Defenders of Earth (Book 2 of the Keepers Trilogy)

Chapter 2

My mother comes into my room that night as I'm doing science homework. "Mark, I need your help with something," she begins.

"Sure, Mom, what is it?" I ask.

"Well, do you think Callie trusts you?" she asks hesitantly.

"I don't think she trusts anyone, Mom," I admit.

"Well, bear with me. I asked about her past today. I could tell that she wanted to talk about it, but refused to. I was hoping that maybe you could crack that shell around her."

"I doubt it," I say.

"Mark, I think she trusts you more than anyone else in this house," Mom says. "It might work."

"First off, I'm pretty sure she trusts you more than anyone else. Secondly, I'm also pretty sure that pressuring someone to talk about something that they don't want to can ruin that trust."

"Mark..." Mom begins, then sighs. "I'm afraid for her. I don't know whether or not they work for the government, but a science lab contacted me today while you were at school. A lab that was interested in her...past."

"How did they contact you?"

"They, uh, they came to the door. A man and a woman, dressed very professionally and waving around some badges. I thought that they were FBI at first, but, um, no. They introduced themselves as doctors Matt Wilson and Terry Orbeck from-and this is gonna sound crazy-but they said that they were from Extra Terristrials Lab, or ETL for short."

"And it didn't occur to you that this might be a hoax?" I ask skeptically.

"It did, actually. Everything seemed so official, but...they sounded completely nuts. But because of them, I need to know what Callie left behind. They may have hurt her in the past."

"Mom-"

"Don't tell Callie about it, okay?" Mom asks. "Not yet."

"Okay, but why are they interested in your foster daughter?"

Mom smiles indulgently at "foster daughter", but it quickly collapses into a frown. She shrugs and says, "I don't know."

"What-do they think that she's ET or a Time Lord or something?" I say jokingly.

"Just talk to her, Mark."

"Okay, but my gut says that she won't talk," I say. "And you know my gut's never wrong."

***

After school the next day, I approach Callie's room. The door is slightly ajar and she looks up just as I raise a fist to knock. "Hey, Mark."

"Hi, Callie. Can I talk to you?"

"Sure," she says, patting the spot next to her on the bed. I sit down gingerly. "What do you want to talk about?"

Oh, jeez. How do I start? "How did you get here?"

Smooth.

She frowns, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

I flush. "I mean, that October morning, a couple months ago, when we found you in our backyard. How did you get there? Why were you there?"

Her expression hardens. "Emily put you up to this, didn't she?"

Dammit.

"Yeah," I admit. "Because we're-"

"Worried," she fills in bitterly. "I have nothing to talk about. Do you hear me? Nothing! Nothing!"

"Callie," I begin, but she barrels on like she didn't hear me.

"My past is my business. Nobody needs to know my business. Not you, not your mom, not anyone! Simon could find m-" she stops suddenly, gasps, and clamps her hands over her mouth.

"Who's Simon?" I ask urgently. "What do you mean, he will find you?"

She shook her head violently. "You must not know," she whispers. "No one must know."

"Callie, we can help you," I say, placing my hands on her shoulders. "We can protect you."

"I'm protecting you," she says, "by not talking about my past."

I frown. "I don't understand."

"Good."

"Callie." I pause, trying to think of a good argument. None come to mind.

"I will tell you," she says reassuringly, "when the time comes."

"When will that be?"

She looks away. When she speaks, it's very hesitant, like she's unsure how to word it. "When my past...catches up...to me."

I sigh in a way that ruffles the black curls on my forehead. "Okay, Callie. Have it your way. I'm gonna do homework." I stand up and make for the door.

"You don't have homework," she says evenly, stopping me in my tracks. "It's Friday. None of your teachers hand out homework on Fridays. You said that once."

"Project," I tell her. "A PowerPoint, due next week. I have a lot to do for it, though."

"PowerPoint?"

"A presentation, um... application. A slideshow with information, basically."

"Presentation?"

"Look it up," I mutter.

As I walk down the steep stairwell, a thought occurs to me. What if her past has already caught up to her? Yesterday, while I was at school and those ETL guys came? Then what?

Mom is sitting in one of the two armchairs by the fireplace in the dining room. She looks up from her cross-stitch when I open the squeaking gate at the bottom of the entryway from the hallway. "What did she say?" she asks hopefully.

I sit down in the other armchair, enjoying the warmth of the crackling fire. "Callie let something slip. She's hiding from a man named Simon, and she's trying to...protect us by not telling about her past, and that she'll talk once her past catches up to her."

Mom puts the cross-stitching down on the little table next to her. "I'm gonna go talk to her."

"Mom, don't. She's really upset right now."

Frown lines appear on her forehead, but she sits back down. "You should be a psychiatrist or psychologist," she says.

"Why?"

"You're pretty good at figuring out people's emotions, that's why."

"I don't want to be a shrink, Mom. I want to be a detective or a police officer. A career that puts my gut into good use."

"Be an organ donor, then," a deep voice suggests from the hallway. "That puts your gut into really good use."

"Hi to you, Leo," my mom says, rolling her eyes. "Walking into a conversation like always."

My dad grins as he throws his jacket into a dining chair. "Missed you too, baby. Work was good, by the way. Boring, but that's what you get for being a middle-school math teacher."

Even though I only inherited more from my mother, everyone says that I look like my father. I'm tall like him, and we both have the same tan skin and curly black hair and thin, pointed nose, but that's where the similarities end. I have more of my mother's heart-shaped face and blue eyes. Like her, my frame is slight, while my father's is bulky.

My dad bends to kiss my mom, then whispers something in her ear. She nods grimly.

"What?" I say.

"Honey, do you mind if Daddy and I have a private conversation?" Mom asks.

I shrug. "Go ahead. I'll be upstairs if you need me."