Day Nineteen ∞ Early Tuesday morning

"WHEN I LAST SAW HER? At the Summer Spectacular with Danny. It was obvious that they'd become a couple. Though Danny seemed a bit... off... about something."

"Off?" O'Malley asked, watching the doctor closely. "In what manner?"

"Like something was troubling him. I may be wrong but... I think she was too. Like they were hiding something." A puzzled frown crossed Phil's face. Then he shrugged. "I don't know... I wasn't paying that much attention—we were there to enjoy ourselves, Georgina and I."

It's still here. O'Malley recognized the symptoms of the interference now, though they had become more subtle as if it had refined its skills. He'd already gathered from Georgina's responses in this round of questioning that an anomaly had occurred at the event and memories of it were being blocked. Had this been a normal investigation, O'Malley would have brought in a specialist in hypnotic regression to dig them up. But nothing about this was normal, and that wasn't his purpose here. At least the stories from the three subjects consistently lacked conscious knowledge of the alien factor.

Time to make the final report. The thought triggered a wave of adrenaline, sweat forming at his hairline.

"Thank you for your time, Doctor Roberts. I think we've got what we need." He pulled out a form from the folder and slid it across the table with his pen. "Since this is a highly classified ongoing investigation, I must ask you to sign an NDA form. Under no circumstances are you to discuss anything that has transpired in the past twenty-four hours with anyone. Not even with each other. That includes how you were brought here."

"Non-disclosure?" Phil snorted. "After all your people put us through? We should sue you people for illegal arrest."

"Once again, you have my sincere apologies for that mistake. However, the NDA is a requirement by our department for you to be released. Any indiscretion will be construed as interfering an ongoing investigation and obstruction of justice. Do you understand?"

O'Malley waited for Phil to stop glaring. As Phil pointedly read every word on the page, O'Malley cast his gaze around the room again. He had to get out of this trap without risking his sister's family. What were the chances of getting this Aumega ghost to help him? If he could communicate with it without alerting his captors...

It manipulates memories and thoughts, and it spoke inside my mind... It must be able to hear me think.

He drew a long, quiet breath. —Can you hear me? He waited. Aumega?

Nothing. But that wasn't its name, it was...

—Blanc Aave?

—You seek me... I am here.

O'Malley exhaled slowly. He didn't feel it but it had spoken inside his mind the same way he'd heard it when it first invaded the HQ. —I know you're preventing these civilians from exposing anything serious about your compatriot. I assume you're also keeping tabs on the observer in the control room. You're protecting these people. I want to protect them too. Will you help me?

—I have done what is needed.

—Yes, but... O'Malley needed to choose his thoughts carefully. What I'm asking... I don't work with these men. As soon as I've made my report, which should lead to the release of your civilian friends, they'll probably get orders to dispose of me. I'm only here because they threatened my sister's family. All I want is to protect them and lay low until the operation is over. Will you help me?

He waited for a reply, but it did not come.

—You help me, I'll owe you one.

It took a few heartbeats before it responded, —Owe me one?

—You said you're here by accident. You probably can't go back so you're just looking for somewhere to live, aren't you? For you and your compatriot.

—Correct.

—It's clear you intend no threat to our country, to our people, even to our national security, otherwise you would've ended this long ago. You could use a friend inside my agency. Someone with influential contacts within the government. I can help you achieve what you're looking for.

—Peace for my charges.

Charges? Before O'Malley could question the number, Phil pushed the paper back to him, dropped the pen on top and leaned back in the chair without a word, crossing his arms. O'Malley collected them and rose.

"Thank you, Doctor Roberts. I expect you and your lady friends to be taken home shortly."

Just four steps to the door, make the report, and then... —Will you help me?

No response. The door opened to let him out, the same two guards waiting for him in the corridor. He might as well resign himself to his fate without a fight.

Without a fight. That went totally against his grain, but family came first when national security was not at stake. He would not jeopardize them if he could help it. There was no doubt about that in his mind.

—I shall help you.

He paused, pretending to check something in the folder while remaining pokerfaced. —Thank you, Blanc Aave. Do whatever you need to do. He looked over his shoulder.

"By the way, Doctor Roberts. I'd suggest you take a look at Mrs. McGahn when you get home. The headaches she's having are not normal."

Phil looked up, startled. "Of course."

O'Malley closed the folder and almost dropped it when a sharp tremor shot up his spine and settled like a fist of pressure in his chest. Ignoring it, he stepped through the door, and the man from the observation-control room met them.

"I'm ready to make my report," O'Malley said. As he followed the man down the corridor, the pressure spread to fill his torso, arms, and legs. No anomalies like affected lights signaled the alien's presence as he passed them and stepped inside. The door closed behind him as the man picked up the phone and dialed a number.

"Actual," the man said and waited. "Yes, sir." He handed the receiver to O'Malley and took the folder from him. "Make your report."

O'Malley waited to hear the breathing at the other end before he spoke. "I have questioned the asset's host family and the workers at the auto shop where the asset has been working for the past two weeks. There is a clear pattern of unawareness of the"—he glanced at the man—"nature of the asset as if there's been deliberate application of some telepathic inhibition, blocking such memories."

As O'Malley spoke, the tingling pressure decreased through his arm. He got the distinct impression that Blanc Aave's focus was at the other end of the secure line.

"What's your assessment?" The voice was muffled.

"These civilians have absolutely no knowledge or suspicions of the asset's origins or connection to the incident at the lake."

A few seconds passed before the voice responded, "Thank you."

The man took the receiver and jerked his head at the exit, and waited for O'Malley to leave the room.

The two men escorted O'Malley back to the fourth holding room. This time they didn't leave, stationing themselves behind O'Malley at his four and eight as he sat at the table. Even if he didn't have his nephew to think of, the situation provided little chance of fighting himself out to an escape.

The pressure moved up his neck and spread disconcertingly inside his skull. What was Blanc Aave keeping up his sleeve? He resisted the instinct to attempt shaking her off.

—What's your plan? I'm a sitting duck here.

—There is none.

Damn. He closed his eyes, suddenly aware of the energy buzzing all over his body, playing tricks with his libido. He clamped his jaw. —I thought you said you're going to help me. This isn't helping.

Apparently the 'ghost' didn't see it fit to answer. O'Malley forced himself to relax the limbs he had control over, ignoring the inappropriate reactions in his groin.

The door opened. O'Malley didn't move, but he was pretty sure it was the man from the control room. The guards were dismissed as the man strode inside and positioned himself behind O'Malley's left shoulder. Through the buzzing growing denser inside his skull, neck, and back, the man spoke.

"Your assistance in these proceedings is appreciated."

Two brown envelopes landed on the table. One was fat as if it contained a bundle of cash. The other O'Malley recognized: the one with the print of his nephew playing soccer. He stiffened at the sound of a weapon drawing from its leather holster behind him and shook his head to himself. Next would be the click of the safety release. Was the man really going to shoot him without looking him in the eye? Coward. Mock me with dough just to— He closed his fists and opened his mouth to speak his mind when a searing pain ejected the thought and blacked him out.

∞

Black... black... nothingness...

Was this what death was like? A hard, cold abyss... and pain? O'Malley groaned as his hand found its way to his head. He felt like he'd been thoroughly gun-butted.

—You have slight swelling—no internal bleeding.

The voice inside his head... he recognized it. It wasn't his own. He opened his eyes to the clicking sounds of the ceiling light's erratic flashing. Another steady light source illuminated the room, making his skin tingle. He lifted his head off the metal table and squinted at the light body. The ghost.

—I protected you from penetration, not from impact.

No kidding. He grimaced as he straightened himself. "How long have I been out?"

—Fifteen minutes.

His gaze fell on the envelopes. He pocketed the fat one, pulled the photograph from the other and gazed at the boy in the middle. They were safe now. I'm sorry to have put you guys at risk. Exhaling, he returned it and folded the envelope twice to fit it into an inside pocket of his suit. It was time for him to disappear.

—You are no longer a target.

"You're sure?"

—You can expect instructions to ensure the civilians maintain your non-disclosure agreement.

O'Malley drew a deep breath. No need to go black... "Thank you. I'll have someone assigned to it." He would have assigned Weaver that job if he hadn't gone bad... wherever he was.

—Your man is helping my charges. You will not harm him.

"Weaver's helping you? I shouldn't be surprised." O'Malley chuckled dryly. "You're damn persuasive. How many of you are there anyway?"

—There is only I.

"I mean your charges. I'm only aware of one."

—Two.

"So there's three of you." He pressed his ear against the door and felt the handle. Locked. He would have tried to pry it open with his blade if those men hadn't searched him. But he still had his backup in his sole.

—The transport left with the civilians four minutes ago. The misty body of light stretched something that could be called an arm to the door.

O'Malley stepped away. "Anyone left in the building?"

—No, came the response in his head as the door clicked open and the mist withdrew.

He was free to go. He needed to report to Oversight that he'd fulfilled the interagency request—and find out whether this HQ was cleared for reoccupation. Hopefully the secure phone in his upstairs office was still working. "I'll help in whatever way I can, put in a word for you."

The column of light responded by contracting in height and widening. It reminded O'Malley of a bowing gesture.

—I shall ensure the civilians arrive home safely... with the memory of this event minimized. Its light intensity dimmed. One of your men has entered the building.

That didn't surprise him. If Barrett and Petersen were doing their job, they would have followed the civvies here. Of course, they wouldn't have expected him to turn up.

He looked down the corridor and listened, then threw a glance over his shoulder, wincing at the painful protest in the back of his head. The Aumega ghost was gone—the room light shining steadily after recovering from the electrical disturbance. Just like that. He made his way upstairs to the main operations floor and sat on a desk to wait. It wasn't long before the entrance on the landing opened.

"The building's cleared," O'Malley said as Barrett leaned in to survey the area, holding a M1911 ready at his shoulder.

"Chief! What's going on?"

∞

Gina hugged her mother back as they watched the tail lights disappear between the trees. Phil squeezed her shoulder.

"Are you both okay?"

"I'm"—Gina swallowed to keep from choking—"I'm okay, thank God. Mom?"

"Don't worry about me, dear. Give thanks, He has oft refreshed me. I'm just glad we're—"

"We all signed that agreement, right?" Phil said just loud enough for them to hear. "You can be damned sure they're not going to leave it to chance. They'll be monitoring us from now on."

Gina pulled back to look at him. The floodlights from the house made him a silhouette as he surveyed the area. It took her a moment before it sank in. They're still on? When they took us, all the lights were— Is Danny home already?

Mrs. McGahn stroked Gina's cheek and turned to Phil. "It should be daylight soon—let's go inside. Would you like a cup of coffee, Phil?" She started walking without waiting for an answer.

"Wait... Mrs. McGahn!" Phil caught up with her. "Let me make sure it's safe first."

She waved him off. "Yea, though I've walked through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil. I refuse to be afraid of entering my own home. It's been a long... night and I just want to sit down and relax with a cup. You coming, dear?"

Gina shook her head and shivered despite the warm air. "I'll be with you in a bit, Mom." First Laddie, then Zorro... She wasn't ready to face the remains of the nightmare. The image of the blood pooling around Zorro was too fresh in her mind.

Her eyes were reluctantly glued to the two stepping into the hazily welcoming porch light. She blinked to clear her eyes as Phil pulled the screen door and tested the door handle. Still hazy. She blinked again, and the light flickered twice and cleared.

"Hello?" Phil said, pushing the front door wide enough to stick his head inside. Then he chuckled. "Guess who's dying to see you, Georgie."

Hope jumped to Gina's throat. "Danny?" she said as he pushed the door wide open. "That's not funny, Phil. After all that we've—"

A bark rang out and the German shepherd mix bounded past Mrs. McGahn and Phil and leaped off the porch.

"Zorro?" Tears welled into Gina's eyes. "I can't believe you're okay!" She dropped to her knees in front of the rose bush.

Zorro skidded to a halt before colliding with her and sniffed her all over with guttural noises, his rear end wagging in top gear. She rubbed and hugged him, laughing and crying at the same time. "I can't believe it. How..." She raked her fingers through his fur, trying to locate a bullet wound. "Where's... I can't find the—"

A lick up the side of her face interrupted her, and the dog sat down, happily panting and poking his snout under her arm.

She grinned through the tears. "Oh, I've missed you so much, Zorro. I thought I'd lost you too. I don't understand, how did you manage to—"

—Like a bad dream, they have already forgotten.

Zorro barked once, looking past her head.

"What?" Gina looked over her shoulder. The scent of roses filled her mind—she'd forgotten how much she'd missed that.

—Like a distant dream, I shall remember.

The dog barked again with its attention above her, and she shook her head, puzzled. A poem? Why in the world would I think of a verse like that?

"Hey, Georgie, come on!" Phil jogged down the two steps and stopped in front of her, proffering his hand. Zorro didn't pay him any mind, poking at Gina again. "A cup's waiting for you and your mom's making breakfast."

She wiped her cheeks and brushed herself off.

"And I promise I won't complain about you smelling like dog." He chuckled as he put his arm around her shoulders, urging her forward. Zorro fell in step on her left.

The vague feeling of apprehension all but evaporated when she stepped into the aroma of freshly made coffee. Nothing to worry about. This was home—spic and span the way it always was.

"Would you like omelet too for breakfast, dear?" Mrs. McGahn asked from the kitchen.

Gina paused at the counter as Phil took his cup and sat down on a high chair. "Sounds good," she replied, frowning in thought.

"You okay?" Phil asked.

"Yeah..." She smiled briefly at him, stirred some cream into her coffee, then in a double take, looked at him again.

He had no cuts or bruising on his face.

Okay. So it was just a stupid nightmare...

Mrs. McGahn set the skillet on the stove. "When is Danny coming home? Did he say?"

"No..." Gina sat next to Phil and took a sip. Coffee. It felt like ages since she'd last had a cup. 

"You sure?" Phil rubbed her knee.

She nodded.

"I was thinking... I'd book a table and invite some of our friends." Mrs. McGahn cracked several eggs in a bowl. "Just because your brother doesn't see it fit to have a normal ceremony with family and friends doesn't mean we can't celebrate when he returns with Mickmi."

Danny... "Mom, you shouldn't. He's not going to want that." Why did her mother and Phil behaving like it was a normal day feel wrong?

"And I suppose Mickmi has no say in—"

"Mom," Gina needed to halt that line of discussion, "did you see anything out of place?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean like—" Why wasn't she supposed to speak about nightmares haunting the back of her mind? "Never mind."

But she couldn't get the idea out of her head.

The details. The details were in the nightmare. She had to check.

"Excuse me, I'll be right back." She returned to the hallway where Zorro had taken up post on the inside doormat. Looking around, she noted that all the pictures and the mirror on the wall hung straight, the furnishings were in place, even the heirloom chair—

The chair was broken in the dream.

She inspected it, and ran her fingers over the smooth finish, along its spindles, seat frame, and curved legs. No cracks. So it must have been a dream. Relieved, she stroked the length of the backrest and froze when she felt a rough edge at the end next to the telephone table.

No.

Tilting the chair toward her, she found it: a splinter missing from the protruding end of the chair back.

Not a dream. A distant nightmare. She swallowed. Danny, where are you? I need to talk to you.

— ∞ —

©2019 by kemorgan65

Bible references:

2 Timothy 1:16 (ASV)—The Lord grant mercy unto the house of Onesiphorus: for he oft refreshed me, and was not ashamed of my chain...

Psalms 23:4—Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.