What Fears Become Part 21

The bully stared at him, and he saw himself through the bigger boy's eyes: a thin boy wearing dark gla.s.ses, carrying a bag with a cell phone, lunch, notebook, pencils, and his folded cane. "How's that again, creep?" the bully said.

"I think you understood me the first time."

"Okay, here's something for you to understand, s.h.i.tface." The bully c.o.c.ked his right fist.

Ian didn't wait for the blow to land. He dodged to the side and swung his bag at the bully's head. It smacked him hard against the side of his face.

The bully was more astonished than hurt. The blind kid had struck back. It must have been a lucky score.

"Okay, mush-brain. Now you're really going to get it." The bully c.o.c.ked both fists and set himself for a fast one-two series of punches.

But even as he moved, Ian dodged again, this time to the other side, guided by the boy's own vision. He got behind the bully, swung the arm with the bag around his neck, and yanked him back off-balance. "Lay off," he said into the boy's ear. "Or I will make you be like me." With his free hand, he pressed against the bully's face, a finger touching an eye. "Shall I demonstrate?" He pressed just hard enough to make the point.

This time the bully got the message. No easy pickings here. "Okay."

Ian let him go. Then he turned his back and walked away, openly showing his contempt. The bully stared after him. Had he tried to attack from behind, Ian would have ducked and whirled and punched him in the solar plexus, another move he had rehea.r.s.ed. None of these moves would have worked well had he been sighted, but because the bully thought he couldn't see, he was unconsciously careless, leaving himself open to sucker counterattacks. But he could see what the bully did, and that guided him quite effectively. He was physically fit, and able to move with an a.s.surance that sighted people underestimated. That underestimation was critical to his success in dealing with them.

The bully never bothered him again.

Ian did well in school, listening carefully and making notes. He could see through the eyes of his nearest cla.s.smates, but did that only to have an awareness of the layout of the cla.s.sroom. He did not want to give himself away.

The girls liked Doane, and the dog liked their attention, but that was as far as it went. As Ian matured, no girl wanted to date him. They were polite to him, even nice, but, well, he was blind.

Prospects were better in college, and he did get dates. But no serious interest.

The stewardess approached with a meal, and Ian had to cease remembering. He could not see her directly, but she saw her own reflection briefly in the darkened window, and she was trim and pretty. The kind of girl he would have liked to date, had any been interested in a blind man. There it was again.

When she departed, he quietly put the sausage down for Doane, who really liked meat of any kind.

After the meal Ian resumed his summation, as it was his way of dealing with the crisis of the moment. "Then there was Catto, a decade later. The invisible cat."

Doane wagged his tail, sharing the humor.

"Not literally true, of course. His partial telepathic ability was to cloud men's minds so that they could not see or hear or smell him. So when the project concluded that he was a failure because he couldn't read minds, and took him to the disposal chamber, he disappeared and escaped. You tuned in from afar again, knowing his nature, and we went out to fetch him. Chloe didn't mind that he ate a lot; she loved him as another lost thing, and he prospered. That was the third reason we loved her."

Now she was dead. What were they to do? Ian had done well in school because of her constant support. He was smart enough, but needed the emotional endors.e.m.e.nt. Chloe had truly believed in him. Now he would be on his own-rather, the three of them would be-but he knew they couldn't cope. He wasn't remotely equipped to make it in life without Chloe's guidance and support, and the others, as animals, had no resources in the human world.

The plane descended. Soon enough they caught a taxi home. The house was locked, but Ian had a key, and they entered the familiar premises.

Only then did Ian break down, sobbing for the loss of the only other human being he had loved. Doane howled, sharing the grief.

Then they organized for the immediate need. The near future was opaque, but the present was urgent. "We have to find Catto," Ian said. "He had to go out to hunt, when the food in the house ran out, and he's bound to hunt the wrong things. There'll be trouble."

They set out, dog and man, heading into the local forest. Doane sniffed out Catto's scent trail, and Ian tuned into the dog's vision so that he could proceed with confidence using only his white-tipped cane.

All too soon they found the area. There were three men, local farmers by their garb, talking. "Hey, mister!" one called. "You blind? Don't go in that copse!"

"I am blind," Ian agreed without annoyance. "I am safe enough, with my guide dog."

"That's not what I meant," the man said. "It's no place for a sighted person, let alone a blind one. There's a monster in there. We're going to get a permit to start a ring of fire and burn it out."

That was exactly what Ian had feared. "I have traversed this forest many times. There is nothing dangerous in it."

"Maybe not, before. But this is now. There's a monster, a ghost, and it's dangerous."

Ian forced a laugh. They had encountered Catto, all right. "Ghosts are fine for spook stories, but we all know they don't really exist."

"Tell, him, Frank."

"Here's what I seen," Frank said, clearly shaken. "My dog smelled something and he ran into that copse. Then he yelped, and I ran in after him. There he was, lying dead, his throat torn open. Something killed him. Something big. I knew it was close by; the hairs on my neck raised. There was a smell, then it faded. I pulled my gun and looked, but I couldn't see or hear anything. I stood there, and then I saw it." The man gulped audibly.

"Saw what?" Ian asked, antic.i.p.ating the answer.

"The ghost footprints. They just appeared right before me, pressing into the ground. Big ones, like maybe a bear. But there was nothing there. That's when I knew it was a ghost monster. It killed my dog, and might have killed me, but I got the h.e.l.l out of there." The man was still terrified.

Definitely Catto. Because though he might seem invisible, he could not hide his footprints once he left the area, and they appeared. Frank thought they were being made as they came into view, but that was not the case. They were there all the time, but hidden.

As for their size: hardly surprising. Because Catto was no house-cat. He was a tiger. Chloe hadn't cared: he was a lost kitten, and she loved him. She had covered for him for years, making sure he had plenty of meat to eat and keeping him out of mischief. Ian and Doane had taken Catto for walks in the wood, cautioning him, and he had trusted their judgment. They were a team.

But if Catto got hungry enough, would he attack a man? Ian could not be quite sure. It was better to make sure the big cat never got that hungry. Meanwhile the superst.i.tious farmers might have reason to be scared.

"Ah, here comes the gasoline," the first man said as a fourth man arrived, hauling a large fuel can.

"Well, thanks," Ian said, pretending nonchalance. "We'll be moving along now." He touched Doane's back, and the two walked on toward the copse.

"Wrong way, mister!" the man yelled. "The monster's there."

"If I see it, I'll tell it to go away," Ian responded as though oblivious. Obviously he wouldn't see it, because it was invisible and he was blind, but the farmers surely didn't get the humor.

Ian and Doane entered the copse, and no one followed.

Doane sniffed. Catto was near. He wouldn't dim his odor for Doane.

"Catto," Ian murmured. "Come in close. Make us all invisible." This was part of their teamwork: they had done it before, as a game.

The tiger did. Catto had known and trusted them most of his life, because of familiarity and the telepathy.

They walked in a tight formation back the way they had come. The four men were busy pouring gasoline, starting a big circle around the copse. None of them paid any attention. Catto was diverting their sight. Only their footprints would remain, appearing belatedly. With luck, these would not be noticed.

They made it safely back to the house, smelling the smoke of the gasoline fire behind them. The farmers would be satisfied that the invisible monster had been burned out, and that was best.

But a man stood at the door. "I can't see you, but I know you're there," he said. "I've got a heat detector. We need to talk."

Doane growled and Catto was ready to pounce, but Ian cautioned them back. He couldn't see the man either, but the view from his eyes was competent. At his touch, Catto ceased his effort, and they became visible and audible. "Go inside," he told the man. "We'll join you."

They settled in the living room, the animals on their favorite couches. The three of them gazed at the man.

"I am John Mawker," he said without preamble. "I am from the Project, of course."

This was like dealing with the bully. The man thought he had the advantage, but he might underestimate them. "The Project considered us failures," Ian said evenly. "The Project was going to destroy us."

"True. Our greatest failure was in not recognizing the nature of the successes we had. Since then we have grown smarter, as an inst.i.tution. We want you back. All three of you. Now that your benefactor is gone, it behooves you to consider our offer."

"What offer?" Ian did not trust this man, but their situation was desperate, and they had to listen. The alternative would be to flee the region, hiding from normal people, foraging in garbage cans, and trying to escape pursuit by people from The Project who knew their nature.

"I see you understand," Mawker said.

"Understand what?" Ian asked tightly.

Mawker smiled. "I am moderately telepathic myself. Mainly I pick up moods. It's clumsy compared to the talents the three of you have perfected. But believe me, I understand you."

"What offer?" Ian repeated.

"One you can't refuse. Return to The Project, and you will be protected and nurtured as much as Chloe did for you. We were aware of this kindhearted normal woman, but left her alone, because she was doing our job for us, and better than we had done it. Did you really think we could be ignorant of a neighbor who took in our charges? She knew nothing of us, as far as we know, though she might have suspected. Now that is over, and we must act to secure you. We can't allow you to range uncertainly amidst the populace. The Project has always been secret and must remain so. We require your cooperation."

Ian did not need to consult with Doane and Catto. "No." Now it was up to the bully.

"I have not completed my presentation," Mawker said without rancor. "I do not bluff. You will accept. But I prefer it to be voluntary, on the basis of full understanding."

"We prefer to be free," Ian said evenly.

"That is the key. We not only want you, we need you. Funding is always a problem, in part because we can't tell Congress what we seek or accomplish, so we have to make do with what we have. We must use our best. And you three have, largely on your own, become our best."

Ian still did not trust this. "Make your point."

"We need you to train our lesser successes. To demonstrate what you do, and enable them to do it too. To see through the eyes of others," he glanced directly at Ian. "To deflect attention." He glanced at Doane. "To suppress the awareness of others, in effect becoming invisible." He looked at Catto. "And other skills, perhaps some we have not yet recognized. We need your enthusiastic partic.i.p.ation."

"Provided we surrender our freedom," Ian said.

"No."

Now Ian was startled, and so were Doane and Catto, in tune with his mood. "No?"

"That is the nature of our offer," Mawker said. "We want you to return to manage the project. The three of you; this is a multi-species effort. Under my supervision, the first year, to familiarize yourself with the protocols. Then directly, when I retire."

The three of them stared at him.

"You can continue to live here," Mawker continued. "This can be a useful outpost. We can pay off the mortgage; that at least is within our means. You can continue to range the local forest as you have been doing. Even finish your education, Ian; you are already close to your degree. You have learned to relate to the larger world; that is a skill we also need. We need to be able to interface with normal folk, without betraying our special skills. Starting with your attendance at the funeral and memorial service for Chloe, a fine, generous woman. All three of you."

He paused. "I might add that we do have other predator animals there, and other domesticated ones, who need the help of each of you to fulfill themselves. Also a maiden, seventeen, highly telepathic but uncontrollable. She's rather pretty but emotionally insecure, as you might imagine. I think you would find her worthwhile in more than one venue, Ian. She truly needs a talented and understanding friend. The pay is low, but there are compensations. What we are doing may some day change the world. It is, actually, a secret but glorious vision. One you surely share."

Ian realized that Mawker had come well prepared, and had won the day. Indeed, they could not refuse.

They were no longer lost things.

About Piers Anthony.

Piers Anthony had the hodgepodge of employments typical of writers. Of about fifteen types of jobs he tried, ranging from aide at a mental hospital to technical writer at an electronics company, only one truly appealed: the least successful. But the dream to be a writer remained.

Finally in 1962, Piers' wife agreed to go to work for a year, so that he could stay home and try to write fiction full time. The agreement was that if he did not manage to sell anything, he would give up the dream and focus on supporting his family. As it happened, Piers sold two stories, earning $160. But such success seemed inadequate to earn a living. So he became an English teacher, didn't like that either, and in 1966 retired again to writing. This time Piers wrote novels instead of stories, and with them he was able to earn a living.

As with the rest of his life, progress was slow, but a decade later Piers got into light fantasy with the first of his ongoing "Xanth" series of novels, A Spell for Chameleon, and that proved to be the golden ring. Piers wrote two other fantasy series: the "Adept" novels and the "Incarnations of Immortality." His sales and income soared, and Piers Anthony became one of the most successful writers of the genre, with twenty-one New York Times paperback bestsellers in the s.p.a.ce of a decade. This enabled Piers and his wife to send their two daughters to college, and drove the wolf quite far from their door. Piers and his wife now live on a tree farm, and would love to have a wolf by their door, but do have deer and wild cat and other wildlife instead. Today, Piers Anthony is not only a successful writer, but an environmentalist.

http://www.HiPiers.com.

A NEW DAY.

by Larry Green.

Alice's eyes snapped open and her breathing stopped as she listened, ears straining in the darkness, searching for the sounds carried to her in the night. Cursing under her breath, she reached to the nightstand, trying to find her lamp, but in the rush she knocked everything else off onto the floor.

Finally, groping in the darkness, her fingers found the base of the lamp, and she felt her way up under the shade to the switch. Light flooded her bedroom and she looked at the mess she had made. The clock was there, underneath the phone, which was now off the hook. She could hear the recording telling her to hang it up like she was some kind of an idiot who did not know any better.

Looking down at the floor there was still one thing she did not see that should have been there, but was not. Her teeth. Slowly, Alice climbed out of bed, and leaning against it she managed to get down on her hands and knees to look for them. As a last resort, she flipped up the side of her bedspread and there they were. Her dentures, and the gla.s.s she cleaned them in, had rolled under the bed when everything had taken a spill. And now Alice was horrified to see her teeth sitting in one of her old slippers.

"Of all the places they could land, now I will have to go to the doctor because I will get some kind of fungus in my mouth," she muttered out loud to n.o.body. Leaning down, she reached, stretching her arm under the bed until she felt the teeth with her fingers. When she pulled them out, she looked at them in the light from her lamp. When she was satisfied they were not covered in lint, or something even worse, she put them in her mouth.

Almost at once, Alice's face began to contort and she stuck out her tongue. Looking down her nose, she could see a hair, just sitting there, moving up and down as she breathed in and out. Quickly she reached up and pulled it off her tongue, noises of disgust coming out of her throat, and she wiped it off of her finger onto the floor.

"Oh my G.o.d," Alice said as she retched, her voice slurred by the loose-fitting teeth, "I am going to have to clean under the beds again."

She sat down on the floor, leaning back against her bed, and let out a sigh as she picked up the phone. The recording was over and now the phone was making that irritating noise, over and over again, that the phone company said was supposed to let you know the phone was off the hook. She had called them up one day and asked why the phone made that noise, and that had been their answer. They had been shocked when she had told them that some people left their phones off the hook on purpose, and did not want to hear that noise any more than they wanted to hear the phone ring.

Putting the phone down a little harder than she should have, Alice could picture Edward's face in her mind's eye. It was complete with the little look he always gave her when she was having her "tiff," as he had liked to call it. Poor Edward had been gone for almost two years now and she had not missed that look one bit since he had gone. Alice thought of him and how he had always insisted they have a phone, even though she hated the thing, and he always refused talk on it. It served him right having that heart attack out back in his garden when n.o.body was there to call an ambulance. Yes, she thought, the old b.a.s.t.a.r.d lived his whole life and never once talked on a phone. She hoped he was happy with that.

Through her window Alice heard the noise again, howls somewhere out in the night, and she knew it had to be the Keegal's dogs. They woke her up more nights than she could count, and considering she had just had her eightieth birthday, she thought that was a good indication of how many ruined nights' sleep she could count. She picked the phone up again, banged it back down in the cradle with a smile on her face, just for Edward's benefit in case his ghost was somewhere watching, and then she dialed a number.

"This is the Jefferson County sheriff's office," said the voice from the other end of the phone line.

"Yes, this is Alice Dreyton from out on Willowbrook Lane. I would like to report a disturbance."

"h.e.l.lo, Mrs. Dreyton, what seems to be your disturbance tonight?" asked the voice from the other end, sounding as though he were trying to hide the laughter in it.

Everyone knew everyone in this small community, and sometimes that could be annoying. "Don't you take that tone of voice with me, young man, I pay my taxes, and that pays your salary, do you understand me?"

"Yes, Ma'am, and I am sorry, Ma'am; what seems to be your problem tonight?"

"It is my neighbors, the Keegals, or should I say their dogs. They woke me up howling. Usually it is their barking at all hours, but this time it is their howling. I need a car to come by at once."

"Yes, Ma'am, right away. It seems we already have an officer out in that area. I will see to it that he gets to your house as soon as possible. Is there anything e..."

Alice smiled as she slammed the phone down, even harder this time. She could imagine the operator jerking his headphones off of his ears, howling in pain like the Keegals' dogs from the squeal that they always showed in the movies when you did that.

Satisfied now, and with n.o.body else to torment, Alice slowly got back up on her feet and put on her housecoat and went into her front room. Staring out of her picture window, Alice watched the road for headlights. She knew the officer would not be out here any time soon, they never were when she called, and it never changed, no matter how often she complained. As she stood there, Alice heard the howls again, and this time they were closer.