Super Moon Protocol Read online

  Josh threw the notebook at Rob. This signaled his turn to take the story forward. He then put his fists under his shirt and imitated the green babes. How they hopped here and there.

  That night Rob stayed up late and worked on his pages. The words flowed and the plot thickened. He was truly excited about the direction it was going. In the story, he had left Josh with the bouncing beauties and was going to answer a distress call that turned into a trap. A huge battle ensued as Rob and the crew fought hard. They took casualties as photon missiles slammed their spaceship. Fires and shrapnel exploded all around, but the crew held firmly together as they worked their posts and took orders. It was a fast-action, thrilling brawl to the death in which Rob and his crew barely escaped victorious. The next morning Rob couldn’t wait to read to Josh what he had written. Once in Josh’s room he began to read his latest edition, but before he could get to the battle scene, Josh interrupted, “So you left me behind?”

  Rob replied, “Yes, I figured you would prefer to stay with the knockers.”

  “Well that sucks. What kind of stupid partner are you?”

  “You always wanna be around the girls. It’s all you think about, it seems,” chided Rob. At this, Josh grabbed the notebook and began ripping out the pages and tearing them to pieces. Rob tried to grab it back, which led to Josh throwing Rob to the ground. Rob wasn’t a fighter, had never even been in a scuffle. This was a first, and he was outmatched.

  Josh kicked him hard in the stomach, yelling, “Writing is stupid! Take your crap and run before I kick your dumb ass!”

  Rob gasped for air, grabbed the notebook and the pages he could, and ran back home. From that point he was determined to never try to make friends with anyone and had pretty much held true to that.

  Of his last fifty dollars, he peeled off a five and paid for his beer. He took one last look at the bubble. It still sat there pathetically at the bottom of the glass. Rob gulped it down.

  Chapter Four

  It was November, and the late-evening air in Dallas was nice and cool. The warm humidity had lessened. It was nice and brisk, so he walked back to his university dorm room in the fresh air. After all, sleep wasn’t an option. For the last year a dream began to reoccur. Slowly at first, little bits and pieces wedged between forgettable dreams, but becoming clearer, more vivid, more unforgettable. It got to the point that Rob only caught snatches of sleep. Five minutes here, ten minutes there. But never more, which would risk sending him into rapid eye movement sleep, better known as REMS. REMS, Rob learned, is a unique phase of sleep in people, characterized by random rapid movement of the eyes and the propensity of the sleeper to dream vividly. It was the vividness that terrified Rob and had become the cause of him losing sleep and ultimately his university scholarship. Lately, this nightmare haunted his sleep every time he drifted off.

  In the pocket of his jacket he felt a folded business card. He had folded and unfolded it so much lately it was close to being torn in the crease. He absently turned it over and over in his pocket as he strolled along the sidewalk. A few months ago he had left a writing class, when he saw flyers stuck on the windshields of several parked cars. He didn’t have a car of his own, so he walked mostly. Money was too scarce to call an Uber or catch a cab. He had considered a bicycle, but figured the headache to keep up with it wasn’t worth it. Curiously, he plucked a flyer off the closest windshield hoping for a coupon or some cost-saving service he could use. Instead, he discovered a locally renowned psychologist, Dr. Maria Sheltie, was going to be giving a lecture in the coming fall for the psychology students. However, all students of the university were invited. What caught Rob’s attention was that dream exploration was listed as her area of expertise. A business card was stapled to the corner of the flyer. He tore it off, folded it, and stuck in his jacket pocket. He then placed the flyer back under the windshield wiper of the car from which he took it.

  For the past month, Rob had referenced the card many times. The date of the seminar was tomorrow, and Rob had been torn about whether to attend or not. At first he was determined to overcome this on his own, but he had grown angry with himself for not being able to push this dream out of his thoughts.

  “Am I so feebleminded I can’t control this?” he asked himself repeatedly.

  He felt this lack of sleep had pushed him into the same mental anguish that consumed his father so many years ago. Like father, like son. The inheritance of madness was bestowed upon him.

  He arrived at his dorm building and swiped his access card. It turned green with a click and the lock released. He had no idea where he would live once the LED turned red. The smell of old carpet, mingled with ramen noodles filled the air. The food of choice for broke students in their academic struggle to succeed. A disparity of music and even some heavy, passionate breaths were heard as he passed the doors of other students. He swiped his access card again outside his room, and his luck held. The LED turned green. Inside, the room was not large and only had a bed that’d been hardly used lately and a threadbare chair. Next to the chair was a TV tray. There was a small studio kitchen Rob used to make strong drip coffee, which he was in need of right then as the late night pressed forward. He added two extra scoops of coffee and flipped the switch on to start the brewing cycle. As it began its gurgling process, he looked in the small fridge and grabbed the bologna. He gave it a sniff. Not sure if it smelled offensive or not, he peeled off a slice and tasted it. Deeming okay for human consumption, he grabbed the mustard too.

  As he made the sandwich his mind drifted back to when life was normal. He was six or so. Mel was just out of diapers and could keep up with Rob, so they could play together. He was happy with her in tow wherever he went. Truck and trailer, his dad would call them. Life was easy then. Fun as it should be for kids. His mother was in her prime, having friends over often, and there was always laughter.

  It wasn’t until just before his eighth birthday things started to get dark for his family. His father struggled to sleep and complained about everything. Rob’s mother grew more and more detached from the family as she began attending social gatherings instead of hosting them. She often came home late, smelling of booze. His father’s mood was becoming worse and harder for her to bear, and she seemed determined not to let it rub off on her. It was thereafter he recalled the biggest fight he’d ever seen them have, because they rarely fought at all. His father came home from work, for once, it seemed, in a cheerful mood.

  “Nancy? Where are you?” he called as he searched room to room. Rob was with Mel in the backyard and raced in to see why his dad was so excited. They could hear him hollering for their mother even outside.

  Rob’s mom was lying on the couch half asleep. “I’m in here. What do you want?” she called back. He interrupted her thoughts of whether to go out tonight or stay in. This decision was becoming ever more difficult.

  “You won’t believe it. My childhood home is for sale!”

  “That’s good because . . . ?” His mother groaned as she sat up looking at his father, unable to see what was so exciting about that. When she married Tommy she knew very little of his tormented past, only enough to know there was a very traumatic event involving his father almost murdering Tommy’s mother, so the papers reported. He and his sister were nearly killed themselves. The scars left on the soles of Tommy’s feet from walking through shattered glass from the violence was enough for Nancy to know Tommy’s father was a maniac. However, Tommy defended his father and claimed there was more to the story, but never would elaborate. Nancy knew there were demons in his past, but Tommy assured her that he had gotten therapy as a child and everything was well. He claimed he couldn’t recall much of that night until recently when those dreams began plaguing him. She could see the loss of sleep and those repressed memories clawing their way back from the grave he had buried them in taking a toll on him, on his sanity. She figured even now he may be becoming delusional and she may need to go out tonight after all.

  Handing his phone to her, he said, “Here, look at the realtor pics. It’s been renovated, and the property is better than I’ve ever seen it. We should buy it!” Nancy flipped through them. She had never seen the house before, nor thought she ever would. It wasn’t what she expected. For some reason she always figured it was a creepy old mansion, all run-down and dilapidated, complete with missing shingles and broken shudders. Somewhere a psycho would live. The pictures she was seeing showed a normal farmhouse. Actually, an attractive farmhouse serenely planted in Nowheresville, USA. It was a single story shaped in an L, very spacious inside. The whole property was ten acres, plenty of land for two youngsters that badly needed space to roam free without the fears of the city.

  “You’re serious? You want to buy it, and you want us to live there?” she asked dubiously.

  “Yes! Very serious.”

  “After everything that happened to you there? This is absurd,” Nancy said as she stood and walked into the kitchen.

  Tommy followed her as he continued to explain his reasoning. “Look, lately I haven’t slept well, and my moods have been up and down because of it. I’m thinking if I, if we live there, I can conquer whatever this is I am experiencing and things can get back to normal.”

  “As usual, it’s all about you. Think of our kids. Think of me! Moving out into some godforsaken area without shopping and friends! Would you have the kids ride a bus to school too? My God, what are the schools even like? You can’t just uproot a family like this. There are so many things to consider, Tommy!” She poured herself a large glass of wine and chugged half of it before walking to the bedroom. Tommy followed, trying his best to persuade her.

  This argument elevated into the evening as more wine was consumed and insinuations bordering insults began rearing thei
r ugly heads. Nancy claimed she had enough and was going to her friend’s house to cool off. Rob couldn’t recall if she returned that night, but ultimately she relented, and they drove out that weekend to take a look at the house with a real estate agent.

  The coffee pot beeped, alerting him his strong brew was done and bringing his thoughts back to the present. He poured a cup and took his late-night snack to his chair and settled in. Once he was done with his sandwich, he hoped to start perusing job boards, so he readied his laptop on the TV tray next to him. As he ate, his mind went back to seeing the house for the first time. Rob shivered at the memory of his first being there. Compared to the house he was born in, it was sprawling. Five thousand square feet and one story. The hallway in the photos appeared endless and promised full-speed racing back and forth.

  As they turned and drove up the long, winding driveway, Rob’s and Mel’s faces were glued to the car’s windows. There was endless concrete for bicycle riding, roller blading, and Mel’s favorite, sidewalk art. To say they both were excited was an understatement. The creek, woods, and huge lawn, all seemed surreal. Once the car stopped they bolted out their doors, eager to see it all at once. After they all had walked around the exterior of the house, his father called for them to come check out the inside as the agent raised the garage door and unlocked the side door to go in.

  Chapter Five

  Rob stood in the doorway. Ahead of him was a brick pillar that was one side of the stovetop island. There was a mirror that hung on the brick pillar. He saw himself standing there all of ten years old in his favorite SpongeBob SquarePants underwear. He looked down and saw a sea of shattered glass on the white tile floor. He wondered why the dishes were falling out of the cabinets endlessly—some shattering on the granite countertops and others crashing against the tile floor. He realized he was standing on several shards of glass. His feet were bleeding badly. The crimson color of his blood was in great contrast with the white tiles. However, he didn’t feel any pain. Slowly, as if on cue, sound started to support what his eyes were seeing. Outside the kitchen wall he heard a BANG! BANG! BANG! as the walls shook violently, causing the dishes to shatter in deafening crashes. The noise and chaos were incredible. Without warning he began to walk slowly. He turned left to go around the stovetop island. He couldn’t move otherwise. He slowly walked like he was a puppet. Or better yet, like he was an actor following a script that he mustn’t deviate from. All good actors follow the script. Especially one so well written as this one. He wondered who wrote it. The visual effects were amazing. The sound effects were so authentic. He hoped he didn’t screw up his part.

  As Rob rounded the island, he saw his father there on the floor. He was covered in blood and squatting down with his arms wrapped around his knees. He was terrified, very afraid. He rocked back and forth on his heels mumbling something under his breath. Something incoherent. Drool dripped from his chin. Rob couldn’t make out what he was saying through all the chaos. In front of his father lay a huge German shepherd dog. Rob didn’t recognize the dog, but it had beautiful, thick fur. Its throat was torn open and laid back across its shoulder, exposing sinew and bones. Huge amounts of blood making gurgling, sloppy noises seemed to pour endlessly out of the gaping wound as the dog, though motionless, seemed to still be gasping for air. His long, thick, pink tongue lolled out on the floor. Its eyes were dark marbles. Rob wondered what had happened. What could possibly do that kind of damage to such a huge dog? He wanted to ask his father what happened, but no sound came from his mouth. He felt he was on mute and just stared.

  He heard cries and screams coming from the foyer leading into the living room. Rob’s heart began pounding faster. The cries sounded like they might be coming from a kid and woman. A young boy screaming in utter agony and a woman trying to console him. Rob clearly heard the panic in her voice. Suddenly, a man hollered from the living room, “Come get me, you psycho son of a bitch! Over here!” His voice sounded unhinged and crazy. Rob started to walk again in that slow, numb way into the foyer toward the screaming. He didn’t want to go in there and began wondering if this was a dream. He kept walking nonetheless and crunching broken glass underfoot.

  As he passed through the threshold into the foyer, a sweet, floral perfume began to permeate the air. The smell was faint, but familiar. As Rob tried to remember how he knew it, the chaos and screaming behind him started to abate. In their place was the warm, soft humming of a woman. The tune she was humming was also familiar. But like the perfume, he couldn’t quite place it. Behind him he still sensed the chaos and violence, but now in front of him was pleasant, calm, and bright. He continued into the foyer as the living room opened up to his left. Two large french doors leading outside to the front porch were on his right. Once centered to the doors, he slowly turned to his left, facing the living room. He felt his performance so far was right on cue. He was hitting his marks, and he wondered if the critics would love him for it.

  The living room was spacious and lightly furnished with a large leather couch, coffee table, piano, and large flat-screen TV in the corner. The ceiling was vaulted with a massive ceiling fan turning slowly. Rob realized the room wasn’t just clean, it was immaculate—from the fresh paint on the walls to a radiant bouquet of flowers on the piano. The foyer tiles on which he was standing were the same brilliant white as in the kitchen. Into the living room the floor turned to a rich, deep mahogany that shimmered slightly as if made of liquid. Directly opposite from him was a huge brick fireplace and a woman dusting its mantle while humming that tune. She was only wearing underwear—a matching lace bra and a thong of pure white that seemed to glow against her smooth tan skin. Her silky hair was the color of honey and flowed down her back. Her legs were slender yet toned. She tiptoed to reach the entire surface she was dusting. Rob tried hard not to stare where her thong disappeared, but his eyes seemed to be drawn to that point. She didn’t realize he was there, as she was completely focused on dusting every inch of the mantle. Finally, she exhaled and stepped back to inspect her work.

  “All finished there!” she said in a light, breathy voice. She turned and began dusting the corner of the flat-screen TV. The feathers of her duster were a blur. The full profile of the woman made Rob gasp. He thought she was utterly gorgeous. His heart again began racing, but this time not from fear. Unable to speak, he continued to stare. All at once her duster froze and her head jerked toward him. “Rob, I wasn’t expecting you,” she said with what was clearly a forced smile. Rob slowly realized why the floral scent in the room and the pleasant tune being hummed was so familiar, yet the woman in front of him not so much. Then a thought burst into his head . . . Mom? He tried to speak, but the script didn’t allow for it. He had no speaking lines in this scene. So he continued standing there, just staring. The woman held some resemblance to the mother in his memories. Enough to know the two must be related somehow, but in the way cousins tend to look similar. Her nose seemed different and her cheeks rose higher.

  “What, you don’t recognize me? How long has it been? Ten years at least?” she asked, then performed a perfect pirouette ending in a pose Rob recalled the models on The Price is Right do to accentuate prizes to the contestants. She sauntered toward him, stopping just a few feet in front of him. Her perfume was intoxicating now. He wanted to breathe it in deeply, but to his dismay the script wasn’t allowing for it. She then slid a finger up her tight thigh. She circled it around her navel, then further up between her large breasts, then pressed them together playfully. She leaned forward until she and Rob were eye to eye, resting her hands on her knees. He never really made note of his mother’s breasts before, but surely they were never that full and . . . and . . . big.

  “Cat got your tongue?” she teased.

  Her smile was dazzling. Lips full and plump. Teeth perfect and sparkling white. Why would the writers not give him any lines here? It was obvious she was needing a dialogue to play off of if she was to have any chance at making the podium for this performance.