The Mind Masters, Part Seven

We got home at 1:30 a.m. “Beer?” I asked.

            “Bed.” Rachel staggered to the bedroom. I was tired too, but too wired to sleep just yet. So I opened a beer and collapsed on the couch.

            When the cops came in, a handful of people free of their Masters were wandering around, dazed, unable to answer any questions but too confused to put up any kind of resistance that might have gotten them shot. 

I didn’t know how many Masters had been carried away, free to clamp onto more humans. I was too busy talking to the SWAT team to think about it.

            I told them everything about the Masters that I could. Fortunately, Annette and the other people were there to back me up—what the Masters were, what they did to people. The cops didn’t believe any of us at first, but a look at the tanks convinced them we weren’t just high on bad meth and hallucinating about body snatchers.

Naomi’s Master had stayed with her, and although she didn’t say much, the cops could see that something was off about her. Eventually a female cop checked her back, saw the Master attached to her skin, and immediately threw up. That’s when the cops called in the FBI.

            More cops showed up, and some FBI, and some other people who didn’t tell us where they worked. We told our stories again and again, and eventually someone told the police to cut us loose after ordering us not to talk to the media. They didn’t go into specifics about what would happen if we called Action News, but the threat was clear.

A cop drove us back to the Silver Blaze to get my car. “There was something here tonight, I don’t know,” he told us as he parked. “Got a call about some weird kind of attack. Guess I’ll hear about it tomorrow. Or not. Here you go.”

            I thanked him for the ride. He just grunted and pulled away. 

            We drove Clint Mason home. “Thanks for your help,” I said as he got out of the car. “Sorry you almost got shot.”

            Naomi’s bullet had grazed his shoulder. Paramedics had bandaged his arm, but he insisted he was good to go home.

            He chuckled. “Just hope I can get my job back. I haven’t been there in a few days. I’ll just say I had COVID, I guess. You guys take care.” He slammed the door and waved at Rachel before turning to walk into his building.

            Now, home, alone in the silence, I tried to sort out my head. The Master was gone, but I still felt it in my mind, like a phantom limb trying to grab onto something solid. I sipped my beer, trying to get rid of the feeling, or at least convince myself that the creature hadn’t left something inside me.

            I dozed. A dream of the Master scuttling toward me woke me up with a jerk. Even though I was exhausted, physically and mentally, I was going to have trouble sleeping tonight.

            Rachel came out of the bedroom in a T-shirt, her hair damp. “I’ll take that beer now.”

            I got her one and sat next to her. We held each other silently for a long time.

            “It was weird.” Her head was on my shoulder.

            “Yeah.”

She sat up and looked at me. “I mean, when I said I love you. When it said ‘I love you.’ Like I was talking about someone else, not me.”

            “Uh-huh.” I held her hand.

            Rachel shook her head. “It didn’t understand. Like it was a different language. Or like I was hearing something completely new, something alien. Familiar, but—confusing. And scary. It was scared.”

            “Love is pretty scary.”

            “True that.” She kissed my cheek.

            My phone buzzed. I groaned and looked at the screen. Then I groaned again.My clients. Pelz’s parents. 

“I should answer this.” With a sigh, I pressed a button. ”Tom Jurgen speaking.”

            “Mr Jurgen?” It was Pelz’s father. “Sorry to call you so late. We just, uh, heard from Kent.”

            I sat up. “Yes? That’s good. I, uh, talked to him today. I’m sorry, it’s been kind of a long day. I didn’t have a chance to call you.”

            “That’s okay. He said you checked on him. He says he’s fine, he has to go away for a while. For work. But he promised to call.”

            Maybe the Masters had learned something about maintaining human relationships. Or at least pretending to. “That’s good.”

            “He sounded—strange. Like he’s sick or something? But it was good to hear his voice. Thank you.”

            “I hope he’s well,” I said. Pelz’s father hung up.

            “Coming to bed?” Rachel finished her beer and stood up.

            “Yeah.” I got up too. I needed a shower and sleep. Maybe not in that order. But I looked over at the window that faced the street.

            The night was dark, cloudy. The street was quiet. We were safe.

But I knew they were out there. And I knew they weren’t finished.

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