When He Calls (Moons of Nibiru - Book #1)

a road to nowhere

THE GOLDEN FLAME OF THE LIGHTER brought red life to the cigarette in-between Dawson Lively's lips. He inhaled, the cold air mixing with the warm smoke of the burnt tobacco.

His was the only vehicle at the gas station beside the long stretch of road. The unnecessary billboard with the name of the town stood across the road advertising itself to the passing cars.

Marbel.

What an unusual name for a small American town in the middle of nowhere in the state of New York. If it were up to him, Dawson would have never visited the States. He found it overrated, everyone fantasizing over the American Dream. There were other countries with opportunities and sceneries that overpowered that notion which had been advertised mainly to refugees and illegal immigrants, and of course the 'dreamers'.

Unfortunately he was posted here. After the catastrophic — and honestly surreal — events of the past two weeks people like him had been praised as the only ones with any knowledge of what really happened. Scientists were still baffled, trying their best to uncover the root and truth of that day. People like Dawson, however, have predicted this day for years now.

He was a parapsychologist and didn't like associating himself with wannabe paranormal investigators who visited haunted attractions or conspiracy theorists who gained their material from the internet; but nowadays they were the only ones who made sense.

What was sense, anyway?

After every child under the age of thirteen disappeared off the face of the planet sense and logic was the last thing on everyone's minds.

Theories went from alien abduction to government experiments gone wrong. Some claimed it was the Rapture, even if the noise heard that day wasn't anywhere close to the sound of an angel blowing a bugle.

"She's all ready."

Dawson turned away from the darkness ahead of him and back to the old man who persisted he fill the old Volkswagen's tank instead of Dawson himself. "It's my job," the old man argued with a smile too warm for their current cold days.

"Thank you." Dawson said, removing the cigarette from his mouth as a sign of respect. He still held it lit between his fingers, but the smoked end was pointed away from the old man. "I still can't believe there isn't a gas station for miles from here. I was in such a hurry I forgot to fill up the tank. A few minutes ago I was actually praying she wouldn't die on me."

"Not religious, I take it?" said the old man as he wiped his hands on a white towel as if he'd just taken a look at the engine.

Dawson shrugged, unsure of how he should respond.

"Yah, I wasn't for the old Man Upstairs neither." said the old man. He coughed when he gave Dawson what sounded like a laugh. "Never really thought of some higher power other than the fat cats claiming to be in charge of the world. But after that day I think it's safe to say there really is something more out there."

Dawson just smiled, again, unsure of how to respond. He let people believe what they wanted. How else would they sleep at night? Many have questioned him after he revealed his career to them. At first they didn't believe him; he did dress like a high school teacher after all. What did they expect? Someone in a trench coat with a cross dangling from their chest and bag filled with ritualistic weaponry?

"You going up to Marbel?" the old man asked Dawson, retracting him from his thoughts.

"Yes." he replied slowly. "Thought I'd visit an old friend for a bit. I also heard good things about the town. I love myself an isolated place."

The old man nodded in agreement. "Marbel sure is a great place to be when you want to clear the mind. Sad not many people pop by."

"Believe it or not, I only heard of this place a few days ago." Dawson said. "I didn't think my friend was serious when he said he wanted to retire to a town located in the middle of nowhere."

"Yah, not many people have heard of Marbel." the old man said.

He turned away from Dawson and looked down the road. It looked both calming and terrifying in the dark of the night. "Though, I have a strange feeling whenever I go popping in there. Just don't feel right anymore, for some reason, so I just stopped visiting."

Dawson took the old man's words into account. He looked down at his watch and saw it was nearly midnight. "There isn't much information about the town online. Do you by any chance know of a place of accommodation nearby? Maybe a hotel or even a motel?"

"There's a cheap motel a few miles from here." The old man pointed down the road. "A lot of uncanny characters there, but I know the owner. She wouldn't allow any troublesome people onto her property."

"A bed is a bed, in my opinion." said Dawson. "I'm not one for fanciness, anyway."

The old man seemed pleased to hear that.

Dawson thanked him again for his service and drove off after paying.

He continued dragging the life from the cigarette with the window rolled down. The crisp night air relieved him of any hints of anxiety. Even with the headlights off, he could still see the road ahead of him.

He didn't know what he'd be expecting when he reached Marbel. The blue envelope slipped under the door of his apartment just said the town was worth looking in to. He cranked up the volume of the radio which was on a station where 1970s country music played back to back for hours on end.

Marbel, he thought to himself. What will I find here?