CHAPTER ONE: No Way Out
Kevin opened his eyes slowly. He tried to blink away the tears draining down his cheeks from itchy tear ducts. Something was not right. In fact, nothing seemed quite right. Sitting up, he squirmed about to loosen the tight muscles that ached as though he’d been running the track at school—one lap too many. His thoughts were jumbled and he felt very odd inside–empty and shaky and sort of uneasy. In all his twelve years, he could swear he'd never felt so strange. And what was that ringing in his ears and the dizziness in his head? Had to be the flu. Great, he thought.
Sniffling and then scratching his nose, Kevin shook his head to loosen the cobwebs in his brain. An involuntary shiver seemed to spring up from his very soul with such force that it started his teeth chattering. Unusually sleepy; and his body, tired and weak for some reason, he felt just like he’d been roller skating all day at the rink near his house. Taking off the shoe‑type skates, his body would always seem light as a feather, and his feet would feel as though the skates were still snugly in place with invisible wheels rolling along on a hard-wood floor. Kevin frowned. Not only did he hate that feeling but he could not remember roller skating at a rink for a very long time. And wasn't that strange?
Looking around him now, he noticed that the light was all wrong. Alternating flashes of bright sunshine day light, lasting as long as 20 seconds, interrupted the same length of grayness. Day, gray; day, gray; day, gray. It reminded him of a slow motion light show in Toby Daniel's basement ‑‑ without the loud music, though. And the base that rattled the glasses on the bar. And the exaggerated drum beats from sticks on Toby’s beat-up coffee table.
Nausea touched his already tight stomach muscles, and he swallowed hard to keep down anything that might have the need to come up. He tilted his head. When had he eaten last to worry about something coming up? He couldn’t remember. Imagine that. Not remembering cheeseburgers or hotdogs or pizza. How strange was that?
And the smells were strange, too. At one moment he thought there might be a hint of some exotic flower or perfume in the air; but seconds later, the sweet smell was replaced by something stale and rotten. Was it broccoli gone bad? He hated broccoli. No, brussel sprouts. It was brussel sprouts. They were worse. At least he thought they were. There was no remembrance of eating them, or trying them, or spitting them out.
Sounds were loud, carrying an eerie ring. It was like there was an echo – a big Liberty-type-Bell rung in an empty gymnasium. He squinted and shook his head again not quite believing that he was hearing the things he was hearing. The sounds, he finally surmised, were only echoes inside his own head. That constant ringing in his ears only added to his internal discomfort.
Kevin swallowed hard and attempted to ignore the fear building in his stomach like a gusher ready to pop and the pounding in his chest like what he thought a heart attack must feel like. Where was he? Nothing was familiar. Nothing. Everything was wrong. What was he doing in such a strange place?
A warm fog floated all around him at knee level reminding him of a bad B horror movie; and the wetness in the air made his skin feel damp and uncomfortable. All that was missing was the eerie music and the knowledge that a disembodied hand lay just beneath the dense fog. The ground, mostly sand, had a mushy texture. He thought of quick sand; and an image of sinking down slowly without the assistance of a branch from a tree came to mind. Too much television, he thought quickly, but nonetheless looked about him for a tree with protruding branches.
Fighting the headache that the blinking light was giving him, Kevin gritted his teeth and peered through the light and grayness. Directly ahead of him was a single two-story building. It was the oddest structure he'd ever seen; and it was the only mark of civilization about him. He tilted his head slightly as he looked at the building. At one moment it appeared to be made of a black coal‑like stone, badly chipped and worn from time, a two-story castle with all the trimmings of a night in Transylvania. But when he blinked his eyes, and when the lights changed from gray to white, he saw a magnificent white flagstone mansion, new and modern, fit for a president or a king or someone who made lots of money in computer software.
Kevin was sure he was losing his mind. Buildings didn't change colors, nor did they change from cracking coal to flagstone. And lights didn't normally flash like this, either. Even in storms.
His attention came back to the ongoing fog billowing at his feet. The fog made him very uneasy. Could he be in England? Most of the movies he'd seen about England showed a foggy, gloomy place. And then there was that story about dead people coming out of the fog. Of course, he noted mentally, they’d have to be really short people in this fog.
He couldn't recall ever seeing fog that just swirled at someone's feet, though. And even the worst lightning storm in the world could not produce such a weird show of light and dark -- as far as he knew.
A sudden movement on ground level to his right made Kevin jump and step back. Other things could live in the fog. I see dead people jumped into his mind with his immediate correction, I see dead things. Peering into the low fog, he could see nothing (at first) that could have moved. That was a good thing. It could have been just his imagination. He had a good one, to be sure.
But then a dead thing or some thing hiccupped. Kevin froze, waiting for the thing’s next move. There most assuredly would be a next move. There was always a next move. Scowling, he took a careful step closer, straining his eyes through the thick, choking fog that was now height high instead of just around his knees. The thing moving seemed to stir up the fog. Not a good sign. Another step forward and he saw through the swirling cream-white air a small puffed-up ball of fur. It lay very still on the ground. But just seconds before, that little ball had hiccupped. He was sure the sound came from the thing. What the heck is that?
Kevin moved cautiously closer and circled the ball. Its color was a very nice shade of blue ‑‑ one he'd never seen before. It was surely blue, though. Blue had always been his favorite color. And this blue was . . . well, it was bluer then other blues. A new color – like Dodge Red was a new color, only this was fur-ball blue. The fur on the thing was thick and soft looking. It appeared much the same as a plush stuffed animal you saw at one of the more expensive card shops at the mall. The kind that feel like real mink or rabbit or some other soft animal that had bit the dust to make little kids feel good when they touched the thing. Except . . . this ball was plusher than that even. And the thing moved. Yikes, he thought.
Suddenly, two blue eyes of an even brighter shade of blue popped out of the ball, perching at the end of two dangly long antennas. Bug-like. With big batting eyelashes.
Kevin jumped, his eyes wide with panic. The thing pulled in its antenna eyes and rolled toward him, stopping just a foot from his shoes. Kevin quickly backed away, nearly tripping over his own feet. Just what kind of thing was this ball of fluff? Would it bite him? Tear a hole in him like a bear would do? Or a coyote? Or a – he tried to think of an animal that was small and round like this that might tear a hole in somebody. Couldn’t think of one. Leaning forward, he squinted at the ball. A mouth wasn’t visible, but it surely had a mouth. Any dead thing from fog was gonna have a mouth. Ya had ta know that.
Suddenly, the ball’s eyes popped back out. With antenna dancing in the air and the eyeballs at the end drooping from time to time, it seemed to scan the area around it ‑‑ and particularly Kevin. The eyes winked and blinked and a thin cover over the actual eyeballs slid up and down over the eyes corresponding with the gray, white, gray, white light.
Kevin strained to see more clearly and almost laughed in bewilderment. It was a comical ball really, and it appeared harmless enough, like a stray dog that you just knew wasn’t going to bite you – unless you moved too quickly. Of course, this is what people always thought; and then – BAM! – it gotcha at the last minute. Blood and guts. Still, without too much thought, he reached out his hand slowly to it and stooped down into the foggy air that had again returned to knee level.
The ball immediately pulled in its antenna eyes and rolled right up to his hand, hopping quickly on. Kevin sucked in his breath in surprise, and slowly stood up with the ball, rolling it about in his hands -- gently -- looking for legs or a mouth. Anything that might give him a clue as to what the thing was.
It wasn't very big ‑‑ about eight inches around. And the thing was very light weight. It looked kinda like a tribble – yup, a Star Trek tribble. And no teeth. That was good. Teeth would not have been a good thing. Not able to withstand the compulsion to stroke this more realistic stuffed animal, Kevin rubbed its fur. An odd type of vibration came from it, loud enough for Kevin to hear and strong enough for him to feel in his hands. The thing was purring. At least, that's what it felt and sounded like.
“Hey little fellow," whispered Kevin. "You're real cute. What are you?"
The thing's antenna eyes popped back up from its body startling Kevin, peering back at him with equal scrutiny. It made no attempt to communicate with him, though.
Kevin, still amazed at the ball, stooped to place it back on the ground. Whatever it was, it should be left alone. Kevin felt sure of that, despite the little tug on his heart strings and the pull of curiosity that always got him into trouble. He shrugged at the strange draw he felt and looked about his surroundings again. The ball could wait. His situation was the more important thing. He was still in this weird place with weird light and a weird building in front of him.
"I must be dreaming," he said out loud, still trying to assess the area and strange characteristics of the light.
The ball suddenly started twirling in the sand, stirring up the fog in the process. Kevin frowned as the ball moved away from the spot it had been spinning in. Best to keep away from such a crazy thing. An animal could turn on you just like that. Kevin mentally snapped his fingers.
A N was printed in the sand.
"You do that?" he asked the ball, bending down and tracing his finger over the perfectly shaped letter carved in the sand.
The ball started to twirl again, this time leaving the letter Y for Kevin to see.
“Oh, I get it. N for no; and Y for yes. Easy." And too good to be true, he thought. Things were just not this simple. There were always problems. Complications. Reasons not to believe what you were seeing. This was just a little too easy.
The ball twirled to form another Y.
"Okay," pondered Kevin, glancing around again at his odd environment. The building in front of him was black and cold-looking now. He shivered and brought his attention back to the ball. "So, if I'm not dreaming, then where am I?"
The ball sat very still on the ground, its antenna eyes studying Kevin.
"Well?" asked Kevin. "Can't you answer me?"
The ball swirled and a N appeared again.
"It's a guide, you know," said a strange new voice from behind Kevin.
A man, dressed in what appeared to be a tattered pair of pajamas and obviously in a hurry, gave him a quick smile and a wink before scurrying toward the black – no, it was now white ‑‑ building. A moment later the man had disappeared inside, leaving Kevin behind to wonder, again, about the strange place he was in.
He looked back at the ball, which was now nuzzling his foot, its antenna eyes preoccupied with the colorful shoestrings of his Reebok tennis shoes.
"A guide, huh?" mumbled Kevin, staring down at the mysterious thing.
The ball immediately swirled away from Kevin's foot, leaving a Y in the sand.
"And you can only answer yes and no questions, I take it?"
Y came the swirled answer.
“Do you have a name?"
The ball sat looking up at him with wide blue eyes, the antenna straight up now. But it made no move to answer.
"That's a yes or no question," said Kevin.
The ball still did not move, but studied Kevin, obviously waiting for the next question.
"So you don't ‑‑ or can't ‑‑ answer everything," said Kevin, stooping back down to pet the fur ball. It quickly swirled from his grasp, leaving an N in the sand and then rolled back to his hand with amazing speed.
"You sure pop your eyes around a lot," remarked Kevin, impressed by this cute little . . . thing. "I guess you have to, in this light. This constant flashing gives me a headache from hell."
The ball sat watching.
"Are you staying with me?" asked Kevin, hoping that this was the case. After all, he was a bit frightened ‑‑ no, if he were to be truthful, a lot frightened ‑‑ by his surroundings; and even the company of this strange little ball would be better than exploring alone.
The ball swirled Y.
“Well, then. I suppose you need a name."
The ball sat.
"How about Fluffy?" said Kevin with enthusiasm. “You look like a Fluffy kinda guy.”
The ball rolled backwards away from Kevin and the eyes disappeared. Seconds later a small pocket opened on the lower side of the ball and three needle‑like pins shot out and into Kevin's lower leg.
“Ow!" cried Kevin. "That hurt, buster!" He stepped back from the ball and stooped down to inspect his leg, keeping an eye on the ball. "Went right through my jeans!" he snapped, sitting down on the mushy ground to pull the pins from his leg and throw them down to the sandy ground. “I knew you were too good to be true,” he mumbled. “I better not be poisoned or something. I just better not be. Or you’ll be road-kill for sure.”
Y swirled the ball. The pocket was gone now and the eyes were back out, winking and blinking at Kevin.
"Yes, what?" asked Kevin, annoyed. Having pulled up his pant leg, he was gingerly rubbing the pin pricks on his leg. Smears of blood were on his fingers. "If you didn't like the name, why didn't you just tell me? Why'd ya have to shoot them sharp things at me? What are ya, a pygmy with a dart stick or something?"
The ball sat. Its eyes bounced.
Kevin frowned at the ball. "You said yes to something. All I said was Ow!"
The ball swirled N.
Kevin thought. "Okay, I said that the pins went through my jeans."
N.
"That hurt?"
Y. It waited, its eyes flopping around on the antenna.
Kevin shook his head. "You're looking happy, if it's possible for a ball to look happy." He rolled his eyes and shook his head. This was so stupid. He knew he must be losing his mind. He was talking to a friggin’ ball. Still, he took a moment to think. "Wait, I know what I said. I said, 'That hurt, buster.' You like the name Buster."
Y, swirled the ball. Its eyes were popping in and out and it finally rolled to nuzzle Kevin's leg again. Another pocket opened before Kevin could pull his injured leg away and the ball squirted something wet and numbing on the pricked spots.
"Hey!" Kevin examined his leg and lightly touched the salve-like liquid the ball had put on his leg. "You took the pain away." He petted the ball with appreciation. "Just didn't like that girlie name, did you?"
The ball swirled N.
"Well, all right, Buster Blue, the wonder ball," said Kevin. "It is okay to add blue to your name, isn't it? I mean, you are blue and all."
Y.
"Good. Just try not to be so daggone touchy." Kevin paused, dismissing the entire naming session. "Question," he said seriously. "Should we go into that building over there?"
Y.
Kevin paused again to think. "Do you know where we are?"
Buster Blue sat, its eyes still and staring now.
"Boy, is this ever the friggin’ pits," mumbled Kevin, throwing his hands in the air. "I'm here in the middle of a light and fog storm or something, with changing buildings and fur balls that shoot pins and answer questions; and I don't even think I'm dreaming!"
Buster Blue swirled N. CHAPTER ONE: Good Rat The eyes were the worst – foreign points of attention; a blind intelligence peering out with the capability of striking panic and fear into a formidable prey. Beady and small were these eyes – proportioned well for the small head, but caught in a sightless stare like that of a killer shark. The eyes saw, but focused on nothing; and everything, all at once. And black. Blacker than black. Black with a promise of plague or some other uncertain and horrible death. Black with a knowing sense of power. Black with control. Remembering the concept of the fight or flight response, she consciously took in a slow breath and exhaled. Control could be mastered from within. Unfortunately, control was not taking hold for her at this moment. She could not battle the evil in front of her, nor could she run from it. In fact, she could not even move! The shiny eyes held her prisoner – a paralyzed captive within her own body. Dampness in the bare earth beneath her petite figure seeped through the overall-type crawl suit she wore to protect her clothing and seemed to bite into the gooseflesh on her arms. Lying flat on her stomach, not more than two feet from the eyes, cold dirt chilled her but could not beat the hot fever of terror. Still the black eyes gripped her. A movement, ever so slightly, a twitching of its tiny ear, brought her heartbeat to an even fuller pounding. Her deliberate, methodical, slow, controlled breathing turned quick with a new threat of hyperventilation. What if it jumps on me? She would die at that moment, of that she was sure. The vision in her mind’s eye of its oily body touching hers, of its disease-ridden claws gripping for a hold tore at her brain. Trying again to slow her descent into thoughtless fright, she sucked in great gulps of stale and musky air from the dark crawl space beneath the house. She watched the creature as it watched her. Brown with streaks of black in the fur, possibly from the natural color of nature, or more probably from greasy dirt, the creature’s stocky body gave way to a thick, skin tail with coarse hairs sparsely patched along its length. The nose, also twitching now, was blunt at the end; and fine, clawed toes resembled small hands gripping the dirt for traction. Sweat dripped from The rat jumped! Its body plummeted to one side of the woman and struck the stone wall. Quickly righting itself, it scrambled down the length of Bethany’s body – without touching her, except with the rigid guard hairs that warned it of all objects in its proximity by a mere wisp of a touch – and squeezed through a small quarter-size hole at the base of a conduit, leading up into the main body of the house. Bethany, sucking in air as the rat jumped nearly a foot straight up to make its exit, choked and then let out a harrowing scream – the first sound she’d been capable of in three long minutes. A voice rang out behind her immediately and a strong hand grasped her ankle. She screamed again and shuffled away from the touch, further into the tight space. “Hey, lady! Are you okay in there?” The voice was muffled and there was an edge of concern that sounded much too chauvinistic for her tastes. “Hey, lady?” the voice said again, a bit more urgent this time. “I’m fine,” she called out behind her and wriggled backwards toward the crawl space entrance, her low-heeled shoes sliding in the dirt and denying her full traction. “Sorry about that. I don’t like to be touched when I’m working.” The man scoffed at her – an unpleasant gurgling sound made deep in his wrinkled throat. Outside the dark and dirt-covered area beneath the house, Oh brother, here it comes. What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? As though no one in the world has a phobia but me! Like this old man wouldn’t have lost his nerve when peeking at the mug of a snake, or a scorpion, or one of those real big fat brown spiders in a tight spot! She sighed with a toss of red-gold hair from her eyes and remembered that the customer was always right. And that her job was to instill confidence in the company, take care of the customer – and to get the sale, of course. “It’s so funny,” she began, smiling a false but convincing smile, and continuing to brush the dark brown clay dirt from her overalls as she stood, “I’m not afraid of bugs, or snakes, or mice, or anything! But I cannot tolerate a rat.” “Not a good business for you to be in, being afraid of rats!” he shot back with a smug laugh hooked to his statement. “Not a job for a woman, anyway, the way I see it.” Turning from her, he moved towards the front porch and waved his arm for her to follow. Well, there goes this sale. Lost his respect. Not a job for a woman! Male chauvinist! She stuck out her tongue to his back. “I gotta respect you, though,” he said, sitting down on the step of his front porch and slapping his knee. Aha! All is not lost! Maybe he isn’t prejudiced after all! She regretted the tongue gesture. “Most people I know – man or woman – wouldn’t even try to do what you’re doin’!” He stopped and shook his head. “So I got rats, do I?” “I’m afraid so,” * * * Keterick felt the usual comfort of the close walls turn claustrophobic, as though the previously calming room had begun to prick him with pointy subliminal pangs of doubt. But it was not the building, he knew, for the panic had been escalating within the police department for some time now. The complete destruction of a race, if it could be called that, had been suggested; and that sat well with no one – particularly since there was no real weaponry at his disposal to accomplish the feat. He thought of the innocent bystanders who would be drawn into the battle and sighed hard. Sitting at his cluttered desk, piled high with frayed hard-back books hiding brown-edged pages, crinkled and worn though few had read the wisdom within, he opened still another treasured piece. Taunt and sore muscles below his neck on the right side of his muscular body cursed him with fire-like pain. He raised his hand to rub the area and winced at his own touch. Keterick began to read Outer Earth rat biology pursuant to the twentieth century. So much different from their own species deep inside the planet, but similar nonetheless, Keterick marveled at the rat’s ability to withstand gravitational pressures, mineral displacements, and basic genetic changes unavoidable when dealing with natural disintegration and regeneration. Even the human body – a much superior vessel – had great difficulty transferring microorganisms through the gap. But not the rat. Not only were there concerns of war-like problems within the Inner Earth, but more and more officials were worried about the spread outward. Of course, Outer Earthers were unaware of this atrocity. In fact, until recently, even his own race of Inner Earthers had been unaware of this new rat accomplishment! These rats had become a very real threat. How would he destroy such a menace? His chest swelled with breath and a futile growl rumbled in his throat. Running a strong hand through his hair, Keterick slammed the book shut and shoved it across his desk, knocking several others to the floor in the process. A soft rush of paper dust filtered up as brittle pages broke away from the ailing linings of glue and altered bindings. “I can’t do this anymore!” he said softly to no one and buried his face, deep with frustration lines, between his arms on the desk. “It’s pointless!” “Not so,” said a nearby female voice. “You have the ability. You have the will. You are a Rodenticider – a killer, and none has ever lived that has matched your skill and wit. Even your father. You will find a way.” Keterick did not even raise his head. “Says you.” Her dominant and perfect pitch always annoyed him, as did most females in his world. They seemed barely human to him, void of real and spicy personality. “I say,” she answered, touching his tight neck muscle with an expert hand. The pain of hard work in his neck slipped away and he raised his head to look back at her. Her first-born hair was golden brown but changed to fire red as he watched, as did her brown eyes turn green. His scent was strong today, and though he had been fighting the normal sexual urge (so that he could complete his research), Keterick now found it newly revived as the female responded to his physical preference. Her own scent coerced him to change his normal blonde characteristics to Oriental flavor, as her taste dictated. “No,” he said, however, and forced the change away. “You’re right, of course, a way has to be found to stop the onslaught. And I’ve no time for your affection.” He swiveled his chair around and away from her and added beneath his breath, “Nor use for it.” This one was an overly powerful and manipulative female; and tolerating such women went against his own unusual dominant character. Of course, that nasty and unyielding dominance had gotten him into the police department in the first place, and more recently he’d won a position in the Rodenticide Division because of his unwavering stamina. His dreams were realized. His father would have been proud, had he lived. But Keterick felt angry. His job description had not taken into consideration more than localized travel and the killing of the perpetrators of crime. Undercover surveillance, infiltration, and book work were not his strong points – in fact, weakness abounded along those lines. He hated research and longed for the kill, feeling thwarted at the barren escapades he’d been participating in thus far. But still, all of it was necessary if his people were to survive the assault of terror that might be part of their future. And he would triumph as he always did. He had to, for this was his assignment. “I’ll be getting back to work now,” he told the female. “Thanks,” he added hastily, if not coarsely, and glanced back to her. Her appearance had changed back to first-born and she nodded, knowing that merely speaking to him about his responsibility would spur him to comply. For it was her job to watch over him. He knew that she would not be offended by his rejection, nor by his attitude towards his new assignment. Commonplace in the Inner Earth, males desired spurts of encouragement from the decision-oriented females of the race. It was a pleasant arrangement for all involved. The males preferred to deal with physical pursuits, hard-thinking, and action, while the more subtle females dwelled in the perfecting of combinations arising from emotional and hard-thinking tasks – they quietly made the best decisions for all. Of course, this arrangement was pleasant for all but those killing in the police department. Rodenticiders were the worst. And Keterick was almost proud of his radical views. As a Rodenticider, he knew his problem and strived to hold down the alien desire to crush those females who tried to evaluate his thinking and combine it with unnecessary emotions – emotions best kept inside and away from the streets of justice. Difficult as it was, he had been successful. But he wasn’t required to quell any such desire with sexual release. His chosen females were powerful, yes. But they kept their power hidden from him and used it not against him, but for the good of the Inner Earth. Still, they lacked … zest. He shook his head. He wasn’t being fair. Those females making decisions for the police department were also concerned with the survival and happiness of those dwelling on the Inner Earth. He was just stubborn when dealing intimately with their soft and knowing natures. They threatened his personality. Pulling back before him the book on rodent biology, he dismissed the coworker from his mind and began skimming through what he’d already read and then focused on the section regarding control of the rat. He was amazed by the text. The Outer Earth officials had chemicals, bait, and fumigants that actually destroyed the creatures! They had something called anticoagulants! Thinning of the blood! How could they do that? Keterick was now oblivious to the close walls about him; and as he read, became absorbed, his sanity no longer threatened. * * * Not used to failing at anything, she watched as the sales board in the large rectangular salesroom was posted. One salesman after another rose from the hard-back chairs they sat in to write their number of successful sales for the previous day with dark blue magic marker on the six-foot long grease board. Two sales, three sales, four sales or more; why even a salesman employed there only two weeks posted a sale! All very profitable. For them. She, of course, again, had zero sales to post. She’d practically died of fright beneath that dungeon of a house the day before, only to be turned down and put out by an old, white-haired man who thought he could take care of his rat problem himself! Such mentality! Imagine that old coot thinking that if a “pint of a girl” like me could do it, anyone could! Her manager, an incredibly handsome black man, she thought, had not been upset with her. He had said, “Don’t sweat it! You’re new. And you just didn’t present your features and benefits strongly enough. Prospects need to understand that what you can do for them is special and unique and has definite benefit to them. And it really is special. Don’t worry, that old guy’ll call back when he finds that his rat problem’s gonna double and not go away with a mere trap or two.” Slapping her on the back, he said, “You’re too sensitive. Shrug it off! You’re gonna be a natural at this! It takes time.” Sensitive, hell! Time, bologna! I flubbed it up again. If a prospect doesn’t buy, it’s because I didn’t cover my bases, answer all his questions, and who knows what else. I’m a loser. Crap, I used to teach procedure at my old job and now I can’t even follow it. “How much did you sell yesterday,” whispered the salesman sitting next to her. Cute though he was, he agitated The man smirked and “Oww!” “Problem, Mister McCormick?” asked the energetic sales manager, Donovan Marks. “Shall we share it?” McCormick shrugged. “Excuse me, Donovan,” interrupted Donovan smiled, winked, and thumbed the door. “Get out of here!” With a quick wave to the others, she immediately slipped out, happy that Donovan was supportive and compassionate enough to excuse her before the ultimate embarrassment of posting a zero on the board for yet another session. She would do better today. Outside the small office building that housed the prominent pest control branch, It didn’t matter a lick to any of them that this was her first sales job. They expected immediate success (though they didn’t say so) for them to even consider her acceptance into the little selling clique. Appearances, of course, were deceiving. She didn’t know what she was doing or why she was there at all. Spending the last six years training 911 telephone operators for the police and fire departments, But there really had been little choice. Her grandmother had recently died, leaving a lovely colonial home to her; and unfortunately, The unfortunate factor was that her new home was located sixty-eight miles away from her prestigious county police department job. Well, she’d been bored anyway, as well as frustrated at her slow progress to civilian management. Discrimination was everywhere. She’d quit – rather hastily – and moved to her new home. The money which accompanied the inherited home supported her for several months while she waited for a position to open up in the local police departments, but though her credentials were impressive, employment (sparse as it was) was not forthcoming. The newspaper had been limited in the classified section – a mere two pages – and it soon became evident that she would be making the decision to “settle” for something while she waited for the “right” career to open up. In a local college bar, masquerading as a restaurant/lounge, she’d met a very handsome man who taught as a Professor of Entomology for the University. She found his dark good looks alluring and the mustache tipping his mouth quite attractive. Dark and handsome men with brown hair and eyes always bewitched her. It was a weakness, she knew. “What the hell is entomology?” she had asked with a frown and four whisky-sours already consumed (two were her limit). Slinging her shoulder-length red hair back from her face and batting her green eyes at the man’s deep brown ones, she leaned forward on her elbow and slipped off her barstool. “Sorry about that,” she said from the floor, looking up. “I think you’ve had a bit too much,” he said politely, in a very English accent, easily pulling her to her feet and depositing her back on the stool. “Steady now?” She nodded and felt the red flush of embarrassment, as an invisible bee seemed to buzz in her ears. How humiliating to have such an attractive man see her sloppy drunk! “Put simply, Beth, entomology is the study of insects.” “It’s very interesting, really,” he continued, motioning the bartender to them. “Please bring the lady some coffee.” And then back to “You know,” the professor said to her finally, “I have an acquaintance who runs an office for a pest control company here in the city. They’re looking for sales inspectors. You would actually go out and help solve people’s pest problems. I could call him and set up an interview for you. It would be fun for you after all those years of life and death decisions in the police department.” “It’s not all selling, you know. You’d be educating the public at the same time; and then solving their problems – much like a police officer. Would I steer you wrong?” “That may be true. And I’m sorry if you find me pushy.” His smile was sincere, but his eyes were mischievous. “I was just thinking of you with no job, no immediate prospect for a position in your field, little money left from your inheritance, big house, no food, starving and fading away to nothingness. You’re already a tiny bit of a person.…” Sighing, she relented, “Maybe you’re right. Couldn’t hurt to go in and talk to the guy.…” “I’ll set it up.” The professor was true to his word and arranged an interview for the following afternoon. And And now, after an intense college-level training program and some on the-job experience, she stood outside the pest control office, stretching in the warm sunlight, and aggravated that she was not meeting her sales projections. The Bug Lady, as she was now called, was bugged. And furthermore, Donovan had practically guaranteed in her interview that she would see all kinds of bugs, but that since rats and mice were nocturnal and only rarely chose to appear at night, she would not be subjected to her only fear – rats. Yes, Pest Control Inspectors (they weren’t called salespeople) would solve rat problems, but no one usually saw the rats! Wasn’t that a crock! Famous last words and all that nonsense! Well, no matter. She sighed, considering her first exposure of the dreaded rat creature in her youth. Just four years of age, she’d been playing with friends in the basement of an old, closed-down elementary school. Yes, it had been true that her mother had warned her not to go inside the school. She was to stay in the playground with the older children. And yes, she’d been told about rats and mice and biting dogs hiding in dark corners of old buildings. But that had seemed nonsense to the four-year-old tomboy who, even at this small age, climbed impossible-to-climb trees and plopped down in mucky streams. After all, there might be kittens to see. It had not been kittens she’d found in the dark corners, however, but a small lost and mewling rat. Not threatening and even a bit cute, she’d moved nearer to the animal only to be jumped upon by a fierce screeching mother rat, its claws digging into her backpack of treasures and teeth digging into the fabric. She’d never returned for that pack filled with coloring books, crayons, and little-girl treasures. In fact, she’d been lucky to escape with her life. And now, with no one ever knowing of the episode, she fought a natural phobia. Straightening her jacket and brushing down the line of her skirt she went to her little white poorly-restored mustang – old and a bit rusty, to be sure, but perfectly tuned and in good running order. Bethany opened the hatchback lid and peered over the back seat which was neatly littered with pest control paraphernalia – sales brochures, contracts, small coffee tins to hold unusual bugs she encountered, sticky glue boards for mice to get their tiny feet stuck to, magnifying glass and mirror, trash bags, rags, a craw suit to protect her clothing, a pyretherine flushing chemical, and the all-important flashlight to see into the dark and hidden places she had no right peering into in the first place. Quickly scanning the contents to see that she had all the tools she needed for a good inspection, she closed the hatch and slipped into the driver’s side of the car, pulling her briefcase from the floor to the seat on the passenger side. She chose a map for She studied the map intently, as she continually pulled her long red-copper hair back each time it fell across her face. “Hmmmmm. You can’t get there from here.” Closing the map and tossing it over her shoulder to the back seat, she spoke to the rearview mirror. “Damn! It could take me two hours to get there and two back. That shoots most of the day!” She started the engine, tuned the radio to the “Best mix of the 80’s and 90’s,” and backed from the parking space. Had she looked more closely, she would’ve seen a fair-haired, blue-eyed attractive and muscular man, turning dark and tan, as was her preference in men. Her scent was stronger than she knew.
