James Patterson - Dangerous Days of Daniel X

“There you are, Daniel,” she said. “How would you like your eggs, sweetie?”

What? I thought, following her inside. How could Mom appear when I hadn’t actively created her? That hadn’t happened before. Suddenly I was a little nervous that maybe Seth was controlling my mind-and her. He’d already shown me what he could do through the telephone.

I decided I better do a little security check here, but if this wasn’t my mom, I knew I’d start screaming. “What’s Dad’s name?” I asked.

She tilted her head my way. “Graff. Sometimes it’s Harold Hopper. One time it was Robert Zimmerman. Do I pass?”

“You pass, Mom.”

A plate was set for me on the kitchen island. It was piled high: bacon, on top of eggs, on top of hash browns, on top of pancakes. I could feel my mouth water as my mom poured warm maple syrup all over everything.

Breakfast in the afternoon was definitely breakfast my way!

HEY, WHO CARES how she got here? I decided as I clutched a knife and fork and dug in.

Besides, these were definitely my mom’s pancakes-no one else could whip ’em up like her-not even Seth, I was certain.

“What’s that all about?” my mom said as I mopped up the last bit of syrup. She was referring to my ripped-up face plus the recent addition of a large, jagged cut on my elbow.

“This little scratch? This little nothing? C’mon. I’m an Alien Hunter.”

She wasn’t having any of it. “Okay, upstairs. March!” she said. “Hut, one, two…”

I sat on the edge of the tub with my eyes closed as she peroxided and bacitracined and bandaged my arm. I finally told her what was going on. The news about Phoebe’s sister. The attack in the school parking lot. How I’d gotten away.

She shook her head. “Elephant turds? Daniel, that is completely beneath you.”

I stared at her with an exaggerated expression of outrage-until she finally grinned. “Okay, okay. Beneath you and more than a little funny,” she said, ruffling my hair. “You and your elephants.”

Finally I had to ask Mom if she knew how she’d gotten into the house without my help.

She shook her head. “Maybe your subconscious called me. Perhaps you’re worried, Daniel, as you should be. I pray that you’re ready for Number 6, son.”

I looked into her eyes. “Mom, who do you pray to?”

“I just pray, Daniel. That’s all.”

PHOEBE HAD CALLED me on my cell and asked to meet at the coffee place on South Brand Boulevard a couple of ticks past three. I waved her over to the club chairs I’d snagged next to the fireplace. Be still, my heart.

“First off, I want to apologize,” Phoebe said, putting down her bag. “I totally lost it with you this morning. It isn’t fair for me to dump my family troubles on you. Forget I said anything, okay? I…”

I took Phoebe’s hand and squeezed gently as I stared into her blue eyes. My mouth was going dry again. Was that because I wanted to kiss her more than anything I’d ever wanted before?

“Look,” I said. “I wouldn’t stop helping if you told me to. We’re going to find your sister. Somehow.”

She squeezed back, a sign of thanks. Then she produced a manila folder from her bag and dropped it on the table.

“That’s the police file on my sister’s case. My folks don’t know I have it.”

I read through Allison’s missing persons file in a couple of seconds. There had been no witnesses. No sign of suspicious vehicles. No nothing.

Allison had gone out to play at around one in the afternoon. When her mother checked on her, she was simply and inexplicably gone. And she had not been heard from again.

My instincts told me that it had something to do with Seth. Did I mention there’s an active slave market for human children? Every single day kids are lifted off this planet. That’s the truth. They’re used for labor, and by some alien species- hurl alert -as pets.

I wanted to tell Phoebe what I knew, but I couldn’t get the words out. Besides, I had no urge to sound completely demented and deranged.

On the last page of the police file was a list of names and addresses. Someone had typed “Potential Pattern” and “Awaiting GP” across its top. For the next twenty minutes or so, we Googled the names on Phoebe’s laptop through the coffee shop’s Wi-Fi.

There was a pattern at least. The kids had been taken mostly from Simi Valley, Beverly Hills, and Culver City. The abductions made an almost perfect connect-the-dots circle with Malibu at its direct center.

Malibu , I thought. Where Seth was supposed to live. Was that where Phoebe’s sister was now?

Malibu ? I thought, finishing my coffee.

The outer reaches of the Andromeda galaxy?

Either-or.

I GAVE PHOEBE a kind of brotherly hug before she stood to leave. I wanted to try to comfort her and, what the heck, just, you know, hug her. I couldn’t believe how good she smelled. Her hair, everything. Like a garden I’d visited once in the French countryside. Yep, that good.

“We’re going to find Allison,” I whispered before she broke away. “I promise, Phoebe.”

As I watched her leave, I tried to convince myself that I actually would find her sister, rescue her from whatever, and bring her back safely to the Cook family.

I can do that, I thought to myself. Or I don’t deserve to have The List, do I.

Outside the coffee shop, it was California perfect. Room temperature, no wind, a tangerine sunset in the cloudless sky. As I walked home, I hoped Phoebe’s sister was still around to see it.

I was lost in deep thought when I reached out to open the wrought iron gate in front of my house.

Hey, wait a second! Hold up! This house doesn’t have a wrought iron gate!

I double-checked the address. There was no mistake. I couldn’t believe it.

My house wasn’t there anymore!

I stood and stared at rows of headstones, stone angels, weather-beaten tilted crosses. Worse, I could smell the rotting dead all around me.

It was Seth! He’d turned my house into a cemetery.

Not a cutesy, grammar-school, Halloween-decorated-gym kind of cemetery either. We’re talking a heart-bursting, run-for-your-life, Night of the Living Dead -style boneyard.

The worst of it was a Greek temple-sized granite mausoleum with DANIEL carved above Doric columns. Just in case I didn’t get the message. Seth was off-the-chart powerful.

I looked up and down the street to see if any of my neighbors were walking around. The place seemed deserted. How long had the house been a graveyard? I needed to change it back, but how? I’d transformed things before, but I’d never reversed somebody else’s transformation. Could I actually do that? I had no idea.

Only one way to find out. I cleared my head and closed my eyes. Then I pictured the rental property the way it used to look, in extremely vivid and precise detail. I concentrated on the image from the past.

Seconds later, I popped open my eyes.

I winced and groaned out loud. The cemetery was gone, but the building I’d created was a replica of the one I’d lived in when I was in Portland. Worse, the two cops from the Runaway Juvenile Unit were standing outside. They called out, “Daniel! C’mere, Daniel! We want to talk to you, buddy. Where’s your crazy mom and dad?”

I clamped my eyes shut, concentrated, and tried again. Very slowly, I opened my eyes.

Yes! It had worked. The house was back to normal, at least it looked that way. Just a little reorganization of atoms and molecules, that’s all.