Dangerous Designs Read online

  ***

  "What did you say?" she squeaked. Was that horrible high-pitched girlie voice really hers? Oh God.

  "It's the only option. I can teach you how to evade my people, and you can teach me to live over here."

  "Why run, then?" she asked cautiously.

  He stared at her again in that deep, intense way, as if he could see to the center of her soul. Maybe he could. His people seemed to have untold skills and technology, she thought resentfully.

  "The retrieval team won't be polite. I'm afraid of the lengths they might go to get the information they want from your family."

  "Oh my God. Are you saying they might hurt my mother?" At his slow nod, she collapsed onto the bed. "This is so not happening. I didn't care until you mentioned my mom getting hurt." She buried her face in her hands. "I've been so stupid."

  A warm hand squeezed her shoulder. She dropped her hands to find him leaning over her.

  "You haven't been stupid. That you managed to do what you did, took a remarkable amount of resourcefulness and ingenuity."

  "Really?" She raised an eyebrow at him, inordinately pleased when he nodded. So he thought she was smart. Well good. She was no dummy. She knew that. "Running away isn't the answer."

  "Why not?" He sat down beside her and held her hand. "We can't fight them. There are too many of them."

  "Maybe. Once we start to run there's no end to our running. No, we have to find a way to remove the ‘kill order’ from my head."

  "My father won't back down. He believes you're a threat and that's that."

  She studied his face. "For a society that talks and doesn't act, it seems odd that he'd make one statement and then stand by it."

  "That's why they talk so much first. Once they embark on a course of action, they stand by it."

  "What if we kidnap him – until he changes his mind?" Eric looked so horrified, she had to laugh. "Kidding! But we need to do something offensive instead of defensive. Once you're on the defensive, it's hard to get off of it."

  "What, did you take Spy 101?"

  Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she grinned. "Football."

  His shock had her laughing out loud.

  "Then we kidnap someone other than my father. The security surrounding him is impressive."

  "What about your security?"

  "Don't have any."

  Nice father, worried more about protecting himself than his son, but she refrained from pointing that out. "Could we negotiate?"

  He frowned. "I don't understand."

  "What if I offer to help, providing the death sentence is rescinded?"

  "Can we trust them to keep their part of the agreement afterward?"

  She wasn't sure they could. "Hmmm. Why are the Louers so feared?"

  "It has to do with the kind of people they are. They're more like a pestilence that feeds on others. Literally."

  "Gross. Are you saying they're cannibals?"

  "I don't think they'd consider us to be the same as they are. We're just another animal, another food source to them."

  "Are they people?"

  "No one has ever seen them to know. The archives mention that they're human-like, but more animal in behavior."

  "Like a dog? Horse? A monkey kind of thing?" She couldn't quite reconcile the long boney fingers pushing the door open in her drawing with being an animal.

  "I don't know."

  "Or are they just lesser people like your people consider me to be?"

  "I'm not sure." He frowned. "I hope not. Everything I've learned has comes from the archives."

  "Written by your unbiased ancestors, no doubt." Storey snickered. "Why were they locked away in this third dimension anyway? And don't forget that outside of that hand in my drawing, there's been no sign of Louers in either dimension."

  "As far as the archives report," he admitted at her knowing look, "they hunted my people. They had stealth and skills that gave them the upper hand in wars. We were a peaceful people. They made us slaves. It's in the archives that they ate our kind, as well."

  "Well, the slave thing certainly isn't new and neither is the war. Your people were the weaker of the two and lost the war. Maybe your people did something to bring the war on their heads, and they rose up against you."

  His gaze widened. "No."

  Storey wasn't so sure. It might have happened that way, but if they were in any way like her own people, war was almost second nature. And Eric might not know the facts. After seeing his people in action, she doubted they were as innocent as they'd like to believe. His wouldn't be the first society to wipe their history, and therefore their record, clean. She'd learned that much in history class. "How long do we have?"

  "Until early tomorrow, I'd say."

  "Does Paxton monitor all the screens all the time?"

  "Yes. He or someone on his staff."

  "Then why don't we go back to your world? They can see that you did your job and..." she held up her hand to forestall his words from flying out, "and you can help me to escape again."

  He rose and stormed around the small room. "Because I can't guarantee your safety."

  She nodded. "That's why we're going to have to be crafty."

  "I don't understand."

  "Come on, I'll show you." She snatched up her sketchbook and sat down beside him.

  "Storey, are you in there?" Her mother knocked on her door. Panic-stricken, Storey turned to face the door as Eric tried to squeeze his length into her closet, scrunching beneath her hanging clothes. Grabbing her mp3 player, Storey opened the door, a quizzical smile on her face. "Of course I am. What's up?" Music blasted from the cheap earbud in her hand, the other one sat in her ear.

  "I thought I heard you talking to someone."

  Storey snorted. "Yeah, right. As if. I don't have anyone to talk to, remember?"

  "Well, Eric would talk to you. He seemed like such nice boy."

  Uh oh. She so didn't want her mother on this conversation, especially not when Eric could hear. She shook her head. "We're not going there, Mom."

  "I just wanted to tell you I'm heading over to Sandra and Daren's place, if you don't mind, that is?" She appeared anxious, as if waiting for Storey's approval.

  Storey sighed. "Mom, that's great. Go have fun. No, I don't want to join you, and yes, it's totally fine that you're going."

  Her mom gave her a worried look. "Are you sure?"

  Maybe it was the imminent threat of death or the thought of her mom waking up to find her gone – maybe forever – that prompted Storey. Regardless, she leaned forward and kissed her mom on the cheek. "I'm sure. Go have fun."

  Relieved, her mom turned away. 'There's some snack food downstairs if you get hungry later."

  "We just ate, Mom. I'm fine."

  "You didn't eat much. I could..."

  "No. You couldn't. Stop. I'm old enough to know when I need to eat. I'm not hungry. If that changes, I promise I'll go and find something."

  "Okay then. I might be late, so I'll see you in the morning."

  "G'night, Mom."

  Storey closed the door and turned to lean against it with a heavy sigh. Her mother would be devastated if something happened to her only child.

  "You okay?"

  "Yeah. Let's get started." Story crossed over to the bed and opened her sketchbook to a clean page. "Where are they likely to take me once on your side?"

  "The worst case would be the dungeons."

  She gave him a horrified look. "What? That sounds bad."

  "It is. Nasty place. Most prisoners sicken and die." He pondered the idea. "I don't think they would start with that punishment."

  "Good," she muttered. "I'm looking to draw exits from your world to mine."

  "That's risky," he warned. "I can't guarantee where they might take you."

  "True. However, if you hand me over and I have some exits on me already, then I could get home if I don't happen to care for the accommodations. And I need to take spare paper for my stylus, just in case."


  He shook his head. "You're going to have to be so careful. If they catch you, they'll take the stylus away from you and you won't be able to use it."

  "Which is why I want to draw the exits now. While I have the stylus." She twisted the pencil in her hand. "Do you think I could draw a weapon? An assistant? A new happy world for your people? Like what are the limits of this thing?" She stared down at the pencil, wondering just what was possible. "Have you used one yourself?"

  "No. There are very few of them in existence, and they bond to the death, so a new bonding can only happen when the owner dies."

  "And mine belonged to a scientist? Weird." She studied the pencil, trying to read the writing. "So no one really knows what they can do."

  "No."

  "If I draw a cupcake with it, will it create one?"

  "I don't think so. Whatever you draw has to be contained in the paper."

  Scrunching up her face, she struggled with what he was saying. "So like I drew a door and the paper could become the door. If I draw a window and hold it up, can I see what's on the other side?"

  Confusion filled his gaze and then he blinked hard. "It's not like the picture is going to change and show you what's there. Maybe you can put your face through the paper or something. I don't know. Honestly, I think you're going to have to try it out."

  "Except I don't want a window unless that would be useful. Like into the dungeon so I could see the walls and then draw them as a way to create a door out again.

  "Hmm. Not going to work."

  A weird sound rumbled through her room. She bolted upright. "What the hell is that?'

  Eric got his feet more slowly. "I'm not sure. It can't be good."

  The noise sounded again, under her feet. She bolted to her feet. "I'm going to look."

  With Eric on her heels, she raced downstairs to the living room. Her mother had long gone, leaving the house empty. She moved into the den, which sat right below her bedroom. The far wall had splintered and cracked. As they stood and watched, several ridiculously long bony fingers crept through the crack, breaking pieces of plaster as they slid further out. Dirty and rough, with short cracked fingernails, the fingers scrabbled for a hold on the wall.

  "Oh shit. Oh shit."

  Eric gulped audibly. Running his hand through his hair, he stared at those fingers in horror. A quick glance at his face confirmed Storey's suspicions.

  "The Louers?" she whispered in dread. At his nod, her heart pounded inside her chest and her mind screamed at her. How could this have happened? Why were they here and not on Eric's side? She'd never considered this. She looked around for something, anything, to make this all go away. She glanced down at her hand, still holding the sketchbook and stylus.

  Crouching down, she balanced the book on her knee and slapped down a sketch of the wall in front of her, without the crack. Then she added a door and placed a deadbolt on the side, separating the two worlds. She could have done it in half the time, but her fingers were trembling so badly, she kept messing up.

  With one clean stroke of the stylus, she locked the deadbolt in place. And sat back to stare up at wall, her chest heaving from the effort. Her breath caught in her throat. Did it work?

  No. Maybe? The hand was still there. It tried to wiggle as if struggling to move but incapable.

  Eric gasped.

  "Oh shit," She sketched faster, drawing in the crack to resemble, as close as possible, the wall in front of her. Then she drew a paint brush in the act of painting the entire wall in plaster. Her breath labored as she struggled to keep her panic under control.

  Using a stick hand, she quickly sketched the brush moving across the wall covering up the hand and the crack. As soon as she finished, she looked over the top of the book. The hand was gone and the cracks in her wall were gone - at least where the paint brush had stroked. On a hunch, she turned to a clean page and drew a paint stiff paint brush, wrote eraser on it then ripped it crudely off the page. With Eric watching her in astonishment, she folded the paper such that just the brush shape showed. Walking to the damaged wall, she stroked, erasing the mess there. Unbelievably, one stroke at a time, everything disappeared. Panicked still, she couldn't stop until the last of it was gone and the wall looked as it had before. Even then, her hand continued to stroke over the wall.

  Eric grabbed her hand and pulled her gently into his arms. "It's done, stop!"

  Shuddering, she gasped for breath. "Oh, my God."

  "You can say that again."

  "So much for not being able to create tools."

  Holding her tight, he rested his chin on her head. "I can't believe you just did that."

  "I didn't do anything. It was the stylus." She took a deep shuddering breath and let it out. "Do you think they're gone?" Pulling back, she peered up at him. "Like really gone?"

  "I don't know. What about the outside of the house? Did that fix the problem or just hide this side?" She shot him a horrified glance and bolted toward the front door. The screen door banged behind her as she ran outside and around the back of the house. Eric raced around the corner as she was backing up to take a wider look. There were no cracks, no broken siding. Nothing to say anything odd had occurred at all.

  Her breath gusted out. Hands on hips, she surveyed the back wall in amazement. "That thing was coming through the wall - as in between the inside and outside walls."

  "No." Eric reached out a hand to touch the wooden siding. "That's the part that still confuses you. He was coming between the dimensions. Good thing it was the living room. He could have just as easily come through your bedroom, and you wouldn't have had that delay to create your paint brush." He glanced at her. "I gotta tell you, that was incredibly quick thinking on your part."

  She flushed, grateful for the darkness, and wiped her hands on her jeans. "Thanks. I didn't think at all about it. I just reacted."

  The evening air was cool. She shivered as she walked back around to the front of her house. "I wonder if it was the stylus telling me what to do?" His quick frown had her adding, "Or don't you think it can communicate?"

  They walked up the three steps to the front porch and Eric opened the door for her. "You tell me. By now you know more than I do. Keep in mind the stylus doesn't know or care about the Louers. Its goal is to get home."

  Still the idea had come at the right time, and she couldn't help wonder at the intelligence level of the stylus. She studied it as she had so many times already. It looked like a thick art pencil. Remarkably unremarkable. And it was anything but.

  Back inside, she returned to the once damaged wall, looking for proof of the event. Her fingers tentatively stroked the painted drywall. Sure enough, a tiny spider network of cracks dotted the wall and left the paint cracking. It didn't look bad, just old and unloved. She rubbed her temple. "Wonder how long before my mother notices."

  "Hopefully forever."

  Storey snorted. "Oh, she'll see it. All of a sudden she's going to realize how weary the room looks and will want to repaint."

  Now that the crisis had passed, she had to admit she felt a little shaky. Or maybe shocky was a better word.

  "I think we should leave."

  "Yeah? Your world or mine?" She studied the worry etched in his wrinkled forehead.

  "It's possible the Louers made it into my world." The frown rippled across his features. "If they did, my people are particularly vulnerable to them."

  Storey glanced back at the wall as if double-checking that whatever she'd seen was truly gone. "In what way?"

  "They're terrified of them, for one. We were raised knowing our people were once enslaved until they couldn't work anymore and ended up as food source. Plus, my people aren't fighters. We don't have wars."

  "Ever?" Amazing. Kinda cool, too. Who'd have thought an entire species of people could survive without trying to kill each other off?

  "Never," he said firmly.

  "Only with the Louers?"

  "Yes."

  "Not even with my people?"

/>   "No. We fell across your world in our attempt to banish the Louers."

  "So then there could be many other dimensions out there?"

  He paused, as if considering this for the first time. "I don't know that there aren't. We've never come across any, though."

  "And you've never gone looking." Interesting. As long as something didn't cross their path they didn't go out of their way to learn more. Not a curious people. But rigid, in keeping to what they knew. Not liking change, or progress, or criticism, apparently. Good to know. Could she turn their traits against them in her bid for freedom?