From a Distant Star (3 page)

I tried to get a read on her expression. “Really? Or are you kidding?”

“I never kid about magic.” An orange cat came around the corner of the house and jumped up next to her. She absentmindedly stroked his head. “The eyes are the windows to the soul. The lips are the doorway to the body. You need both.”

“Do I say anything after I do it?”

“What would you say?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” Mrs. Kokesh cleared her throat, aggravated. “Just wipe it over his eyes and lips, then kiss him,” she repeated impatiently. “Why does everyone want to make it more complicated than it is? You can follow directions, can’t you?”

“Yes,” I answered, and then remembered something. “You said you had a bad feeling?”

Mrs. Kokesh nodded. “Something’s not right about this whole situation. I don’t know what it is, but I’m getting a sense things may go haywire.”

My hopes, once so high, were getting lower by the minute. After all her talk, it sounded like this might not even work. “But I can still try it, right?”

“Of course. Wait, I’m seeing something odd now.” Her nose wrinkled as she concentrated. “I’m seeing you in the belly of the whale. You and Lucas both.”

“The belly of the whale? Like Jonah in the Bible?”

“Not quite.” She shook her head. “It’s gone now. I can’t tell you what it means. Just be careful.”

“I will.” I mean, I wasn’t planning on
not
being careful. I dug into my backpack and took out my money. “How much do I owe you?” I asked.

“No charge.” She stood up, brushing off the front of her dress. “I wish you the best of luck, Emma. You’re gonna need it.” She went into the house and the orange cat followed her, scurrying in just before the screen door clattered shut.

That had been earlier today. Ever since, I’d been waiting to be alone with Lucas, but someone was constantly hovering. First the visiting nurse came (not Nancy, thankfully) with more morbid talk, and then both of Lucas’s parents hung around on and off all evening. I’d taken to sitting in the recliner off to one side of the room, but as soon as we were alone, I always moved and sat on the bed right next to him. Eventually, I knew, they’d go upstairs to bed. Lately, Mrs. Walker seemed to not sleep much at all, coming down several times a night to check on Lucas, and offering to relieve me so I could go home.

As much as I disliked Mrs. Walker, I kind of respected her too. She stayed up later than anyone else, checking on Lucas during the night, and getting up at dawn to join her husband out in the barn. Mr. Walker had a job during the school year, but over the summer,
both of them were all about the farm. They’d hired an extra man to help out so they could be with Lucas throughout the day, but still, Mrs. Walker had to be exhausted. I couldn’t wait for her to finish up and make the trek up the stairs, but first she let the dog out, and then she busied herself in the kitchen. When she finished emptying the dishwasher, I heard her wiping off the kitchen counters, scrubbing at a stubborn spot and sighing. From past experience, I knew this would be the last of it. Next she’d open the back door to call Mack back inside, lock up for the night, and head for bed.

But before that could happen, we heard a noise from outside: a huge thud followed by an echoing ricochet. I lifted my head trying to figure out what it was. Fireworks? A shot gun? No, it was more muffled than that. Almost like something vibrating. Mrs. Walker stuck her head in the doorway. “Did you hear that, Emma?”

“Yeah, I did. It sounds like it was near the barn.”

“What was it?” Her forehead furrowed.

“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “It was almost like something hit the ground.”

“I hope that dog didn’t get into anything.” She left and I heard her open the back door and call out, “Mack? Where are you? Get back here now!” Mack barked in return and she waited a couple seconds before hollering for him again. Her voice was harsh, and I knew if he didn’t come quickly, she’d leave him out for the night. Once or twice, I’d let him in even after she told me not to. He had to pay the price for not listening, she said. But I was too tenderhearted to leave him outside. He was Lucas’s dog.

Luckily, Mack came back inside before Mrs. Walker gave up on him. I heard her scold him for not coming right when she’d called. Before long, he wandered in by me, taking refuge on the floor between Lucas’s bed and my recliner. I reached down to pat his head. Mrs. Walker came in to give me one last set of instructions. “If anything changes with Lucas, come and get me,” she said. “Right away.”

“Yes, of course.”

“And don’t you let that dog up on the bed,” she said. “I found dog hair on the blanket yesterday.” Her eyes narrowed at me like an accusation.

“It must have been on someone’s clothing when they leaned over the bed,” I offered.

She softened. “Well, maybe. Good-night, Emma.”

“Good-night, Mrs. Walker.”

She left to go upstairs. When I heard the water running in the bathroom above me, I prayed to God again, this time promising anything if he’d bring Lucas back. After Mrs. Walker padded down the hallway to her bedroom, I lifted Mack onto the bed, where he nestled into the space between Lucas and the railing, resting his head on Lucas’s shoulder. He knew the drill, the right way to lie so he wouldn’t hurt Lucas. Mack was a mutt, all black with a white spot on his belly. The only thing we could tell for sure was that he must be part border collie. Lucas said that the border collie part was what made Mack so smart.

I stroked Lucas’s cheek. “Hang in there, Lucas. It’s all going to be better soon.” He didn’t bear much resemblance to the boy who’d stolen my heart the very first time he smiled my way. I could still picture him leaning against his locker, talking to the head cheerleader, Madison Walinski. She was talking frenetically, flipping her hair back, and doing her fake laugh. Her usual self-absorbed routine. Lucas was nodding like he was listening, but anyone could see from the trapped look on his face that he was just being polite. When he glanced my way, we locked eyes and an understanding passed between us—sympathy from me, resignation from him. He flashed me a smile and it was like the heavens opened up and cast a beam of light my way. Such a beautiful boy. Impossibly beautiful. From that moment on, I wanted him. And then, I got him. And that, I thought, was the end of the story. My own personal
happy ending, which turned out not to be so happy when cancer interfered.

The chemo had taken away his beautiful curls and only a bit of fuzz had grown back. The lack of hair made his face look even thinner, like skin stretched over a skull. His hands and feet were always cold now and almost bluish. It didn’t matter what he looked like, though. I loved Lucas more than I’d ever loved anyone in my life. I couldn’t live without him.

I found the relish jar in my backpack and unscrewed the lid, then tilted it and dipped two fingers into the potion.
Please, God, let this work
. Mack whined like he knew something was up. He lifted his head to watch as I wiped the potion onto Lucas’s eyes. The movement of my fingers pushed Lucas’s eyelids up a little, and they stayed open a crack. Was I supposed to actually put the liquid
in
his eyes? I wasn’t sure. I added a little more, carefully moistening the open space below his lids. Then I dabbed the rest on his lips. Curious, Mack worked his way forward on the bed so that his muzzle was right alongside Lucas’s face.

“Yeah, Mack,” I said. “I know this is weird. Don’t worry. I’m not hurting him.” I screwed the lid back on the jar before leaning over to kiss Lucas on the lips, then pulled back nervously to see what would happen. Lucas still laid flat on his back, his hands exactly where they’d been positioned by the nurse after she’d turned him. His breathing was still shallow and there was no expression on his face. I watched carefully and then gave him another kiss. “I love you, Lucas.” Absolutely nothing had changed.

For some reason, I’d been thinking the potion would work immediately. It didn’t have to be a total cure. I would have settled for a twitch or a smile. Anything that told me he’d made the turn away from death and back to me. Disappointment overwhelmed me and I felt my eyes fill with tears. The kiss had left a bit of the slippery potion on my lips and I went to grab a tissue out of my backpack. Mack whined a little bit while I cleaned up my face. “It’s
okay, boy,” I said. I still had some liquid left in the bottom of the jar. “We’ll try again later.”

CHAPTER THREE

When the main ship was hit, the scout knew he was going to die if he didn’t act quickly.

The mission had started off well enough. All of the scouts knew their jobs and followed standard protocol. His small craft was one of twenty attached to the underside of a much larger circular ship, the
Seeker
. They traveled through space that way, the scouts in their crafts, secured around the bottom rim, along for the ride.

The mission was the same each time. Together they traveled from their galaxy to other worlds. Once they reached position over the surface of the targeted planet, the
Seeker
would give the order for them to disengage. At that point, they’d drop down and hover over the planet’s outer crust to acquire data: assessing the ground for mineral content, and sending out pulses that would survey the inhabitants in the surrounding area to see how highly evolved they were. They’d been visiting some of the planets for many lifetimes, each time monitoring how advanced the citizens had become, how prone to aggression they were, how quickly they were evolving to the higher path. The scouts kept a low profile, avoiding areas that were densely populated, and purposely timing their visits for the least visibility.

This planet, the one they called Earth, was a curious one. A certain percentage of the inhabitants were so highly evolved some of the elders thought they could be contacted directly and invited to join the coalition. But the evolved inhabitants were few, and didn’t seem to hold any power over the masses, who were, by all accounts, brutal. If they couldn’t be trusted to treat each other well, how receptive would they be to outsiders from another world?

This scout didn’t care either way. He was new to the job and took pride in doing such important work. Back home, his physical body lay dormant, waiting for his return, a shell without a spirit. Many years earlier, the elders had discovered that, with atmospheric variances from planet to planet, it was easier to separate their consciousness from their body and send just that part along, rather than try to physically adapt each time. Each scout’s consciousness fit within a tiny craft, which required less space and fuel, but their intellect and other senses were still there, which was all that was needed. The mother ship powered their minicraft, but navigation fell to them. They maneuvered using their thoughts and intent, following a prearranged route, but able to deviate if need be.

When the main ship broke through the atmosphere and reached the targeted position, all twenty of the scouts in the smaller crafts waited for the drop-down signal, ready to cover their assigned areas. The scout had been to Earth before, the last time scanning an arid environment. A “desert,” the inhabitants called it. Although not as abundant in life forms, it had a certain stark beauty. The landscape on this mission was very different. He’d been told they’d encounter different forms of foliage, as well as creatures big and small, but probably not the most highly evolved inhabitants. If they did encounter one of these “people” (as they were known in the local language), they were to leave the area immediately.

If everything went according to plan, all twenty scouts would return to the original ship at a prearranged time, latching onto their spot against the ship until they reached the next location. Most of them had done this type of mission many times before. It was all very routine.

At least, that was the plan.

When a missile came at the main ship after it entered the atmosphere, the new scout was the only one who disengaged. He did it in a panic, violating the rule that said only to detach on command. While the
Seeker
and the other nineteen crafts still attached exploded above him, his small craft spun away, emergency illuminators snapping on as he hurtled downward at a dizzying speed. When he finally hit the ground, it was at an angle, sending his craft skidding and bouncing violently before coming to a stop. He’d lost control and hadn’t even gotten his bearings when the top of the craft opened, its seal damaged by the impact. The illuminators hissed and then crackled. They brightened before dimming, and then went dark completely.

Being grounded and cut off from the power supply was the worst possible thing that could happen to a scout. The scout’s ability to communicate was limited to the main ship, the
Seeker
, and he relied on it to repower his craft after each mission. As disoriented as he was, he tried to weigh his options. His craft was damaged, the main ship obliterated, leaving him without a way to communicate with his home planet. Worse yet, he’d been left grounded: a consciousness without a body. In this state, he was an energy field known as bio-plasma: a collection of memory, emotions, and thought processes. But he wasn’t whole. There was no way to go home. And he wouldn’t last long if he couldn’t transfer to a new living vessel. Death was certain.

When the creature approached, the scout didn’t even try to assess the life form. He saw an opportunity, one he knew he might not have later, and he took it. The second the creature came close
enough, the scout exited his craft and latched onto this being. His life depended on finding a new host and he couldn’t afford to be picky.

He shimmied in through the moist membranes of the viewing portals, an optimal way to be absorbed and take over. The creature resisted, but was too disoriented to do much. Within seconds, the scout was inside. Initially, the scout let the creature keep control of the body while he got his bearings. When the creature’s ears picked up a sound signal—“Mack? Where are you? Get back here now!”—and responded by moving across the terrain to a structure, the scout recognized it as a summoning. His host, he now knew, was the subordinate of the one creating the noise.