Day Nine ∞ Saturday evening

SOMETHING ON THE MONITOR caught Weaver's eye and he made a beeline for the headphones.

"Mom, sit down," the sister said as he closed them over his ears. She was sitting in her usual place with her back turned to the camera.

"What are they doing?" The mother was looking out the window. Weaver and Dawson couldn't see what was drawing her attention from their vantage point on top of the kitchen cupboard.

"Really, Mom!"

The mother turned to face her daughter. "Do you know what they're doing out there?"

"Danny's helping Mickmi with something."

"With what?"

"I don't know." The sister shrugged.

"She's your friend, why aren't you helping her?"

"Gosh, Mom... Why don't you just ask her?"

The mother sat down where the girl usually sat at the table, opposite her daughter. "Don't you get the feeling she's getting too involved with your brother?"

"They're just friends, Mom."

"With a picnic basket for two? You didn't think I'd notice? You're encouraging my son to get involved with her." She turned to look out the window again.

Weaver and Dawson saw the subject reverse into view as the girl pointed ahead, passed him and disappeared in the direction of the side of the house. The subject spun around to follow her.

"Don't you see what's happening?" the mother said.

"It's none of my business but I like her. I don't mind."

"Well, I mind. She's not right for my son, but I can't interfere. I don't know why but I just can't interfere..." She started massaging her forehead and temples with her elbows on the table.

"Are you okay, Mom?"

"Yes, dear... I'm okay... It's just that every time I try to think of a way of halting this... disaster-in-the-making, I get this pressure in my head... It scatters my thoughts... and all I can think of is... I can't interfere..."

The sister rose from her seat. "You sure, Mom?"

The mother waved her down. "Sit down, dear—I'm fine... What was I talking about?" She looked around, appearing somewhat confused. "Oh, eat your dinner, dear. It's getting cold."

∞

"You were either unconscious or sleeping by then, but you remember coming here and jumping off the truck. What else do you remember?" Danny watched Mickmi as she walked around, gesticulating with slow sweeps. Zorro sat between them, watching just as attentively.

"The truck was parked here. You took me inside." She looked to the house. "After a while, I heard noises – barking, growling... yelping. So I jumped out."

You're contradicting yourself. Danny's brow furrowed as he stopped himself from speaking out and breaking her train of thought.

She paused by Zorro to give him a head rub, continued past Danny to the corner of the house, pointing. "The barking came from there, and I heard other sounds..."

He spun around to follow her. A sick feeling was beginning in the pit of his stomach—he knew what was coming next. He followed her and Zorro past the kennel toward the round stone near the edge of the backyard.

"But I was too late..." she said, staring sadly beyond the flower-covered grave at the wild grass where he'd found Lad's body. "Your dog was dead. I startled the cat... a cougar, was it?"

He came up beside her. "Yeah, a cougar. You remember all that?"

She nodded. "Aye. I sneaked up on it."

"Sneaked up on it?" He pulled her arm and made her look at him; her eyes were streaking yellow. "You know that those aren't your memories, right? Because by then I'd already carried you upstairs." He glanced at her chest; the scratches had flared up again as dark streaks under her skin, and he registered them without comment, reminding himself to check the truck after she'd gone to bed.

She frowned, shaking her head. "I know not. I feel it as if I was here..."

"Like déjà vu? From a dream?"

"Nay. Like... I was here..." She inhaled sharply and looked toward the woods. She pointed. "I chased it a distance..."

Danny's brow furrowed. What she was describing was what most likely was the experience of the black cat that killed the cougar. Where did it come from? Where was Selina, the column of light, in all of this? He held Mickmi back as she made a move to head into the woods.

She looked back at him. "I shall show you exactly where I went."

"No, Mickmi, not now. It's getting late and by the time we get out there and back... It's not safe. And we don't know if that cat is still out there. Let's do it in the day tomorrow."

"Okay..." She looked down at the newly-planted daisies and black-eyed Susans next to the stone, then back at him, her eyes glistening. "I am sorry, Daniel—I was too late."

"What? No, Mickmi; don't be. You weren't here, remember?" Danny was so perturbed, he forgot where they were. He held her chin and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. "You weren't here," he repeated, his face a few inches from hers. She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. He placed his hands on her shoulders, studying her. "But... we've had a really productive day today, haven't we? And you've made progress. At the Davenports, at the lake..." He drew out on the last word, a corner of his mouth lifting. "Remember?"

A slow smile grew on her face as she gazed at him.

"You must be beat after all that... Not to mention a bit stressed."

"Beat?... Tired, aye." She nodded once. "A bit."

He put his arm around her, turning her back to the house. "Let's get you inside then."

∞

Major Sterling stood with his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the medical team applying sensors to the blonde alien in the examination chair. She sat perfectly still with her palms turned upward on the armrests, her eyes closed. But he knew she wasn't sleeping. He'd spent an hour talking to her, questioning her, and offering her writing implements without once getting a response, and he'd watched her from the control room for the better part of the afternoon—and from that he'd learned a few things.

She understood English. She was exceptionally aware, even in an insulated room. And with her patience and silence, he was tempted to say that she had the situation under her control. With the exception of communicating verbally, she had done nothing but cooperated with his team, made no suspicious or hostile moves, always maintaining that amiably serene expression on her face.

It was wearing on his patience, but that wasn't going to affect the protocol he had to follow. No risks were to be taken with the health of this human-looking extraterrestrial biological entity (EBE), as long as it didn't jeopardize security and secrecy. Strictly humane methods were to be used in all phases of this operation—though the parameters of 'humane' could be stretched if deemed necessary. Orders from command wanted them to nurture her cooperation to maximize their learning opportunities, to repeat the successful exchange they had some years ago. But time was ticking; he had to show progress. He knew what would happen next if he didn't. And Colonel Walters was still at the air force base waiting for the EBE to provide them access to the ship. He was going to have to wait a few days longer: the medical team had a long list of tests to perform on her.

∞

Danny carefully pulled the door shut behind him; he didn't want to disturb anyone. There was minimal light in here, a sliver of floodlight leaking in through a crack in the wall. He stood there for a while, allowing his eyes to adjust—his heart pounding.

What the hell jumped on my truck that night?

He went between the two vehicles and removed the folded tarp from the truck, placing it on top of Gina's car. Then he found the flashlight on the workbench and checked it: it was working. He returned to the back of the truck to lower the tailgate, climbed onto the truck bed and started inspecting the left side. He found one scratch on the edge which he hadn't seen before, but he couldn't attribute it to anything. He muttered to himself with jaws clenched as he got on his hands and knees to inspect the bed floor next to the spare wheel. There was some dirt pasted to the surface. He dragged his fingers through it and brought it to the light, rubbing it between his fingers, spreading it out. Hairs. Totally black animal hairs...

He shone the light on the floor nearest to the cab and that was when he saw it: the light reflecting on raw metal... Four parallel scratches.

It can't be! Danny recognized the panicked feeling in the pit of his stomach as he pushed himself back against the side panel, his heart racing. He'd been responsible! He'd brought the wild cat home with him from the lake that night! A cat big enough to kill the cougar! And somehow Mickmi had picked up on it and integrated it into her own memories!

He stared at the hairs in his hand again, then rubbed them vehemently off on his pants leg. So it couldn't be Selina. He'd seen her 'light body' when the cat went after the cougar. She'd come home with them, but not on the truck.

He started to get up but fell back into sitting position when another memory struck him. It sent a shockwave through his body, causing his hairs on his arms and nape to stand on end, and the sickening feeling solidifying in his stomach. The bloodstain! He'd cleaned a bloodstain off the doorframe the following morning—he'd thought it came from the cat that killed Laddie. He hadn't found any other signs.

Then his eyes widened as the air escaped him. 

"Holy shit!" 

He'd seen something that night—he'd almost forgotten. A movement. Inside the house. When the front door was still open, it had passed the doorway. Heading for the stairs.

He shook his head slowly and closed his eyes, covering his face with his hands. It kept replaying in his mind's eye, from his vantage point in the kitchen: a shadow of a movement slipping by.

A shadow... Not tawny like a cougar.

There'd been absolutely nothing wrong with his tired eyes that night. Everything he thought he saw, he actually did see.

The misty column of light...

The shadow...

The shadow was the black cat! He hadn't been wrong about the bloodstain coming from a wild cat entering the house—it was 'just' a different cat!

∞

Dawson whipped his head around and switched off his penlight; had he heard something? He ran his hand under the rear bumper to make sure the tracer was secure, then backed around the side of the truck, listening.

Yes, footsteps were approaching on gravel; the insomniac again. He waved a signal to the hidden camera, then slid under the truck and waited, exhaling quietly.

The door creaked open and closed again, then there was a pause. Dawson could hear the subject breathing, then he saw past his feet, the movement of the subject's shoes walking in a slightly rushed manner around the side of the truck. It rocked a little, the sound of some plastic material being handled: the tarp in the back of the truck was being removed. Then footsteps again. 

What is he up to? Dawson twisted his head to follow the movement toward the front of the truck. A dancing light lit up the car shed—a flashlight—and the subject went to the back of the truck and climbed on board. 

He's looking for something... something he forgot? 

The truck was making small movements and creaking with the subject's activity on the bed above him. He heard the subject mutter something... A few seconds of silence, then the truck rocked with a sudden movement. A pause, then it rocked again.

"Holy shit!"

Aah. Dawson nodded to himself: the subject had probably just figured out what kind of a hitchhiker he'd been carrying on the night of the crash. He could hear the agitated breathing, then a fist thump against the side of the truck.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit!" A long exhale followed, then: "Calm down, Danny... It came in and went out again... Nothing happened. No one was hurt. No one... It didn't even hurt Laddie..." Silence, with sharp breaths that slowly became quieter.

The truck moved with the subject jumping to the ground, and there was the click of the tailgate shutting. Then the pacing started: the subject went from one side of the shed to the next, muttering to himself. "Oh God, Mickmi ... ... those marks? They... ... old—did ... ... before?"

Dawson couldn't make out everything the subject said, and wondered how long he was going to keep this up. Did he ever sleep at night?

Seemingly on cue, the subject yawned and stopped in his tracks, then sighed. "Tomorrow... We'll find out more tomorrow." The light from the flashlight went out, and the door creaked open and closed. Dawson waited for the footsteps to fade.

Finally! He slid out from underneath the truck, brushed himself off and looked around in the near darkness. He had one more tracer to place. If the girl was getting her own motorcycle then surely the subject would be using his bike soon.

— ∞ —

©2016 by kemorgan65

*Banner image of Dawson under the truck is a Daz construct and Photoshopped.