Cold Fire

She sensed that he was also shamed by the prospect of his own mental illness, and unable to meet her eyes any longer. He was so stoic, so strong, so proud of his strength that he could not accept this suggested weakness in himself He had built a life that placed a high value on self control and self reliance, that made a singular virtue out of self imposed solitude, in the manner of a monk who needed no one but himself and God. Now she was telling him that his decision to become an iron man and a loner was not a well-considered choice, that it was a desperate attempt to deal with emotional turmoil that had threatened to destroy him, and that his need for self control had moved him over the line of rational behavior.

She thought of the words on the tablet: I AM COMING. YOU DIE.

She switched on the engine.

He said, "Where are we going?" As she put the car in gear, pulled out onto the county road, and turned right toward New Svenborg, she did not answer him. Instead, "Was there anything special about you as a boy?" "No," he said a little too quickly, too sharply.

"Never any indication that you were gifted or-" "No, hell, nothing like that.”

Jim's sudden nervous agitation, betrayed by his restless movement and his trembling hands, convinced Holly that she had touched on a truth. He had been special in some way, a gifted child. Now that she had reminded him of it, he saw in that early gift the seeds of the powers that had grown in him. But he didn't want to face it. Denial was his shield.

"What have you just remembered?" "Nothing.”

"Come on, Jim.”

"Nothing, really.”

She didn't know where to go with that line of questioning, so she could only say, "It's true. You're gifted. No aliens, only you.”

Because of whatever he had just remembered and was not willing to share with her, his adamancy had begun to dissolve. "I don't know.”

"It's true.”

"Maybe.”

"It's true. Remember last night when The Friend told us it was a child by the standards of its species? Well, that's because it is a child, a perpetual child, forever the age at which you created it-ten years old.

Which explains its childlike behavior, its need to brag, its poutiness.

Jim, The Friend didn't behave like a ten-thousand-year-old alien child, it just behaved like a ten-year-old human being.”

He closed his eyes and leaned back, as if it was exhausting to consider what she was telling him. But his inner tension remained at a peak, revealed by his hands, which were fisted in his lap.

"Where are we going, Holly?" "For a little ride." As they passed through the golden fields and hills, she kept up a gentle attack: "That's why the manifestation of The Enemy is like a combination of every movie monster that ever frightened a ten-year-old boy. The thing I caught a glimpse of in my motel-room doorway wasn't a real creature, I see that now. It didn't have a biological structure that made sense, it wasn't even alien. It was too familiar, a ten-year-old boy's hodgepodge of boogeymen.”

He did not respond.

She glanced at him. "Jim?" His eyes were still closed.

Her heart began to pound. "Jim!" At the note of alarm in her voice, he sat up straighter and opened his eyes. "What?" "For God's sake, don't close your eyes that long. You might've been asleep, and I wouldn't have realized it until" "You think I can sleep with this on my mind?" "I don't know. I don't want to take the chance. Keep your eyes open, okay? You obviously suppress The Enemy when you're awake, it only comes through all the way when you're asleep.”

In the windshield glass, like a computer readout in a fighter-plane cockpit, words began to appear from left to right, in letters about one inch high: DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD.

Scared but unwilling to show it, she said, "To hell with that," and switched on the windshield wipers, as if the threat was dirt that could be scrubbed away. But the words remained, and Jim stared at them with evident dread.

As they passed a small ranch, the scent of new-mown hay entered with the wind through the windows.

"Where are we going?" he asked again.

"Exploring.”

"Exploring what?" "The past.”

Distressed, he said, "I haven't bought this scenario yet. I can't.

How the hell can I? And how can we ever prove it's true or isn't?" "We go to town," she said. "We take that tour again, the one you took me on yesterday. Svenborg-port of mystery and romance. What a dump.

But it's got something. You wanted me to see those places, your subconscious was telling me answers can be found in Svenborg. So let's go find them together.”

New words appeared under the first six: DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD.