Parker drew up short, blinded by a bright light. Raising an arm, he tried to shield himself from the glare. Something large and cylindrical hovered a few feet above the ground, covering the entire expanse of road. It made a hollow beeping noise, blue and green lights winking rapidly across its surface.
Dumbfounded, he lowered his arm. The light was dazzling, beautiful. It held him enthralled, filled his mind with words he couldn’t understand. Languages that tumbled one upon the other, peeling back his brain like the skin of a grape. The music was intoxicating, painful. It ripped through him, tore something vital inside. Chaos and wonder filled his head with marvels so exquisite, he was left hollow and broken when the visions withdrew.
“No!” He fell to his knees.
The craft was gone. All the beautiful lights and musical voices gone too. How could he live without them? Without that foreign language constantly chattering in his brain? Something had to fill the void.
He clambered to his feet, wondering how much time had passed. It seemed like mere seconds, but something told him it was much longer. He’d been headed back to Jeffries’ house because Hank had killed his brother.
Tim was dead. No help for him now, his face gone, pulverized by a shotgun blast.
Parker’s head hurt. Hurt so badly. No more voices or music.
Everything was wrong, nothing left to fix.
All he could do was run to his dad’s truck. Get the handgun his father kept tucked under the seat.
Why wouldn’t the voices come back? The otherworldly noise?
Panting, he raced for the truck and the gun. Tears rolled down his face. He reached the Ford and wrenched open the door. Blindly, he groped beneath the seat until his fingers encountered the cold grip of the Smith and Wesson.
No more voices, no more music.
Parker flipped open the chamber of the pistol to check for ammo. He counted the bullets.
The music had vanished. All that remained was death.
Caden staggered and drew a breath, fighting to orient as he was wrenched into the present.
I don’t think you need to see the rest, Cold spoke inside his head.
“No.” He’d arrived on the scene almost simultaneously with Parker, unaware the boy was armed. He’d watched helplessly as Parker had walked up behind Hank and shot him in the head. He’d been forced to shoot in retaliation.
“Were you in the craft that night?”
Yes. Parker was caught in a type of flicker phenomenon. It happens sometimes with UFO witnesses. His mind couldn’t absorb being trapped like that. It damaged him. Changed him.
“He’d been going for help. He had no intention of killing Hank.”
No. Something similar to remorse underscored Cold’s voice. Now do you understand why Parker was my mistake to fix? Our brief encounter made him a killer and destroyed his mind.
“You said he’s safe.”
Yes. On my world, he hears only the music and voices he craves. He is happy. I will care for him the remainder of his days.
“He has a father on Earth.”
Unfortunate, but I cannot reverse the damage to Parker’s mind. Would you rather he lives the remainder of his life in a mental institution?
“No.” Floyd had already lost his wife and Tim. Parker’s father held nothing but animosity for Caden, but it wasn’t fair for him to constantly wonder what had become of his son. “You have to give Parker’s father closure.”
How?
“I don’t know, but you owe him that much.”
I don’t owe humans. I do what I do by choice. Stiff anger lingered in the declaration.
“But you owe the Mothman.”
Silence.
Caden pushed further. “According to your son, you abandoned him and others like him. The Mothman is the last of the original group you left on Earth.”
The air grew icier, frigid.
Why mention the creature?
“Because I will take your burden.” Hopefully, his sanity was intact and the idea sprang from rational thought, not madness. “The cryptid and I are already bonded.”
Yes. The word was curt, almost hostile. His failure to rendezvous with me on Halloween is proof of that.
“Give Parker’s father some kind of closure, and I will make sure the Mothman is protected for the duration of my life. I’ll find a way to communicate and do whatever I can to ensure his safety and well-being.”
He is not an animal.
“He’s not human, either.”
But he once looked as you do. As my son does. And he possessed the same, if not greater, intelligence and compassion. That part of him is almost gone. It exists only in spurts now, brief moments of clarity. It will not be easy to communicate.
“I told you I’d find a way.” He had no idea how. Part of him regretted making the offer, but he owed Parker. Even if that boiled down to something as simple as bringing Floyd closure, he intended to fulfill the debt.
If you proceed with this offer, the price will be steep.
Caden frowned. “What does that mean?”
The day will arrive when you will be required to do something that won’t come easily.
He’d done a lot of things in his lifetime that hadn’t come easily. From losing his sister to a murderer, to nightmare memories of Vietnam and shooting Parker, he held plenty of regrets. He was also running out of patience. “Do we have a deal or not?”
Cold considered for the span of several heartbeats.
Fair enough. I will arrange closure for Parker’s father, and my debt to the Mothman is thus transferred to you. I will not return to your planet again.
“What about here? In the igloo?”
The air thinned, growing warmer. Caden could almost pinpoint the second when Cold withdrew. A light breeze scuttled through the open doorway and sent a handful of dried leaves swirling around his shoes.
Epilogue
July 6, 1983
“Whew!” Katie flipped the registration book closed and sank onto a stool behind the reception counter. The Parrish Hotel had been busy the last several days with guests checking in and out over the long holiday weekend. Boat rides, fireworks over the river, a town parade, and plenty of cookouts had filled the past three days. “That’s the last of our weekend guests to check out.”