Red Centre (22 page)

A neat and tidy, upper-class American
neighborhood. A small layer of snow had dusted everyone’s front
lawn. Leafless trees lined the street. During the fall, their
leaves would explode with different yellows, oranges and reds.
Right now, the leaves had fallen, leaving the area cold and
depressing. It would be spring soon and the cold, depressing days
would soon be behind them.

Kate Marshall stood on the front doorstep of
their upscale, double-story home. She wrapped her pale, pink
sweater tightly around her small frame, trying to stay warm, as she
looked back and forth, up and down the street. She glanced at her
watch, bobbing up and down on her toes, a little anxious.

Not long out of hospital, she had seen
better days. With dark rings under her eyes, she was lucky if she'd
had more than three hours of sleep each night.

***

Soon a bright yellow cab pulled over in
front of the house. Chris quickly exited the car, visibly worn.
Kate could see breath escaping his lips with each exhale, as he
stood in the cold. His beaten face had begun to heal, but visible
bruising and scabbed cuts still marked his face. His neck and face
were tanned; the only person with a natural tan this time of year.
Several days of facial hair growth rounded out his new, rugged
look.

He took a deep breath of the cold, crisp
air. It was a welcome change to the unbearable heat of outback
Australia. He was home.

Briskly walking toward him, Kate gave a
little hop as she began to run. It had seemed like an eternity
since they had seen each other. Held each other. They embraced
tightly on the footpath, not wanting to let go. Chris leaned in,
giving her a small, tender kiss. Kate’s eyes filled with tears.
Their joy bitter-sweet; visibly overshadowed with the stark
reality—Chris had returned alone.

***

The all-too-familiar alarm sounded on Chris’
cell phone. Monday morning. Time to get dressed for work—his first
day back since things happened. It was hard to get back to the
normal grind, but as their counselor said: it could be good to get
back into a routine.

Steam hung in the air from Chris’ hot
shower. He toweled the misted mirror, seeing a disfigured version
of himself. His body and face had mostly healed from the multiple
encounters with Roy and other tumbles in the outback. Again he
checked his body: no visible sign of any gunshot wounds. It was
still hard to believe. If it hadn’t happened to him, he wouldn’t
believe it either. He rubbed his face, wishing they had fixed all
the damage.

Chris positioned the razor to his face,
ready to cut through his whiskers—ready to turn back into a
civilized human being. He wasn’t so sure.

Was he ready to return to normal life, when
Shawn was still out there, somewhere?

***

Chris met Kate and his two girls in the
kitchen. Fresh and dressed in a fine suit ready for work. His tie
perfectly straight, buttons in a straight line with his belt and
fly, shoes polished—military style.

The daily rush to get out the door had
begun. However, everyone seemed more subdued than normal. Not so
loud. Everyone a little more polite. Things were far from
normal.

Shawn’s empty seat at the kitchen table—a
clear reminder that life was not normal. The girls tried to pretend
things were okay. They tried their best not to get in the way and
not to ask for much. Let Mom and Dad have space. It was almost a
fake way to live: rehearsed and contemplated. But how else would he
expect everyone to react? Maybe instead this was the new normal.
Fake happiness, fake celebrations. How long would it take? Not
knowing what happened to Shawn only amplified the suppressed pain,
for all of them.

Only two lunch sacks to fill. Only two to
push along to get dressed and out the door. Kate and Chris soon
found themselves alone as the two girls rushed out to catch the
bus. The quiet stillness was unnerving. Kate gave Chris a
sympathetic gaze.

She moved around the island counter, meeting
Chris. She pressed her two hands on his chest. “I’m not going to
cry today. I told myself that.”

Chris wrapped his arms around her, pulling
her close. “It’s okay if you do.”

Resting her head on him, her lip quivered. A
tear ran down her cheek. She closed her eyes. Chris rested his chin
on top her head. It was more comforting to hold each other than to
speak.

***

The day passed quickly. Night had closed in.
Chris stood on his back deck, sipping on a cup of tea. His shirt
untucked, tie loosened, five o’clock shadow. He stared into the
night sky. The stars weren’t as visible as the Red Centre, but
still a nice view.

He felt sick to the stomach, the
responsibility and pressure of finding Shawn still heavy on his
shoulders. It was not something that could just be put to rest. He
had to do something. He had to begin the search again.

***

Chris scooped a bunch of paperwork and other
odds and ends from his home office desk into an empty box. He moved
around the room, grabbing non-essential things—files, books,
etc.—and piling them into boxes, making room for his new command
center. It was a simple room down in the basement. A wooden desk
with a desktop computer. The walls bare. Dimly lit.

Chris pinned a recent picture of Shawn
straight to the wall with a small thumbtack. He flopped back into
his black, high-back, leather executive chair. He took a moment to
stare at Shawn’s picture. Cracked his knuckles. Time to work.

He removed his cell, placing it on the desk
in front of him. After scrolling through the menu and pressing a
few buttons, Shawn’s voice message played.

“
Hey, Dad, it’s me. I
thought I would just let you know that I’m heading back to Sydney.
Then I’m coming home. I’ll call you from the airport in a couple of
…”

The voice message stopped. Again the eerie
silence.

Shawn’s excited voice burst out once more
over speaker-phone, finishing the message.

Chris had heard this message countless
times. There was no secret message in there. No other clues. Just
the obvious things. “Strange red light” echoed in his ears. He
closed his eyes, picturing all the crazy things he had witnessed in
the outback. His son must have been taken by those bastards.

***

The annoying cell alarm sounded. Another
Monday morning. Chris quickly turned it off, staying beneath the
warm bedclothes. Days had turned to weeks. The daily grind was
getting too much. He covered his face with the blankets, not
wanting to face the day.

Kate briskly moved passed the bed, shaking
his foot as she went. “Time to get going,” she said in an usual,
upbeat, cheery voice. She was trying to be strong. Her medication
seemed to be working. Keeping her out of depression. She had to
keep moving and not think about life without Shawn. She had to tell
herself that he was still on vacation and would be home soon. It
was as if she was living in an alternative reality. She had checked
out. Something that was sending Chris into a worse state of
mind.

Chris finally made it to the kitchen. Shirt
half untucked, his tie loosened. A few days worth of stubble on his
face. The girls had already left for the day and Kate was just
about to leave herself.

Kate moved in for a goodbye kiss, running
her hand over his face. “You should shave.” She paused, leaning in
a little closer. She sniffed. “Did you have a shower?”

She playfully slapped his chest. “You can’t
go out like that! Clean yourself up.”

***

Spring soon came. The days were getting
warm. Flowers and trees were beginning to show signs of life again.
The nights and mornings were still crisp and cool. Chris sat on the
back steps just off the deck, dressed in pajamas and night gown.
Hair and beard longer. The stars twinkling overhead. The dim light
from the kitchen window shined down on the back of his head.

The light soon went out and he was left in
darkness. The familiar sound of the back door opening caught his
attention. He didn’t turn around. He knew it was Kate, coming to
chastise him again. That was all they spoke about these days, what
he wasn’t doing right.

Kate stood a few feet from him. She closed
her night gown tightly around herself, folding her arms to keep it
closed. “I put your dinner in the fridge if you’re interested.” She
paused, waiting for a response from Chris.

Nothing.

“
I’m going to bed,” she
continued. She turned to leave, but stopped. She glanced back at
her lonely husband. “You’re not the only one hurting. You’re two
girls are hurting too. They’ve lost a brother and now, a father.”
She waited again to see if this would cause a stir in Chris. He
didn’t move, his head tilted to the stars.

Kate tried to hold back tears. “I’m hurting
too,” she said softly.

Chris stared at the ground. He didn’t know
what to say. It was the first time in months Kate seemed to be
admitting things were not right. He was bearing this burden
himself. Kate had heard the voice message. She didn’t know what it
meant. She wouldn’t believe him if he told her the truth. She still
had hope that one day the phone would ring and an Aussie cop would
let her know Shawn had been found. But Chris knew the truth—that
wasn’t going to happen.

Defeated, Kate turned, leaving Chris to
stargaze. After a moment, his hand reached into his gown pocket. He
took hold of the alien, oval object. The only proof of what had
happened. He wanted to show it to Kate, but he didn’t know what
kind of damage it would do to her mentally and emotionally. He was
barely keeping his own shit together. How would she react?
Oftentimes he had thought of taking it to the experts, to the
government. But Frank’s warning echoed in his mind. The device
would disappear, and he probably would too, if he didn’t keep his
mouth shut. Who knew what would happen if this information and
device were turned over? Like old Frank said, they were alone in
this war. No one was going to fight for them.

He stood in the middle of the backyard
looking at the star-filled night sky. Staring at the unearthly
device. It had been a long time since he tried it—or had even seen
it light up. Maybe it was out of power. Who knew? Haphazardly, he
pressed the alien symbols, hoping something would happen. Not that
he expected it. Nothing ever did. He held it up to the sky, as he
had done many nights before. Hoping; praying for contact.

Chris pinned a recent picture of a UFO over
a beach town in Cornwall, England, along with Shawn’s photo and
other scattered pictures of UFOs and alien drawings on his office
wall.

He swayed back and forth on his chair,
staring at the recent picture. Not bothering to groom himself—with
a new beard growing in—more important objectives dominating his
mind.

He brought two hands together, fingers out
straight and tapping them on his lips, deep in thought. With a
solemn face, his eyes moved to his son’s photo.

The room was dark. Only a small desk lamp on
to light the room, along with the computer’s monitor. The green
glow of a UFO website shined on his face. It had crazy facts about
alien abductions, sightings and other strange facts—bigfoot,
Lochness monster, etc.

Chris’ bloodshot eyes drifted back to the
screen. Clicking the back button, he returned to the search result.
Purple links covered the page. He had visited all the pages. He
scooted in close to his desk. His fingers hovered over the keys and
quickly punched in: “alien objects.”

Web pages he had seen before popped up in
the search, mostly UFO sites. He scrolled through the results. Page
after page. A site he hadn’t looked at before—alien implants—popped
up. His eyes scanned the pages. He read:

Ancient records reveal visitations from Sky
Beings have been happening for centuries. Sumerians recorded these
visits 6000 years ago. UFO sightings now dot the globe.

No one knows why they are here or knows what
they want.

His eyes skipped down the page. Pictures of
little devices: transparent cylinders with rounded edges and coils
of wire inside—nothing special here. Many looked made up. Chris
clicked the back button again. He had read it all before: ancient
aliens, sightings—the lot. He rubbed his tired eyes, glancing at
the little clock in the corner of his screen: 2 a.m.

Lifting a glass of blended scotch whiskey,
he swirled the drink, brought it to his lips, hesitated a moment,
then he quickly knocked back the remainder, wincing as it burned
down his throat.

The UFO photo he just added to the wall was
only one day old.

They were back!

***

In the middle of his backyard Chris stood
hypnotized by the stars. He pressed the alien symbols, hoping
something would happen on this night. Nothing did, but he held it
up to the sky anyway. Maybe they could detect its presence.

He slowly circled, arm outstretched above
his head.

Nothing.

Maybe it was broken. Maybe it was a
use-only-a-couple-of-times kind of device. Maybe they didn’t care
anymore. They got back their missing comrade.

Chris moved over to his large trash can,
lifting the lid. This thing was worthless. Just a reminder of what
he had failed to do. He had blown his shot—given the gray back. He
didn’t even put up a fight. The only fight he put up was against
his own kind and now they were gone too.

Wanting to toss the device, he questioned
that decision. By now he had almost given up hope of ever seeing
his son again, and the hope that this damn thing would even
work.

It wasn’t from lack of trying. This was a
nightly ritual. Frustration brewed and at times he wanted to smash
the device against a wall, but he couldn’t give up on his son, and
this was all he had to connect him with whoever had him. Maybe one
day it would light up. It was also proof. Proof he was too scared
to showcase to the world, or even his wife.