Kilroy was Here Page 2

  “And who are you that have come to welcome me?”

  “We are Kilroy and Mr. Roboto.” Jeff gestures with his head toward Randi. “And, she’s Randi.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Randi says. “We provide security for this portal and you have arrived here without authorization.” Randi maintains her authoritative voice, her gun still aimed at Grandor. “Now, again, what is your purpose?”

  Jackie beeps, chirps, hums, and whirrs. “Grandor is here to begin his conquest of your planet.”

  “Thank you, Jackie. Yes.” Grandor clears his throat before making his proclamation. “And, I have come seeking an Earth female to be my queen.”

  “Return to your planet of origin.” Randi’s ability to maintain her composure and stick to the script from training is impressive. My legs feel as though they could collapse at any moment.

  “Shit!” Jeff shouts. I turn and see that the rocket boots have twisted him upside down.

  “What is happening?” I hear Leigh Ann say. I had almost forgot she was there. “I’m totally freaking out here. When are we getting waffles?”

  “Get her outta here, Jeff!” growls Randi.

  “I can’t. I’m upside down.”

  “Oh, I see you have brought a female to me already.” Grandor cocks an eyebrow and purses his lips, clearly smitten.

  “I…am…Leigh Ann…Leigh Ann Cantwell. My people call me Leigh Ann.” She displays admirable diplomacy punctuated with the “live long and prosper” gesture.

  Grandor struts to Leigh Ann and extends his hand. His long, slender fingers unfold and I think I count six fingers without fingernails.

  “You are lovely.” He snaps his fingers at the orb. “Jackie! Wooing music, please!”

  “I am not sure now is the time or place, Grandor.”

  “Jackie! Woo!”

  With Grandor’s command, something from inside Jackie begins playing Andy Gibb’s “I Just Wanna Be Your Everything.” Randi, Jeff, and I, all look at one another. Corporate had prepared us for many things. This is not one of them.

  Leigh Ann stands frozen with a combination of fear and confusion as Grandor dances and spins around her. My Multi-Phaseable Portal Accessibility Sensor Device erupts in a symphony of beeps and blurps. The colored lights flash on and off like an out-of-control Christmas tree. I glance toward the river and see dark clouds billowing once more.

  “Uh, guys,” I say.

  A strong wind swirls and a vacuum suction from the portal intensifies, pulling large branches toward it and sucking them in. The force causes Leigh Ann’s dress to rise slightly and she struggles to get her balance.

  Jackie increases the volume of her voice. “Grandor! I advise you cease your courtship and focus on the mission. The portal is unstable.”

  The dancing alien grabs Leigh Ann’s arm. “Come. Be my queen. We shall rule planets together!”

  “I fear you are overplaying your hand,” Jackie advises. “We must get back to the ship.”

  “You’re kinda freaky looking,” Leigh Ann tells Grandor.

  “Let her go!” Jeff regains his position, flies toward Grandor and throws a wild punch at him. Grandor responds with a bolt of energy fired from wide bracelets on his wrists. The blow propels Jeff backward and he appears to lose all sense of balance in the rocket boots. He sputters around like a balloon that was suddenly let go after being filled with air. He hits the light pole and falls to the ground with a thud. He moans in pain and fights to stand to his feet again.

  “I do not recommend that,” Grandor says to Jeff. He pulls Leigh Ann tighter. “I have significant powers, which are helpful, because I am easily winded when I exert myself.”

  Randi unleashes a barrage of laser fire on Grandor, who deflects each shot with his cape. Jackie fires a few blasts of her own at both Randi and me. I dive away then turn and fire in defense. The orb darts and bobs. A blue bolt of energy shoots from Jackie and hits me in the chest. Tentacles of electricity fire through my body, rendering me motionless on the ground for a few seconds.

  “Jeff!” Leigh Ann screams out. “Help! Get this freak off me!” She kicks and punches with futility before reaching out to Randi. “Help me, lady!”

  “Grandor.” Jackie buzzes to her amorous leader. “We must go now. The portal is closing.”

  I struggle to stand and keep my balance against the force of the suction pulling everyone toward the grumbling vortex. I watch as Grandor and Leigh Ann tumble to the ground and are dragged toward its mouth. Grandor’s ship and the three vehicles scoot a few inches, sucked by the portal’s power. Leigh Ann screams for help again and Jeff tries to fly toward her. The instability of the vortex pushes Jeff around like a leaf in the wind. Randi races to the rescue as well, only to be propelled against her truck by a blast from Jackie. Randi slumps in a heap, not moving. I look back to Jeff who took another hit from Grandor and fell backward. He is pulled toward the vortex, but grabs the open door of Miss America and struggles into the driver’s seat.

  “We shall rule forever, Queen Leigh Ann!”

  “You’re a freeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaak!” are Leigh Ann’s last words as Grandor drags her into his spacecraft. They disappear into the ship, Jackie following behind. The engines on the ship ignite and within seconds it disappears into the portal. Leigh Ann is gone, kidnapped by an amorous purple alien and his electronic valet.

  I can barely stand. The force pulls me toward the vortex and I slam against a light pole. I wrap my arms around the pole and strain against the sucking of the gaping portal. I catch glimpse of my car scooting toward the portal.

  “I gotta get Leigh Ann back!” Jeff fires up the engine of his Vega and drives toward the opening.

  “Jeff!” I yell. “No!”

  Miss America lifts off the ground and flies into the vortex in a whoosh of suction. The force of it nearly pulls me in with it, but I feel a jerk in the opposite direction. A lasso of orange energy hugs my torso and I turn to see it connected to a device Randi is holding.

  After a loud whoosh, the bright light collapses on itself and all is quiet again. Jeff is gone. Leigh Ann is gone. Randi stumbles toward the bank. I join her, still trying to catch my breath. The water looks black as small swirls and eddies float along.

  “What the hell was that thing you shot me with?” I ask. “What just happened?”

  “What we have here,” says a male voice behind us, “is a failure to execute.”

  He is thin and tall and his face is narrow with sharp lines and angles. It lacks expression and moves enough to allow him to enjoy the lollipop he is sucking on. He wears black skinny slacks and a lightweight gray pullover sweater.

  “Hello, Max,” says Randi, taking a few steps toward the man in the sweater.

  “Randi.” Max walks past us and stands at the bank of the river. He twirls his sucker in his mouth and pulls it out with a smack. “Civilians.” His voice is like creamy caramel and he punctuates his understated assessment with another smacking suck on the candy.

  “I know,” Randi mumbles.

  Max gestures with the lollipop as he speaks. “I look around and all I see is the IB-47 I’ve got to fill out because of the civilian.”

  I am trying to figure out where Max came from.

  “We have to get them back!” I say to him.

  “That’s not your call.”

  Several seconds of silence hang in the air as Randi and I stand helplessly. She has spent the last two years helping us grow in our jobs at Corporate and has always told us the dangers of involving civilians. She looks at me with defeat and sadness.

  “I’m sorry, Tony.” She hugs me, but I am still too overwhelmed to return the gesture. She pulls away and I lean over and put my hands on my knees like the air has been knocked out of me.

  “I hate this for you,” Max says.

  “We have to get them back,” Randi says. “C’mon Max.”

  “That’s not going to happen, I’m afraid.”

  “What do you mean?” I point at whe
re the portal once appeared. “My best friend and his girlfriend got sucked through that thing. We’re Corporate. That’s our portal. We need to get them back.”

  “We have protocols in place. Procedures. We only handle what’s on this side of the portal. And we can’t risk even more civilians getting involved. We have to cover this up. As an agent, you can appreciate that.”

  “Well I’m not an agent,” I growl. Or at least I try to sound like I’m growling. “I’m an intern.”

  “We can change that.”

  I throw up my hands and walk to my car. “Forget it. I’ll do this myself. I’m going to figure out a way to get Jeff and Leigh Ann back, with or without you.”

  Max holds his left wrist up to his mouth and speaks into it.

  “Situation is secure here.”

  “Hey! Tell the person in your wrist I quit! If you don’t care enough about your interns to go back for one left behind then I want no part of it! Maybe I’ll freelance or something. I’ll find Jeff on my own! To hell with Corporate and to hell with you!” I slam the door to add one more exclamation point to that dramatic declaration. I turn the key in the ignition and the engine whines but won’t turn over. I pound on the dashboard, then, rub it apologetically.

  I get out of the car with all the humility I can muster.

  “Can you give me a jump?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Every nightmare follows a similar pattern. Jeff and I are somewhere familiar. The hallway at school or leaning against his crappy Vega, Miss America. We’re eating apricots and talking about the meaning of life. Then, we hear maniacal laughter behind us. We turn and see Grandor the Malevolent in his ugly unitard, ridiculous cape, and winged helmet juggling more apricots before he starts pelting us with them. I cover my head until the barrage stops. I look up and see Marlene dressed like Grandor.

  “This is for missing prom, you jerk tool head!” She throws an apricot at me and it splats against the side of my face. I wipe the slime away and see Jeff in Marlene’s spot, also dressed as Grandor.

  “This is for letting me get sucked into the portal, you asshole!” He unleashes a barrage of apricots on me and I bolt upright and scream, furiously wiping away the fruit that isn’t there.

  Apricots mean nothing to me, so why am I having nightmares about them?

  Every night for the last six weeks since Jeff and Leigh Ann were pulled into the portal, I’ve awakened from these horrible dreams drenched in sweat. Today is no different. I get out of bed and open my bedroom curtains. The harsh glare of the sun informs me it is yet another hot summer morning I’m not at all excited about. I reach for my phone and flip to a playlist I created titled Soul Torture. “Bubbly,” by Colbie Caillat, is first on the list.

  Yes, I like Colbie Caillat. I realize an 18-year-old guy admitting such a thing is grounds for the revocation of my male credentials, but I have my reasons. First, I admire Colbie Caillat’s beauty the way one might admire a sunset, with awe and deep contemplation about the meaning of life. Second, “Bubbly” played on the radio when Marlene and I first kissed exactly a year ago today. Call me a hopeless romantic. Call me an emotional sadist. I don’t care. I miss everything about Marlene. Her sandy blond hair and round green eyes. Those willowy lips that seem to be forever smiling. Her full-bodied laugh. My heart hates knowing I missed a night of prom moments with Marlene to deal with the portal.

  I remind myself this is all my fault.

  I also miss Jeff terribly, so I turn off Colbie Caillat and play Styx’s “Mr. Roboto.” Unlike Marlene, Jeff’s physical attributes are not what I miss. Not his perpetually pungent foot odor. Not his insistence on trying to maintain a partial beard even though he clearly lacked enough facial hair to warrant the endeavor. But, I do miss having him around.

  *

  I shower, which is always problematic. I stand a safe distance from the water swirling down the drain. Anything that swirls reminds me of Jeff and Leigh Ann getting sucked into the portal. A flushing toilet is now my biggest fear. I head to the kitchen to savor the first of two bowls of Cocoa Puffs and attempt conversation with my parents who are busy getting ready for their own days. I don’t talk about the portal incident to anyone, because Max gave clear instructions not to. Besides, everyone would think I was a lunatic if I said anything. So, I call that event The Prom Night of Which We Shall Not Speak. I originally was going to call it The Night Jeff Got Sucked, but that brings an unintended connotation to mind.

  Conversations at my house since The Prom Night of Which We Shall Not Speak follow a set pattern.

  First comes The Look. In the mornings, when I enter the kitchen from a night of not sleeping in between nightmares, Mom greets me with a sweet smile of pity while she rubs my arm. Sometimes random hugs are thrown in for good measure.

  “How ya doing this morning, sweetie?” She pours me a glass of green Kwench-Aid. That’s how I like to start my day. As I sip, she maintains The Look while resting her hands on her chin.

  “I’m fine. Better.” I’ve learned to give this pat response despite all I’m going through because I don’t want her worrying about me more than she already does. They don’t know about the portal or my job at Corporate. They think I work in the mailroom. They know Marlene and I broke up before prom. Most of the school believes Jeff and Leigh Ann disappeared, possibly runaways.

  After The Look comes The Reassurance. “Well, you’ve been through a lot and remember we love you. You can tell us anything.”

  Anything? I can tell you anything? Somehow I think if I blurted out that I watched my best friend get sucked through a portal into outer space after a battle with an alien named Grandor they’d look at me like I have a tiny kraken crawling out of my nose. Sometimes, I think they look at me like that anyway. I move to the counter and pour myself another bowl of cereal. Upon realizing we are out of milk, I wonder why bad things happen to good people.

  “Still having nightmares?” Dad asks, scanning through something on his tablet.

  “Yes,” I say, pouring my dry cocoa therapy back into its box. “Mostly about apricots.”

  “Oh, I love apricots,” Mom says. “Do you want me to buy you some apricots, honey?”

  “No.” Her question throws me to the point of stuttering. “I…that’s…what?”

  “I’ll pick some up tonight after work.” She makes a note in her phone to remind her of this awesome idea she’s come up with to get me apricots I don’t want.

  “I’ve got such a full day today,” she says. “With the River Luau starting in few days, we’ve got a lot of last minute items to take care of.”

  Mom serves on the committee that plans Poplar Bluff’s annual River Luau, which is held every summer for a week. It’s the usual small town orgy of unsafe rides, rigged games, and horrific, but delightful food.

  “Don’t forget we have book club tonight, honey.” Dad’s face is glued to his tablet. I notice a small spider crawling along the window sill behind him. I reach down and take off my shoe, careful not to move too fast. I hate spiders and everything they stand for and this one shall meet the same fate as the ones who came to my house before it. I take one step toward the sill and lower my shoe of wrath down on the spider. My parents jump and shout at me.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Dad turns around as I grind my shoe into the spider’s carcass.

  “Pretty sure it was coming for you, Dad.”

  “Tony, it’s a harmless spider,” Mom says with a tiny pout.

  “Harmless spider is an oxymoron,” I tell her.

  “That reminds me of one of those memes I saw the other day,” Dad says. “It said ‘let’s all take a moment to be thankful spiders can’t fly.” Dad thinks memes help him seem more hip than he really is.

  “I’m already having nightmares, Dad.”

  “Guess I better get to work.” He is still glued to the tablet.

  “Something interesting there, Chris?” Mom puts her hand on Dad’s shoulder and peers over. As a reflex action, he places one of his hands
on hers. They’ve always been an affectionate couple and I somehow find comfort in that.

  “Checking some emails about the break-in.”

  “What break-in?” I ask.

  “Apparently, someone broke into the factory last night and made off with a large shipment of Kwench-Aid packets meant for distribution.” Dad stands, blows out a weary sigh, and looks off into some special place I guess only he can see.

  “I’m sorry you have to deal with all of that,” Mom says.

  “Who steals Kwench-Aid in bulk?” he asks, still looking off into the distance. “Is there a new black market I don’t know about?”

  “I can’t imagine packets of artificially flavored fruit drink mix would fetch much.” Mom kisses him on the cheek. He slides his tablet into his briefcase.

  I don’t know much about Dad’s job, other than he is a quality control manager at the Kwench-Aid plant in town. On the rare occasion he speaks of his work, he uses accompanying phrases like “dark pit,” “soul suck,” and “only for the insurance and 401k.” I know it has provided us with all the free Kwench-Aid a person could ever dream of possessing.

  “Is this the American Dream?” he wonders aloud. “Working overtime to make up for lost inventory while figuring out who stole my Kwench-Aid?”

  A spark of recognition fires in my brain. I feel myself floating away, like my subconscious is downloading a Wikipedia article. I blurt out all I know about the American Dream.

  “James Truslow Adams wrote in 1931 that the American dream is a dream of a land in which life should be better and richer and fuller for everyone, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement.”

  Now my parents are staring at me like I indeed have a tiny kraken crawling out of my nose. I don’t know why I said that. I don’t know why I know it. Until the very second I uttered his name, I had never heard of James Truslow Adams.

  “Well, James Truslow Adams is a dick.” Dad heads to the door and shouts out to Mom. “See you tonight, Suzanne.”

  “I have to show some property to a client this morning,” Mom says. She’s a real estate agent, specializing in commercial properties. “Then, I’ve got meetings about the River Luau all afternoon, but I’ll make sure I duck out early.”