AUTHOR: Jason P. Bodine
E-MAIL:
TITLE: Beneath the Shattered Starlight
CHAPTER: "The Girl the World Forgot"
SYNOPSIS: Seventeen years before "The First Time," Skip Stetson and Amanda West race the clock to stop a killer and foil a government plot.
ARCHIVE: Yes! Definitely!
COMMENTS: Sorry about the long wait between chapters!
DISCLAIMER: Scarecrow and Mrs King and its characters don't belong to me. I'm just borrowing them for a little while.
BENEATH THE SHATTERED STARLIGHT
A "Scarecrow and Mrs. King" Story
by
Jason P. Bodine
CHAPTER 2: THE GIRL THE WORLD FORGOT
Skip threw back into his seat with a heavy sigh. He was not happy, and he didn't care who knew it. "I hate this!" he said to the uniformed man in the seat next to him. "It just isn't right, Colonel!"
"What isn't right, Skip?" Colonel Robert Clayton asked. "Me doing my duty as a military officer? Or you having to leave with me when you just met that girl? The United States government does not revolve around lovesick teenagers, Skip. We go when Uncle Sam says 'go' and we don't ask any questions. There will be other girls. There always are."
Skip glared at his uncle. "You just don't get it do you, Colonel?! I don't want there to be other girls. Not this time! This is the first one in a long time that I've really connected with."
Colonel Clayton sighed. "Skip, you are sixteen years old. Sixteen! You are not old enough to feel that way about anybody."
Skip scoffed. "Then how come I do, huh?! Look, Colonel. I don't feel right leaving. But it isn't just because of Amanda West."
The Colonel took a flask of brandy from his jacket pocket and poured himself a glass. Sipping it, he said "What else is bothering you, son? Tell me."
Skip's mood lightened -- a little -- as he looked his uncle in the eyes. "Sir, we left in the middle of a murder investigation, and I'm a witness. You should have left me on the base with Barney. I should be there. And besides, that French maniac is still out there! What if he goes after Amanda?"
Skip's uncle put his glass down and placed a fatherly hand on his nephew's shoulder. "I'm sure the police are protecting her, son. Look, if they need you for the trial, I'm sure we can find some way to get you back to D.C. Without leaking any classified details of my mission. Don't worry, Skip! Okay?"
Skip sighed. "I guess so."
"Excuse me," Sergeant William Hawkins' deep voice said, startling both of them, "We're ready for you now, sir."
"Of course, Sergeant." Colonel Clayton said after a moment to the young officer the voice belonged to. He rose from his seat and, almost as an afterthought, turned back to Skip. "You ok, son?"
"Yeah," the teenager said with the most reassuring smile he could muster. "Go ahead, sir. I'll be fine."
His uncle nodded and turned to follow the bearded officer through a door at the rear of the plane that was guarded by two stone-faced soldiers. When they were gone, Skip reached into his suitcase and brought out a copy of "The Spy Who Loved Me," by Ian Fleming and opened it, trying not to notice the soldiers at the back of the cabin.
He was two pages into the book when the sound of a ruckus brought him out of the world of James Bond and Miss Moneypenny. Skip bookmarked the page and checked out his surroundings. Something was not right. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb-Dumb were gone from there posts. Nothing short of a nuclear blast would have made that happen. And even then, they'd get authorization from their superiors first.
He tried to return to the story, but his curiousity got the better of him. He set the book in his seat and crept as quietly as he could to the red-curtained door his uncle had disappeared through. Hoping nobody would notice, he cracked the curtains open ever-so-slightly and peered in.
Colonel Robert Clayton sat in a padded red chair at the center of the plane's small back room. On either side of him stood Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb-Dumb. One held a gun to the colonel's head while the other strapped him into the chair and rolled up one of his uniform sleeves. Sergeant Hawkins stood behind a small lab table, filling a syringe with a clear blue liquid.
"What in the hell is going on here, Bill?" the colonel demanded. "You have about ten seconds to explain yourself, or--"
"In ten seconds, Colonel," Hawkins interrupted him, "you won't remember enough about this to carry out any threats. No secret mission. No Amanda West. No Pierre Gaston. No Mitzi Johnson. Just a nice couple of weeks in Waikiki with your boy out there, sunning with the local wahinis."
"What are you blathering on about, Bill? What is this-this shit, and what the hell is going on here? I have a right to know, damn it!"
Hawkins sighed. "Oh, what the hell. You won't remember it, anyway. This 'shit' is Hypnosium--an experimental drug that suppresses a subject's memories and leaves him suggestible to anything we tell him. This is the concentrated form. Tomorrow morning, at 0900, a more diluted form will be sprayed over Arlington. No one will remember a thing about Mitzi Johnson's unfortunate passing."
"But why? Why would you want to protect that monster?"
"Pierre Gaston is the result of a Soviet experiment called 'Project Kasparov'--a genetically altered freak of nature designed to infiltrate a culture, blend in, and kill on command. They lost control of him, as you saw tonight."
"That doesn't answer my question."
Hawkins groaned, impatient. "Colonel, you're a smart enough man. I thought you would have figured it out. If Arlington remembers the girl's murder, Gaston's face will be all over the news! The Kremlin will know its dirty little secret has been exposed, and we'll have to activate our own counterpart, 'Odysseus,' ahead of schedule. In short, sir, if Mitzi Johnson isn't forgotten, we'll be looking at another World War."
"You're nuts, Bill! A freaking loon! Now let me out of this thing, or--AHHH!!!" The needle pricked his arm. Five seconds later, Colonel Clayton slumped over, unconscious.
Oh my God, Skip thought, Amanda! He had to get to Amanda before it was too late and--somehow--stop these yahoos from erasing Arlington's memory of Mitzi Johnson. The girl may have been a total bitch, but nobody deserved to die like that and be forgotten. Not even her!
Panicked, but as quickly and quietly as he could, Skip rummaged through the cabin until he found a parachute. He fastened himself into it and kicked at the door until it gave way, and jumped.
The plane lurched with sudden violence as the cabin pressure dropped. "What the hell--" Hawkins shouted to be heard over the sound of rushing air. "Check it out!"
The two soldiers disappeared behind the red curtain. A second later, one reappeared. "The kid's gone, sir," he said. "Looks like he found a parachute and took a header out the exit hatch. Should we go after him, sir?"
Hawkins thought for a moment before replying. "No," he said. "Even if Stetson survives the jump, it won't matter in a few hours, anyway."
"What do you mean he got away, Sergeant?!" General George H. Johnson shouted into the phone in his private study.
"He stole a parachute and jumped, sir," the man on the other end of the line explained. "But even if he survived--"
"IF, Sergeant Hawkins?! Let me explain something to you. Skip Stetson may only be sixteen years old, but he's trained with some of the finest paratroopers the Air Force has to offer. He survived. And it's a damned problem!"
"Yes, sir. But not for long. Once we spray the city, he won't remember a thing."
"What if he leaves Arlington, Hawkins? What if he goes to D.C. and tells one of his uncle's bigwig friends all about it? Did you ever think about that, Hawkins?! Did you?! I have given fifteen years of my life--and my own daughter--to this project, Hawkins! Do you understand that? Look, he was pretty taken with that West girl. He's probably going to see her, first. Just make sure they don't get out of Arlington before 9a.m. I'll take care of Mitzi's body."
"Yes sir, General."
"Oh, and Hawkins?"
"Yes, General?"
"Catch Gaston before somebody else dies. I don't want to do anymore cleanup than we have to. And never call me on this line again!"
Amanda woke from a fitful sleep to the sound of a gentle tapping at her window. A little groggy, she didn't notice the sound at first, and checked the clock by her bed: 3:30a.m.
"Amanda!" a voice whispered. "Amanda, let me in! This trellis isn't exactly steady!"
Startled and scared, Amanda gripped a nearby porcelain vase like a hammer. "Who's there?" she answered the voice. "Pierre, is that you? Because if it is, I'm calling the police!"
A handsome face popped into view. Amanda sighed with joy and relief. Skip! "Amanda," he said, "It's me! Can I come in, please?"
She moved to the window and opened it. "Shh! Quiet!" she said as she helped him inside. "If they hear you, you'll be facing the business end of a shotgun in about two seconds flat."
Skip noticed the vase still in Amanda's iron grip. "Planning on braining me for not giving you my phone number before I left?"
Amanda sighed. "Sorry," she said. "I thought you were Pierre." She set the vase down on her dresser and turned on the antique lamp next to it. "What are you doing here? I thought you were on a plane, halfway to who-knows-where by now?"
Skip relayed his tale from beginning to end. "So now, I've got to get to D.C. before nine o'clock and warn some of my uncle's government friends before Pierre can kill again and whoever is in on this conspiracy can gas the town and cover it all up."
"Oh my gosh!" Amanda said when he was done, and hugged him. Noting his appearance, she added, "Are you all right? You look pretty banged up!"
Skip shrugged. "Just a scratch. Rough landing. Look, Amanda, I just stopped by to warn you to get out of town. Get as far away from Arlington as you can. Tonight." He leaned in to kiss her. She backed away.
"I'm going with you," she said.
"Amanda. No. It's too dangerous. They've got men after me, by now. I can't risk--"
"I'm going with you."
"Men with guns, Amanda. Big guns."
"I know. And it scares me. But I'm going with you."
"All right," he said at last. "Grab a change of clothes. You can change on the way." When she didn't move right away, he said, "Do you want to meet with Congressmen and Generals in your nightgown?"
"Uh, right." Amanda grabbed for the nearest article of clothing--her prom dress--kissed Skip gently, and followed him out the window.
DING-DONG!
"Hold on!" Dotty shouted at the doorbell as she pulled her robe on over her pajamas. "Who in the hell rings a doorbell at this time of night?" she added under her breath and went down the stairs to answer the door.
Three young men in military dress stood on the other side. The one in the middle, a tall man with a neatly trimmed beard, greeted her with a smile that was pleasant, yet--Dotty thought--wolfish. "Mrs. West?" he asked.
"Yes?"
"I'm Sergeant Hawkins, with the United States Air Force. I'm sorry to bother you at this late hour, but we're wondering if you might have seen this young man?" As if responding to some unspoken signal, the man to his right produced a photograph and handed it to her.
"Yes," Dotty said, looking at it. "This looks like that boy--what was his name--Skip that brought my daughter, Amanda, home from the prom tonight. Why, is he in some sort of trouble?"
"Oh, no ma'am. Nothing like that. He just took off running when he and his uncle showed up at the airstrip--said he couldn't leave Arlington without seeing your daughter again. It has been over two hours, and the Colonel refuses to leave without him."
"Well, no. I haven't seen him since he dropped her off earlier tonight. I wish I could help you, but--"
"Dotty? What's going on down here? Do you know what time it is?!"
"Oh, Jack. These men are from the Air Force. They're looking for that nice young man who brought Amanda home tonight."
"Mr. West," Hawkins acknowledged. "May we speak with your daughter, sir?"
"My daughter is asleep. She has school in four hours. You most certainly may not!"
"It'll only take a moment."
"Oh, all right," Dotty said, "I'll get her."
She disappeared up the stairs and, a moment later, came running back down, screaming. "Jack! Call the police! She's gone! Amanda's gone!"
She huddled into her husband's shoulder, sobbing. "Calm down, honey," he said, "What do you mean 'she's gone?'"
"Her room! It's empty! The window is open, the light is on, but Amanda--and her prom dress--are gone!"
The three officers looked at each other with knowing glances. "Uh, thank you for your time, Mr. and Mrs. West," Hawkins said. "We've got to go. We'll keep an eye out for your daughter."
"Thank you, sir," Dotty said."We would really appreciate that!" She escorted them to the door and closed it behind them. "Call the police, Jack," she said as she watched them retreat into their car and drive off. "There's something about that Sergeant Hawkins I don't trust."
"Oh, Amanda! You look beautiful, but couldn't you have picked something a little less, well, flashy to wear?"
"Yeah, I know," Amanda answered. "But at least it isn't a flannel nightgown. Where are we going, anyway?"
"Mitzi's house, first. Her dad is a general in the Air Force. He might be able to help. If he can't, then he'll at least know what's happening."
"And if he can't help?"
"We'll go see Senator Mitchell in D.C. He's an old war buddy of the Colonel."
Amanda glanced in the passenger side mirror and noticed a car behind him. "Skip?"
"Yeah?"
"That car behind us. It looks awfully familiar, and it's been behind us for the past twenty miles."
Skip looked in the rearview mirror. "Yeah, you're right. Hey! What the hell?!" The powder-blue sedan behind them was gaining in speed, preparing to ram them. Skip swerved just in time to avoid it, landing them in a ditch, and caught a glimpse of the driver's face as he sped on by: Pierre Gaston!
"Pierre!" he said. "Amanda, are you all right?"
"Yeah. Nothing broken. I'm fine. You?"
"I'll live." He got out of the car and popped the hood. "Ahh!" he groaned after a few minutes, "This car isn't going anywhere!"
"What now?"
"I guess we have no choice but to hitch a ride."
Amanda sighed. "At 4:30 in the morning? Good luck!"
"Hey, man," Ephram Beaman said, taking another drag of his joint. "Check these cats out!" On up the road, a hot chick in a blue chiffon dress and a skinny little nerd dude stood next to the highway with their thumbs out. Off to the side were the remains of a '56 Impala.
"Should we help 'em out, man?" his friend, Freddy "Leatherneck" Borders said, taking another drag of his own roach.
"Why not? They look like cool dudes."
"Oh! Thank God!" Amanda said as a 1965 Volkswagen Bus painted in psychedelic swirls of red, green, yellow, and blue pulled to a stop.
"Can we help you cats?" The man in the passenger seat, a long-haired hippie in a tie-dyed T-shirt and a bandana said.
"Going near Prescott Avenue?" Skip asked?
"Sure. Hop on in."
The back door of the van slid open, releasing a cloud of marijuana smoke that made them cough. Amanda didn't seem so sure about it, but Skip nudged her inside.
"Hey, man," the hippie in the passenger seat said, "I'm Beaman and this here is my good buddy, Freddy. But you can call him Leatherneck. Everybody does."
"Pleased to meet you," Skip and Amanda said in unison.
"So," Leatherneck asked, "What happened to you cats? Get drunk at a party and run off the road?"
Skip started telling him their story. Amanda nudged him to keep quiet, but it was clear from the look on his face that he was already too stoned from the smoke to care. Hell, she was floating a little, herself!
"Whoa, little man," Leatherneck said when Skip finished. "That is some heavy shit! Tell you what. We'll take you wherever you need to go."
"Yeah, man. That's cool."
"That's quite a story, you two," General Johnson said. "Are you sure you're all right? Your eyes are a little bloodshot."
"Oh, yes sir. We're fine," Amanda said, resisting with all her might the urge to giggle at the giddy feeling the pot smoke had given her. "Everything he's telling you is the absolute, honest truth."
"I see. Excuse me a minute, will you?"
"Of course, sir," said Skip.
The general left the room, leaving the door cracked open a little as he went into the hall.
"Do you think he believed us, Skip?"
"I don't know. But I do know there's something really weird about this."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Did you notice how calm he was?"
"Yeah, so?"
"If I'd just lost my daughter and found out it was part of some plot, I'd be ready to put my foot up somebody's ass. Wouldn't you?"
"Yeah. That is strange!"
The sound of muffled voices came through the crack in the door. "Do you hear that?" Skip asked?
"What are they saying?"
Using all the instincts of his favorite fictional British agent, Skip opened the door a little more and stuck his head through, careful not to be noticed. The general was talking to someone whose face he couldn't see, but whose voice was unmistakable--Sergeant Hawkins!
"Call off the search, Sergeant," General Johnson was saying. "Stetson and West are in my office."
"Yes sir," Hawkins replied. "What about Gaston? Should we keep searching for him?"
"No need, Monsieur," a heavy French accent said, seemingly out of nowhere. "I am right here." Pierre Gaston stepped into view in all his gory glory. His expression was cold, soulless. His tuxedo was stained with blood.
"Gaston!" General Johnson said. "Where in the hell have you been?"
"Why, trying to complete my mission, of course, General."
The general poked at him accusingly. "Your mission failed when you killed Mitzi, you son of a bitch!"
Skip could stand to hear no more. His face was ghost white when he turned to Amanda. "We've got to get out of here. Now!"
"What's wrong?"
"Everything, that's what! Pierre isn't the result of some Russian experiment gone wrong! He's working for General Johnson! Oh God, Amanda! I don't believe this! He's out in the hall chatting with Pierre and Hawkins!"
"Oh, my gosh!"
Skip grabbed her hand and, without caring how much noise they made, bolted for the front door.
"Stop them!" General Johnson shouted as Skip and Amanda disappeared down the hall and out the front door.
Hawkins and Pierre chased after them, but were too late, as they got outside in time to see a psychedelic van burn rubber down the road.
"They are gone, General!" Pierre growled, frustrated. "Disappeared in a freaking hippie-mobile!"
"Well, follow it! They won't get far! I'll see to that." The two men ran out the door. Johnson picked up a phone and dialed. "Handley, General Johnson, here."
"So your general friend is one of the shmucks, huh?" Beaman said. "Man, that blows!"
"Yeah," Leatherneck agreed. "So, where to now, cats?"
"D.C." Skip answered. "We've got to see Senator Mitchell."
"You sure he's not in on it, little man?"
"God, we hope not," said Amanda.
"You cats want a roach?" Beaman asked?
Amanda shrugged. "Oh, what the hell? When in Rome..."
Skip looked at her, not sure whether to be shocked or turned on.
"What?" she said to the expression on his face. "It's not like this night could get any worse!"
"You're right about that," Skip conceded. "Pass a couple back here, guys!"
"All right!" Beaman said and passed them each a freshly rolled and lit joint.
Twenty minutes--and two joints--later, the van pulled to a screeching halt. "Oh, fuck!" Leatherneck said. "Hide the shit, little man! Hide the shit!"
"Whazzamatta, Leathuhneck?" Skip said, stoned out of his mind.
"Cops, man!" Beaman answered. "Everywhere! Military and civilian!"
"Sheeeeeeeee-it!" Amanda groaned.
Leatherneck tossed the stash to Skip, who tried frantically to find a place to hide it. Frustrated, he saw only one place that might work. "Amanda, I hate to ask you this, but..."
"Oh! Just give me those!" She took the two plastic baggies and stuffed them quickly down the front of her dress.
A tall man in a Military Police uniform apprached the driver's side window. "Step out of the car, sir," he said. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to search your vehicle."
"What for?"
"Nevermind what for, son. Just step out of the vehicle."
"Oh, man!" Leatherneck groaned as first he, then Beaman, were forced out of the van.
A second later, the back door slid open to reveal Hawkins' and Pierre's smiling faces. "Hello, mon amour," Pierre said, to Amanda. "Why did you run off like that, hmmm?"
"Well, well!" General Johnson said, tossing two baggies of marijuana on the table before which Skip and Amanda sat handcuffed to dining room chairs. "I'm glad you two had such a good time tonight! It really is too bad you won't remember it. Neither will anybody else in, oh, two hours."
"How could you do this, sir? Your own daughter!"
"Mitzi's death was an unfortunate mistake, Miss West. The real target was your boyfriend, here."
Skip looked up at him, silent, but visibly very shaken.
"That's right, Mr. Stetson," the general continued, "you were the target all along. Pierre's test run. There never was any Project Kasparov--only Odysseus! Pierre Gaston is Odysseus! When you left with Miss West, his training went--shall we say--a little haywire."
"Did my uncle--?"
"Know about this? No. I tricked him into getting you to take Mitzi to the prom." Hawkins and Pierre entered the dining room, each carrying a syringe full of blue liquid. "And now," the general said, "I'm afraid the time has come for you to go your separate ways and live with the new memories we'll prepare for you. Gentlemen?"
Pierre approached Amanda, a lusty gleam in his eyes. She cringed and kicked at him as he grabbed her roughly and kissed her. Skip tried to help her, to get that monster off of her, but stopped when he felt the cold tip of a needle at his neck.
"Oh no, Stetson," Hawkins said, menacingly. "You should have taken your medicine on the plane. Now you get to sit back and watch the consequences!"
Amanda bit into her assailant's lip, drawing blood. Pierre yelped in pain. "You want him, you little bitch?! Well, you can have him!" With all his might, the mad Frenchman kicked Amanda's chair, sending her across the floor to land with her head on Skip's knee.
"You bastard!" Skip screamed. "Leave her the hell alone! Why don't you come pick a fight with me?! Huh?! We all know how well that turned out the last time!"
Pierre roared and approached Skip, but was stopped cold by the sound of General Johnson's voice. "Stop playing and stick them!" he said.
"Goodbye, mon amour," Pierre said and stuck the needle into Amanda's shoulder. "You won't miss me, but I will sure miss you!" He pressed the plunger. Amanda yelped as the liquid burned its way into her veins. At that same moment, Skip felt a similar sensation as the needle at his neck pressed in.
"Skip," Amanda said, struggling to remain conscious, "I just want you to know I love you and I'll never forget..." She lost the battle and drooped to the floor. Skip had just enough time to grip her hand in his before he, too, succumbed.
"What the--OWWW!!!" Skip sat up in bed and gripped his head. It felt like somebody hit him with a sledgehammer.
"I told you the mai tais would knock you on your ass, Skip!" said the cute little blonde that walked into the room carrying a pot of coffee and a mug on a tray. "Here, I thought this might help." She poured him a cup.
He took the cup and sipped from it. "Thanks, uh--I'm sorry, I can't seem to remember your name."
"Wow! You really can't hold your liquor, can you? Name's Francine. Francine Desmond. This is my parents' beach house. You came to my party last night."
He noticed his state of dress--or lack thereof. "Did we...uh... Did we?"
Francine laughed. "Oh! No! No! Your clothes are being washed. You, uh, had an accident."
Skip checked his watch. "Uh-oh! Oh boy! The Colonel's gonna have my hide! We're supposed to go deep sea fishing today!"
"Owww! Mother, did you get the number of that boulder that fell on my head?"
"Oh, honey! You're awake! Jack! She's awake!"
Jack walked into the bedroom, gave his daughter a kiss on the cheek. "How ya feeling, honey?"
"Fine," Amanda said, slowly. "Why?"
"Sweetie, you've had a fever for three days! I told you not to go out in that cold weather without a jacket on!" Dotty gently chided her daughter and handed her a cup of hot herbal tea. "Here, drink this."
Amanda drank the tea and went downstairs with her parents. Like Skip, who was basking in the sun 8000 miles away and everyone else in town, she was blissfully unaware that anything had ever been amiss.
Jack flipped on the television set and sat down to watch the news. On the black and white screen, the anchor was saying, "And finally, this morning, police are looking for anyone who can provide clues to the identity of a young woman who was found outside Arlington in the earlier hours of this morning. Police say the body was burned beyond recognition, and her teeth knocked out. If anyone knows who this person is, or what may have happened to her, please call Arlington police at--"
Dotty switched off the television. "Stop watching that horrid story and come to breakfast, Jack," she said.
END OF CHAPTER TWO