Undisclosed (14 page)

As he pulled away into the humidity of the night, he didn’t notice the set of eyes that were peering over a darkened car window, across the street.

* * * * *

“So, you want to go in, find out what his buddy knows?”

“Yeah, that’s a great idea—why don’t we do that? And you know what? While we’re at it, we can set fire to the whole place.” Lincoln shook his head in disbelief.

Mason cocked his head. “So what … we’re just meant to follow him around all day and all night?”

“Uh-huh, for now.”

“Marvelous, demoted from hunters to babysitters.”

“Ah, stop bellyaching. Knowing the Watchers, they’ll come looking for him. You can be sure of that.”

The Shelby rumbled as it pulled away in the same direction Travis had gone.

Chapter Twelve

Laura was pacing the floor with a drink in her hand when Travis walked through the door. She gave one look to Travis, and he knew he was in trouble. Like a person’s life flashing before their eyes, his mind flew through every reason possible. The hospital, dad’s phone, police, and yet it was none of these. His fears were soon relieved when her eyes darted towards the clock on the wall.

He exhaled a large gulp of air, yet he knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

“Do you know what time it is?”

He often wondered if mothers had been given a book for things to say to kids, as this was typical textbook material that must have appeared in every mother’s repertoire. Of course he knew what time it was, she was looking directly at the clock. But of course that wasn’t the point, it was the principle, and he was going to hear about it.

The time on the clock was 11:20.

“I got held up, you know how Ryan is.” He hoped he could use Ryan as a scapegoat; his mother had always joked that Ryan was a chatterbox.

She scowled, giving him a look of disappointment. “Get to bed.”

“But—”

She cut him off. “While you are living under this roof you will abide by my rules.”

He knew it was pointless to argue. He knew full well it wasn’t even a matter of principle; he had returned late from Ryan’s many a night. She was still reeling from the break-in and concerned about the whereabouts of his father.

“Sorry.”

She stood, gripping the edge of the counter and gazing out into the darkness. A blue and red light flashed and then disappeared. The nightshift was doing the rounds; he wasn’t sure if that was comforting or concerning.

He could feel his mother’s concern; the tension in the home was unmistakable, almost tangible. He was lucky she had let him out at all. If she knew the rest of the story, he would be lucky if he would ever see the light of day.

Travis started to head towards the stairs when she cleared her throat for attention.

“The bank phoned today,” she murmured. “They said our mortgage is in arrears by ninety days. I’ve been trying to get hold of your father but he’s not answering his phone.”

Travis could feel his temperature rising. He wanted so badly to blurt out that he had the phone and tell her everything that he knew. But how would it help? She still believed he wasn’t in the truck that night.

“We have less than fourteen days to make payment or they will foreclose on our home,” she said.

“We must have enough to cover that—Dad earned a lot, right?”

“He managed the money and payments. We held separate accounts; he’s the only one that has access if there is enough.” She groaned. “And I can’t get hold of him.”

Travis knew his father would never have allowed that. His gut instinct told him something was fishy.

She exhaled. “I have to go speak with the bank tomorrow and see if they will work with me until I can get hold of your father.”

That’s not going to happen
, Travis thought.
If I hadn’t asked him to pick me up, maybe he would still be here, maybe
…
.

* * * * *

He slumped down on his bed.

It was impossible to fall asleep. His mind felt like a city interstate, thoughts racing, his heart pumping like a full-throttle piston as he gazed out his skylight.

For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel safe. It didn’t matter that police were patrolling, he wasn’t sure whom he could trust now. He felt like someone had pulled the rug out from underneath his feet and he was falling and there was nothing to hold on to.

He kicked off his shoes and threw a blanket around himself. His chest felt like it was caving in as his thoughts ran wild.

Out of the corner of his eye, through his skylight, specks of light pierced the darkness. He thought about the many years he had looked at the stars that now glimmered brightly above his head. They had meant so little to him, nothing more than lights to fade out to sleep to, and yet now they were different. He saw them through new eyes.

He reached out from within his covers, grabbed a bottle of Mountain Dew that he had on the nightstand, sat up and took a quick swig before he purposely pulled over his tablet computer onto the bed, and then propped himself up against the headboard. Waiting for it to load up, his thoughts drifted.

…
We can help you find your father.

Google came up and he paused, fingers hovering above the keys. So much had taken place. He no longer doubted what he was dealing with and it wasn’t as if he needed convincing. He had seen with his own eyes, yet it still felt as if he was holding only parts of the puzzle. What did it all mean? Why were they here? How could they go about abducting people without anyone batting an eye? What were they after? Why did Jayde say that they were not much different than him?

…
We hunt them, they’re called Watchers.

He would begin with them.

Typing the phrase
the watchers
brought up a vast list of results—pages upon pages, sites and videos dedicated to the phrase, each one referencing the Book of Enoch, others calling them the fallen angels. Travis was not religious, his family having never stepped foot in a church. He had always assumed it was because his father worked all the time and they never had the time but Travis knew it was more than that. His father would change the topic fast if anyone dared even mention anything related to religion.

Travis remained open to it, but assumed that the truth had to have been skewed somehow. As he surfed from site to site, many of the stories spoke of the watchers being dispatched to earth to watch over humans. Each of the cultural tales said the same thing—that in some way they went against what they were instructed to do, procreating or interfering and creating a new race of giants called the Nephilim. They taught humans arts and technologies, weaponry, cosmetics, mirrors, sorcery and other techniques. A flood was meant to have wiped the watchers out, and yet many survived and remained on earth—banished until a final day of judgment. One site listed 200 names, and then he saw it.

One of them went by the name of Shamsiel. It said that he once was a
guardian
of Eden.

A guardian? Eden?
he thought to himself.

…
Your myths and religions have called us by many names
. The words of Ty echoed in Travis’s head as he continued clicking through site after site, scanning and making mental notes of the similarities found within the pages.

But they weren’t angels?

… in our world we were called guardians.

It all seemed so confusing, yet a common thread could be found intertwining them together. Every mention of watchers and guardians would send him deeper into stories that found their roots in religious texts, megalithic sites and cultural myths around the world, throughout the ages.

The clock flashed 12:15 a.m. as he closed his Mac and tossed it onto the black and white beanbag in the corner of his room. He did the one thing that he knew would help him fall into a slumber. He grabbed his iPod, pressed the ear buds firmly into his ears and flipped a song on. Most people probably couldn’t sleep with loud music blaring in their ears, but the drone seemed to have a hypnotic effect, allowing Travis to block out the chatter of his mind, and yet it wasn’t the only thing it was blocking out.

The Kings of Leon song “Closer” played for the third time as he faded out; his room briefly flickered with red and blue lights as a police patrol car passed by their house. Immediately the ruler-like device he had flung on to the table earlier began to beep steadily and pulsate; the white light illuminated the corner of his room, a red light flashed several times and then it abruptly stopped as fast as it had begun.

Chapter Thirteen

Travis moved through the better part of the day in a foggy haze. English, History and Art were a blur. It was hard to concentrate on anything now. It wasn’t like he cared much for school before all of this; it had always been a necessary pain in his rear, something he willingly had no qualms about telling others. Like rats on a wheel, he would say, going through the motions and yet having no clue why they were running. It was clear that most kids felt the strain to follow in the footsteps of their parents, yet when asked why, few really knew. It was just what you did. Go to school, go to college, and hope you could land a job at the Lab. Not Travis, that was soul destroying, in his mind—no, he had his eyes fixed on pro motocross racing. And yet now, none of that seemed to matter.

Hunkered down behind a large kid who smelled like a working horse, Travis could barely keep his eyes open. Exhausted from having stayed up so late, not even multiple cans of Red Bull throughout the day were able to keep him awake.

Halloween was the one day of the year when the town would come out of the woodwork and clog up the streets for the celebration coined
Halloweekend
—a gathering for oddities, freaks and weirdos to express themselves.

“Mr. Marshall, care to join us?” Ms. Hudson glared at him from the front of the math class. Other kids snickered. Travis pulled himself up. It was tough to try and pull a fast one on this lady, as she had eyes like a hawk.

“Matt Shepherd?” Ms. Hudson called.

“Here.”

“Chris Wilson?” There was no reply, and the teacher looked over the top of her glasses and scanned the room.

“Wilson? Anyone seen him today?”

A few of the kids murmured among themselves. Travis peered around, catching a glimpse of Ryan grinning at him.

“Jocelyn Reid? … Jocelyn?”

Travis screwed up his face. These were kids who for as long as he could remember never missed school; it was completely out of character. Their parents were head cases, the type that would send them even if they were ill. He turned to Ryan, whose eyes narrowed, giving Travis an affirming nod as if they both knew the real reasons for their absence. Now scanning the class he noticed they weren’t the only ones absent that day. He thought of other classes he had been in; what began as a few dribs and drabs a few months back had turned into a more consistent dwindling down in classes of kids each week. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Deagan either … only a few of his goons and he had managed to avoid them—now there was a guy he wished would disappear. What a douchebag he was, he and his band of merry men. They seemed to think they owned the school. He regularly saw them congregating behind the school where all the smokers hung out.

It wasn’t just that he flung his weight around the school like he was the king of the apes, though that was always comical to watch. It had been their run-in with each other two years previously, at a motocross tournament at Thunder Valley in Colorado.

Travis briefly looked up to check if the teacher was occupied before he returned to scribbling doodles on the sides of his work.

Few things, few regrets, bothered him but this did. The first time they met—how could he forget it? He had trained for months with Will for that race. Everything had been perfect that day, the weather, the track conditions, the ride up. The place was known to have sponsors looking to take on talent. It was meant to be the one race he would never forget, that would land him sponsorship and catapult him forward towards his dream of going pro. It certainly was a day he hadn’t forgotten … a day that Deagan made sure he never forgot, either.