Chapter II

Jan turned to her husband. "Do you think our child is a spawn of Satan?" Douglas raised an eyebrow in thought. "Um, no. Unless there’s something you haven’t told me." Jan sighed. "Shoot, that eliminates one possibility. Oh, well, back to the drawing board. Here, Slag, read this. Maybe you can come up with something." (Slag - Jan’s pet name for him. Once, in a clever bit of word/fore play, she described him as "hot at molten slag." Douglas never let her live it down, calling her "Etten" sometimes.) Jan handed the familiar manila paper with blue lines intersected by red dotted lines to Douglas. Her long nails made a faint scratching noise on the crayon-lettered surface as he took it from her hands.

Jonathan Anthony Safon sat on the floor, each leg, the part below the knees, splayed out to each side, in the way his mother always "asked" him not to. But, she was too busy talking to Daddy to notice. Jonathan patiently explained today’s exciting episode of "Batman - The Animated Series" to Bert. Bert was so silly; he never understood. Jonathan smoothed the fluff of black hair over the pointy yellow head of the doll, but it sprang right up again.

A sudden clap of thunder caused Jonathan’s large gray eyes to open widely. At that moment, all electrical appliances in the room, including the lights and TV, went off.

Clyde stroked his bald cat and pondered on the fact that lightning had struck his fireplace, where Tibby was rather fond of sleeping. It managed to create a nice, cheery fire in the aforementioned fireplace. "OK, so Tibby is perfectly fine, actually even better than before - more calm," Clyde thought, "Just bald now. Never seen a cat move that fast before."

The stranger blundered into consciousness. He felt a nice, comfortable surface under him and a thinnish, fluffy surface over him. He opened his eyes to another pair of eyes leaning over him quizzically. Male eyes, gray, darkish lashes. Vaguely-yet-also-completely-un-familiar eyes. Oh, must be Clyde.

Clyde flinched, hearing another clap of thunder.

Unfortunately, Clyde thought, he hadn’t become more calm.

"I wrote weird stuff when I was his age, too," Douglas said, chopping carrots by candlelight. Jan sighed, running her long fingers through shoulder-length, straight blonde hair, one strand falling succinctly in the ziti. "Yeah, maybe you’re right. I guess our kid is just normally AB!normal," her voice shooting up an octave, as her husband concurrently shot his hand up her warm, kiltish-type plaid skirt, into an even warmer region. "Ach, lass, yure maternal instincts drive me wild. That, and yure perky breasts," Douglas muttered in a spontaneous Scottish accent. Jan, starting to forget about her son’s strange essay, smiled lazily. Jan replied in two words. She said one word slowly, seductively: "Upstairs." Then she said another word, quickly, teasingly: "Later," whirling back to the ziti.

The rain continued to pour. Jonathan whispered to Bert in the dark. He told him secret things, secret numbers.

Clyde would always remember the first words the stranger spoke to him: "Ah, you’re not dead. That’s a good thing, I guess. Do you have any cream cheese?"

Clyde followed this with: "What? Who the hell are you?? How did you do this?? (at this, Clyde held up a tiny, perfect Matchbox rendition of a 1984 Pontiac Grand Am, complete with miniature mud on the tires) Why is a tiny, perfect Matchbox rendition of Patrick Stewart in the passenger seat?? Why is he shouting?? Although that one seems mildly understandable, given the circumstances. Why are you naked?? And why do you have two penises, or penii or whatever??" Clyde walked over to the refrigerator, "And here’s your cream cheese. I don’t know why I bought it; I don’t even like cream cheese."

The stranger dipped his left index finger into the container and licked the soothing white substance pensively. "To answer your questions: One: You are not dead, I believe I stopped you from being so somehow, which is probably a good thing, and I really needed a good cream cheese fix. Two: You wouldn’t believe me, but I’m the Terminator. Ha, ha, just kidding, don’t flinch like that. I’m not from the future, I’m from outside the galaxy. Three: I’m not sure myself, but I believe that before the car could make impact with your house, it shrunk, harmlessly passing through that cute little kitty door. I, unfortunately, did not shrink. That is why I crashed through your rose bushes and thudded against your house. Four: I don’t know. Five: I don’t know. Six: I don’t know. Seven: See the answer to question two. Also - ‘Double your pleasure, double your fun!’ Oh, and thanks for the cream cheese. I don’t know why you bought it, either, or for that matter, why it was so important that you remain existing. All I know is I went to a hell of a lot of trouble to keep you that way, the cream cheese deprivation itself causing me to pass out."

The previously Calico, now hairless, Tibby jumped into the stranger’s lap, simply saying: "Prrowem?" The stranger translated this into "Can I have some of this stuff?" He held out his left index finger. Tibby licked it. Tibby liked it.

The fire roared magnificently in Clyde’s fireplace. Clyde sat down, gray eyes unblinking, mouth slightly open. He thought, "I have not been having a good day."

The thunder outside growled menacingly.

Tibby inside purred happily.

Juxtaposition? You bet.

Jonathan stood at his big bedroom window, watching the rain, intensely wanting a hamster. His best friend, Michael, had one - a cream colored, twitching ball of fur named Lassie. Michael is sort of weird, he thought.

Jonathan’s parents had sent him to bed at 8:30, instead of the usual 9:00, so they could "talk". Yeah, right, he thought. Sometimes, he crept to their door and listened to Mommy and Daddy giggling and making happy noises. He knew what they were up to. They were having fun without him. OK, fine. He could deal with that. If he had a hamster. Maybe two. Then, he could watch them play, or fight, or have babies, or something.

Jan and Douglas were busily fornicating against the closet door, the enigmatic essay completely forgotten, when they heard the ripping sound of a child’s scream.
The first thing Douglas noticed was the window open, curtains flapping in the gale, water beginning to soak into the floor. The second thing he noticed was his child’s hand, gripping the window tightly. Just his hand. Then, like waking up from a wonderful dream, Douglas’ sense of hearing came back. In full force.

He heard terrified cries and screams. Jonathan shrieked, "Daddy!" This would be the last time Douglas heard this. He heard Jan’s beautiful voice cracking as it sometimes did when he touched her in a way she liked, but this time screaming, "Oh my God, help him!" A trace of tears was on her face from their shared ecstasy of a few moments ago. Right then, it seemed more like years ago.

Douglas ran to the window, grabbed Jonathan, and pulled him in; just as an eerily-timed, tremendously powerful wind swept Douglas out and to his death. His last word wasn’t actually a word, but a number.

Jan, in hysterics, shrieked, "What did he say?! What did he say?!" She felt a tug on her hastily- thrown-on nightgown. Her mind and body shocked to perfect calm as she saw her child’s face, his eyes. He was clutching a completely sodden Bert. Jan calmly noticed that one of Bert’s arms was - chewed? no, that can’t be right - torn off. Jonathan spoke. "Daddy said ‘nine’. They tried to take Bert. I wouldn’t let them. Daddy said ‘nine’."

Just then, the rain stopped.

And Jan screamed at what she could now see in the window.