Category: Fiction Factor

“Holy hell!”

Blake laughed nervously and buzzed down the driver’s side window.

“Sorry,” he said. “But you scared the shit out of me.”

“Well,” Dana said, “You can’t get a higher compliment than that. Anyway, I was just wondering if the offer to ride with you still stood.”

With all the cars lined up as people tried to evacuate the city, it was just a stroke of luck that Blake and Dana had made eye contact and struck up a conversation a few minutes earlier.

“Absolutely,” said Blake. “But don’t you have a suitcase or something?”

Dana nodded.

“Actually, I had it sent ahead so it’s already at my friend’s apartment in Douglas,” she said. “Everything else is in my backpack. If you don’t mind, though, I’d like to put it in the trunk.”

Blake popped the trunk open and placed the backpack on top of his suitcase. He then walked around the side of the car and opened the door for Dana.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I can get it.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Blake said. “This door sticks, so, you know …”

Blake was nervous – it was hard to tell who to trust anymore – but he had a gut feeling that Dana was a kindred spirit. As they settled into the vehicle, he gripped the steering wheel and pulled off onto a side road … acutely aware that his palms were sweaty.

And while he made a point not to stare at Dana – which would’ve been a bad idea anyway because of that whole driving thing – she had beautiful brown eyes that seemed capable of actually smiling.

Her skin was eggshell white and she smelled of patchouli, which he thought of as something of a “comfort scent” since it reminded him of his home in Clearlake.

With miles and miles of talking ahead of them, that seemed to be as good a conversation starter as any.

“Is that patchouli you’re wearing?” Blake asked. “I’m not trying to be pervy or anything, it’s just back home there was a guy who made patchouli soap and used to sell it downtown during weekends. It reminds me of fall.”

“Thanks,” she said. “A lot of people don’t like it … it makes them think I’m a hippie or something. Which maybe I am now, I don’t really know. Probably doesn’t even matter at this point.”

“I secretly always wanted to be a hippie,” Blake said. “I could just never commit to the lifestyle, I suppose. Still, there’s a lot to be said for getting high and hugging trees and kissing bunnies. I wish those things were still an option.”

It wasn’t long before Blake realized talking to Dana was like talking to an old friend he had just reconnected with after years apart. And she seemed to enjoy the banter as well. With some of his friends already captured and killed, it was comforting to find an adventurous spirit.

In the first 100 miles of their journey, the vast majority of the country’s problems had already been cussed and discussed. When the topics turned less serious, Blake shared the origin story of all of his pets, and Dana had confessed that – while in her mid-20s – she was the lead singer for a retro punk band called Spurious George.

What had started as a solo road trip to a new life was solo no more, but Blake had no complaints. He could barely remember the last time he’d had a conversation with a woman. Hell, he could barely remember the last time he had a conversation with anything that wasn’t covered in fur and had four legs.

“So, what was it like where you were,” Blake asked. “Had they taken over your entire town?”

“Pretty much,” Dana said. “They’d come in waves. I usually stayed inside during the day, snuck out when I could at night to get food. Then – like you, I guess – I just figured I’d take a chance. If I went north, maybe I could get away from them. That’s what I kept hearing.”

“Same,” Blake said. “Where I was, a lot of the people decided to go along to get along and sometimes you might go a whole day without seeing one of those bastards. But I’m not gonna live like that. I realize I don’t have all that many sunrises left, anyway, but I have no desire to be controlled by monsters the rest of my life.”

The pair drove in silence for the next hour, until Dana pointed to a road sign that read, “Douglas. 30 Miles.”

“Well,” Dana said. “If you stay at this speed, we should be at my friend’s apartment  in half an hour. And it really looks like clear sailing, doesn’t it? It’s just like everyone was saying … the further north we drive, the further away from danger we get.”

Blake was apprehensive, but hopeful. While information was spotty and not always reliable, there was a good chance that once they reached Douglas, they’d be out of harm’s way and have easy access to the hundreds of rescue crafts that were situated there.

At that point, it would all be up to the aliens – and how many humans they’d be willing to liberate from the occupying army.

“Hey, look!”

Jenny Parker pulled her Honda Civic next to the curb in front of 1974 Chameleon Lane, pointing at the “For Sale” sign in the front yard of the ranch-style house. Her husband, Chase, rolled down the window and gave the property a once-over.

The gray roof looked new, as did the bone-colored aluminum siding. Twelve Whitestone steps led up to a spacious porch and a large, red front door.

“Looks promising,” Chase said. “But a lot of houses we’ve looked at were promising until we found out the cost. Let me take a picture of the number on the sign so we can call and check it out.”

Just as Chase aimed the camera on his smartphone at the sign, the front door swung open and a man wearing a tan linen suit stepped out.

“Hello,” he said, smiling and waving at the couple. “Are you guys interested in looking at the house?”

Jenny and Chase couldn’t get out of their car fast enough.

“Yes!” Jenny said, excitedly. “We moved down from Bridleton about eight months ago for my new job, but we’ve had no luck finding a house. We’re getting really tired of apartment living.”

“Thing is,” Chase piped in. “It’s a seller’s market, and we’ve only got so much we can afford.”

The man walked down the steps and extended his hand.

“I’m Norv Paxton of Mockingbird Realty,” he said. “To set your mind at ease, what do you think this house is going for – just a ballpark guess. I’ll bet you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

Jenny and Chase looked at the house, then looked at each other.

“It’s what … 23, 2400-square feet?” Jenny asked. “This is mostly a rural area so that might knock the price down some. I’m gonna say about $800,000. But right now we’re on a tight budget, so that would be a pretty big stretch for us.”

“What if I told you,” Norv said, “that you can have this house for $650,000?”

Chase laughed.

“No way,” Chase said. “Seriously? If that’s what you’re asking there must be some serious structural issues. Don’t tell me … the basement floods, right? There’s gotta be something wrong.”

Norv motioned for the potential buyers to follow him into the house.

“OK, “ Norv said, after Jenny and Chase had made their way inside. “Walk with me. There are no structural issues – at all. It’s four bedrooms, two and half baths, hardwood floors in the living room with cathedral ceiling and a gas log fireplace. You’ve got a dining room with great natural lighting and a kitchen with everything you need.

“The primary bedroom has a bath with a double vanity, and the lower level has a bonus room, laundry room and half bath. Come down and I’ll show you.”

Everything looked perfect – until Jenny spotted a large, dark stain on the floor of the bonus room.

“Ah,” she said. “That looks like there are some water issues down here.”

Norv shook his head.

“No,” he said. “No water issues. But that stain is the reason we’re offering this house at such a huge discount. By law, I have to let you know that there has been a violent death in this house in the last three years. And because you look like nice people, I’m going to be completely honest – it was a pretty grisly murder.”

“Ugh,” Jenny said. “I think I already know the answer, but is that stain … blood?”

Norv, who had been grinning continuously, suddenly turned serious.

“Well,” he said. “It’s whatever chemicals they used to clean the blood. Look, I realize how off-putting something like that can be. This is hardly a high-crime area, it was just a random act. And, the killer is spending life in prison without a shot at parole, so the house is not some kind of target.

“I tell you what … I’ll talk to the trustee. I think I can get them to go as low as $600,000. Whaddya say? You’ll never, ever find a deal this good – not for a house this great.”

“Excuse us just for a second,” Jenny said.

The couple whispered quietly to each other as Norv walked a few feet away.

“Norv,” Jenny said. “I think you might have a deal. This is the perfect size for us – and the perfect price – and houses don’t have memories, do they? Can we meet back with tomorrow morning around 11 and set the wheels in motion?”

Norv pumped his fist.

“We most certainly can!” he exclaimed. “Let me check everything inside and lock up the house, and I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Jenny and Chase got back in the car, cranked it up, and drove away.

“Is it creepy that we’re gonna move into a house where somebody got killed?” Jenny wondered.

Chase shrugged.

“A little maybe,” he said. “But I’d rather feel creepy than feel broke. We can just put a rug down and …

“Shit!” Jenny shouted. “I have to meet with a  client tomorrow at 11. I completely forgot. Call the number real quick and see if we can do it after, say, 12:30.”

Chase looked at the photo of the sign and punched in the numbers.

“Yes,” he said. “This is Chase Parker. My wife and I just met with a Mr. Norv Paxton over here at, uh, 1974 Chameleon Lane, I believe it is. He wants to meet us at 11 a.m. tomorrow to discuss – excuse me? Yes, Norv Paxton. No, I’m not kidding, I …”

Jenny glanced at Chase, who stayed on the phone another 30 seconds or so before dropping it onto his lap.

As he turned to Jenny, she could see all the color had drained from his face.

“What’s wrong, Chase … You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said.

“I guess I did,” he said. “Whoever I just talked to thought I was making a sick joke. She said Norv Paxton used to live at 1974 Chameleon Lane.

“He was murdered there three years ago.”

Diablo stood up on the metal surgery table, shook his head vigorously, and let out a quick snort.

The humans he lived with were gone. So was the veterinarian in the white coat, as well as the young tech wearing pink scrubs.

There was no equipment in the exam room, either, although he could still see the utility sink and two gray chairs situated against the light blue walls.

Something there that wasn’t before, however, was a Golden Retriever. She stood in front of the closed door, looking straight at him as her fluffy tail swept from side to side.

In life, Diablo would’ve bared his teeth and barked – the fawn-colored fur on his back rising to make him look like a tiny Stegosaurus.

In death, though, there seemed no reason for the Chihuahua to go to all that trouble.

“Who are you?” Diablo asked, his head tilting to the left.

“I’m Orla,” said the retriever. “I figure you might have some questions and I’m here to answer them.”

Diablo sat down and yawned.

“Well, yes,” he said. “First off, what happened to my humans? The last thing I remember one of them was holding me and kissing me on the head – she had a runny nose – and the other was red-faced and wet-eyed. I’ve never seen ‘em like that before.”

Orla wandered over to the table and put her paws up on the side.

“That’s what they do,” she said. “Remember how sad you’d get when you’d see them leave the house? That’s how they felt when you left to come here, only worse.”

Diablo wasn’t sure where “here” was.

“So, when you die, you spend eternity in a vet’s office?” he said. “I gotta tell ya, Orla, that sucks.”

Orla – who had been smiling the whole time, smiled even wider.

“Oh, no, we’re leaving here soon,” she said. “You’re still transitioning right now. We’ll be on our way to a much better place before you know it.”

“Is it the Rainbow Bridge?” Diablo asked, excitedly. “I’ve always heard the Rainbow Bridge was the place where we go.”

“Well, sorta,” Orla said. “The ‘Rainbow Bridge’ is a poem written by Edna Clyne-Rekhy. After her dog Major died in 1959, she wanted to remember him so she wrote that. You’ll meet Major later on … he’s a very good dog. Anyway, where we’re going is just called ‘The Park’ – at least that’s what I’ve always called it.”

Diablo wagged his tail for the first time since he died.

“I’ll be straight with you, Orla … I wasn’t sure I’d make it,” he said. “The humans had a cat I used to mess with a lot – even attacked him a time or two while he was eating.

“Speaking of which … I bit the male human a few times, too. Not sure why. I was sorta playing, but he just seemed bitable for some reason. And don’t get me started on Bonzo, the Jack Russell that lives down the road. I hated that bastard … spent a whole summer trying to figure out how I could attack him in his sleep. I was afraid those thoughts and deeds might keep me out.”

Suddenly, Diablo found himself standing in deep green grass next to Orla. The exam room was gone, replaced by blue skies and open spaces.

“No dogs are ever kept out,” Orla declared.

“Surely Cujo was,” Diablo said.

“Well, that was just the name of a movie dog,” Orla explained. “He was played by several different St. Bernards, and all of them are in The Park. But even if Cujo had been real, he’d have still made it. No dog is truly bad, they just get corrupted by bad humans.”

As Diablo looked across the way, he could see canines of all shapes and sizes – as well as other animals, including cats.

“Kinda surprised cats and dogs all go to the same place,” Diablo said, eying a Norwegian Forest cat frolicking with a miniature dachshund.

“Well, not all of them,” Orla explained. “Some cats go to a place called ‘The Box,’ which is basically just that – a giant cardboard box. And a few of them go in together and buy condos and turn them into palaces. Not sure where they get money. Anyway, cats tend to make their own rules and that can sometimes make their afterlife a bit complicated. They’re gonna do what they’re gonna do.”

Diablo laid his ears back and ran some zoomies, buzzing a pair of tabbies who seemed more amused than bothered by his antics.

He then rolled over on his back, scratching it furiously against the ground, and popped back up on his feet.

“So,” he mused, “I get to do this forever?”

Orla nodded.

“Yep,” she said. “You can run, eat and sleep as much as you want to. This is your reward.”

Diablo sighed.

“That’s great and all,” he said. “But I miss the humans. They loved me and I loved them – even that guy I bit. And I wish I could tell them I’m not mad about that last trip to the vet … I was in a lot of pain, and it was time for me to go.

“Kinda bummed I’ll never see ‘em again.”

Orla’s brown eyes twinkled.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “You’ll see them again.”

Orla pointed to a spot under a willow tree where a German Shepherd was smothering its human with kisses.

“Yay!” Diablo shrieked. “So, people get to come to The Park, too?”

Orla gave Diablo a quick nuzzle to the side of the face.

“They do,” she said. “But only the good ones.”