum, trying to piece the information together. He nods to himself.
