Vision2 (4 page)

Kristi Brooks

“Hello, Roger, I have been sent to represent the council in their decision to bring you to Obawok. My name is Firturro, and I
’
m your watcher. My apprentice, Tigaffo, is waiting at the door. I understand this has been a great hardship for you, and I apologize, but the council could not be persuaded otherwise.” He paused, and his violet eyes bore into Roger
’
s own and cut through the confusion and panic, calming him a little. “Please, we have a lot to cover before tomorrow. So, if you could follow me, that would be a great help.” He gestured to the opening that hadn
’
t been there before.

Roger couldn
’
t make his body function properly. His feet were still bound by fear and his mouth gaped open. Not only was this Firturro the oddest thing he
’
d ever seen, but he could also speak perfect, unbroken English.

If what the creature had said was true and Roger was now on some far away planet, then how did they know English? To his knowledge, no one had studied him yet, and according to all the sci-fi books Roger had read, they would have to probe him before it would be possible for them to have this kind of knowledge of him and his language.
Unless this wasn
’
t the first time
, a small voice whispered in his head.

The creature stopped and turned back to Roger, once again motioning to the doorway. Roger found his fear loosening a little. He may have been terrified, but he was also curious.

The thing waited patiently while Roger stood. His limbs were stiff at the joints and groaned a weak protest as he moved, so he paused to stretch before walking to the door.

As Roger followed this so-called
watcher
, he noticed that there were little yellow gnomes holding the glass paned doors open. They were so much cuter than the green trolls that he had an almost irresistible urge to pet one as if it were a puppy or a kitten instead of a funny yellow creature. It was odd, but these cute little gnomes were almost human-like. They looked like small, bald, androgynous children, and looking at them made him feel more comfortable. Almost as if he were in a trance, he reached out his hand, hoping to make some kind of rudimentary connection to confirm that this was not as unreal as his ration mind wanted him to believe. More importantly, he wanted to comfort to these small beings that looked just as lost as he felt.

Just as his hand hovered above the gnome-thing closest to him, its beautiful unlined face transformed into a horrible monster with two rows of jagged teeth. Its head turned upwards, and it no longer reminded him of a lost child but rather a half-rotted Jack-O-Lantern.

Two seconds before it bit him the trance snapped, and he realized what was about to happen. He jerked his hand back, but he wasn
’
t quick enough. Sharp, jagged teeth sank into the soft flesh of his palm and tore through the skin with ease, as if his body was as malleable as Play-Doh. Even though there didn
’
t seem to be any immediate pain, the horror of what was happening overloaded his already fried circuitry.

In the dark green space between realities that he now found himself, Roger screamed.

When he finally did feel the pain, it was so intense that tears automatically welled up in Roger
’
s eyes. The slight possibility that this had been a product of a dream, the redemption his sanity had been hoping for, ended when the needle-sharp teeth sank into his palm. The creature let go as quickly as it had latched on, leaving Roger
’
s blood soaked hand to fall back to his side. Flicking a drop of blood off its chin with the tip of its tongue, the creature smiled at him, challenging him to try again.

Roger was silent for a moment before he turned and faced his captors from this other world, this Obawok. Eyes full of accusation, Roger held his throbbing hand as he looked at them.

For the first time since his mother died, Roger was more than afraid. He was terrified; of today, of tomorrow, of what might happen to the rest of his life. He took a few deep breaths, trying to get control of his emotions.

Never let them see you cry.

“Why didn
’
t one of you two tell me those fuckers would bite?” The anger in his voice rose with each syllable, reverberating off of the small, cramped room in which they now found themselves.

“We would have warned you had we any time to do so. I do have to say that you should have known better.” Firturro gave Roger a sly, mocking half-smile, his straight, well-worn, yellow teeth flashing. “Don
’
t your people have a saying about how curiosity killed the cat?”

Cradling his bleeding left hand in the crook of his right arm, Roger looked at his new captors. The two trolls moved in unison as they turned from him and walked through another small archway and into a vast expanse of cavernous forest green hallways lit every so many feet by small lamps secured into the wall.

Where the hell was he? In a vain effort to control his rising anger at the situation, Roger bit down on his lip. Lashing out at his captors was likely to make things harder on him, and they might even decide to dispose of him hastily, and that would do him no good. He needed time to think, to plan.

Instead, he turned his attention to the troll doll thing walking beside him. What had he said his name was? Figarro? Like the little cat in
Pinocchio
?

It seemed to sense it was being watched and immediately turned, its violet eyes glistening even in the semi-darkness. Then, before Roger could move, the creature reached up and grabbed his forearm. The contact jolted Roger like a heavy current of static electricity. The sharp pain subsided as quickly as it had begun and was immediately replaced by a sensation of warmth and happiness. It reminded him of lazy Sunday afternoons watching his mother bake cookies when he was younger, laughing with her as they danced their way through the sun-dappled, flour coated kitchen. Even as he found himself smiling at the memory, he also found the sharp pang of loss that immediately followed any thought of his mom.

Then the creature let his hand go, and the connection was immediately lost, the emotions and memories that had only moments before brought tears to his eyes also dropping away from him. But even more than that, the brief connection had caused Roger
’
s anger to dissipate like dew under the
Oklahoma
sun.

“I expected you to be mad, Roger, and I know how horrible and foreign this must be. I just want to make sure you know I didn
’
t want to bring you here.” Firturro looked straight into Roger
’
s eyes, making sure he was listening before he continued. “You are going to have to trust me.”

Roger thought about this while he stared into the creature
’
s eyes. He was almost certain it was telling the truth, but that didn
’
t change the fact that he had been brought here against his will. Not only that, but maybe that thing the creature had done with his touch was just another form of control, another way to make sure that he did as he was told. Despite the sense of peace and goodwill that surrounded his new companion, Roger trusted nothing.

He broke eye contact with the older one and looked at the other one, the apprentice, and automatically knew this one was far different than its adult counterpart. The little guy was swaying back and forth while his eyes bore holes into the packed floor, nervous twitches of boredom Roger had seen on many of the ruffians he sometimes coached in the county football league. The league had been set up as a way for some of the poorer kids to learn to work through their anger and become a part of a team. Most of them were hard working kids who honestly wanted to do well and accomplish something with their lives, but then there were the others who saw the league as a joke, an interruption and waste of their time. That attitude was what Roger perceived as he stared at the apprentice.

Knowing that sometimes directness and honesty went a long way toward opening the lines of trust and communication with the kids he coached, Roger decided to try again. “Okay, I
’
ll give you a chance. I don
’
t see a whole lot of options. But if we
’
re going to be on a close basis for the near future, you
’
re going to have to tell me your names again. I
’
m havin
’
trouble remembering them.”

“Certainly, that
’
s more than understandable. My name is Firturro, and my apprentice is known as Tigaffo.”

“Okay, you
’
re Fir...Firturro right? And he
’
s Tigaffo?” Roger said while absentmindedly raising his hand to point at Tigaffo.

“Don
’
t point at me,” Tigaffo said, his head held high in defiance.

Roger felt himself snap at the self-righteousness in the voice, and knew that whatever thin string of formality had held his temper at bay was no longer there.

“What the hell? You
’
re not in any position to command me.” The ferocity of his anger rose with each word, but he didn
’
t care. These grotesque creatures had abducted him from his house, and this one dared to treat him like some grunt worker at a factory. “I am not going to sit here and listen to some obsessive compulsive little ogre.”

Roger
’
s face was red with rage and he was screaming at the top of his lungs. His hands were curled into tight fists. His right hand throbbed and pain flooded his arm as the blood pumped through his veins. Without thinking, he raised his left fist and almost slugged the ignorant creature. The painful memory of the gnome
’
s bite was the only thing restraining him.

Before he got a chance to swing, Tigaffo let out an ear-piercing scream and scurried behind the largest rock column in the hallway. It was then that Roger noticed that there were two other creatures standing in the hall
’
s shadow. They moved forward as Tigaffo ran but stopped when he signaled them. They were thicker in stature than either Firturro or Tigaffo, but Roger couldn
’
t tell much else because they stayed in the shadows.

Roger turned back to Firturro as he grabbed Roger
’
s hand and forced it down. “We don
’
t do that here.”

Roger found himself slightly amused, despite the shrill of terror from the younger one, or perhaps because of it. “Do what?”

“Obawok as young as Tigaffo are terrified of human
’
s rage. They haven
’
t been watching people very long, and they think humans are always dangerous when they become that angry. They see the effects of humans
’
worst behavior and are afraid of those confrontations,” Firturro said, his face remaining unchanged by his associate
’
s fear and his dispassionate tone of voice letting Roger know that he was simply relaying information.

“Oh.” Roger turned towards where Tigaffo was hiding and found himself overcome with the urge to chuckle. These things, whatever they were, apparently had the technology to spy on humans and even to bring them into their world, but for all their technology, they couldn
’
t figure out emotions. “I
’
d say I was sorry, but I
’
m really not.”

“If you think this is bad, you should see council members reacting when someone points at them. They understand the concept of a gun, but a lot of them haven
’
t watched humans enough to realize there
’
s a difference between the machine and the pointing finger, although I wouldn
’
t try doing it if I were you.”

“Council members?” Roger kept wondering what kind of acid trip wonderland he
’
d fallen into. He looked back to see the top of the creature
’
s head peering at him from behind the protective layer of rock, but he didn
’
t come all the way out of hiding. He reminded Roger of one of the characters from those old Warner Brother
’
s cartoons whose expressions were always frozen in terror a few seconds before they blew up or were smashed by one of those giant boulders.

The corners of Firturro
’
s mouth even curved upwards a little as he looked at Tigaffo. It was clear that he also found the apprentice
’
s behavior somewhat comical. Firturro turned to Roger and patted him on the shoulder, once again causing a radiation of warmth to ripple across his flesh with each brief touch.

“Don
’
t worry, Tigaffo will be all right as soon as he trusts you a little more. For now, I
’
m going to send him to report to the council.” Firturro turned and motioned to the frightened Tigaffo. “Go and tell the council he
’
s left the chamber while I take him to his room to rest.”