Chpt 2 - Bob

Chapter 2

 

"That's right... Karen Scott or her sister Carol.  Anything you can find on either one of them.  Credit cards, bank accounts, the works."

"You couldn't make up your mind which one to date?" my sister-in-law returned, her voice sounding high pitched and tinny over the phone.

"No, Maggie... I'm not interested in either of them.  It's for the story," I said frustrated with my less than competent assistant.

"You know Ruth still asks about you...  all the time.”

 "Look, Maggie, Ruth just isn't my type.  I appreciate your intentions but I promise you I can find a soul mate without your help."

"Peter, you couldn't find your a*s with both hands tied behind your back.  Now Ruth is the girl..."  

"Maggie, God damn it, don't argue with me.  Just do it.  These girls have been missing for more than a month and I want to know what's happened to them," I demanded.

"Pete, I think..." she began. 

"Maggie, I don't care what you think.  Just call me when you've got something," I blurted curtly before hanging up.

The next few days crawled by incredibly slowly as I waited for a call from Bob.

Anxiously, I paced, repeatedly peering out the room's window, checking my watch with each new level of disappointment.  I had begun to think, Bob had blown me off.

At last, after two days and more than an hour late, the sound of Bob's rocket sled raced up the street to my hotel.

     Two minutes later, I jumped a little as Bob pounded on the door, stunned at how fast he could move for such a large man.

"Is Bob," he shouted, pounding ever louder.

"Christ, Bob.  Ease up a little, will ya?  You're going to wake the dead," I scolded, throwing open the door.

"Maybe Bob's friend asleep.  Then what?  Bob's cousin very busy... Bob busy and Bob's friend asleep," he returned, pushing his way into the room.

"I wasn't sleeping.  I've been waiting for you...  you're more than an hour late," I said and began to close the door behind him.

"Nyet, nyet, nyet," Bob called out in a panic, grabbing at the door, pulling it open again.  "Bob make sure room safe for cousin."

He stuck his head out in the hallway, looking quickly in both directions as if about to cross the street.  After a moment he waved and a man hiding in the shadows responded to his command, entering the room.

      "Dude," the cousin said softly in greeting, lifting his chin as he passed me, offering to bump fist in place of a handshake.

"Bob's friend... Bob's cousin," Bob said, gesturing from me to him. I blinked in disbelief, too stunned to speak.

Standing in front of me, dressed in black jeans, a dark blue tee shirt with a picture of Bob Marley and a backward baseball cap was a small, no more than 5' 2", twenty something, black man.

"Hi.  I'm Pete," I said, offering my hand.

"Ahh, is sad story.  Bob's cousin not speak English." Bob said pushing my hand away.

"Awhhh," the little man breathed hoarsely, turning away, his arms swung loosely in response.

"Bob, he just said dude to me when he came in," I said, pointing an insistent finger at the little man.

"He tries, broken English not so good.  Is Fred," he answered, spinning his hand playfully in the air, pointing, draping a large, affectionate arm over the man's shoulder.

"Fred... your Russian cousin?"

"Da," he answered simply without blinking.

     "Bob... he just spoke to me and it wasn't Russian," I protested.

"Ahh, Bob's friend generous, not make Bob's cousin self-conscious.  You good man, but Fred speaks no English," he argued, folding his arms.

"Ahhh, damn it, Bob.  You promised me... you said I could talk this time.  S**t man," Fred cursed in a raspy whisper, stomping his foot, turning away.

"Nyet, nyet," Bob scolded, grabbing Fred.  He began to speak Russian, shaking his finger in the other man's face.

Fred's shoulders slumped.  His head swung loosely from side to side, avoiding Bob's gaze.

"Da," he said dully, turning in my direction once more.

"His English not so good," Bob added, wiggling his hands dismissively.

"Sounded damn good to me," I said honestly.

"Bob understands.  Bob's friend speak Spanish?" he asked with a little annoyance in his voice, threading his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"Nope.  Can't say as I do," I answered, folding my arms.

     "How you say... no speak Spanish?" he asked, folding his arms as well.

"No habla Hispano."

"AAAHHH, to Bob, Bob's friend sound like native.  Bob thought he smelled burritos, heard waves on beach.  Very impressed.  Bob's friend has gift for language.  Sure not speak Spanish?"

"Fred," I said flatly, stepping directly in front of the little man.  "Do you speak English?"

"Da. Fred speak no English," he responded dully, tilting his head from side to side, his arms hung slack, swinging loosely as he spoke.

"Very sad, like Bob say.  Fred's parents live too close to nuclear plant.  Sure, sure, rent very cheap but Fred... no brain for English," Bob said, closing his eyes, shaking his head in a pretentious, melancholy way.

"Bob," I started.

"Very late.  No time for Fred's story.  Bob's friend want to see house tonight or no?" he asked, pushing himself to stand between me and Fred.

     "Alright, have it your way.  Let's go," I demanded now irritated, angrily grabbing my coat off the back of the chair.

"Nyet, nyet.  Bob's friend almost forget," he said, turning his back quickly, wriggling his fingers.

"Dear God.  Money?  Now?"  I said, throwing my coat across the back of the chair again.

"Business before pleasure... makes good fences."

"The saying is, 'good fences make good neighbors' not..."

"Bob's friend knows what Bob say.  Not want money to be sticky bug between us."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it.  How much this time?" I asked aggravated, removing my wallet.

"Bob not know about such things.  Must speak with cousin," he said, wrapping a huge arm around the tiny man, pulling him to the other side of the room.

"Bob, you gave me your word," Fred whispered forcefully, sending a pointed finger into Bob's chest.

"Fred say, must think about it.  Fred likes Bob's friend Peter, wants give good price," he said, smiling in my direction and then began to speak rapidly in Russian.

      "Damn it, Bob.  You promised me," Fred whispered disappointedly.

"Fred say, four hundred dollars," Bob said, holding up four fingers of his right hand, all the while maintaining his grip on Fred's shoulder. 

"Three hundred," I countered, folding my arms, returning my wallet to my hip pocket.

"Oooh, Bob's friend breaks Bob's feelings.  Bob's friend would steal bread from Fred very mouth?"

"It's not in Fred's mouth just yet... three hundred," I insisted.

Bob bent at the waist to whisper to Fred.

"Bob's cousin say three hundred, okay.  Can get Bob's friend inside house."

"Good," I answered, feeling a little more triumphant.

"Yes, good.  One thing more... maybe one or two insignificant little trinkets find way into Fred's pocket.  No more than three.  Bob cross heart," he said, earnestly.

"No.  No one takes anything.  We're just going to look around a little, maybe snap a few pictures but no one takes anything and no one gets hurt," I insisted.

     "OOOh, Bob's friend not say no one get hurt.  Things happen Fred not control.  No one to get hurt... not good, not good.  Fred say price now five hundred."

"Bob, you didn't even talk to him."

"Ahh, Bob sorry.  We close family, sometimes have psychic connection."

"Fine, five hundred."

Bob wrinkled his nose, holding up a hand before Fred.  He turned his back to me, wriggling his fingers.

Irritated, I retrieved my wallet, fingering my way through my dwindling per diem, pushing four, one hundred dollar bills and two fifties into Bob's writhing fingers.

"Is good," he responded, counting them quickly.

To my annoyance, he stuffed a hundred into his shirt pocket before passing the balance to Fred. 

A broad smile spread across the young man's face as he quickly pushed the money deep into his front pants pocket.  Fred now bounced on the balls of his feet, weaving or dancing, or shadow boxing... I couldn't tell which, only that with my money in his pocket, he was excited.

      He began to speak rapidly in Russian to Bob, turning his hat forward.

"Fred say, can now go," Bob announced, heading for the door, pulling it open for Fred. 

The young man checked the hall, swinging his head quickly in both directions before jumping into the corridor as if hopping a train.

"Come.  Bob's friend making Bob late," he admonished, waving an impatient hand toward the door.

"I am?" I questioned in protest.

"Bob's friend has no concept to time... shows a creative mind... very good for newspaper but not good for Bob.  Make Bob late."

There was no point in arguing. I just wanted to go and for it all to be over.

Both men were in good sprits, dancing to the music in the elevator, bolting to the car like a couple of kids once the doors opened. 

Fred immediately pulled open the back door before jumping into the front seat with Bob.

I took my place, sliding to the middle of the seat.

The engine cranked and upon its failure to start, Fred turned in my direction.

"Dude," he voiced with disappointment, lifting his chin with discontent.

"Bob, Fred just called me dude."

"Is old Russian expression, means... is belt," he explained, rolling a hand over and over in the air as if to hurry up.

I snapped the belt with a loud click and an irritated look.

The next turn of the key brought the motor to life.  Less than a heartbeat behind it, the stereo exploded to full volume as well, pounding out Queen's...  "We Are the Champions."

"Bob," I shouted.

As if waiting for a signal from me, the car was launched once again like a rocket into the night.

"Bob knows... good song," he returned cheerfully, peering at me in the rear view mirror, holding up his thumb as he careened down the street.

As the two men, oblivious to my discomfort, rocked out, singing along in Russian, I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the rough journey... for the third time in as many days.

     I was grateful for the cover of darkness as our car sped down the highway at a frightening rate, swinging in and out of the sparse traffic.  It was easier in the dark.  I couldn't see the landscape flash by in a blur.

At long last we arrived, but to my surprise we passed the dirt side road we had taken a few days before. 

"Bob," I began.

"Fred say we not seen around corner," he answered, finally shutting off the stereo.

We slowed, pulling off on the shoulder as if we were looking for an address.  Shortly, Bob pulled into a small clearing among the trees.

Fred was the first to get out, heading straight to the back of the car.  Bob quickly followed, unlocking the trunk.  By the time I got out they had retrieved whatever they were after.

"Bob, what are we doing?" I asked, pulling on my coat, joining them at the back of the car.

"Fred want to be careful, say, we go this way through trees," he answered, pointing to the woods.

I turned toward Fred, as he pulled a ski mask over his face.  He crouched, leaning forward and began to tiptoe into the woods.

"Bob?" I began, pointing toward the dark, stooped figure of Fred threading his way through the underbrush.

"Is Fred's way... live to close too nuclear plant.  What Bob going to do?" he said, holding up both hands in defeat.

I had no idea what to say to that.

Bob, following Fred's lead, pulled a black ski mask over his face, before handing me a baseball cap.

"What's this?" I asked totally expecting a ski mask, turning the cap over in my hands.

"Beginner’s hat.  Maybe, next time, for you," he smirked.

I'd been ribbed before, and I can take it almost as good as I can give it but this... from Bob?  Damn aggravating.

I tripped along in the dark, getting my feet tangled on every stick, every root, every obstacle that stuck up out of the ground as I trailed behind him. 

      He, unlike Fred, seemed to be more than comfortable in the woods as well as the dark.  Fred walked slightly ahead, darting from tree to tree as if hiding himself from some unseen observer.

Bob and I simply stood in place, waiting for him to wave us on as he dashed to the next tree or rock outcropping.

After what seemed like forever and more scratches and bruises than I had acquired in a lifetime, we found the house.

Fred, his back pressed against a sizable rock as if he were keeping it in place, held his position a dozen yards ahead of us.  He waved frantically, signaling for us to get down and we obeyed.

A moment later headlights swept over where we had stood.  The sound of tires grinding through the dirt filled the air.

"S**t," I breathed to myself.  I hadn't expected this to be easy.  It never had been in the past, but with Bob and Fred leading the way, we were screwed.

Fred scampered to his next position, waving us on to the rock he had just left behind when he felt the coast was clear.

     It took us another fifteen minutes to cross the distance from where we first saw the house to physically touching the building.

I had to admit, my heart pounded hard in my chest, certain we were about to be caught as Fred pulled himself up to peer into a window.

"Clear," Fred whispered and we crept around the corner.

There were no cars, no trucks, no men with guns to be seen anywhere.  Fred had hit it on the mark.  For all outward appearances no one was home.

We continued to follow Fred as he made his way to a back door.  Slowly, silently, he eased himself onto the porch kneeling before the door, slipping a hand into his shirt pocket. 

Removing two small, shiny tools from its folds, he went to work on the knob.

Faster than I could say "is belt" Fred worked the lock, turning the knob.  The door opened slightly.

We held a collective breath, waiting for the sound of an alarm.

"Clear," Fred whispered softly as he allowed the door to open fully.  Crouched, almost on all fours, he scooted inside, closing the door behind him.

Unfathomable amounts of time seemed to slip by with each heartbeat as Bob and I stood outside in the dark and waited.

My anxiety, a mere seed in the pit of my stomach, had begun to run away with me.  My palms grew sweaty.

"Is nice," Bob offered, leaning against the building, pushing both hands into his pockets.

"What?"  I asked with disbelief.

"Is nice.  Bob always busy... go here, go there.  Wife always - when take wife to dinner?  When go to opera?  When take wife to see sister?  When have time for wife?  When Bob take out trash?"  

"We just broke and entered.  We can go to jail for this."

"Is nice, out with friends.  That's all Bob say."

Before I could formulate an answer the door eased opened again.

"We're alone," Fred said.

Bob and I slipped in, closing the door behind us.  We now stood in the mud room off the kitchen.

No more than six by five it held a built-in bench on one of the paneled walls, with a coat rack filling the opposite.  The oversized tile floor continued through out the kitchen as well.

The dim glow of a night light traced the edges of the granite topped cabinets and dining table.  On the opposite side of the room was an opening to the hallway.

My attention was drawn by the sound of someone going through one of the cabinets.

"Fred," I whispered hoarsely, looking about the room for him.

"Da," he responded, popping up from under one of the cabinets, a large frying pan and matching lid in his hands.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked angrily.

He began to speak in Russian as Bob patted him down, removing a stainless steel sauce pan from under his shirt.

Bob said nothing beyond a couple of quick snaps of his fingers before pointing to me.

Fred's arms went limp again as his hands went to his pocket, retrieving a fifty, handing it reluctantly to me. 

"You should be ashamed," I admonished, happily snapping the money right out of his hand.

     We moved through the kitchen to the hall, and to the door that someone had used to spy on us.

At that moment, the sound of a toilet flushing reached us from somewhere upstairs.

Like little kids, all three of us dove for the door, rushing inside.  On the other side the floor vanished, becoming little more than a small landing with stairs trailing into the darkness.

We stood, packed together like sardines, afraid to go down the stairs, afraid to be found out.  I was last to enter so I stood closest to the door, holding it open an insignificant crack to see who it was that was about to catch us.

Movement caught my eye.

My heart jumped into my throat and I pushed back.

"S**t, it's Carl," I blurted softly, turning to Bob.

Almost instantly, Fred darted down the stairs ahead of Bob and me.

"Holy s**t," Fred said, slapping his hand over his mouth.

I was instantly angry at him.  I was certain he had just given us away.  As I rushed to him to shut him

up, I bumped into Bob, who now stood frozen in place along side Fred. 

Then the unbelievable... a voice... a woman's voice, speaking in Russian, pierced the darkness.

As my eyes became more accustom to the faint light, pushing past Bob, I was jolted by the shocking image in front of me. 

Sitting before us at a wide, wooden table, a woman...  her hands, set in the middle of its broad width, sat in a puddle of blood. 

To my astonishment, jutting up from the back of her hands were metal spikes... one in each hand...  she had been nailed to the table. 

"Peter, help me please," she begged, lifting her head to look at me.

Her shoulders, bent forward, her eyes pleaded with me, as her lips quivered.  Her face had large purple bruises and a number of bleeding cuts.

I was stunned that she knew my name.  There was an air of familiarity in her appearance, in the tone of her voice, in her expressive eyes but I was certain I had never seen her before in my life.

Before I could move, the sound of the door opening at the top of the stairs sent us scurrying for a place to hide.

We barely reached our hiding places before the light of a single bulb flooded the room.  Carl's heavy footsteps pounded over my head and I pushed deeper under the stairs.

"Miss me?" Carl's voice menaced from mid-stair.  An odd electrical, crackling sound followed his question.

Its clicking buzz grew louder with each step Carl took to the basement floor.  As he reached the bottom, his back to me, he made the sound once more.  In his hand, a small black device with two metal prods jutting out, an electric spark jumping between them... a tazer.

"You don't have to do this," the woman cried, pulling hard at the spikes that held her tight.

"Have to?  Want to, girlie." Carl chortled cruelly, sparking the device again.

The woman began to speak rapidly in Russian without taking her eyes off Carl as he approached, the crisp sound of the tazer's spark echoing off the walls.

     Then without warning, Fred leapt from his hiding, attacking Carl.  He jumped on the man, shoving him backward, more out of surprise than by force.

Fred fought like a madman, punching Carl in the face and chest alike, all with little effect.

Carl, having regained himself, simply swung a huge arm knocking Fred to the floor.  Bob immediately took his place, planting a solid blow to Carl's jaw.  The loud crack that followed shook me to the core but Carl just shrugged it off, barely taking notice.

Again, Bob delivered a crushing blow, knocking Carl off balance.

The bigger man returned the favor, punching Bob in the stomach, folding him in half and then hit him in the face, sending him into the table where the woman was attached.

Her scream filled the air, sending chills up my spine, as the table disintegrated under Bob's weight.

My mind raced as I tried to decide what to do.  I was looking for a spot to jump in between the two titans.

Suddenly, Fred reappeared from nowhere, lunging headlong, throwing himself at Carl with no self-regard. 

He was a lunatic, screaming, punching, scratching, biting all at the same time.

Carl brushed him away, striving to reach the woman scrambling on the floor, trying to get up.

No time like now.  I jumped on his back, riding him like a child on his father's back.

Somehow, she was free of the table but still impaled.  She grabbed the spike in her left hand, pulling at it.  Her skin stretched with the effort, clinging to the metal.  Finally succeeding, she clutched it like a dagger.  Getting to her feet, she lunged for Carl. 

With shocking swiftness, she plunged the spike into his chest. 

It was Carl's turn to scream and he did... a howling snarl of a growl that curled my toes.

"You should have killed me when you had the chance," the woman said through clenched teeth, trying to force the spike deeper with her weight.

"F*****g b***h," Carl shouted, backhanding her, sending her to the floor again.

He seized the spike, yanking it from his body, throwing it at her.

     The woman, having gotten to her feet, removed the second nail and braced for another assault on Carl, her hands bleeding freely.  

Bob now stood next to her, ready for a signal to charge.

"She's not what you think, mate.  She's not human.  Believe me, on my mother's grave, she's a monster," Carl said, his right hand clutching his fresh wound, his left outstretched, as if holding them at bay.

"I'm as human as anyone here," she shouted defensively, looking from side to side between Bob and Fred.  She bounced from foot to foot, shifting her weight and then lunged at Carl again. 

Everyone screamed.

The two became a tangle of legs and arms until Carl wrapped his enormous hand around her neck.

I had to do something and almost without thinking, my hand found a cold piece of metal as I rummaged about the shelves for a weapon. 

The piece of metal turned out to be a pipe wrench.  I grabbed it with both hands and swung it as if all our lives depended on it.  It made a loud, metallic crack as it encountered the back of Carl's head and he fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Bob stood over him, eyeing him closely before looking to me.  He snapped his fingers twice and pointed to Fred without a word.

It took me a moment to understand his meaning but the blood flowing from the back of Carl's head brought me to full understanding. 

I pushed my hand into my pocket, retrieving a fifty handing it over to Fred. 

He beamed in return, kissing the bill before shoving it into his pocket.

"He's still alive," the woman said with disappointment, straddling his body.  She clutched the spike in her dripping hand as if trying to decide whether to stab Carl again or not.

My mind flashed with images of being found after breaking and entering, standing over an unconscious and bleeding Carl.  And if that weren't enough...  a woman had been nailed to a table.  All of which had begun to fill me with panic.

"We have to go," I pronounced, turning for the stairs.

Fred was way ahead of me, already halfway up as I reached the first step at the bottom.

     "I need salt," the woman said flatly.  The nail slipped from her hand, falling to the floor with a loud clank.

"We need to go," I demanded.

"And I need salt," she insisted, turning to face me. 

I truly saw her for the first time.  Her clothes were torn and blood stained, ragged looking.  She appeared compact, fit, almost muscular really.  Her strawberry red hair hung just above her shoulders, framing her face in an alluring way.  Something about her green eyes drew me, held me.  They made me feel as if she could see into my very soul.  Beyond that, she seemed ordinary, attractive but little more than average... 

"Emma Greenwood."

"What?" I asked, stopping where I stood.

"You were going to ask my name," she answered, making her way to the steps.

"No I wasn't," I lied.

"Yes, you were," she insisted, pushing roughly pass me.

     Once we reached the main level, we were greeted by the sound of Fred rifling through the cabinets, throwing pots and pans everywhere, littering the floor. 

Emma made a beeline to Fred.

"Salt... there has to be some here, somewhere... there has to be," she said, joining Fred in his destruction of the kitchen.  There was an edge of panic in her voice.  Her eyes had begun to take on a wild, desperate appearance as her search had taken on an air of all out urgency.

She emptied cabinet after cabinet to the floor.

"Dude," Fred said at last, excitedly holding a blue salt box over his head.

Emma grabbed it as if it were about to explode, pouring it onto her wounds and then down her throat. 

To my surprise, she swallowed it without choking or coughing, almost emptying the container.

"How I needed that," she said happily.  "Let's go," she commanded, slamming the empty box on the counter. 

We ran like thieves into the night, and to think about it, if freeing a woman nailed to a table was stealing, then I suppose we were.

     No one ran faster than Fred.  No one.  He ran like a track star, hurtling over rocks, bushes, fallen logs as if we were being chased by dogs, bears or lions or whatever the hell lived in the woods that could possibly be worse. 

Emma ran a close second, staying right on Fred's heels.

I huffed along a distant third as best I could as Bob pushed me from behind.  I wasn't built for running, let alone running at night in the woods over every piece of crap nature had thrown on the ground. 

Behind us, the sound of angry voices and the treating whine of truck engines drifted through the trees.

As expected, Fred was the first to reach the car, pounding on its roof repeatedly shouting at us in Russian.

Emma began to hammered on the top of the car, shouting in Russian as well, rushing me along.

Bob removed his keys, pressing the alarm release as he sprinted pass me, jumping behind the wheel.  Fred jumped in next to him with cat like reflexes.

       A part of me was disappointed, irritated that Fred hadn't opened the door for me or at least for Emma.  I pulled at the handle several times but it remained locked.  To my surprise Emma place her hand over mine and the door opened instantly.

"Is belt," both Fred and Bob shouted simultaneously, turning in their seats, before either Emma or I could get all the way into the car. 

A new fear gripped me as Bob sped onto the freeway with the door on my side still open, swinging wildly back and forth.  I leaned out as far as I could, grabbing the door, wrestling to get it closed.

At last, the car swung in such a way as to allow me to pull it closed.  Uncertain if the loud, mournful groan had come from the door or from me, I was just grateful we had escaped.

For several minutes the roar of the engine straining under the weight of Bob's foot filled the interior.  Then the sound leveled off and everyone broke into laughter at the same time.

"God damn, Fred, you were a maniac.  I've never seen anything like that before in my life," I joked, slapping his shoulder over the seat.

     Everyone laughed again. 

"Bob, you were great... I never would have stepped in front of Carl like that... damn, you guys are nuts."

The laughter slowly faded as the car slowed for the first time in my experience with Bob to match that of the traffic.

Leaning closer to one another in the seat, Bob and Fred spoke softly in Russian, gesturing toward me and Emma.

"Bob?" I said, beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.

"They are saying, we need a place to hide... quickly," Emma offered.

"Dude," Fred said incredulously, pointing at Emma.

"By the way... that's Russian for "is belt," I said sarcastically.

"No, it's not," Emma protested with a hint of annoyance in her voice.

"Really?" I asked, happy for my chance to put Bob on the spot.

Bob immediately said something to her in Russian, his hand waving in the air.

      "I stand corrected," she said, easing back into her seat. With a smile of self-satisfaction lifting her lips.

We rode along in silence for several minutes.

"You have a wonderful machine, Bob.  What's it called?" Emma asked, tracing a hand over the upholstery.

"Is car," Bob returned a little confused.

"I know that, silly.  I've seen one before but I had no idea that they could feel like... like this.  What do you call it?" she asked, leaning forward in the seat to be closer to Bob.

"Is car," Bob repeated.

"No, what's her name?" she prompted.

"Bob not understand," he said, looking into the rearview mirror.

"She doesn't want to be a bath tub...  she rather likes being a car," Emma explained, leaning on the back of Bob's seat with both elbows.  "She loves you very much," she said, softly.

"Dorota," Fred offered in Bob's place.

"It's pretty," Emma said.

"Means...  gift from God," Bob said, barely over a whisper.

"Yes.  Yes, she is," Emma said, rubbing an affectionate hand over the door, touching its metal.

Then the tips of her fingers seemed to melt, becoming part of the metal itself.  At that instant the sound of the engine began to run smooth, strong and took off at an incredible rate.

We had flown down this part of the highway several times before but this time... something was different.  The way the car sounded, the way it felt as it glided over the pavement was like a dream.  If there was one day in its creation when everything that made it a car worked perfectly, then today was that day.

I had a thousand questions for Emma.  As I tried my best to focus on at least one, music softly filled the car... John Mellencamp's "Paper and Fire."

As I laid back against the seat on one level I felt good... happy, very satisfied with life but had no idea why.  It felt as if I were suddenly drunk or... I had no explanation for the euphoria that filled me.  As I looked to Bob, it appeared that he and Fred were under the same spell.

      It felt as though we were stuffed in a thick liquid, making it nearly impossible to move.  My head turned slowly as I tried to focus my attention on Emma.

She appeared to be surrounded by a strange, pale blue light as she turned to smile at me, but I couldn't be sure.

"Bob.  I think we're in trouble," I called, trying to wrap my head around what was happening.  I struggled to regain some form of control over my mind, over my senses.  "Bob," I strained, almost yelling.

"Is okay, I have cousin," he said, turning in my direction, smiling.

 

 

Reviews

[RainDancer1997]

Wow, that was quite long. Not bad:)! pretty good:)

[Akashi]

I think that would win in the LONG story competition. I was satisfied.

[Tegon Maus]

Thanks for the read. Send me something you would like to share and I will return the favor.

[easybreezy]

This is very well written, blending humor, seriousness and mystery flawlessly.

[Shep]

The seat belt gives a whole new meaning for me and I thank you for it. Also the thought behind I have a cousion, really ties the story togeather. So far I can't stop reading as I wait to see what on the otheside. Great story great detail Android great passion. You have me hooked to my seat.

[Archia]

"damn, you guys are nuts." That is the perfect way to describe Bob abd Fred. I love how you can develop all these great characters. What I really liked though was the repetition of the 'is belt' throughout this whole thing, and the 'I have cousin.' Two great things in this. I really enjoyed this chapter, the tension, the mystery, I can't wait to read more.

[Wendy Seames Garner]

Very good, Tegon, now what to do with the alien?
1. "for the third time in as many days." I thought this was the second time he was out with Bob.

[Ice Girl]

Oh wow! That was really good!