One of Them Was Rayna

“Hey… Hey, Phyllis? Phyllis, wake up.”

Phyllis groaned into her pillow and rolled over to glare up at her brother. “Morgan? Shit, what — Mor, it’s two in the morning.”

“No, Phyllis,” he whispered urgently, tugging at the comforter. “You need to get up.”

Something in the man’s voice snapped Phyllis fully awake. “What’s wrong?”

“Ah… Maybe nothing? But shhh! You need to come see this.”

Swinging her legs off of the bed, the young woman tucked her feet into her slippers and crept after her brother. “What do you mean maybe?” Then she saw the warm glow from down the hall. An unmistakable flicker of firelight dancing in the dark from inside her daughter’s bedroom.

Phyllis felt panic grip her chest. She immediately moved to run ahead, but Morgan caught her with one arm, while his free hand pressed to his lips in a firm gesture of silence. Together the two crept the last few steps to the child’s bedroom, and let the door creek open a few more inches to let them peer inside.

Asleep on her toddler bed, Rayna slept soundly. The child had twisted sideways on her bed, and laid uncovered, half draped over her large stuffed Simba. Unbothered by the night, her form was illuminated by a steady yellow flame that flickered above her broken nightlight.

Both adults stared in silence for several minutes.

“… It has to be the wall.”

“It’s not.”

“But she –”

“She was upset that her light burned out.”

Phyllis pursed her lips. “The Christmas lights are in storage… Mor, go get one of your toys.”

Morgan scowled at her. “What do you mean ‘toys’?”

“Oh for god’s sake, Mor!” she whispered harshly, swatting at her brother’s arm. “The things! The little light up action figure.”

Phyllis hit his arm again, and the two swatted at each other several times before Morgan gave in and stalked down the hall to his office.

Rayna stirred in her bed, and Phyllis was beside her in an instant, hands shaking as she pulled the covers back up.

“Hi, mommy,” the girl muttered into the fluff of Simba’s mane.

“Hi, honey. Ray, did you find a light?”

Rayna smiled so wide, her eyes still closed as she rolled to her side, bringing her stuffed animal with her. “Uncle Mo couldn’t find a new bulb. And I wished there was a light and I got me a light!” she sighed.

A worried look was cast to the flame as the little girl moved. Phyllis reached to smooth back her hair. “Do you want one of your uncles lights instead?”

“Mmh-hmm,” Ray hummed sleepily in reply.

Morgan sulked in the door, still pulling cardboard from the brand new, mint condition Tigerzoid. A rubber band was wrapped around it to hold the lights button down, and the man placed his sacrificial lamb on the nightstand. A red glow spilled across the room, and the flame by the broken nightlight sputtered out.

“Hmmm… tanks,” sighed Ray, blissfully ignorant and already nearly back asleep.

Phyllis kissed Rayna on the forehead as Morgan retrieved the broken nightlight. They tiptoed out into the hall, still in disbelief at what had happened. Together they gravitated into the kitchen. In the dark Phyllis sunk into a chair, as Morgan made coffee. He poured two cups, then gave one to his sister before sitting down.

“… You owe me a new Power Ranger.”

____

Morgan leaned back against the bench seat behind him. It was late in the afternoon, and the shade in the high school track bleachers did nothing to alleviate the oppressive heat. Still, he sat and watched, timing his nieces’ laps as she practiced with her peers. A folded newspaper served as a makeshift fan that he idly flapped back and forth.

The longer he sat there, the more impatient he became. The more nervous. Then suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Not a moment later two men dressed smartly in black suits rounded the near corner of the stands. They stopped, watching the high school relay team practicing their hand-offs, and Morgan knew they were watching Ray.

He forced himself to draw a calming breath. “Hello, down there. Are you looking for me?”

The two men turned. There was no mistaking that they expected Morgan to be there, and that they were disappointed by it. The shorter of the two handed a silver case to the second, and began heading up the metal steps.

“You must be Morgan Evans.”

“I am,” Morgan replied, rising to a stand as the man drew near. “And you’re one of them.”

“Guilty as charged. You can call me Brigs,” the man offered. With a business smile, Brigs offered a hand out to shake.

Morgan eyed the hand as if it were a snake, and then Brigs. “Can we get this over with? My nieces’ practice is almost over.” Reluctantly, he shook the man’s hand.

“Ah, yes, well, first we would like to extend our apologies for the commotion last night,” Brigs began, keeping the hand shake casual and brief.

“Commotion my ass,” Morgan snapped before he could catch himself. “You attacked my home! They took out half the block and tried to kill my family!”

Brigs narrowed his gaze. “You must understand, no matter if the agents illegally crossed over, they were carrying out an order your own worlds Commission would have received sooner or later. She is a liability.”

Morgan raked a hand roughly through his hair. “She’s a teenage girl!” he pressed, voice rising.

“A teenage girl who will grow up! The timeline in three other dimensions has been wrecked because of her!”

“Don’t you dare put that on my Ray,” Morgan growled. “There is no rule that says she has to do anything you think she will.” The man at the bottom of the bleachers was watching now. Brigs noticed too, and he stepped back, taking a moment to compose himself.

“I know, and how — how you handled things last night….” Brigs exhaled a genuinely heavy breath. “We were not prepared for them to act so soon. This is irregular, I hope you know,” he added after a long pause. A hand reached into his suit jacket, and an envelope was pulled out. “Reject any admission or offers of others wanting to recruit her, and Multi. Co. will leave her be.”

Swallowing hard, Morgan nodded in agreement, and lifted a hand to accept the envelope. “So that’s… That’s it?”

“Not quite,” Brigs replied. He tapped a finger against the crisp paper. “Sign and leave it in the extra mailbox of your apartment. This is your official deal.” That said, Brigs turned to begin back down the stands.

Morgan blinked in surprise. His gaze lowered to the envelope for a thoughtful moment before looking back up. “Wait, what do I tell her?”

Brigs paused just long enough to shoot a level look back up at the man. “That, Mister Evans, is entirely up to you. Welcome to Multi. Co.”

____

The cut off from I-5 was completely jammed at this time of day. It was Ray’s best weapon against her mother’s protests to her riding a motorcycle. Zipping up the on ramp, she sped down the shoulder of the interstate, unbothered by the traffic.

Headphones snaked up from the collar of her jacket and into her helmet. Halfway to her turnoff and right at the climax of her song her phone began to ring. Groaning, she slowed over a curve, coasting so she could hit the Bluetooth button.

“Thank you for calling Ray’s Shake and Baked.”

“Young lady, what if it had been your mother on the phone?”

“Does she even know what baked means?”

“Ray, she was a teenager in the seventies.”

“Point taken. What’s the word?”

“I need to know if you looked at the new file I sent you.”

“About the tailing job? Is everyone at HQ bored as shit?”

“This is a serious job, Ray.”

“Multi Co. thinks too much mustard on a sandwich is serious.”

Morgan sighed on the other end of the line. “They don’t have a lot on him, but just keep your eyes open. They think he’ll be expecting ‘company’.”

“Company? Now that would be fun. I like a good party. At least it’s not the bald guy who wore the snake skin speedo.” She wove around several vehicles and signaled to take the upcoming off ramp.

“Just remember not to get involved, okay?”

“What?! I’m a sucker for a pretty face!”

“Ray.”

“I’m joking! It’s called a joke. I’ll be the best little creeper on the block.”

“Just be careful. And if you get caught take him to your music thing this weekend.”

Rayna laughed inside her helmet as she swung through an intersection and towards a row of parking spaces. “What about not getting involved?”

“Brat. See you at supper.”

“Love youuuu!”

The call ended, and she zipped past a sedan to steal the only open parking spot. The driver blared his horn and leaned out his window to shout at her. Swinging off her bike, Rayna pulled off her helmet to shake out her red hair, then turned to walk away, blowing the angry driver a kiss.