marble, it was so still. But, after a second, her head bobbed in a jerky fashion.
“Mason distinguished himself in Vietnam,” the man said, calmly. “When he returned from his tour of duty, he went back to school at the University of Minnesota, where he earned his masters degree and, eventually, a doctorate in geology. He’s been working for the last few years in California. You haven’t seen him much, because he travels a lot and tends to immerse himself in his work. But he’s a fine man, and you know he’ll make a wonderful astronaut.”
He was silent for several seconds, considering them. No one spoke. The room was still, the only movement the slow rotation of the knife in the man’s hands.
Finally, he said, in a quiet voice, “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Patricia said, her eyes on the blade, gleaming as it caught and reflected the lights in the room. “Yes,” her mother repeated weakly.
The man nodded. “Good, because if you deviate from that story or volunteer any information about Mason that does not square completely with what I’ve just told you, then I will come back here,” he raised the knife, “and I will start cutting pieces off of your bodies.”
With one last flourish, the man nonchalantly reached his hand up behind his head and returned the knife to wherever he normally kept it. Patricia slumped on the couch, as if all of the strength had been sucked out of her. The man slapped his thighs, raised his head and took a deep breath. He glanced over at the man named Johnson. “Have we done everything we came here to do?” The other nodded. He looked at the man by the front door, who also nodded.
“Ok,” he said, and he made as if to stand. But then he stopped and raised a hand, one finger extended. “You know,” he said, adopting a pensive look, “it might be a good idea if we really hammered this one home.” He looked back at the man named Johnson. “Don’t you think?” The other affected an exaggerated look of thoughtfulness and nodded his head.
“I think so too,” the man said. He again reached up behind his head and drew out the knife. Gripping it lightly, he casually flipped it in the air in front of him, catching the handle as it came around, this time with thumb and forefinger near the back, and, all in the same motion, he violently slammed the point of the blade down into the arm of the recliner, right at the spot where her mother gripped the leather.
Patricia screamed. Shaking, she stared in horror at the hideous thing, buried to the hilt in her mother’s hand, knowing the blood would follow. But, to her surprise, there was none. Through tears, she peered closer. The knife, she suddenly realized, had not gone through the hand. Somehow, the man had managed to drive the blade between her mother’s second and third fingers, missing flesh by millimeters. Relief battled with terror. She looked up at her mother. The woman had fainted.
With a grim smile, the man yanked the knife out of the chair. He lowered his chin and gave her one last look through dark eyes. “I’ll be watching you.”
#
Patricia Gale shuddered and sharply drew a quick breath. She fell silent and there was a sad distance to her eyes.
Nate looked at Matt and Peter. Neither of them seemed anxious to speak. He dropped his eyes to the table and studied his hands, which were wrapped around the coffee cup. After a long moment, he said, softly, “I’m sorry.”
It seemed to rouse her. She gave him a quick look and a slight nod.
“Did you hear from Mason after that?” Matt asked.
She snorted. “He never tried to contact us. We did see him though. I mean, other than on the television. Once. It was the same time I met your father. They invited us to the space center in Florida. It was a big to do. Lots of people were there. Including,” she said, with another shudder, “the man named Arthur Spelling. He was standing off to the side. There was no mistaking why he was there.
“It was the
“Mason distinguished himself in Vietnam,” the man said, calmly. “When he returned from his tour of duty, he went back to school at the University of Minnesota, where he earned his masters degree and, eventually, a doctorate in geology. He’s been working for the last few years in California. You haven’t seen him much, because he travels a lot and tends to immerse himself in his work. But he’s a fine man, and you know he’ll make a wonderful astronaut.”
He was silent for several seconds, considering them. No one spoke. The room was still, the only movement the slow rotation of the knife in the man’s hands.
Finally, he said, in a quiet voice, “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Patricia said, her eyes on the blade, gleaming as it caught and reflected the lights in the room. “Yes,” her mother repeated weakly.
The man nodded. “Good, because if you deviate from that story or volunteer any information about Mason that does not square completely with what I’ve just told you, then I will come back here,” he raised the knife, “and I will start cutting pieces off of your bodies.”
With one last flourish, the man nonchalantly reached his hand up behind his head and returned the knife to wherever he normally kept it. Patricia slumped on the couch, as if all of the strength had been sucked out of her. The man slapped his thighs, raised his head and took a deep breath. He glanced over at the man named Johnson. “Have we done everything we came here to do?” The other nodded. He looked at the man by the front door, who also nodded.
“Ok,” he said, and he made as if to stand. But then he stopped and raised a hand, one finger extended. “You know,” he said, adopting a pensive look, “it might be a good idea if we really hammered this one home.” He looked back at the man named Johnson. “Don’t you think?” The other affected an exaggerated look of thoughtfulness and nodded his head.
“I think so too,” the man said. He again reached up behind his head and drew out the knife. Gripping it lightly, he casually flipped it in the air in front of him, catching the handle as it came around, this time with thumb and forefinger near the back, and, all in the same motion, he violently slammed the point of the blade down into the arm of the recliner, right at the spot where her mother gripped the leather.
Patricia screamed. Shaking, she stared in horror at the hideous thing, buried to the hilt in her mother’s hand, knowing the blood would follow. But, to her surprise, there was none. Through tears, she peered closer. The knife, she suddenly realized, had not gone through the hand. Somehow, the man had managed to drive the blade between her mother’s second and third fingers, missing flesh by millimeters. Relief battled with terror. She looked up at her mother. The woman had fainted.
With a grim smile, the man yanked the knife out of the chair. He lowered his chin and gave her one last look through dark eyes. “I’ll be watching you.”
#
Patricia Gale shuddered and sharply drew a quick breath. She fell silent and there was a sad distance to her eyes.
Nate looked at Matt and Peter. Neither of them seemed anxious to speak. He dropped his eyes to the table and studied his hands, which were wrapped around the coffee cup. After a long moment, he said, softly, “I’m sorry.”
It seemed to rouse her. She gave him a quick look and a slight nod.
“Did you hear from Mason after that?” Matt asked.
She snorted. “He never tried to contact us. We did see him though. I mean, other than on the television. Once. It was the same time I met your father. They invited us to the space center in Florida. It was a big to do. Lots of people were there. Including,” she said, with another shudder, “the man named Arthur Spelling. He was standing off to the side. There was no mistaking why he was there.
“It was the
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