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didn't want to know. I thought it might freeze me in place and leave me vulnerable, like a rabbit seeing the shadow of an owl overhead. That Observer was not going to kidnap me, not if I could help it, that was for damned sure. My nerves couldn't take it. I dreamed about aliens, I didn't get abducted by them. Though, hey, maybe that would explain a lot.
"Zara? That you in there?" With the sheriff's words, the glow of a flashlight appeared only feet away from what used to be the diner's door.
"Yeah, I'm here." I looked back to see how the Observer was taking the impending arrival of "my" sheriff, but he was gone. Thank God. The mother ship must have been calling. 21
The Silver Spoon
Chapter 3
"You okay over there, Zara?" Deputy Mike Packer's words pulled me from my thoughts.
I'd just spent the last four hours at the Sheriff's Office drinking scorched coffee and answering the same questions over and over again.
No, I didn't see anyone outside the diner.
Yes, the Observer spoke to me. He said the explosion was meant for me.
No, I don't know what he meant by that.
But I hadn't told the sheriff about that strange moment between the Observer and me. I didn't need him thinking I was crazier than he previously thought. But remembering that feeling of helplessness at the Observer's hands made me shiver again.
"Yeah, I'm fine." I gave Mike a weak smile. He nodded, never taking his eyes off the road. I'd known Mike Packer since grade school, though he was a couple of years younger than me. He was always intense and over-thinking everything, whether it was to have mashed potatoes instead of corn or how to get women to like him. Like right now, he was driving as if he expected an attack from all sides by an armored convoy of some kind. Though given what had happened at the diner earlier tonight, maybe I couldn't blame him.
"You really think that Observer blew up the diner? Killed Dewey and Mr. Johnson?" He asked me as he turned onto my street. Of the seven people in the diner at the time of the explosion, Deputy Dewey Blakemore and Earl Johnson, a trucker, had been the only casualties, which was both amazing and devastating at the same time. Amazing that more weren't killed, devastating in that no one should have died tonight at all, not like 22
Stacey Klemstein
that.
"I don't know. But," I added begrudgingly, "like I told the sheriff, if you're blowing up a building, I'd think the last place you'd want to be is inside it." And why save me? Just me? Why save anyone at all? Why not just shout that the place was going to blow up and make everyone run away? The sheriff had been making fun of me when he mentioned the Observer making plans to take over the world, but freakier things have happened. I couldn't connect what happened tonight with any grander scheme beyond death and destruction on a relatively small scale, but who knows? I shook my head to clear it of all the questions I would never get answers to.
Mike gave a thoughtful "huh" in response, then went on. "But don't you think–"
I struggled to hang on to my last bit of patience like a drowning man wrestling with a slippery life raft. "Mike, I don't know what to think, okay? All I want to do now is go home and try to not worry about any of this for a few minutes." I yanked out my inhaler and sucked in another puff.
"All right, Zara. I get it. Jeez, you don't have to take my head off." He slouched in his seat a little, his broad-brimmed hat tipping forward.
When he pulled into my driveway, I jerked my door open before the car even reached a complete stop. "Thanks for the ride. I'll see you on..." I stopped myself. I wouldn't see Mike on Sunday because there was no longer a diner for him to have breakfast in while he eyed the church-going women. "I'll see you." I tried to make it sound like that was what I'd intended to say all along.
"Yeah, I'll see you, Zara," he responded. I slammed the door shut, then trudged toward my front door. No diner meant no Sunday
"Zara? That you in there?" With the sheriff's words, the glow of a flashlight appeared only feet away from what used to be the diner's door.
"Yeah, I'm here." I looked back to see how the Observer was taking the impending arrival of "my" sheriff, but he was gone. Thank God. The mother ship must have been calling. 21
The Silver Spoon
Chapter 3
"You okay over there, Zara?" Deputy Mike Packer's words pulled me from my thoughts.
I'd just spent the last four hours at the Sheriff's Office drinking scorched coffee and answering the same questions over and over again.
No, I didn't see anyone outside the diner.
Yes, the Observer spoke to me. He said the explosion was meant for me.
No, I don't know what he meant by that.
But I hadn't told the sheriff about that strange moment between the Observer and me. I didn't need him thinking I was crazier than he previously thought. But remembering that feeling of helplessness at the Observer's hands made me shiver again.
"Yeah, I'm fine." I gave Mike a weak smile. He nodded, never taking his eyes off the road. I'd known Mike Packer since grade school, though he was a couple of years younger than me. He was always intense and over-thinking everything, whether it was to have mashed potatoes instead of corn or how to get women to like him. Like right now, he was driving as if he expected an attack from all sides by an armored convoy of some kind. Though given what had happened at the diner earlier tonight, maybe I couldn't blame him.
"You really think that Observer blew up the diner? Killed Dewey and Mr. Johnson?" He asked me as he turned onto my street. Of the seven people in the diner at the time of the explosion, Deputy Dewey Blakemore and Earl Johnson, a trucker, had been the only casualties, which was both amazing and devastating at the same time. Amazing that more weren't killed, devastating in that no one should have died tonight at all, not like 22
Stacey Klemstein
that.
"I don't know. But," I added begrudgingly, "like I told the sheriff, if you're blowing up a building, I'd think the last place you'd want to be is inside it." And why save me? Just me? Why save anyone at all? Why not just shout that the place was going to blow up and make everyone run away? The sheriff had been making fun of me when he mentioned the Observer making plans to take over the world, but freakier things have happened. I couldn't connect what happened tonight with any grander scheme beyond death and destruction on a relatively small scale, but who knows? I shook my head to clear it of all the questions I would never get answers to.
Mike gave a thoughtful "huh" in response, then went on. "But don't you think–"
I struggled to hang on to my last bit of patience like a drowning man wrestling with a slippery life raft. "Mike, I don't know what to think, okay? All I want to do now is go home and try to not worry about any of this for a few minutes." I yanked out my inhaler and sucked in another puff.
"All right, Zara. I get it. Jeez, you don't have to take my head off." He slouched in his seat a little, his broad-brimmed hat tipping forward.
When he pulled into my driveway, I jerked my door open before the car even reached a complete stop. "Thanks for the ride. I'll see you on..." I stopped myself. I wouldn't see Mike on Sunday because there was no longer a diner for him to have breakfast in while he eyed the church-going women. "I'll see you." I tried to make it sound like that was what I'd intended to say all along.
"Yeah, I'll see you, Zara," he responded. I slammed the door shut, then trudged toward my front door. No diner meant no Sunday
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