One Door From Heaven

fanned on the table, and Polly gathers them up as she says, "I don't mean to salt your grief, sweetie, but if we're going to help, we need to know the situation. Were your folks killed in a cover-up because they saw too much, something like that?"
        "Yes, ma'am. Something like that."
        Slipping the deck of cards into a pack bearing the Bicycle logo and setting the pack aside, Polly says, "And evidently you also saw too much."
        "Yes, ma'am. Something like that, ma'am."
        "Please call me Polly, but never ask me if I want a cracker."
        "Okay, ma'- Okay, Polly. But I like crackers, so I'll eat any you don't want."
        As Curtis noisily sucks root beer and melting ice cream through a straw, Cass leans forward conspiratorially and whispers ominously, "Did you see an alien spacecraft, Curtis?"
        He licks his lips and whispers, "More than one, ma'am."
        "Call me Cass," she whispers, and now their conversation is firmly established in this sotto-voce mode. "Castoria sounds too much like a bowel medication."
        "I think it's pretty, Cass."
        "Should I call you Curtis?"
        "Sure. That's who I'm being… who I am."
        "So you saw more than one alien ship. And did you see… honest-to-God aliens?"
        "Lots of 'em. And some not so honest."
        Electrified by this revelation, she leans even farther over the table, and a greater urgency informs her whisper. "You saw aliens, and so the government wants to kill you to keep you from talking."
        Curtis is utterly beguiled by her twinkly-eyed look of childlike excitement, and he doesn't want to disappoint her. Leaning past his root beer, not quite nose-to-nose with Cass, but close enough to feel her exhilaration, he whispers, "The government would probably lock me away to study me, which might be worse than killing."
        "Because you had contact with aliens?"
        "Something like that."
        Polly, who has not leaned over the table and who does not speak in a whisper, looks worriedly at the nearby window. She reaches over her sister's head, grabs the draw cord, and shuts the short drape as she says, "Curtis, did your parents have an alien encounter, too?"
        Although he continues to lean toward Cass, when Curtis shifts his eyes toward Polly, he answers her in a normal tone of voice, as she has spoken to him: "Yes, they did."
        "Of the third kind?" whispers Cass.
        "Of the worst kind," he whispers.
        Polly says, "Why didn't the government want to study them, like they want to study you? Why were they killed?"
        "Government didn't kill them," Curtis explains.
        "Who did?" whispers Cass.
        "Alien assassins," Curtis hisses. "Aliens killed everyone in the house."
        Cass's eyes are bluer than robin's eggs and seemingly as big as those in a hen's nest. She's briefly breathless. Then: "So… they don't come in peace to serve mankind."
        "Some do. But not these scalawags."
        "And they're still after you, aren't they?" Polly asks.
        "From Colorado and clear across Utah," Curtis admits. "Both them and the FBI. But I'm getting harder to detect all the time."
        "You poor kid," Cass whispers. "All alone, on the run."
        "I've got my dog."
        Getting up from the booth, Polly says, "Now you've got us, too. Come on, Cass, let's pull stakes and hit the road."
        "We haven't heard his whole story yet," Cass protests. "There's aliens and all sorts of spooky stuff." Still leaning toward Curtis, she drops her voice to a whisper: "All sons of spooky stuff", right?"
        "Spooky stuff," he confirms, thrilled to see the delight that he has given her with this confirmation.
        Polly is adamant. "They're hunting for him right across the state line. They're sure to come nosing around here soon. We've got to get moving."
        "She's the alpha twin," Cass whispers solemnly. "We've got to listen to her, or there'll be hell to pay."
        "I'm not the alpha twin," Polly disagrees. "I'm just practical. Curtis, while we get the rig ready to roll, you take a shower. You're just a little too fragrant. We'll throw your clothes in the washer."
        He's reluctant to endanger these sisters, but he accepts their hospitality for three reasons. First, motion is commotion, which makes it harder for his enemies to detect him. Second, but for the big windshield, the motor home is more enclosed than most