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Fifteen

[["If there is anything that proves these so-called Rewound Children are the instruments of Satan this is it. So powerful, so subtle are these agents that they seduced Brother Brigman. And look at the result. Even now, Brother Brigman is fighting for his very soul against other personifications of Satan, the anti-Christ, the Destroyer of Worlds. Brother Brigman was lulled into believing their serpentine persuasion partly because of the anti-religious left-leaning media, which have tried to make these abominations into victims or have us believe they have been returned back to the innocence of childhood. Innocence! The very thought makes my blood run cold. We must act to eradicate this menace to humanity."

"That was part of the statement released by the Reverend Lakewood van Kellin through his Church of Encompassing Faith based in Magnolia Springs, Tennessee, but no one at the church will answer questions about it. CNN has left messages asking if Reverend van Kellin, in saying—quote—We must act to eradicate this menace to humanity—end quote—is calling for the destruction of the Rewound Children. No one from the church has responded to repeated phone calls.

"Meanwhile, in Oklahoma, three weeks after two Rewound Children were killed in a mob scene at the Faith Christ Evangelical Ministry, there is still no word about Reverend Jim Brigman's status. He has not been seen, nor have any services been held in the House of the Spire, the main sanctuary for the church. Sources have told CNN that the building remains as it was after the incident, with smashed pews, damage to the pulpit and choir area, and three wheelchairs still lying where they fell. The two great stained-glass windows also reportedly suffered damage. Associate pastors have been conducting services in other buildings.

"Jasmine Chastain, CN-what? Oh, yeah. CNN is doing another telephone poll about whether you believe the children are devils or angels. To record your vote . . ."]]

 

* * *

 

January 24, 2009

Earl was going his usual speed on the bike—very fast—and everything would have been fine if the car had stayed on its side of the road. It didn't, though—at the last second, it swerved right at him. Startled, he jerked the wheel and the back end skidded around. Earl fought the skew, managing to stop the slide to the right, but he overcompensated and it started going left. By this time, he'd managed to slow the forward momentum, and, again, all might have come out OK if the county had repaired the pothole his front wheel now hit. The bike twisted right and fell over. Earl managed to break his fall with a padded elbow. His helmet hit the pavement. After a moment, he pushed himself up. The car, back in its own lane, receded rapidly.

He untangled himself from the bike, took account of his limbs. The elbow padding showed where it had taken the punishment, and his head seemed OK, but he figured his shoulders were going to be sore. He felt a jab on his right knee. A pad had slipped and bare knee had made contact with pavement. Blood oozed from multiple microscopic cuts.

I scraped my knee. I scraped my stupid knee.

He stood, hauled the bike erect. Something had jammed the front wheel and it scraped the side of the fork. The chain on the derailleur hung loosely in back. Outside of some paint left on the asphalt, he could see no other obvious damage. He'd bought it for himself—that is, Walter had withdrawn the money from Earl's account because Earl was not allowed to handle his own funds—and it had become an instrument to release tension. Except for that last car.

Marcia had taken a couple of days off and was in her sewing room working on a new dress for Jennifer's birthday. Earl walked into the room timidly.

"Mommy," he said in his best little-boy voice, "I hurts my knee. Can you make it all better?"

She looked at him, looked at the knee, back at him . . . and burst into laughter. She even played the game: "It won't hurt, will it?" "No it won't hurt." "Don't put that stuff on me, it'll sting." "It won't sting." "You sure?" "Sure I'm sure." "Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!" "I haven't even put the stuff on yet." "Oh. Well, be careful, 'cause it'll sting, and I'll yell and cry and everything. When are you going to put the stuff on?" "I just did." "Oh."

She put the bottle down and looked at him as he sat on a kitchen stool. "You are amazing."

"Oh, come on, I'm just an average guy caught up in outrageous circumstances."

"Bullshit."

Earl stared at her with upraised eyebrows. "And Lucas gets sent to his room for that."

"Lift your shirt, let me look at your back." She pressed at various points. "Does that hurt?"

"No."

She nodded. "No broken skin. There might be bruises tomorrow, and stiffness." She put the antiseptic away. "Every family has a wild card. You are it for the Othbergs."

"Black sheep, you mean."

"No, I don't. What other seventy-nine-year-old man stricken with arthritis among other things would get up and leave a comfortable nursing home and fly across half the continent just to see a space ship?"

"And if I'd done it earlier, we wouldn't be in this fix, either."

"That's under the bridge now." She crossed her arms, looked at him. "You want me to kiss your knee?"

"You know, Mom used to gross out when I suggested that."

She gave a short laugh. "Yeah, well. How did this happen?"

"I—oh, boy." He told her about the car.

"Silver foreign job?"

"With a chrome Christian fish symbol on the trunk."

She turned away, threw the wrapper for the adhesive strip into the trash below the sink.

"You know who it was?"

"Possibly."

"I'm really getting to be a real pain in the neck, aren't I?"

She looked at him a long moment. "Among the many strange things that have happened to you, one of the most is my seeming ability to accept it all with a degree of equanimity. I'm not sure how or when this started."

"Well, however you do it, thanks."

As she headed back to her sewing, he went out on the patio and sat down. Raindrops starting falling among the blossoms of her colorful garden. The scene with Marcia hadn't been possible two months before. As for the kids—he found out how well they were doing on New Year's Eve.

 

* * *

 

"MTV again?" Earl had said as he licked powdered sugar off of his fingers left behind by the pecan ball. "I'd thought modern teenagers would've gone on to something else by now."

"I suppose you want to watch Dick Clark," Tom said.

"Please. He makes me feel old."

The two teenagers actually smiled at that feeble joke. Lucas looked confused.

"Not too exciting a New Year's Eve to be babysitting your granduncle, is it?"

Jennifer shrugged. "There wasn't much going on around here anyway. All the good parties are in Kahului." She turned to him. "What do you want most from the new year, Uncle Earl?"

"To grow up. Sounds strange, doesn't it? After saying what a blast it is to be young of sorts again. But I cannot spend the rest of my life like this." He shook his head. "I just wish I could know for sure one way or another."

She jumped up. "We can measure you!"

"What?"

"Yeah, we can get the tape measure and see if you've grown. I remember what that-that scientist said, the old guy. All of you were the same height, he said. What was it, what was it, c'mon—yeah! Fifty-two point one inches."

"Well—"

All three kids jumped up and ran shouting into the kitchen. Earl followed, slightly dazed at the explosion of energy, particularly from the older two. What was in that egg nog, anyway?

"Here it is!" came Tom's triumphant shout.

"Okay, Uncle Earl, stand here." Jennifer pressed him against a blank section of kitchen wall. "You have the pencil and straight edge, Lucas?"

"Yeah."

"Heels against the wall, shoulders back." Tom inspected Earl's stance. "Stand relaxed, that's it. All right, Jenny."

With a few giggles and false starts, she finally got the flat piece of metal where they wanted it.

"All right now step away," Tom said. "Don't let that thing slip—damn!"

"Sorry," Jennifer said sheepishly.

"No problem." Earl stepped back up against the wall.

This time the edge didn't slip and Lucas was able to mark the spot. With breathless anticipation, the kids carefully measured the height of the mark.

"Uncle Earl," the girl said somberly, "our measurements show you're taller by three-quarters of an inch."

"A definite change," Tom said.

Jennifer again took Earl by surprise, this time with a ferocious hug.

"Hey," Lucas blurted, "it's after midnight. We missed the countdown."

"Don't worry," Earl said, touching the mark lightly with a finger, "a new year definitely has arrived."

 

* * *

 

A thump loud enough to reverberate through the house broke his thoughts. He dashed to the living-room window, but saw nothing. He went outside and found a white lump on the lawn near the door. He glanced up and down the street, but saw no one. The lump was a stone wrapped in blank newsprint held on by an elastic band. GET OUT, ALIEN was scrawled on the paper by what looked like a child's Crayon.

"What is it Earl?" Marcia asked from the porch.

"Pretty hokey," he said, handing her the rock and paper. "Must think I'm from Mexico or something."

She opened the paper, immediately scrunched it up, tossed the stone into the garden. Earl walked out to the center of the yard, looking around at the houses, the other lawns, the street curving by. A breeze ruffled his hair and drops of rain began to hit his shoulders and legs.

Something's got to give. I cannot let this family remain in danger. I've got to go, I've got to figure something out.

The rain increased in intensity.

But what, lord, what?

 

* * *

 

[["The FBI is calling the death of Myra Caslon, another of the Rewound Children, a ritual murder. Caslon's age was listed as fifty-five, although records indicate her birthday was two days ago. Caslon was the mother of six children, all but one grown and living away from home. She had been living with her husband, Haley, and their youngest son, Sydney, eleven, here in Salt Lake City. According to a family member who asked she not be identified, Caslon had attempted suicide not long after being released from the Albuquerque hospital, but, as that relative put it, faith and family saved her. As recently as New Year's Eve, said the relative, Caslon had pronounced herself optimistic about the future and had renewed her faith in God whatever the church elders might rule. That ruling, on whether she still had the blessings of God and was therefore a member of the human family or was an alien outside of God's grace, went against Caslon, according to the relative, but we have been unable to confirm that with Mormon Church officials. We now switch to the scene where an FBI spokesperson is making a statement."

"We are calling it a ritual killing at this time because of the evidence found. Uh, Ms., uh, Caslon's body was found in the middle of the living room floor, on its back, arms extended outward, feet together. The body was clad in a long gown, white in color, and a cord, purple in color, was found wrapped around her neck. No other clothing was found on the body, but no signs of sexual molestation are indicated. The medical investigator says preliminary indications show the victim had been strangled. Forensic tests will determine if the cord was the instrument of death. Several objects of apparent religious significance were found in a circle around the body, but we are not describing those objects pending further investigation. Ms. Caslon apparently had been dead about six hours. The body was discovered by the youngest son, Sydney, who collapsed upon finding the body of his moth—the, uh, the woman who had been his mother.

"That's all we have for you now. A press conference will be held sometime tomorrow."

 

* * *

 

"Ah, here we are at six. My friends, we are making progress. Just as I said, too, that if you wait, things will take care of themselves. The Mormon Church itself wasn't so sure if this woman was human, so the Almighty, of course, answered for them. He will end the threat, in his own time. You will see."]]

 

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