Mr. and Mrs. Frensky hadn't heard such a squeal of intense delight from Francine's mouth since she was a toddler. Suspicious that she might be doing something illegal or immoral, they rose up from their afternoon nap, yawned in unison, and trudged toward the living room. Their little girl was on the couch, her feet elevated above her head, a telephone receiver pressed against her ear.
"That's just wonderful, Pokey!" she gushed. "I can't wait to show you around my apartment, and introduce you to my cat and all my friends. Do you like ice cream? There's this great place called the Sugar Bowl where we hang out after school. Oh, and I have this friend named Beatrice, and we all call her Beat, and she's really smart but she doesn't believe in anything, so I'm thinking you could have a one-on-one chat with her."
Pokey's voice, like the voice of an angel, uttered calm, authoritative words to her. "I look forward to meeting your friends," he said. "I've spoken to many Beatrices before—people who think nothing is of value unless it can be seen with the eyes and grasped with the hands. What they have to understand is that no matter how much knowledge they gain, they're still under sin and need the grace of God."
"Well, she seems happy enough," remarked Francine. "But she can't possibly be as happy as we are, since she doesn't know what we know."
Mrs. Frensky looked aside at her husband, whose face was turning a bright shade of red. She glanced upward at the drywall patch over the hole in the ceiling and thought, Here we go again.
"I'll have to clear my visit with your parents," said Pokey over the phone line.
"Not a problem," said Francine, grinning. "I mean, you're the guy who rescued me from the kidnapper. What reason do they have to not like you?"
"Did you hear that, Oliver?" said Mrs. Frensky to her seething spouse. "Frankie's hero is coming to see us." With more than a hint of uncertainty she added, "Isn't that nice?"
Francine lowered the receiver. "Is it okay, Mom? Dad?" she asked hopefully. "Can Pokey visit us?"
Mr. Frensky closed his eyes and mouthed the numbers one through ten. As the redness drained from his cheeks, he said placidly, "I'd like to talk to Mr. Polk."
"Okay," said Francine, seizing the phone once again. "Here's my dad, Pokey."
Her mother let out a sigh of relief as her father reached for the receiver. Maybe he won't need that anger management course after all, she thought.
Mr. Frensky spoke with aplomb. "I'm Francine's father," he told Pokey. "Tell me, when are you planning to be in Elwood City?"
"On Saturday," the man replied. "I hope I'm not imposing."
"Not at all," said Mr. Frensky. "We'd love to have you. However, there is one condition."
Francine and her mother gaped, uncertain of what they would hear.
"What condition is that?" asked Pokey.
Mr. Frensky drew a deep breath. "Like I said," he went on, "I'm Francine's father. I'm the man who should be influencing the path of her life—not you, Mr. Polk."
"It was never my intention to…" Pokey started to say.
"We have a situation here," said Mr. Frensky with growing menace in his voice. "Just because you happened to be in the right place at the right time, my daughter now looks up to you as a heroic figure. She wants to walk like you, talk like you, eat like you, listen to your music, and worst of all, join your religion."
"I'm sorry if that offends you," said Pokey contritely, "but…"
"Offends me?" snapped Mr. Frensky. "Mr. Polk, my daughter means the world to me, and I'll be damned if I let a nobody like you steal away the love and respect she should rightfully feel for her father. So you can come to Elwood City, and you can even enter our home…but the minute you do, you and I are going to have it out."
His wife gasped in horror. "Oliver!" she exclaimed.
"Mom," said Francine meekly, "is he saying what I think he's saying?"
Pokey's voice was now filled with incredulous indignation. "You can't be serious, Mr. Frensky. Fisticuffs never resolved anything. There are other, more civilized ways to settle our differences."
"If I were a smart man, I'd look for one," said the angry father. "So, will you take me on in a fair fight, or would you rather crawl away and hide, and show my daughter what a poor excuse for a hero you really are?"
His face became flushed again as he awaited Pokey's response. "I don't want to hurt you, Mr. Frensky," he finally heard. "And trust me, I'm very capable of hurting you. I don't like to boast, but while I was in prison, I killed a man with my bare hands."
Pokey's claim sent a shock through his heart, but it was quickly forgotten. "Saturday it is, then," he said cockily. "And after I've ground you to a pulp, my wife will treat you to a bowl of her famous matzoh balls."
After a tense silence, Pokey said, "May I talk to Francine now?"
Without another word, Mr. Frensky passed the phone to his daughter, who lay back on the couch and began to speak. "I'm sorry my dad was so rude to you, Pokey. So…are you gonna fight him or not?"
"I don't know," was the reply. "It's not the Christian thing to do, but then again, he did call my honor into question."
Jenny gazed up at the crystalline ceiling of the cell in which she was being held. Unaccustomed to Earth's rotation, she had no idea if it was day or night on the surface. She also had no idea how long she would remain a prisoner of the strange horned people, only two of which she had seen in person. I miss George and Sal, she thought as she rested on the hard platform. I miss pizza and ice cream. Most of all, I miss the attention I get for being an alien.
The metal door made a sound like creaking pulleys as it slid open. Into the dark cell strode Guida von Horstein, having eschewed her blue robe in favor of a white silk dress with a knee-length skirt. "Good news, Jenny," she said cheerfully. "You're free. We're letting you go." In one hand she gripped an unseen object that emitted an eerie glow through the cracks between her fingers.
"So that's it," said Jenny, sitting up wearily. "Not even an apology."
"What would be the point?" said Mrs. von Horstein, her smile unbroken. "However, I do have a lovely parting gift for you."
The unicorn woman opened her hand, and Jenny laid her eyes on a marvelous bauble. The sphere, roughly the size of a golf ball, was surrounded by a pale green aura from which she had difficulty looking away. "It is lovely," she said, astonished to the point that she seemed to speak with four voices instead of the usual three.
"It's also extremely valuable," Guida assured her. "Think of it as compensation."
Jenny picked up the sphere and cradled it in her slender fingers. "It must be worth millions of Earth dollars," she remarked. "You're not trying to bribe me into joining your cause, are you?"
"Again, what would be the point?" said the unicorn. "When the time comes, you'll join our cause because you know it's the right thing to do."
The image of Muffy's face on the front of her dress faded and disappeared as she pulled it over her head. Once changed into her nightgown, she climbed under the comforter and awaited her mother's attention.
"Sleep tight, Muffin," said Mrs. Crosswire lovingly. As she lifted the covers to hide Muffy's neck, she noticed her daughter's glum look. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"
Muffy sighed plaintively. "I've been wondering about a lot of things, Mommy," she stated. "Why am I me, instead of somebody else? And what the heck does 'sleep tight' mean?"
Her mother chuckled quietly. "I honestly don't know what it means," was her answer. "But the first question's easy. If you were somebody else, then somebody else would be you, so you would still be you."
"Thanks, Mommy," said Muffy a bit grudgingly as she closed her eyes.
Yet her scowl was still present. "I'm sorry, Muffin," said Mrs. Crosswire in an attempt to console her. "If we could afford to help Mavis, we would, but your father's business isn't bringing in as much money as it did before."
"That's just great, Mom," said Muffy bitterly. "But what if I was Mavis? What if I was going blind, and needed surgery, but no one could help me, because no one was rich enough?"
Her mother's response was to tenderly stroke her unbraided hair. "You'll only lose sleep if you worry about such things. You're not Mavis, and you're not going blind. Good night, Muffin."
She straightened up and extinguished the light, but as she was leaving the bedroom, Muffy's earnest voice stopped her. "You know, Mom," said the girl, "if I could help Mavis by giving up my space dress, I think I'd do it."
"That's nice, dear," said Mrs. Crosswire.
The room became silent and dark. Yeah, I'd totally do it, thought Muffy as sleep began to overwhelm her. That's just the kind of person I am.
The blindfold was removed from Jenny's eyes, and she found herself in the moonlight, surrounded by yellow-leaved chestnut trees. I'm lost, and I'm up way past my bedtime, she thought, glancing this way and that for a sign of anything familiar.
She could make out the lights of a neighborhood in the distance, so she began to walk in their direction, all the while caressing the mysterious, shiny bauble in her hand. After only half a dozen steps, she heard a noise that was very close and very disturbing—the sound of a revolver being cocked.
She froze in mid-step. To her left stood Raymond Mansch, his arm rigid, the gun in his hand pointed squarely at her artichoke-shaped head.
"Hand over the sphere," he ordered.
To be continued