by Linda Ratof
Scott settled back comfortably in the worn seat and groaned happily. This train wasn't as new as the one they'd taken out of Santa Barbara, but the food was fantastic. Reluctantly, he reached for his knapsack on the floor next to him and searched through it for his history book. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was study, but there were still three or four more stops until their destination and his father insisted. After the first chapter Scott found himself staring out the window, thinking of his "brother," the real Paul Forrester's son Eric and his stepfather, Tom. The boy had been so determined to join them in their travels and get to know his "real" father. Scott was relieved they'd been able to convince him to stay with his family. 'What would Eric think if he knew the whole truth?" Scott wondered to himself as the miles rolled swiftly by.
They were still almost fifteen minutes from the next town when Scott began to notice something funny about the trees along the tracks - they weren't going by as fast. "Dad, am I seeing things, or are we slowing down?"
Paul, who also noticed the gradual change in speed, agreed. "I hope there's nothing wrong with the train, or the tracks ahead."
A motion in the aisle caught Paul's eye. The conductor, Smitty, was coming through the car, assuring the passengers who were asking that nothing was wrong.
"Just a little delay ahead; nothing to be worried about, folks. Please stay in your seats." He stopped as he reached Paul and Scott. He recognized the famous photographer the moment they stepped on the train. Professing to be one of Paul's greatest fans, Smitty even asked Paul to autograph the copy of In the Eye of the Storm held just bought and had in his cubicle in the train. "Sorry about the delay, Mr. Forrester. I don't think we're going to be stopped long enough to make you late for any appointments you've got."
"Do you know what the problem is? Has there been a accident on the line?" a concerned Paul inquired.
The portly man scratched his head, then resettled his cap. "To tell you the truth, sir, I don't. The head conductor just said to come through, keep everybody calm, and make sure no one left his seat. I'll let you know if I hear anything else."
Scott added his thanks to his father's, shrugged, then turned back to the window. Suddenly he shot straight up in his seat. Half hidden in the trees was a face he knew, one held never forget. He strangled back 'a warning shout forcing his voice into an urgent whisper, "Dad, it's a trap! We've got to get out of' here."
Paul could feel his son's fear shoot through him as their bodies made contact over the armrest. Looking out the window, he could see nothing indicating the FSA was out there. "What did you see?"
"I saw him, Dad. That agent who guarded me at the sanitarium when Fox 'leaked' that Mom was there. Wylie, Fox called him. He was back there in the trees. I know it was him."
Paul started to reach for his sphere, then stopped. There
was no way he could use it in the crowded car; he had to think of another plan. Straightening up, he looked over his shoulder for Smitty, who was talking to the newlyweds two rows behind them, and caught the man's attention.
Touching his cap to the couple, the conductor hurried back to the photographer. "Yes, Mr. Forrester? You wanted me?"
"I'm sorry to bother you," Paul apologized, "but are you sure you were told no one was to leave his seat?"
Puzzled by the question, Smitty nodded emphatically. "Yes, sir. No one. Those were my orders."
"Of course. I shouldn't have asked, but I was just thinking of going to get my camera bag out of the storage compartment where you had us put our luggage." Paul could feel the train about to come to a complete stop and knew they didn't have much time left.
"I'm sorry, sir. I don't quite understand?''
Scott jumped in as his father hesitated. "It's like this, Smitty. We just saw some police officers out there. There must be some kind of bust going down. Maybe there's a drug lord on board, or a Mafia kingpin, something like that. If whoever it is isn't on this car, then we're going to miss all the action, being stuck here like this. There could be a great story for my dad about to come down."
The conductor smiled and nodded head as he beg an to understand..
Following his son's lead, Paul picked up the explanation as Scott stopped for a moment to catch his breath. "If Scott and I get off now, we'll have time to get set up outside, to be ready for whatever happens. If you want, we promise no one else will know you let us off; only we three will know," Paul's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.
The thought of helping this world-famous celebrity get a special story made the man's eyes sparkle. Let his family say he was stuck in a dead-end, boring job. "Come on then; I'll unlock the storage compartment, then open the outer door for you as soon as it's safe."
Holding to their rescued belongings, Paul and Scott stood in the doorway opposite the side Scott had seen Wylie as their accomplice slid the door open. As soon as they could, they tossed their knapsacks to the ground and quickly joined them. Gathering everything up, the two fugitives waved their thanks to their befuddled helper and took off toward the cover of the trees, hoping Fox didn't have agents or police waiting on both side of the tracks. They didn't let themselves relax until a sweep of the area by Paul's sphere showed no one else was around.
Scott whooped his relief. "We did it, Dad! Naughton and Artemus would have been proud."
Paul laughingly slapped his son on the back as they headed further from the train tracks toward the sound of a busy highway off in the distance.
The late afternoon shadows began to creep across the road as the spring breezes cooled the air to an almost uncomfortable degree. Father and son kept to the sunny side of the road to take advantage of whatever heat the sun had left to give.
Scott shifted his backpack, turned up his collar, then stuck his hands in his pockets for warmth Paul glanced at his son with concern. According to the road map their last ride had given them, there was still a long walk to Appleton, the nearest town., When the driver said he was letting them off in the middle of nowhere, Paul had no idea there would be so much nowhere. It had seemed like a good plan to be as far from well-populated areas as they could; now Paul wasn't so sure. It looked like they'd be sleeping outside again in tonight. It had been three days since they'd slipped Fox's trap, and they'd been able to sleep inside only once.
The sound of a car broke the silence. Paul and Scott, thumbs out, moved to the side of the road as a bright red Firebird with temporary plates roared by, then slowed down as it passed them. The driver watched the pair in the rearview mirror, then stopped and waited for them to catch up, radio blaring.
The driver, a teenage boy not much older than Scott, rolled his window half-way down as they approached. "Hi. What're you doing way out here? You're a bit off the beaten track."
Paul almost had to shout to be heard over the music. "I'm Paul. This is my son, Scott. We're trying to get to Appleton before it gets dark. When our last ride said it was a long way, we didn't realize he meant this long."
The boy reached over and turned down the radio. "I'm Brett. I'm headed that way myself."' Carefully he checked out the roadweary travelers and their gear. "Why are you headed there? It's got to be the most boring town in the whole U.S.A."
Scott set his backpack down on the ground. "My dad and I've been in some beg cities lately and decided it was time for a change. I don't know if we'll be staying longer than tonight, but we'd at least like to find a warm place to sleep."
That made sense to Brett, and it was going to be another cold night. He wasn't supposed to pick up strangers, but there was something familiar about this man. "Don't I know you from somewhere? Not the post office wall, I hope."
Paul's eyebrow arched at this new expression.
Scott covered for his father. "My dad's Paul Forrester, the photographer. You've probably seen him on talk shows or heard about his book, In the Eye of the Storm. It even won a Pulitzer Prize. That's why we're traveling around; always looking for a new story."
"Yeah, that's why you look so familiar. They've got your book in the school library." Brett had never felt so comfortable around anyone before, and the fact the man was someone well-known, made the decision for the boy. He unlocked the doors to the car. "Get in. I've never been around anyone famous before."
Paul smiled as Scott, anxious to check out the car, ran around to the front and slid in. He had to push some boxes off to the side to make room for himself and their bags in the back.
"Sorry about those things, Mr. Forrester." Brett explained. "I'm running an errand for my father. To tell you the truth, this is the first time my parents have let me take the car any further than the neighborhood store since I got my license last week."
"I know what you mean about parents," Scott agreed with a quick look at his father. "Sometimes they can be overprotective."
Paul relaxed in the warmth of the car as the teenage boys got to know each other. Brett was obviously in a very good mood; he was giving off such happy feelings Paul was as able to pick up on them from the back seat'. But Paul started to sendehs'd the feelings, change 'slowly and subtly as they. drew closer, to the more populated areas with houses appear appearing in the distance.
Brett started to squirm a little in hi's eat and seemed to be having trouble keeping up hid of the convers sation with Scott. Finally., he slowed the car down and pulled over next to a clearing. "It's been great having you two with me, but, well, umm..."
Paul understood. "You said you weren't supposed to pick up strangers. If someone sees us with you, you could get into trouble with your parents."
'The boy was relieved Paul understood. "Yeah, that's it. I just got this car the other day, and I guess you could say I'm under probation."
Scott looked at the car with even more appreciation. "Your own car! Wow! Was it a birthday present of something?"
Paul. his arm resting on the back of Brett's seat and lightly touching him, felt a wave of emotion the confused him as the boy said," That's right.- Birthday," then added and something to himself. Brett continued quickly, as if to cover what he'd just said. "We're only about a mile form town now. You'll be able to make it before dark easily now... There's even a guest house this side of town. A widow, Glenna Rine, owns it. '.Real nice, but a little different."
Paul gently patted the prattling boy on the shoulder, a gesture he knew was acceptable, but was also a good way for him to feel a person's emotions, and this boy's were becoming strange to him. "We appreciate the ride, Brett. You've been a big help. We won't tell anyone you gave us a lift, but I hope., if we stay .here for a while, we'll be able to see you. ---It seems to me you and Scott have gotten to know each other pretty well."
Scott got out and helped his father gather their bags from among the jumble in the back seat while Brett wrote down the directions to the guest house. It'. wad beginning to look like they weren't just going to be passing through "If we do stay, how about I look you up in school? The first thing Dad always does is get me enrolled, and it'll be nice knowing someone there for a change."
"Hey,, do that., it's such a small school, we'll have to run into each other some time, " the now obviously nervous boy acknowledged as he pulled back onto the road.
As the car disappeared in the distance Paul and Scott picked up their bags and started for the lights that were beginning to shine in the distance.
Paul and Scott had no trouble following Brett's scribbled instructions into town. The found themselves in front of an old, three-story Victorian house,. once. 1 proud, now in need of a fresh coat of paint. The gate creaked as Paul pushed it open, but still latched itself snuggly behind them.
The path to the front door was swept clean and early spring flowers, unhindered by weeds, were beginning to show themselves along the path and veranda. Paul rang the doorbell while Scott checked out the house and
yard from the porch steps. Through the open window they could hear the sounds of someone moving around in answer to the bell.
An elderly woman, slight but ramrod straight, opened the door. Her blue-tinted hair framed an amazingly unlined face and sharp green eyes. "Yes? May I help you?"
"Glenna Rine? I'm Paul Forrester and this is my son, Scott. We were told you rent rooms."
Glenna eyed the dusty pair through the screen door. "And who told you that?"
Scott volunteered, "A boy named Brett. We met him outside of town and he told us how to get here. He said you took in guests."
The old woman knew who they meant, even without a last name. "A good boy, that Brett. Heard his father was letting him run some errands in the new car of his. Good folks. All right, come on in." She unlatched the door and gestured to them. "Just put your things next to the hat rack, and we can continue this discussion in the kitchen."
As Paul and Scott entered the hallway, they noticed the hat rack held several old-fashioned bonnets and wide-brimmed hats.
Catching their puzzled glances, Glenna stopped and wagged her finger at them. "This new-fangled notion of going out into the sun with bare heads is foolishness. Look at you two, so dark already this early in the season."
"We've been traveling a long time," Paul answered simply.
"And we just left Santa Barbara," Scott chimed in.
"All the more reason to get yourselves some proper head protection," the proper lady chided as she continued down the hall. Setting herself at the head of the kitchen table, she indicated the chairs along the side to her right.
"You're a long way from anywhere, here in Appleton. We don't get many visitors since the state put in the new bypass further west of here. Are you only passing through, or planning on staying a while? There isn't much work here, you should know."
"We're going to be staying for a while, though I don't know how long," Paul responded with a reply that would have surprised him an hour earlier. "I'm a photographer and we have to travel a lot. This looks like a nice town, and my son needs to spend some time in school."
Glenna nodded, then looked sharply at Scott. "What are you staring at, boy? Hasn't your father taught you that isn't polite?"
Scott, not realizing he was staring, looked up startled. "Yes, ma'am. I mean no, ma'am. I'm sorry. I was just admiring your pin. I've never seen blue stones like those, the way they glow is like nothing I've ever seen before."
Glenna's stare softened as her arthritic hand caressed the brooch at her collar. "These are called moonstones."
Paul looked from his son to his hostess in surprise. Held visited this planet's satellite once, but was sure held never seen that kind of mineral. And how would this Earth woman get them?
"Moon stones?" he repeated.
"Yes, moonstones. I'm not surprised you've never heard of them; you're both too young." Her stern tone softened. "The brooch was my grandfather's wedding present to him new bride, and she gave it to me on my wedding day. Moonstones were very popular back then. Now they're like me, old-fashioned and out of date."
Glenna shook her head as if to shake off the reverie. Her voice took on its usual crispness. "Now as to your staying here. I don't tolerate any loud music or sloppiness. I'll provide breakfast and dinner; lunch you get yourselves. I also expect you to keep your room neat and take care of any dishes you use; wash, dry, and put away. I charge by the week, paid in advance." She stopped Paul as he started to reach into his pocket for his wallet. "The amount we can discuss tomorrow, after you help me do the grocery shopping and I see how much you two eat. I've already had dinner, but by the looks of you both, you haven't. I'll fix a quick meal, then show you to your room." Brusquely, with an agility that belied her advanced years, Glenna quickly put together a meal that would satisfy any hungry traveler, cleaning up any dishes or utensils as she used them. Making herself a cup of tea, she joined them as they did justice to her fine culinary skills.
Paul and Scott's room was the first one at the top of the stairs. The double bed was on a high bed frame. After Glenna left, Scott joked they would need a ladder to get in bed. A tall armoire and a matching dresser flanked French doors that opened onto a small porch of its own. The bathroom, complete with cast iron tub raised from the floor on clawed feet, was connected to their room by an adjoining door.
Paul, coming out of the bathroom with a still-damp towel wrapped around him, found Scott already in bed, but lying with his arms under his head, and staring up at the ceiling. "I see you didn't need a ladder after all."
"No, and it's a good thing I'm not afraid of heights," his son quipped back. "But, really, Dad, why are we staying in Appleton? I know it's as good a place as any to lay low for a while, but I thought we were just going to spend the night."
Paul stopped searching through his bag for some clean clothes as he answered, "Because of Brett, of course. Scott, I could feel something wrong back there in the car. There's something bothering him, and I'd like to help."
"He seems like a nice guy. As long as he doesn't want us to adopt him like Eric did, I guess it wouldn't hurt." The tired boy snuggled deeper into the feather pillow and pulled the comforter higher around his neck as his father shut off the lights and settled in next to him.
Fox sat dejectedly at his desk, taking the cup of hot black coffee from Wylie almost from force of habit. "How could I have lost it again? The alien was on that train., I know it was. How the hell did it escape?" he stormed at his assistant. "They must have gotten off at one of the earlier stops, as that conduct tor claimed, even though they were ticketed through two more stops."
Wylie perked up at that comment, the first held heard of the conductor's claim. "No, sir, they were on that train when we stop~ stopped it. I saw them."
His boss sat up in his chair so suddenly he almost knocked his cup over. "You what!"
Wylie, proud of his knowledge, repeated. "I saw them on the train. Well," he admitted, "not both of them, just the boy, but the father is usually near by."
Fox spoke slowly, trying to keep his temper in check. "How could you have seen the boy at all? You were supposed to be staying well behind the trees until the train stopped."
"Oh, I did, sir." Wylie answered brightly. "Mostly. But I just couldn't resist sneaking a peak at the train. They're so beautiful, you know. Anyway, I saw the boy sitting next to the window as the train was slowing down."
Color rising dangerously in his face, Fox made each word seem like a sentence. "Did it ever occur to you that if you could see the boy, he could see you?"
The realization of what held done hit the contrite agent. "No, sir. I hadn't thought of it that way," he replied as he hung his head as his boss got up from behind the desk.
It was all Fox could do not to throw this poor excuse of an FSA agent physically out of his office. Instead, he picked up one of the pushpins from the box on his desk and stalked over to the wall map he used to mark sightings, forcing the pin in so hard it went all the way through the backing right into the wall itself. Suddenly, a pain shot through his gut, almost doubling him over. Catching his breath, he thought to himself, "Maybe I should listen to the doctor and have this checked out. Being around so complete an idiot could give anyone an ulcer." He smiled wryly to himself. "Now I know why I'll never find out where the Wylies of the world come from; no one in their right mind would ever lay claim to them."
Both Paul and Scott were up early the next morning. Paul insisted on taking Scott to school to get him registered before starting his job-hunting.
"Do you know of any jobs nearby, Mrs. Rine?" Paul asked as he cleared his dishes off the table. "I'm willing to try anything, but since I don't have a car, something I could walk to would be best."
Glenna thoughtfully stirred her tea before she answered. "Well, if you don't mind getting up early, there's a small variety store about two blocks from here that needs someone to open up in the morning. The owner, Peter Dempsey , is an old friend of mine. He's been having trouble finding someone responsible enough who's willing to start work at 6:00. The job would entail organizing the morning papers, taking care of the cash register, even getting the coffee started, as well as whatever stocking the shelves need. You wouldn't have any trouble finding it; it's the only one left in this part of town. Most people go there just to pick up things they've run out of. The big supermarket is way on the other side of town."
"Sounds perfect," Paul said with a grin. "The morning is a beautiful time of day."
Paul and Scott passed the little store, with its busy parking lot and help wanted sign, on their way to the high school. it didn't take them long to get Scott registered, using their normal explanation of "lost records." The principal, Mr. Steck, was pleased that Paul had taken the time to come.
"Even a small town like this, there are many parents who too busy for the important things in their children's lives, like school," he explained as he went over the last of the paperwork.
"There are less than two hundred students in my school, and I pride myself in knowing every one of them by name, as well as who their families are, Mr. Forrester. We can always use any volunteers, like chaperones for dances or school trips."
Paul glanced at the list of extracurricular activities. "I have been a chaperone before. Once I've found a job and know my schedule, I'll see what I can do."
Principal Steck gave Scott his new-student folder, then extended his hand to Paul. "That's good to hear. Thank you again for coming in with Scott. Classes are about to start, and we need to get this young man a locker, then off to his homeroom. I'll have one of the student aides show you around, Scott. You'll find a map of the school in with your schedule."
The morning rush was over by the time Paul made his way back to the store. He waited while the owner took card of the last customer, then introduced himself to the middle-aged, balding man.
"Mr Dempsey? I'm Paul Forrester. My son and I are staying with Glenna Rine for a while, and she said you may have a job opening for a morning clerk."
"I've been expecting you, Forrester," was the man's greeting as he closed the cash register drawer. "Glenna called a while ago and told me you were coming. I've heard of you, even caught your interview on TV when you got back from Russia. What I can't figure is what you're doing here in Appleton, and why you want a job in my store."
Paul's eyebrow arched at the man's directness. "My son and I have come up from Santa Barbara, where my last assignment was. I'm between jobs at the moment, and thought weld like to try life in a small town for a while. I can't say how long we'll be staying here, but I can promise that while we are, I'll do what I can to be the best clerk possible. I've never done this work before, but I enjoy learning new things."
Dempsey nodded as he listened to Paul's explanation, liking what he was hearing. "I appreciate your honesty. I'd prefer someone I know would be staying on, but even a little break from these early mornings would be nice. Okay, you're on." Paul's new boss came out from behind the counter. "I can get you started immediately, show you the stock room to begin with, then move you on out to the front. Oh, I also like all my workers to wear the official store shire. I'm sure there's one your size out back," he continued as he headed for the door marked 'Employees Only.'
As Paul got settled in his new job, Scott was getting to know his new school. The first warning bell was sounding as the aide showed Scott his locker in the main corridor. To his surprise, Brett was fishing through the locker next to his. "Hey, Brett. Hi! When you said weld probably run into each other, you weren't kidding."
The surprised aide looked at the new boy. "You two already know each other?"
"Yeah," Scott covered. "My dad and I ran into Brett outside of town yesterday, and he gave us directions to the boarding house where we're staying."
"I see... I'm glad you're here, Brett. Could you show Scott to Mr. Rivera's history class for me? I've got to get to class myself, and it's all the way on the second floor." The girl shifted her own books in her arms and checked her watch, then joined a group of girls passing by without waiting for his answer.
"Thanks." Brett breathed a sign of relief as he closed the locker door. "Mr. Rivera's a good teacher; I had him last year. What else are you taking?"
Scott handed his new friend his schedule as they walked down the corridor. "Any chance we're going to have any classes together?"
Just two, Brett gave back the paper. "Gym and English Comp. And we've got the same lunch period." They stopped in front of the history classroom. "I'm down the end of the hall, so I'd better run. I'll save you a seat in English. See you then."
"See you then," Scott called to the boy's quickly retreating back.
Scott had no problems finding his way around the school; he had lots of practice with new schools during his travels with his father. Still, it was nice seeing a familiar face in his last class before lunch. Slipping into the seat next to Brett, he gave his friend a quick thumbs up as the teacher, Mr. Pryor, started passing back a previous assignment. As the classwork consisted mainly of discussing essays for an upcoming competition, Scott was able to sit back and observe the other students, particularly Brett. The teacher seemed especially pleased with the boy's work, but Brett seemed to become more quiet and withdrawn at the praise.
Scott waited until he and Brett were settled at the' table in the cafeteria before adding his comments. "Mr. Pryor sure seems to think your essay's got a good chance of winning a prize in that competition next month. You don't seem too excited, but I bet your folks would be thrilled," he said as he opened the lunch Mrs. Rine had put up for him.
"My mom would," Brett agreed through his sandwich, "but my father considers writing a waste of time. The only way Mr. Pryor was able to talk him into letting me take the class was to convince him it would help me in the business world. My father owns his own business, and I'm supposed to take it over when he retires. He put land Son" on the sign the day I was born, and that's the only way it'll ever be for him. What about your dad? What kind of plans does he have for you?"
Scott thought about the question for a minute. ,I think he wants me to be a teacher, but he's never pushed. He's a great believer in education and loves learning. I have to admit, since I've been with him, I've started seeing things the same way, but I still haven't made up my mind."
Brett looked up startled from his soda. "Since you've been with him? You mean this is something new?"
my dad and I have been together only since last September. I'd never seen him before that," Scott explained. "He had to be away. My mom tried taking care of met but it's real hard being a single parent, so she had to give me up to foster parents. They were killed last year in a car accident; that's when my dad came back to take care of me. We don't know where my mom is; one reason we travel around so much, besides my dad's job, is that we're looking for her so we can be together. It's kind of a long story," he finished.
"Wow!" Brett looked at his friend with admiration. "That sounds like something out of a movie. You two seemed to get along so well yesterday, it was like you've always been together. Your dad must be one great guy."
Scott smiled. "When he first came back, I was angry with him for leaving us. But now I understand why he had to. He is getting to be a pretty good dad, but don't ever tell him I said, so," he chuckled. "Your dad must be pretty neat if he owns his own business."
At the mention of his father, Brett's mood abruptly changed. "Yeah, I guess so. He's won all kinds of 'Man of the Year' awards and stuff. Listen, Scott, I've, ah, got to do some things before my next class. I'll catch ya in gym later."
Scott watched in bewilderment as Brett cleaned up the remains of his lunch and hurried for the door. His father was right; there was something bothering the boy. Now he wanted to help, too.
There were still a few minutes before his next class, so Scott decided to check out the bulletin board next to the school store in the cafeteria. Among the notices, ads, and help wanted forms was one the caught his eye. A hardware company downtown needed someone for a couple of hours after school to pack boxes for shipping. That it paid a wage that was barely over minimum couldn't be the only reason it was the most dog-eared, Scott reasoned jtb at was the, -usual' rate It was something he could do, and he and his dad could use any extra funds.. He quickly jotted down the address as the bell sounded for the afternoon session.
Scott ran into Brett again in the next-to-last period, their gym class. He noticed that, while everyone seemed to know Brett, the teenager didn't seem to be much of a joiner, preferring to stay off to the side as the teacher-appointed captains chose their players for the soccer game.
"I've never played this before. I hope no one runs over me," Scott observed as he came up to his friend.
"Just stay off to the side, and don't go for the ball unless it comes directly at you," he advised with a laugh, seemingly over whatever caused his strange mood at lunch.
The two friends were chosen for the same team, and Scott noticed Brett did stay off to the side unless the ball came directly towards him. A fading bruise on his thigh appeared to attest to his lack of athletic skill, Scott figured as he quickly got caught up in the new sport. It wasn't track, but it did involve running, and thanks to his quick feet and speed, Scott did manage to get the ball past the goal keeper once-
"I thought you said you never played soccer before," Brett challenged Scott while they were dressing for their last classes. "That was pretty nice."
"Just lucky, I guess," Scott shrugged. "Track's my favorite; I like to do a lot of running."
"Going out for any of the after-school sports, then?"
Brett straightened from tying the laces on his shoes.
Scott shook his head. "Not likely. We need the extra money, so I'm going to apply for this part-time job I saw on the bulletin board. Are you into anything extracurricular?" 11
The cloud appeared in the boy's eyes again. "No, I've got a job, too. In fact, I've got to get to it now. Since my last period's only a study hall, I get to leave early so I can go to work. See you tomorrow."
That mood change again! Scott was even more intrigued now.
Scott hadn't had a chance to ask Brett for directions to the hardware company - he took off so fast - so instead Scott checked with his teacher. The warehouse turned out to be a short bus ride from the school, and Scott had no trouble finding it. The large sign over the door read 'Harper and Son." Going in the front door, Scott found himself at a small counter over a display case filled with various types of tools.
"Can I help you?" a young woman asked from the office across the hall.
"Yes, ma'am. My name's Scott Hayden. My dad and I are new in town. I saw your notice on the bulletin board at school for someone to pack boxes. If the job's still open, I'd like to apply for it."
The woman reached for a clipboard that hung from a nail on the side of her desk and brought it out to him. "If you would fill this out, please, I'll get Mr. Harper. He likes to do the interviewing himself." She then disappeared through a large swinging door into the recesses of the warehouse itself, reappearing a few minutes later with a man who looked strangely familiar.
"Thanks, Nancy,'' he dismissed the woman, then turned his attention to the teenage boy filling out the application. ''Scott Hayden, you said your name was? So you're new in town. Have you ever done this kind of work before?"
"Not really, sir, but I'm willing to learn," he answered the man who seemed to be paying more attention to him than to the form in his hand.
A long pause followed several more basic questions. "All right, Hayden, you're on. I'll have one of the other boys show you the lay out and the system I use. It's my own, so working anyplace else really wouldn't be much help here. Tomorrow, I want you here immediately after school, and you stay until 5:00, five days a week."
Scott followed Mr. Harper through the swinging doors, and found himself in the middle of a metal rabbit warren of rows upon rows of shelves full of more tools and other hardware than he had ever seen before. Off to his left was a large, well-decorated office; Mr. Harper's he assumed. They had to walk around a large packing table right in front of the door to get to the main hallway and work area. Two boys he remembered seeing in school earlier that day were already at a separate table filling boxes.
"Mike, Dave. This is Scott. I want you two to show him how we do things around here, Ed Harper ordered them. ,I don't want any idle chatter; keep to business."
Scott was beginning to understand the real reason why the notice was so dog-eared. Working here was going to be interesting.
As he turned from watching his new employer march toward his office, he caught sight of another teenage boy coming out from behind some shelves carrying an armful of wrenches. Brett!
Brett's father saw him at the same time. "So that's where you've been hiding. I was beginning to get ready to send the rescue dogs out to look for you. You know those wrenches have to be boxed and the paperwork done before UPS gets here," he blustered.
"Yes, Father. Don't worry, they'll be ready," the embarrassed boy assured his father as he nimbly sidestepped around him, avoiding Scott's eyes, making a beeline to the table in front of the main office.
Following his son to the front, Harper felt it necessary to prod the other boys as well.---"Okay, boys, get to work. Now UPS doesn't 1 get here any later for or you, you know.
Scott shadowed the boy he knew as Mike out to the back shelves where the packing boxes were stored. "Is he always like this?"
"Heck, no. This is one of his good days," Mike shot back as he skirted around a pile of bolts that had cascaded from their overflowing bin. "I'm just glad I'm not his son. Poor Brett has to stay at his own table so his father can keep watch on him and make sure he doesn't slack off. As long as we do our work with no mistakes, he usually leaves us along." This last pronouncement was whispered, as if Mike were afraid they were being bugged. And that was the last statement either he or Dave made that wasn't solely connected to work.
Paul's hours were 6:00 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. with a half hour for lunch. Glenna Rine was waiting for him at the front Counter as he came out of the back room at the end of his shift.
"Thanks for putting in the good word for me, Mrs. Rine,'' he greeted his landlady. "I'm going to enjoy working here."
"Well, Peter appears to be pleased with you as well, I'm glad to say. Now that you've been around food all day, have you gotten any ideas what you and your son will want for groceries for the next few days?" she asked as she picked out a shopping cart from the ones Paul had collected from outside in the parking lot. 'Ill be doing my main shopping Thursday forenoon'..,"
It didn't take them long to do the shopping, and Paul carried the bags out to the car after he paid for the supplies. "I think it'll work out better if I paid for the food myself and pay you for the room separately. Scott's a growing teenager and can wipe out a refrigerator in one sitting," he said with a smile at the landlady's astonishment at what held purchased for only two days.
"It's been a long time since my grandson was a teenager. I guess I've forgotten how much a growing youngster can put away," Glenna concurred. "We'll handle the arrangements your way."
Paul was surprised to see that his son hadn't returned from school by the time the last of the bags had been emptied. To keep himself occupied, he went out to the tool shed to find the lawn mower. He was cleaning off the last of the grass clippings when Scott came through the front gate and collapsed on the porch swing, papers and books scattered in a pile next to him.
"We were beginning to worry, Scott," his concerned father queried. "Have you been at school all this time?"
"Sorry I didn't call, Dad, but I didn't have a chance to get near a phone," Scott apologized as he slid further down on the swing and put his feet up on the milk box. "I saw a job on the bulletin board at school, so I went to check it out. I honestly didn't expect to start today. And Dad, it's for Brett's father! Talk about a Simon Legree.''
"Who?" Paul's eyebrow arched in question.
"A real slave driver. I'll lend you the book," Scott groaned. "There aren't even any chairs in the whole place for us to sit on; everyone except Mr. Harper and the office staff have to stand the whole time. He says since we sit all day in school, we don't need to sit at the warehouse. I pack hardware and things in boxes for shipping all over the country, the whole world in fact, and my head's spinning from all the different kinds of inventory. Now I understand why Brett gets so funny when his father is mentioned. Mr. Harper's even harder on him than on us since he plans on Brett going to work for him after he graduates from college and eventually taking over the business when Mr. Harper retires." Scott rested his head on the back of the swing and closed his eyes, his stomach growling in response to the aromas drifting out from the house.
Paul put the lawn mower beside the porch steps and joined his exhausted son on the swing, pushing the books aside to make enough room. "You said that's what Brett's father wants. Is that what Brett wants, too?"
Scott opened his eyes and stared at the porch roof where the light, and rain, leaked through a gap. "No, I don't think so. Mr. Pryor, our English Comp teacher, couldn't say enough good things about this essay Brett did, even called it an almost professional job. I bet Brett would rather go into journalism, something like that, he's so good." Scott perked up. "Hey, Dad, maybe we could give Jake Lawton a call. I'm sure he wouldn't mind giving Brett some encouragement since his real love was writing and he knows what it's like to put it off for business."
Paul stood up to help his son off the swing as Glenna called them to supper. "If you can get to know Brett better and find out if you're right, maybe we can do that."
Paul sent Scott up to their room to study while he did the supper dishes with his landlady. "Mrs. Rine, what do you know about Ed Harper? Scott and his son, Brett, have gotten to be friends at school, and now Scott's working at his warehouse."
'The life-long resident of Appleton nodded at the name. "Yes, Ed Harper. I've known him all his life; his wife, Brenda, too. Had them both in Sunday School when they were youngsters." She hung up the dish towel and sat down at the table. "Ed took over his father's business when the old man retired, must have been ten, twelve years ago now. It was a pretty good business back then; Ed's made it into quite a company, known world-wide and all. Only has about. a dozen people working for him, not counting the kids after school, but I think they keep those delivery companies hopping. Ed's been elected 'Man of the Year' a couple of times, gotten himself on all kinds of committees. I don't know how he can do everything, he's got so much going, and he seems to get busier and more important every year.
"Brenda was always the prettiest girl in school, homecoming queen and the like. She helped out in the business until little Brett came along. Come to think of it, I haven't been seeing her around so much lately, ever since Ed started getting so important. I guess she has to spend a lot of time being the wife of such an important man and doesn't have the time for the church board and hospital volunteering she used to do."
Glenna stopped to chuckle at a memory. "When he was a little boy, Ed always had his nose in a book, almost like he was hiding from the world. He hated it when I called on him in Sunday School class. He knew the answers, but was afraid to speak in public with this stutter he had. It's almost like he's developed a new personality, a new face."
Paul quietly responded, "But people only need one face."
Life settled into a happy routine for Paul and Scott. Every day after work, Paul would try to do some chores or repairs around the house, over Glenna's protests that he was doing too much, that she didn't expect her boarders to become repairmen. Paul became a well-know face around the library, especially its home repair section.
Scott quickly learned his way around the warehouse and its myriad inventory. He and Brett became close friends at school, though they weren't allowed to associate with each other at work. Nights that his parents were out at different functions, Brett sometimes came home with Scott for supper and some studying afterwards. The night before a big test in first aid for a gym class requirement, though, he didn't show up. Worried, Scott called his house.
Brett answered the phone. "Oh, Scott, I'm sorry I forgot. Ah, something came up at home and I can't get out tonight. Um, I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Sure, okay. No problem." Scott hung up, a confused look on his face. "After gym class, he made a point of saying held be here right after supper to go over the stuff for tomorrow. We have to practice CPR, and it takes two people."
Paul looked up from the washing machine manual. "I can help if you need someone to practice on." Since Glenna had gone out for the evening, so he felt free to add, "Since we can't always use our spheres, maybe I should learn some of this first aid, human-style, too. Besides, the more 1 learn about the human body and what can happen to it, the better."
Still puzzled about his friend's actions, Scott handed his father the textbook. "We might as well start with the first chapter, at least for a quick review."
Scott waited at his locker the next morning for his friend to appear. When he finally did, minutes before the first bell, he was limping. ''Brett, what happened? You look like I could have used you to practice on last night."
The injured boy tried to keep the right side of his face away from his friend as he got his books out of his locker, trying not to let Scott see the bruise on his cheekbone. "You know how clumsy I am. Sometimes I forget how to walk straight. I, ah, slipped and fell down the cellar stairs last night." Brett gave a forced laugh, trying to make a joke of his injuries. "Maybe I should have gone to your house anyway and let you practice on me. Then you would have been sure of getting an A."
Scott gently slapped his friend on the shoulder. "Now that would have been a good idea. I only had my dad to practice with, and I don't think he's ever studied CPR before. Say, didn't I see in the paper your folks are going to that awards dinner Friday night? If you don't have anything better to do, how'd you like to come to the movies with us? I remember you said once how much you liked science fiction, and they're playing "The Special Edition of Close Encounters of the Third Kind" downtown this weekend. I've always been a bit partial to those kinds of movies myself, and I know my dad wouldn't mind. He likes you."
Brett managed a lopsided smile. "I like him, too. He's a pretty special guy. If you're sure he won't mind, I'd love to go with you."
"Great! We'll pick you up at 6:00; Mrs. Rine's lending us her car. That way we can grab a quick hamburger before the movie." Scott stopped as he saw the clouds start to cover Brett's expression again.
"No, maybe that wouldn't be a good idea. It's going to be hectic around my house then, with my parent's getting ready to go out and all. Why don't I meet you at your place?"
The last bell sounded its warning. "Okay, if it'll be better for you, that's what we'll do." Scott watched sadly as Brett limped toward the stairs, trying desperately to walk as if nothing was wrong.
"Now that was one fantastic movie!" Brett was still glowing as they stopped for a post-movie ice cream. ',I don't care what people say, there has to be life out there in space. With all the millions of planets out there, weld have to be crazy to think we're the only place that has life on it."
Father and son exchanged bemused glances over their sundaes. "My feelings exactly," Paul agreed solemnly.
Brett stared thoughtfully at the ceiling, as though he was seeing through it to the stars in the heavens beyond. "What do you think they look like, those other life forms, Mr. Forrester? I mean, do you ever wonder?"
"It would be hard to imagine, Brett. You'd never know until you actually meet them."
Brett sighed as he dug into the bottom of his dish. "Please don't laugh, but someday, I'd love to experience something like what happened in the movie, meet someone, some life form, from another planet."
Scott almost choked on his soda. "You can never tell. Some day you just might."
The weatherman said the heat wave was breaking all the old records, and Paul could easily believe it. Thankfully, Peter had found some lightweight summer shirts in the back of the stockroom. Paul was alone in the store, the lunchtime rush over, and was stocking the shelves by the open front door when an unfamiliar woman entered. Eyes downcast, she slipped past the aisle Paul was in and went straight to the dairy section. After Paul went back to the register, she picked up one of the small baskets and made several more selections. After checking off the last item on her list, she edged up to the counter. When Paul gave her the total cost of the purchases, she took out her checkbook and I.D.
Paul recognized the name immediately. "Mrs. Harper, hello. I'm Paul Forrester, Scott Hayden's father. Our sons go to school together, and Scott works at your husband's warehouse," he continued in response to her blank stare.
"Oh, yes, Scott. Brett's mentioned him. You took him to the movies the other day," the woman responded as she recognized Scott's name. "He said he had a good time."
"He's a nice boy. We like him a lot." Paul made conversation as he checked off all the information Peter required for checks. "Warm out, isn't it?"
"Yes, warm," Brenda Harper replied, distractedly. She pushed up her sleeve off her wrist to look at her Rolex. "Is everything all right? I'm running a bit late."
Paul noticed the fresh bruise just above the watch band. "No. I mean everything's all right. Here are your things, thank you."
As he handed her the things back, their hands brushed, and Paul felt a pain that was deeper and stronger than anything a physical bruise could cause. "Would you like some help with your stuff Mrs. Harper? It seems heavy for you.", he asked as he no bag, noticed her difficulty with her purchases.
"No, thank you. it's kind of you to offer, but I'm okay," she refused as she hurried for the door.
But she wasn't okay, Paul knew, especially after seeing another large bruise on the back of her neck as her long hair swung off to the side as she moved to shift her bag.
The frightened, hurt woman stayed in Paul's mind the rest of the day. When Scott got home from work that afternoon, he met his son out on the porch. "Scott, I've been waiting to talk to you. Do you know Brett's mother, have you met her?"
"I met her once when she stopped by the warehouse. She reminds me a lot of Brett, the way they both keep their eyes down, things like that. Why?"
Paul was only able to say, "I met her today," before Glenna came to the door.
"Oh, good, you're home, Scott. Supper's ready early; I've got a church meeting tonight."
It wasn't until the supper dishes were done and Glenna'd left that Paul could bring up the subject again.
"How was Brett today? Did you get to talk to him much?"
"He wasn't in school today. And I only got to see him for a few minutes at work. Dad, he had another bruise. I didn't actually see it, but he had on this long-sleeved shirt, in this heat! And he was acting like he always does when he has one of his accidents."
Paul looked thoughtful. "I'm afraid there may be more going on than just your friend's clumsiness, or his father's strictness."
ing with Mrs. Harper that af Paul went on to describe his meet is means. ternoon. ,I don't understand what all this family. It's
"What it means is that Mr. Harper abuses his not supposed to happen to rich, powerful people like them, only to poor people who don't know better, but I guess it can happen to anyone." Scott looked ready to cry for his friend.
"Money doesn't make any difference, or automatically bring happiness. Look at Antonia Waverly. All the possessions she had, and she still wanted more. She wanted you," Paul reminded his son...
"Dad, we've got to do something. We can't ignore what's happening," Scott pleaded.
"We will, Scott. I don't know what yet, but we will do whatever we can to help the Harpers," Paul assured his worried son.
Later that night, Paul watched the boy sleep in the light cast by the full moon outside their window. Tenderly, he brushed a lock of hair on Scott's forehead. He knew there were different kinds of this human emotion of love; his love for Scott was not the same as the love he felt for Scott's mother. But love possessive and hurtful? Paul had trouble sleeping that that was posses night, his worries giving way to restless dreams.
Ed Harper sat back in his booth at the restaurant next door to his warehouse. Across from him sat Jim Buchanan, the town sheriff, finishing his regular Wednesday lunch with his friend.
"You know, Jim, I don't know if I like my son getting so friendly with this Forrester character. I've heard about his reputation; irresponsible, a womanizer, never settling down. I bet his kid's just like him. Is there anyway you could, well, convince him to move on?"
"Not unless he breaks the law, and so far he's been a quiet little lamb. Why don't I put a wants and warrants into the computer network and see what pops up," his old school pal offered.
Harper grinned at the suggestion. "That just might do it. Thanks, buddy."
A very agitated Wylie was pacing around his boss's office, waiting for him to come back from a meeting with General Wade. At long last, the meeting ended and Fox returned to his office, not at all in a good mood.
"Mr. Fox! Mr. Fox! I've got some great news'" Wylie almost tripped his boss as he came through the door.
"It'd better be. Wade's threatening to cut our funds even more if I don't come up with something concrete by the time the budget is finalized the end of next month.'@
"That's just it, sir. Over the computer hook-up. Forrester's been spotted." Wylie almost thrust the print-out into Fox's hands. "He's in some little town called Appleton."
"Why didn't you say so in the first Place?" Fox reached for his phone. "We've got to make reservations out there, fast, before it disappears into the woods again."
"I have already, sir," his not-so-bumbling assistant proudly informed him. ,I got us the most direct flight, but Appleton's such an out-of-the way place, we'll have to change planes twice
and rent a car. We should arrive around 9:00 tomorrow morning. Our plane leaves Washington at 7:35 tonight."
Fox groaned with impatience. Not until tomorrow. But if they played their cards right, tried to be a little patient, by lunchtime tomorrow, held have his prey."
Scott grabbed his father's arm as he came through the front door. "Dad, I'm worried about Brett. He wasn't in school or at work today. This is the first time he wasn't at least at the warehouse."
Paul tried to calm his son. "There is a chance he actually is sick."
"That's why his father refused to talk to me today? When I asked his if Brett was sick, he brushed me off, sent me back to work 'where I belonged.' It's got to be more than that; he left right afterwards. I asked Mike and Dave to cover for me and slipped out the loading dock."
"All right, Scott. It does sound more serious. I'll ask Mrs. Rine if we can borrow her car; we 1 11 go over to the Harper 1 's to make sure Brett is okay."
Everything seemed normal and quiet as the concerned father and son drove up the driveway. As Paul started to press the doorbell, the sound of a loud crash split the air, followed by a woman's scream. Pushing past his father, Scott barged through the door, with Paul close behind. The sounds of yelling and glass breaking led them into the parlor. The scene within stopped them in their tracks.
Brenda Harper lay next to a cocktail table, a pool of blood forming next to her head. Brett and his father were exchanging blows as Brett tried to keep the man away from her.
"You've done enough damage. Stay away from her, or I'll make sure you never touch her again," Brett was screaming. "I've had enough of your abuse, and I won't ever let you hurt us again!" At that moment he caught sight of the two stunned people standing in the doorway. "Scott! Mr. Forrester!"
At his son's exclamations, Harper whirled around to face the witnesses to his actions, the first outsiders to see him venting his rage on his family.
With a shout of fury, he rushed past them, almost knocking Scott over, yelling over his shoulder, "It's all your fault. You'll pay for your meddling."
Puzzled, but ignoring the man's threats, Paul and Scott broke through their shock at what they had witnessed and entered the room to see what they could do to help, as the sound of a car starting came through the still-open door.
"Scott, see to Brett," Paul ordered as he knelt down next to the fallen woman. Scott gently guided his now-sobbing friend to the nearest chair, and grabbing a doily off an end table and dipping it in a puddle of water next to a broken vase, started wiping the blood off Brett's face and hands. "Can you tell us what happened?" he asked quietly.
Between sobs, Brett tried to explain. "I've been telling him about you and your dad, how you do things together, how great you two are together, how much fun I have with you. He said ... he had Sheriff Buchanan put your names on the computer network and a red flag came up. He said some government agents are on their way here ... they'll be here tomorrow morning. I told him he had no right to do that, that he was just jealous." Slowly, Brett shook his head,. "He 's been. mad at me before, but never like this. That's when he hit me, over and over. Mom tried to stop him. He ... he ... pushed her ... she hit her head. Mr. Forrester, is she okay? Mr. Forrester?"
Paul's body was blocking the blue glow of his sphere from the boys' view. For a moment he closed his hand tightly, turning to the injured woman's son. "She's been hurt, Brett, badly. There may not be enough time to call an ambulance, Scott."
Understanding, his son nodded his head.
"NO! You've got to help her, you've got to call the ambulance!" Brett fairly screamed.
"Not an ambulance,,? Paul replied quietly. "There's another way." Opening his hand, he activated his sphere while he softly laid his other hand on Brenda's head. The blue glow enveloped her.
" What ... what are you doing? What is that thing?' Who.... are ... you?" He- turned to Scott, questions he couldn't It put into 0 words in his eyes as the reality of what he was seeing sunk in.
"Close Encounters of the Third Kind," was all Scott could think of to say. "Do you remember your wish that night after we went to the movies? Well, your wish has come true."
"You, you and your dad are..." Brett stopped.
"Just my dad. My mom's from Wisconsin. That's what I meant when I said he had to leave Mom and me. The government knew about him then and he had to leave, or they would have killed him. But he came back when I accidentally summoned him after my foster parents died, and has chosen to stay with us."
Paul closed his hand over his sphere and stood up next to the still unconscious woman.
"Mom! Is she...?" Brett almost flew from the chair to kneel at his mother's side.
Paul rested his hand on the teenager's shoulder. "She's only sleeping. I healed her wounds, but her body was badly damaged and has to finish the healing process itself. She'll wake up soon, fine and healthy."
Tears streaking down his cheeks, Brett stood up. "Thank you both so much. What can I do to show you how grateful I am?"
"You've done it already," Scott replied. "You warned us about Fox, the government agent. We'll have enough time to get away from here." He smiled sadly, knowing he was going to have to leave another home again.
"What you can do for yourself is make sure this kind of abuse never happens again," Paul advised.
"I already have," Brett replied. "I've been talking to Mr. Steck at school. I want my family to be like yours, and I know we'll never be able to do it on our own. He's been telling me about a family counseling program not far from here. Mom wouldn't do anything about Dad before, but I'm sure she will now. I'm go~ ing to call him, tell him what happened today, find out how to get the legalities started." He stopped, knowing he was saying good-bye to two of the most important people in his life. "Where will you go now?"
"Back on the road again, looking for my mom." Scott answered.
Brett hugged them both, long and hard. "You'd better get going, in case my father went to get the law. I don't want you to be sitting in a jail cell waiting for that government agent be cause of me." A groan from his awakening mother caused Brett to turn around. "I don't think I'll be telling her exactly what happened, only that your showing up scared my father off."
They said their final good-byes, and Paul and Scott returned to Glenna's car to drive back to the boarding house in silence. They returned to their room to pack before knocking on her bedroom door.
"My stars and garters! What are you two doing with your bags? Don't tell me you're leaving now? With no more warning? It's getting dark." was her surprised response to seeing them standing there.
"Yes, we do have to leave, and right now. It's a long story. We're going to miss you, but it's time for us to go." Paul stood firm against her sad, questioning expression. "Please call Peter for me and explain I had to leave. He'll have to open up tomorrow. I'm sorry."
After another round of hugs, the father and son picked up their bags and walked out the front door and down the porch steps under Glenna Rine's watchful gaze. Resigned, she closed the door.
In the growing dark, Paul stopped for a moment and looked about. No one was around. Smiling, he reached into his pocket for his sphere. As a blue glow surrounded the old building, the peeling pain began to join itself back onto the house. Within a few minutes, it stood looking as freshly painted as the day it was built.
Paul shrugged in response to his son's perplexed look. "I've been meaning to fix the paint before we left." Picking up his bag, he turned down the deserted street, with Scott close behind.
"So where are we going? Any ideas?" the grinning boy asked.
"I called Liz the other day, and she told me about an art show in Portland, Oregon, that's including some of Paul Forrester's work. I thought we could head that way."
"All the way to Portland?"
"All the way to Portland."
THE END
Written by Linda Ratoff.