“Dr. Lautner! You have a call on line three. Dr. Lautner! You have a call on line three,” a voice calls over the loudspeaker before it cuts off.
Lex, masquerading as Solora Brighton, walks casually down the halls of the science building.
Every once in a while, she passes by a doctor, a janitor, or an orderly. Each time, she flashes the passerby a winning smile. Rounding a corner, Lex nearly plows into the back of an extremely large man wearing a bright-white lab coat. The man is flanked on either side by two other men. He turns to see who has brushed him. His eyes brighten when he lays eyes on Lex, appraising her feminine form.
“Solora! When did you get back?” the large man says.
“Uh…Today. Just now…In fact.”
The man gives Lex a bewildered look.
“Are you feeling okay? Your voice sounds…Funny. Coming down with one of those weird bugs? I told you Florida was a better choice. Not so many mosquitos.”
“Yeah. I haven’t been feeling too hot. I’m just gonna go to my office and try to get some work done.”
“Your office? Your office isn’t on the Fourth Floor,” the large man says.
“I know,” Lex says, trying to think of a good reason why she is on the completely wrong floor. “I’m taking a walk. Trying to stay in shape. Sweat out whatever’s ailing me. You know how that goes. Pain is weakness leaving the body.”
The two men beside the bigger man chuckle at Lex’s joke. The large man simply crinkles his nose and shakes his head.
“Whatever you say,” the man says.
“Uhmmm,” Lex mutters. “See you later.”
As she strolls past the big man, he places a hand on his hip.
“What? Not even a kiss?”
A soft grunt beside Lex causes her to freeze in place. Scorvo. Turning to face the large man, Lex offers him a sickly sweet smile.
“Like I said, I’m not feeling too hot. I don’t want to pass around something that might be infectious.”
“Since when has that mattered? We were like a couple of wildcats the week you had the flu.”
The large man’s two friends roar with laughter and slap him on the back. He opens his arms wide, waiting for an embrace. Lex glances to her left, drawing her lips together. She slowly advances on the big man, her mouth growing dry. When Lex is within reach, the large man draws her into a tight hug. He presses his mouth into the flesh of her neck before drawing her partially away and kissing her fiercely on the lips.
Lex briefly glimpses a name badge which reads: Dr. William Anthony. She shuts both eyes and says the name over and over again in her head. Oh god, but the man is a good kisser.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
When Dr. Anthony finally releases her, Lex readjusts her clothes and tries to appear unflustered. She offers him another overly sweet smile.
“Satisfied? Can I go now?” Fake Solora says.
“Sure. But don’t forget who you’re coming home to tonight?”
Catcalls and whistles from William’s two cohorts. Lex offers all of the men in attendance a strained smile. Inside, she wants to hurl chunks.
“Of course not!” Lex says, and turns on her heels.
When she is around the corner, Lex sticks a finger in her mouth and mimes gagging. Scorvo’s deep disembodied voice floats to her ears.
“Are you alright, Alexa?”
“No!” Lex says in a deep growl.
“Should I kill the ooman?” Scorvo asks, not a hint of irony in his voice.
Lex’s eyes grow wide and she almost forgets that she is supposed to be traveling the corridor alone. Whirling and striking Scorvo might not be the best move. She keeps her voice low, talking out of one side of her mouth.
“No. Of course not.”
“Then…Did you want the large ooman to kiss you?”
“Of course not. What do you think I am? But I’m supposed to be Solora Brighton. If Solora suddenly acts cold towards her doting boyfriend…While on the wrong floor…Sporting a much smaller rack and a strange sounding voice? People might get a little suspicious.”
“That is true,” Scorvo says.
“Thank you. I’m glad we’re in agreement.”
“I do not believe Scar would approve of the ooman’s advances. My cha’l brother would deal with him harshly.”
“But you’re not going to tell him,” Lex growls, menace in her voice.
“I won’t have to.”
“What do you mean by that?” Lex demands.
A couple of researchers pass by the imposter Solora and the invisible Scorvo. One man offers Lex a head nod and continues on his way. The other man steps into an office on the left and shuts the door. Lex appeals to Scorvo again.
“What did you mean…You won’t have to?”
“You’ll see,” Scorvo says with a soft chortle.
-
-
Graystone National Park
“That’s the last of them,” Felicia Thomas exclaims.
The expert closes her specimen kit and offers Detective Mackey a pleasant smile.
“I’ll have the casts made in a few hours…The DNA analysis may take a little longer. The report will be on your desk as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, Felicia,” the detective says.
Felicia heads for her Crown Victoria. Deputy Newsome watches her leave with acute interest.
“I’ll say one thing. That woman is good at what she does.”
Detective Mackey rolls his eyes heavenward and uses the palm of his right hand to smack Deputy Newsome lightly on the back of the head.
“What the hell?” Newsome grumbles.
“Come on, lover boy. Let’s go check out that spot near the river. Come on.”
-
-
“Someone definitely fell in here,” Detective Mackey says.
The detective is perched on the edge of the tree overhanging the river.
“And these gouges…In the bark. They look like they were made by some kind of claws or talons. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were made by our mystery creature. Your Bigfoot.”
“He ain’t my Bigfoot. But…I’ve heard stories about Bigfoots carrying people off. Mostly women. But who’s to say they won’t carry off a grown man? If they have a good reason to—“
“Dave, shut up! You still have that Ziploc bag? The one you keep your tobacco in?”
“Well sure. Why?”
“Give it to me. I need it. Empty it out and turn it inside out. Hurry.”
As Deputy Newsome does as instructed, Detective Mackey carefully makes his way down the tree. There’s no way in hell the deputy would make it up that trunk without plunging them both into the drink. Taking the Ziploc bag from Deputy Newsome, the detective once again ascends the tree. He uses two fingers to grip the clump of black hair tangled on a broken limb. Definitely not ole Phillip Espenza’s hair. Phillip was an Italian through and through. Whoever lost this clump of hair was no Caucasian.
Folding the baggie down, Detective Mackey spies something else which catches his attention. A large splash of fluorescent green liquid. Dried, but obviously still quite fresh. The detective pulls a pen from his breast pocket and scrapes off some of the bark and glowing substance. He places the bark and pen in the sandwich bag, along with the clump of hair, and holds them up for a better examination.
“I think I’ve found something,” Mackey says triumphantly, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth.