Into You (Part 8)
Created | Updated Nov 15, 2020
Into You (Part 8)
'So… No idea where it came from?'
'Nope,' I tell him.
'Just something that 'appeared' in your yard?' He holds his chin with his free hand as I nod. 'And it seems to be 'alive'…' Arlo taps the side of the jar and the blob of stuff responds by sending out a pseudopod to do likewise, on the inside of the container. 'Holy sh…' He stands up straight and holds the mason jar at arm's length. 'This thing… Okay, I've got to study it.'
He rises up on his toes, making him the tallest person in the room by far, and scans the lab. Grimacing, he makes his way to the far wall, both of us dogging his heels and crowding behind him. There's a variety of equipment set atop the counters and workstations; containers of various sizes and volumes; a few hand tools for 'persuasion' and many others for detailed 'finesse' work. Computer terminals abound atop the work surfaces, some obviously dedicated solely to the machines they're attached to, others for data entry and information storage.
'What're you gonna do with that thing,' asks Gerald. He's trying to crane over Arlo's shoulder to see what he's doing, but—even flat-footed—Arlo is half a head taller than Gerald.
'I'm going to perform some 'non-destructive testing',' states Arlo, and turns sideways so Gerald can see. I push in on his other side, insinuating myself against the counter and peering around his back. He's got the metal lid screwed off and is prying the hermetic seal lid up with his fingernail.
'NoWait!' I shout, but it's too late. The brass disc releases from the lip of the jar, tumbling end-over-end to land on the table, clattering on its top with the brick-red rubber gasket showing, winding down its imparted kinetic energy like a tossed coin. Arlo looks at me, into my wide eyes, then glances down as the blob launches itself out of the jar to land on the back of his hand.
'Hey!' yells Arlo.
'What…?' asks Gerald.
'No-no-no!' I stammer, knowing what happened to me.
'hey-Hey-HEY!' The inky intruder slithers up under Arlo's lab coat cuff, and he slaps the length of his arm with his left hand, punctuating his cries of terror. 'Get it off me! Get! It! Off!'
I'm dithering, wondering what to do, but Gerald closes the gap between himself and his friend.
'Where is it?' he shouts.
'Arm! Shoulder! onmyback!' Arlo squirms and wriggles, looking like the worst dancer ever.
'Unbutton! Quick!' Gerald grabs the shoulders of Arlo's lab coat as his fingers flick a couple buttons through their holes. Gerald physically rips the coat off Arlo, jettisoning the last few buttons to carom off the counter and spin on the floor. As the blue lab coat peels away from Arlo's back, revealing a light blue shirt with white graph paper cross-hatching, Gerald barks, 'I don't see it! It's not on your shirt! Is it—'
'It's under! Crawling down my spine! GetItGetItGetIt!' Arlo is practically berserk, weaving back-and-forth, scrabbling awkwardly at his back.
'Same with your shirt, Arlo! BUTTONS!' He only manages to undo the top one before Gerald reaches around him and tears the shirt from him, knocking off his glasses. More tiny ivory discs fly in odd trajectories, while Arlo twists and tries to slither out of the sleeves. His pale back is exposed to the waist, the shirt flopping loose over the back of his pants. 'Don't see it! Do you still feel—'
'Backofmylegs!' screams Arlo, and starts unbuckling his belt. He fumbles with it for a second and gets his zipper all the way down before he realizes I'm standing there, agape at the fact he's disrobing in my presence. 'Hideyoureyes!' he demands of me.
I turn away, trying not to indulge my curiosity, and all I can do is imagine the events as I hear them. Arlo grunts, then there's the sound of material bunching up and a belt buckle hitting the floor. My mind reconstructs the image of Mace coming home, in an amorous mood, pulling me to the bedroom, and that would be the first sound of many. Arlo curses, peeved he forgot to take off his shoes beforehand. They must be loafers, because I hear one thunk, then a second, as he adjures Gerald to help him keep his balance. There's the snap of a waistband—several times—and then the room grows quiet.
Gerald breaks the silence by mumbling, 'I don't see it, do you?'
'No,' croaks Arlo.
I turn around and he's is in his skivvies—briefs, not boxers—and dark socks. The only other thing he's wearing is his identi-badge. He crouches down and retrieves his glasses from the floor. He keeps his back to me as he raises his arms over his head and demands, 'Look again! I felt it! I damn well felt it…'
Gerald does a full three-sixty walk around, scanning Arlo from top to bottom. He shakes his head and confirms, 'There's nothing on you, my friend. Maybe—'
'It's not in the jar, is it? And it's not on me, right? Then it has to be in the lab. Start looking!' He quivers and wraps his arms around his chest. As Gerald gets down on hands-and-knees, Arlo looks over his shoulder and insists, 'We need three sets of eyes! Lynne, you've got to help search!'
He shudders, then snatches his shirt from the counter where Gerald had tossed it. Crouching down, scanning the baseboards and the overhang of the counters, he picks up his pants. He backs past me and points to an area for me to begin my search, and I can hear him slipping his pants on, one leg at a time. The faint clink of the prong against the frame registers with me, then I hear him come up beside me.
'Lynne… Gerald…' We both turn to him. He looks disheveled, frightened. His graph paper blue shirt hangs open around his slender frame, dangling outside his pants. 'If it's in here, we've got to find it. I can't… I won't stay in here… not if it's still loose and slinking around…' His eyes are distant, and I suppose he's thinking how that might go, if he was in here—alone—with the blobby being.
We spend almost an hour scouring the lab. We check all the low-lying areas where a small critter might choose to hide. We move rolling carts, small side tables, chairs, and scoot forward any small cabinets to look behind them. We turn over all the items on every flat surface, checking to see if it ducked underneath something. We exhaust every possibility and end up staring at each other in perplexity.
