'What?'
'I think I heard something. I think your dad got out of bed.'
Ashley grew frustrated. She was almost where she needed to be and he went and stopped. His weight already felt heavy and it was too hot to have his sticky, naked body lying on her any longer than necessary, especially with the extra ten pounds he carried.
'Who cares? He’s probably going to the bathroom. They never come down stairs.'
Still, Dick did not start again. He cocked an ear toward the ceiling.
The flickering glow from the television danced across the couch and their intertwined bodies. That TV relayed the same news over and over: disappearances at West Point, the Citadel, and Naval Academy. Overseas, the Russians admitted that the better part of an infantry division had gone missing and they had lost contact with hundreds of small communities along the Ural Mountains.
'Yeah, well if he does come down stairs you’re not the one he’s going to kill,' Rich said.
'Are you kidding?' she giggled. 'The sight of you screwing his little girl would give him a heart attack.'
'Is that part of the fun? Is that why-'
'Listen, I had something good coming along and I’m about to lose it if you don’t get the show on the road again. That is…unless you really want to stop…?'
She stroked a finger along his chin, batted her eyes bashfully, and stuck out her lower lip. The well- orchestrated expression served as much a seduction as a pout.
He lost concern for the upstairs footfalls. He could not resist. For a girl as beautiful as Ashley to want him… how could he resist?
And-oh-how the last few weeks had been a paradise for Rich’s libido: sex nearly every night, perhaps her way of releasing the tension surrounding the wedding. Whatever the reason, he approved.
Dick started again.
Soon she bit her lip to muffle her noise but Rich suspected Ashley really wanted to wail the loudest, window-rattling moan she could conjure…if only to be heard upstairs.
When he finished, she wiggled away and ran to the bathroom. A few minutes later, they shared hugs and whispers. She cuddled against his chest and accepted his assurances that the world and the wedding would be all right. Rich found satisfaction in comforting her, even if he did not believe his own words.
Sometimes she could be that little princess Lori Brewer thought Ashley to be, but that night Ashley was a scared human being watching her world unravel.
Dante had suggested that television and ball games and their daily routines had been fantasy and that a new reality waited on the doorstep. Richard wondered if Ashley could live in a world without shopping trips, American Idol, or VH-1. Then again, he doubted he could, either.
He was a mediocre car salesman.
He had never been a good student.
He could not fix a leaky toilet on his own nor do his taxes without an accountant.
Convincing such a tender creature as Ashley to marry him ranked as Richard’s most noteworthy accomplishment in twenty-three years of life.
Nevertheless, the delusion remained; the feeling that his life waited on hold, like a flower preparing to bloom.
The time came for him to leave.
'Rich,' she said as they stood on the porch. 'I know everything is going to be all right.' A tremble in her voice suggested otherwise. 'But just in case…you know…you know I love you, right? I mean, I can be a real-'
He silenced her with a kiss on the forehead.
'I know. And I love you, too…Mrs. Stone.'
Rich hopped down the stairs, walked across the driveway, and entered his car. He started the engine, waved, and drove off.
Ashley watched from her porch until the Malibu’s taillights faded from sight.
– Another late night drive; another bout of weirdness on the radio.
This time he listened not to an AM talk show host handling conspiracy theorists, religious zealots, and other assorted shut-ins but, instead, twenty-four hour continuous live network coverage.
Scientific ‘experts’ replaced the conspiracy theorists. Respected clergy replaced the religious zealots. Military and political analysts now played the role of the assorted shut-ins.
Richard Trevor Stone grew convinced that the new voices on the radio did not know any more than the old voices.
The familiar CBS radio tune chimed, signaling the top of the hour.
'Updating our top stories…,' the anchorman reported.
Rich listened but kept his eyes focused ahead. The deep darkness surrounding the road created the illusion of driving through a tunnel.
'…Reports of mass disappearances are continually flowing in to our newsroom. The Massachusetts Institute of Technology and the University of Miami’s Marine Biology building have all been confirmed as sites of large-scale disappearances. As with all of the previous accounts, no witnesses and only piles of clothing left behind.
'There have been reports of additional disappearances in Brooklyn, Iowa City, and Seattle’s famous Space Needle. We are working on confirmation of these stories but our resources are stretched thin.'
Richard found the not-so-well-hidden quiver in the newscaster’s voice hypnotizing. He pitied the man as he struggled to report the news-the insanity — with some measure of professional stoicism.
'In addition, the Department of Homeland Security has admitted that various law enforcement agencies are investigating nearly 1,000 accounts of sightings or attacks by unidentifiable animals. This presumably includes the incident in New Mexico where a State Trooper’s dashboard video camera captured footage of the trooper and a car he had pulled over being attacked. Well, um, in actuality, the video shows both the trooper and the entire car full of passengers swallowed whole by a large worm creature.'
The newscaster paused for no more than three seconds but on radio three seconds of dead air seemed an eternity.
'I apologize…ladies and gentlemen…but these are not the types of stories we in the news business are accustomed to reporting. Sitting in this studio…it all seems unreal. It is now nearly impossible for our staff to distinguish between prank or hoax stories and the truth because both sound equally absurd.'
A thud jarred across the airwaves followed by concerned voices off-microphone and the newscaster protesting 'I’m okay…I’m okay.'
After some distant cross talk, a female voice gained control of the broadcast.
Dick drove along carefully; he knew he neared his driveway. It would be good to get off the road and out of that tunnel of darkness.
'Now to our next guest, Dr. Richard Ashford, former assistant Science Advisor to two different Presidents. Dr. Ashford, what can you tell us about these events?'
Dr. Ashford-an older voice that sounded a tad tipsy to Richard’s ear-spoke brash and loud.
'It would be comforting if I could tell you that this is all caused by sun spots or the aurora borealis. It would be reassuring if I could blame this on some new terrorist weapon. Then we could fight it; maybe understand it. Even if that Reverend-the one on last hour who wanted everyone to join hands and pray-if he could tell us with certainty that this was God’s judgment then at least we would know. But I don’t know. You don’t know. None of us know.'
'That’s not very helpful, doctor.'
Richard swung the Malibu off the main road. A shape flashed in the corner of his eye as something bolted from the forest into the driveway. Before he could react-before he even understood that he should react-the car shuddered as the shape slammed the right side of the car. The collision threw Rich’s foot off the accelerator. The passenger’s side window cracked into a spider web.
'That’s because this situation has no historical precedent…'
The car stopped. Rich’s head bounced as if he were a bobble-head doll but the seat belt held his body in place. His mind groggily comprehended that something had hit him…but what?
When he saw what hovered outside the cracked passenger's window, he shivered violently.
Two big round beastly eyes as colorless as granite.
