The Fall of Five

31

I burst out of the workshop, the door sharply clanging behind me. My palms are sweating, almost like the documents I’m holding are radiating heat. My mind races.

What would the Mogadorians be doing with copies of my father’s notes? How would they even have gotten them?

I think back to dinner that first night when my dad laid out the details of his long Mogadorian imprisonment. I remember some of the Garde seeming suspicious, especially when my dad talked about the tinkering the Mogadorians did with his mind. Nine even came right out and said that it could be a trap.

But that wasn’t possible. He’s my father. We could trust him.

I race down the hallway to my dad’s room. I’m not even sure what I’m going to do when I find him. Confront him? Tell him we need to get the hell out of here?

His room is empty. I find myself taking a quick glance around, not even sure what I’m looking for. Some kind of Mogadorian communicator? A Mog-English dictionary? Nothing looks out of the ordinary.

There has to be a rational explanation for this, right?

Hadn’t I seen with my own eyes the kind of literal mind games the Mogadorians are capable of? I’d seen Adam use a Legacy that was apparently the side effect of the Mogs ripping out the memories from a dead Garde. Even now, John and Ella were comatose thanks to some telepathic assault perpetuated by Setrákus Ra. The Mogadorians held on to my dad for years and ran unspeakable experiments on his mind.

Was it really outside the realm of possibility that the Mogs could’ve brainwashed him?

My dad might not even be aware they’re controlling him. They might have done something to his brain and then let him escape on purpose, knowing that he’d be more valuable out in the world, gathering intelligence. The Mogs could’ve programmed him in a way that he’s secretly reporting to them while he sleeps—I remember reading something about how double agents could be hypnotized into forgetting their own subterfuge. Was that a real article or a comic book? I couldn’t remember.

Back in the hallway, I yell, “Dad? Where are you?” I try to keep my voice normal and steady. Because what if he is a Mogadorian spy? I don’t want to tip him off.

“In here,” my dad yells back from Ella and John’s room.

My dad the alien spy? Come on. Get a grip, Sam. That’s the kind of conspiracy theory I might’ve found in They Walk Among Us. It’s ridiculous. More importantly, I know in my heart that it isn’t true.

So why do I feel so nervous?

I stand in the doorway to Ella’s room clutching the translated documents. Sarah has gone to her own room to get some sleep, so it’s just him and Bernie Kosar standing watch over John and Ella. BK is curled up, asleep, my dad idly scratching behind his ears.

“What is it, Sam?” he asks.

My dad must know by my wide-eyed look that something’s wrong. He leaves BK and walks towards me, but I find myself stepping instinctively backwards into the hallway. I’m keeping a safe distance from the loving father who rescued me from a prison cell. Great.

I thrust the documents at him. “Why would the Mogadorians have these?”

He flips through the papers, turning the pages more rapidly as he realizes what they are. “These—these are my notes.”

“I know. How did the Mogadorians get their hands on them?”

He must realize the implication of my question because a hurt expression briefly clouds his face.

“Sam, I did not do this,” he says, trying to sound convincing, but there’s a note of uncertainty in his voice.

“Can you be sure? What if—what if they did something to you, Dad? Something that you don’t remember?”

“No. Impossible,” he says, shaking his head, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. I can tell by his tone that he doesn’t truly believe it’s impossible. In fact, I think he’s frightened by the thought. “Are the originals still in my room?”

Together, we run back to his room. The notebook is on his bureau, right where it’s supposed to be. My dad flips through it, like he’s looking for some sign it’s been tampered with. His features tighten like they do when he’s trying to remember something. I think he’s realizing that he can’t trust himself, that the Mogadorians could’ve done something to him.

He turns to me with a grim look on his face. “If my notes have gotten into Mogadorian hands, we have to assume this place is compromised. You should arm yourself, Sam. Sarah too.”

“What about you?” I ask, my stomach turning over.

“I—I can’t be trusted,” he stammers. “You should lock me in here, until the Garde return.”

“There has to be another explanation,” I say, my voice cracking. I’m not sure if I really believe that or if I just want it to be true.

“I don’t remember leaving,” he says. “But I suppose my memory isn’t worth much, at this point.”

He drops heavily onto the bed in his room. He folds his hands in his lap and stares down at them. He looks defeated somehow, undermined by both his mind and his son.

I start towards the door. “Look, I’m going to go get Sarah and some guns. But I’m not going to lock you in here. Just stay here, okay?”

“Wait.” He stops me, holding up a hand. “What is that?”

I hear it too. A low rumbling sound, coming from the drawer of his nightstand. I get there first, flinging open the drawer.

It’s the phone he was using to communicate with Adam. The screen is lit up, a phone call coming in from a blocked number. In the corner of the screen, I see that the phone has nineteen missed calls. I hold it up to my father. His face lights up, but I feel increasingly nervous. Too much is happening all at once. It feels like the walls are closing in on me.

I hit the button and press the phone to my ear, my voice shaky. “Hello?”

“Malcolm!” the breathless voice on the phone shouts. “Where have you been?!”

“This is Sam,” I correct, a feeling of dread rising in my stomach as I recognize the voice. “Adam, is that you?”

My dad jumps up and squeezes my shoulders, excited that Adam is still alive. I wish I could feel relieved, but the way he sounds on the phone, it’s like more bad news is on the way.

“Sam? Sam! Where’s your father?”

“He’s—”

“Never mind! It doesn’t matter!” he shouts. “Listen to me, Sam. You’re in Chicago, right? The John Hancock Center?”

“How—how did you know that?”

“They know, Sam!” Adam yells. “They know and they’re coming for you!”