~~~
Those worlds' end began with a phone call. As Lona and I lay asleep in my room at home, my cell phone began to play "The Stars and Stripes Forever." Opening an eye and the phone, I drowsily murmured into it, "Gordon residence."
A deep male voice said, "May I speak with Mirabelle Gordon?"
"This is she."
"Miss Gordon, this is Detective T. W. Kaminski of the Columbus Police Department. I'm calling you with bad news of your legal guardian, Dr. Emanuel Ventnor. Last night, he was shot to death in his home…"
Stunned, babbling out barely coherent questions in a way that would've earned me the Colonel's scorn, I learned of a home-invasion -- likely an attempted robbery by at least three assailants -- that had ended tragically in Dr. Ventnor's death and the burning of much of his house.
"I regret, ma'am, that there must be a full autopsy before the doctor's body can be released for burial."
"I understand, Detective." The word 'autopsy' had awoken me from panic into preparation for action.
The detective asked me whether I knew why robbers would've targeted the doctor's house. Having no reason yet to suspect what they'd been seeking, I said that I didn't. I made vague promises to come to Columbus, and the detective mentioned that he might call me again later. When I closed the phone, I met Lona's enormous stare and began to tell her what had happened; then I grasped that, given Tan hearing, she'd heard the detective as if he'd spoken in her ear.
"Ti-rem-es in-i, Lus Im!" she gasped out. "'Save us, Holy Light!'" It awed me that, in a time of crisis, she'd reverted to speaking nal Tan. "What're we going to do?" she went on to say.
"Let me think. We must get Dr. Ventnor's body before it's autopsied; but you and I, to stand any chance to live a normal life from now on, must stay here and act as normal as we can under the circumstances. I'll call Kuma."
When I awoke her with my call, she sounded cross, but came alert as I told her of Dr. Ventnor's death. I went on to say, "Call Un-Thor and tell him to meet you near Columbus right away. Steal Dr. Ventnor's body before the autopsy starts, if you at all can. Also find and secure that book that he brought to the Colonel's burial.
"Bring both the body and the book to the quarry where the Colonel is buried, but hide with them in the woods above the quarry till dark. If Lona and I can at all join you there, we will; but, if we don't make it, go ahead and bury the body and seal it in."
"I understand, Mira. You can count on Un and me."
As things turned out, I could. Kuma and Un were perfect that day. It was I who failed the Tan.
Having set in motion the second alien body-snatching, Lona and I debated what we should do to act normal. In the end, we felt that normal persons in our situation on a Sunday morning would go to church. There, in Sunday school, we told my classmates of the new catastrophe in my life. They smothered Lona and me in prayer and expressions of sympathy, and suggestions for what'd become of "poor, little Belle." The class's teacher, a lawyer, made what would've been a good suggestion if all had gone well -- that I seek emancipation so that I could finish high school in Paducah.
In the morning service, the preacher announced my guardian's death and prayed for me. During the sermon, it shames me to say, I wondered how someone who could control earth-humans' thoughts had been killed by earth-humans. Had they knocked Dr. Ventnor out from behind? Had his gift been a subtle thing that took too long to work when it had to save his life? Was his gift just not up to telling three determined assailants, "Don't kill me!"? I should ask the last of the Sethiparnen those questions when I meet him, I thought.
I pondered a harsh lesson: having a gift doesn't make one invulnerable. Only too soon would that lesson get reinforced in my life.
After the service, kind souls offered to bring food to my house, come by and look after me, and even go with me to Columbus. I had no way -- and no reason -- to turn down clear expressions of Christian love. How could I have foreseen that they'd turn a disastrous situation from which I could've recovered into one that was irretrievably lost?
After morning service, Lona and I ate lunch with the church in its basement; then we went to my house for the last time that I've been there. Neighbors brought by food and prayed with us; Detective Kaminski called me again and asked me more questions, the point of which I missed. He said nothing of a second burglary of Dr. Ventnor's house or of his body's being snatched.
I told myself that Kuma and Un-Thor hadn't had time to reach Columbus and carry off their raids. Antsy, I paced the floor and likely drove Lona to distraction. Maybe, grief and worry dulled my mind's trained edge. Maybe, if I hadn't been distracted, things would've turned out better…
As things were, when a car roared down the road before my house and screeched to a halt in my driveway, I paid the car's unsettling sounds no heed, but thought only of churchmates bringing me more food. Dully, I did wonder at heavy footsteps running towards my front door, but I was unprepared for its being kicked open by three gun-wielding men in ski masks.
Guns pointed at me; then one of them turned towards Lona, just entering the common room from the kitchen. "Which of you is Lonnie Stormgren?" one of the home-invaders shouted.
"I'm Lonnie," I said, just a beat before Lona said, "I'm Lonnie."
The gunman made a sound of disgust. "You two look like clones at that. It doesn't matter which of you is Lonnie and which of you is Belle. Both of you are aliens who have those crystal-ships and those alien crystals and books Donnie told us about one night when we got him drunk. Show us where they are! They're worth millions to the right buyer."
Now, I knew that the home-invaders had learned of the Tan from Lona's long-lost adoptive father, and wanted money. The Colonel had taught me to play for time if I faced capture. In as conversational a tone as I could manage, I said, "How do you know of Belle?"
"I'm asking the questions!" the gunman said, along with a word that had never been uttered under the Colonel's roof but in reference to a real female dog. "Where are the alien ships?"
In a plaintive tone, Lona said, "You're the ones who killed Dr. Ventnor, aren't you?"
"We're wasting time!" the gunman shouted. "We need just one of you to get what we want."
His finger tightened on the trigger of his gun; it fired at me. He must've thought that Lona would be more likely to give him answers than I was. Now, I'm fast, and the Colonel had taught me of guns, but I wasn't fast enough to dodge a bullet. Although I could see it coming, and I twisted to get out of its way, it smashed into my right side just below my outstretched arm. Down, I went.
Dala, Kuma, Lona, Un-Thor, and I had debated whether we Tani are bulletproof. I'd forbidden my brother and my sisters to test the question. As the lone Tan so far to be struck by a bullet, let me answer the question truthfully for you: no and yes. No, for the bullet passed through my skin, muscle, and ribs into places best never visited by a bullet. Yes, for, even as the bullet went into me, I felt crystal-shaping force reorganizing and repairing bullet-damaged tissue, and pushing the bullet out of me.
Still, blood also came out of me, and agony flared through me. I was helpless till the bullet emerged through its entry wound. While I lay and writhed on the floor, I heard light footsteps cross it, three slaps ring out as loud as gunshots, and three bodies hit the floor.
When I raised my head, I saw Lona standing in the center of the floor, her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide. As I rose to my feet, I saw three bodies lying around her, their heads caved in on one side and lolling at unnatural angles. I heard Lona moaning out, over and over, "Oh, God, I didn't mean to do that!"
Beyond her, in the opening where the front door sagged on one hinge, I saw wide eyes of a man and a woman, neighbors who were also my churchmates. They must've come, brave, kind souls, to see what was happening to "poor, little Belle." The two ran when I met their gazes. Over their shoulders, one of them screamed out, "We're calling the police!"
For an instant, I thought of running after them to stop their calling; then tears
of self-loathing and frustration burst from my eyes. Calling the police was what my neighbors were supposed to do. The coming of police, though, would start a legal process with no end that I could foresee. Lona had killed. Even if the courts ruled that she'd killed in self-defense, how could her secret, or mine, be kept?
"Lona," I said softly.
She moaned harder. "Oh, God, oh, God, what've I done?"
It shames me that I shook her, but fear drove me. "Lona, listen to me! We've got to leave here and never return. Before we leave, though, we've got to pack some things. Can you help me?"
She stared at me a moment and then nodded. I led her upstairs and put a backpack into her hand while I held another backpack. Moving at a run through the house, I stuffed items into the backpacks: rolled coins, cash, the Colonel's pistol and some ammunition, the family albums, my laptop, my collection of light-crystals and heat-crystals, some changes of clothes...
When I heard sirens, I ran downstairs and poured a whole jug of Clorox over my blood on the common room's floor. Weeping for what the Clorox would do to pristine hardwood, I ran back upstairs, where I led Lona through my bedroom window and along the roof. Jumping from it, she and I ran past the barn and through the woodlot behind it, and headed south. Although I bit my lips and blinked back tears, I wasn't Lot's wife: I didn't look back at a place that had been more my home than even the Homeworld had. The house was mine, but who knew whether I'd reclaim it?
Farewell, valedictorian. Farewell, National Merit Scholarship. Farewell, college and career.
Farewell, Mirabelle Gordon. From now on, I'd be just Mira Das-Es, daughter of a lost world.