Neighbors: Public Domain Agents, #1

By Christopher Menkhaus

For a girl obsessed with the past…

 

And a boy with no future…

 

There's no time like the present…

 

No time at all!

 

Heather Worth is about to take the biggest step of her life. She is moving across the country for an art scholarship at a prestigious university. For Heather, everything is about to change.

 

But, Heather has a secret motivation for her move. She recognizes one of the students in the background of one of the photographs in the university brochure.

She's sure it's him. It's been over a decade since she's seen him, but she would know him anywhere. After all, he was her first crush…and it's impossible to forget someone who looks like they have lights under their skin.

 

Heather has finally found Chase Russet. This time, nothing is going to keep them apart. Not even Chase's neighbors, who are harboring a dangerous secret.

Chase Russet takes the same steps every day. No matter how many times Chase's family moves, they still live in the same house, with the same neighbors. For Chase, nothing ever changes.

 

Until the accident…

 

Buy Neighbors today! Every story out there is made up of fictional facts, but only this book contains factional fictions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher Menkhaus
• Release date: Dec 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781956720051

Book preview

Neighbors

NEIGHBORS

A NOVEL

PUBLIC DOMAIN AGENTS

BOOK ONE

CHRISTOPHER P. MENKHAUS

TimeAlpha Media

ALSO BY CHRISTOPHER P. MENKHAUS

Relictown

The Chorus

Brownie

Heritage

Bacia

The Colony (forthcoming)

Public Domain Agents

Neighbors

Heather the Spy

The Long Game

Shermy

MILAB Files

I Was a Teenage MILAB

Secret School

Secret Seed

Secret Station

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

NEIGHBORS

Copyright © 2022 by Christopher P. Menkhaus

All rights reserved.

Cover design by James

Logo design by Nodsaibot

Lyrics to "My Sky", The Weakest Suit, 2008

Published by TimeAlpha Media

www.timealphamedia.com

ISBN 978-1-956720-05-1 (ebook)

ISBN 978-1-956720-06-8 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-956720-17-4 (hardcover)

First Edition: December 2022

Version 1.3.1

These borders are laid one corner at a time.

CONTENTS

Wendy’s Irreplaceable Mix Tape

Side A (39:43)

Side B (36:20)

Wendy’s Second Irreplaceable Mix Tape

Side A (35:28)

Side B (46:19)

Acknowledgments

About the Author

WENDY’S IRREPLACEABLE MIX TAPE

WENDY’S IRREPLACEABLE MIX TAPE

Side A (39:43)

Catch Me Up (3:48)

New Atmosphere (4:43)

Aloha (3:19)

Different Level of Alright (3:41)

Everyday Life (2:33)

Sleep (5:10)

Red (3:35)

The Street Where You Live (4:07)

Vector (5:17)

Cue the Strings (3:30)

Side B (36:20)

I Got My Eye on You (3:32)

Come Clean (3:44)

I’m in for Saturday (3:54)

Euphoria (3:44)

Backseat (6:06)

Magnetic Fields (2:54)

Novocaine for the Soul (3:08)

Repeater (3:01)

All My Ghosts (3:32)

Red-Eyed and Blue (2:45)

SIDE A (39:43)

Emerson

The Neighbors have resurfaced.

Director

What took so long to find them?

They’re getting better at hiding the R-G spires. Satellites finally spotted them.

Are we sure? Intel suggests the project is no longer being actively funded.

What does that mean?

The Target’s current conduit is probably the last one.

That’s good. Monitoring these Neighbors has been quite costly.

You’re missing the point. What would you do if the project you spent your entire life on was being canceled because it was a failure?

I’d try to salvage anything to make it work.

Exactly. Othmar is in the endgame. We can certainly count on a demonstration of efficacy before the Target’s last conduit wears out.

But we’ve been monitoring these Neighbors for years, and still have no clue to the location of the Target’s conduit.

It’s time to switch tactics. I’m sending you the Longshot Protocol. Activate it.

What’s that?

Our last chance at getting what we want without starting a war.

CATCH ME UP (3:48)

Heather sat in the hard plastic chair in the waiting room of the eye doctor. She was listening to a cassette tape in her walkman. The same tape she always brought to doctor appointments. Side A was calm music for the waiting room. Side B was loud music for the car, to keep from talking with the mother.

Heather watched the mother paying for the service at the counter. The tape ended, and the walkman clicked off. Heather flipped the cassette to Side B in anticipation of the car trip. She pulled the headphones off her ears and let them settle around her shoulders.

She rocked impatiently in the chair. Her long red hair came out from behind her left ear and settled across her left eye. In a move that felt unnatural, Heather reached up and brushed it back behind her ear.

She stood up and walked over to one of the many mirrors that broke up the displays of eyeglass frames on the walls. She tilted her head left and right, watching her eyes all the while. Amazing.

For the first time in forever, Heather felt good about herself. The timing was perfect, too. This time tomorrow, she’d be on the road to a new school and a new life.

She looked at herself again and smiled. Heather found she didn’t even mind the trendy little outfit the mother insisted she wear. Well, maybe she minded a little. She made a pouty face in the mirror.

Watch that face, the mother called.

She had finished paying and was currently holding the door open for Heather.

Let’s go.

Heather got into the passenger side of the car. The mother got in her side and started up the engine.

Let me look at you again, she said.

Heather felt the mother’s hand grab her chin and turn her head to the left.

Amazing, she exclaimed. Now, about tomorrow… She put the car in reverse.

Mom, Heather cut her off. Wait. I have to… you know.

She wiggled a little in her seat for effect.

Can’t it wait? the mother asked. We’re close to home.

No, Mom, Heather said. It can’t. I’ll be right back.

Heather was out of the car, clutching her purse, and running back into the eye doctor’s office before her mother put the car back in park.

I’ll just wait here, she heard the mother call.

Heather hurriedly walked up to the receptionist.

Is there something else, dear? the receptionist asked.

Yes, Heather said. Please cancel the payment my mother just made. I’ll be paying for this myself.

But, dear, the receptionist said. Without your mother’s insurance, it will be over three thousand dollars.

I have it, Heather said. Please. I’m in kind of a hurry.

Heather looked out of the office window. The mother was still in the car, but maybe not for long.

She gave a stern look to the receptionist, who began clicking away at the keyboard.

But why? the receptionist asked.

I don’t want anyone else paying for this, Heather said. I earned it. Like I earned the money to pay for it.

Three thousand, two hundred, fifty-four dollars and twenty-six cents, the receptionist said.

Heather got out her narwhal-styled checkbook and her purple ink pen and wrote out a check for the full amount.

She ripped the check out of the checkbook and handed it to the receptionist.

We don’t get many of these anymore, the receptionist said.

I know, Heather said. They’re fun, aren’t they?

She took the receipt, folded it up, and put it in her purse.

Thank you.

What will you tell your mother when she notices? the receptionist asked.

Heather simply winked her left eye, pulled open the door, and headed back out to the mother’s waiting car. Before she opened the car door, she slipped her headphones on and pressed play on the walkman.

The last dinner at home before Heather left on her adventure was a somber affair. The walkman was, unfortunately, banished to Heather’s bedroom during meal time. She took a good last look at the father and the mother. They were not ideal parents.

The father, while a good man, was controlling to the point of suffocation. He was a tall, slim man who did everything he could to keep himself in shape, but could not fight the baldness that was creeping across his scalp. He claimed to want the best for Heather, but most of the time, was nowhere to be found. However, to be fair, Heather didn’t know if he stayed away from the house to be away from her or steer clear of the mother.

The mother was controlling too, in smaller, more insidious ways, and was always bitter about something Heather had never figured out. She was about a foot shorter than the father, which made pictures of them together look unsettling. She was also perpetually ten years behind the times in both fashion and hairstyles, still wearing a faux bob when all of her friends had grown their hair out to a more trendy length. Heather wouldn’t mind these fashion blunders at all, except that the mother tried to dress Heather in the same style as herself. After years of fighting it, Heather had given in, and was usually embarrassed by what the mother forced her to wear every time they left the house together.

Maybe what everyone needed was for Heather to move out, finally leaving the two of them to work on their own lives.

I just don’t understand, the father said, while chewing a piece of roast beef. Why do you need to move across the country for what is essentially the same type of college you’re in now?

I agree with your father, dear, the mother said. It’s not too late to get you reregistered here.

Heather could tell that the mother was trying to work herself closer to tears.

She looked down at the meal. Roast beef, mashed potatoes, peas, applesauce. When she was little, she used to hide the cut up bits of roast beef in her mashed potatoes, like pieces of buried treasure. Now, at twenty, she was beyond those types of games. She was beyond this whole life. She was ready to be out of this house for good.

"It’s not the same type of college, Heather said. And you know it."

Heather, the mother said. Don’t you dare talk to your father that way.

I’m sorry, Heather said. And, yes, the size of the college is about the same, but I don’t think a business degree and a full-ride art scholarship are the same at all. The applesauce is good.

The applesauce was the only part of the meal the mother didn’t prepare.

But what will you do with an art degree? the father asked. "Is it worth throwing away two years toward a useful degree?"

A degree I never wanted.

I suppose I’ll be an artist, Heather said.

She sculpted her mashed potatoes into a leaning tower, then knocked it over.

I love you, the father said.

Heather felt his hand touch her left hand. The mother always made sure she sat on Heather’s right side. While the mother was trying to work herself into an emotion, Heather turned and saw actual tears in the father’s eyes.

I’ll be fine, Dad, she choked.

The mother stood up and cleared her place, loudly.

Well, I just don’t know, she muttered. "I didn’t even know you had applied for this art scholarship."

Wendy helped me do it, Heather said. It’s a great school. It just happens to be in Colorado.

Oh, that Wendy, the mother muttered on her way back to the kitchen with her dishes. She’s a bad influence.

Heather stood up.

"How is Wendy, of all people, a bad influence?"

It’s just a figure of speech, dear, the mother said, returning to the table with a cup of coffee and a fake tear on her cheek.

You can’t pick your neighbors, the father said, still eating.

Heather slumped back down in her chair.

Or your parents.

Heather realized she said that part out loud, then immediately wished she could take it back when she saw the father’s face.

Honestly, Heather, he said.

Now the mother really was crying.

Later, there was a knock on Heather’s bedroom door. Before she could answer, Wendy stuck her head in.

Hey. What’s with your parents? she asked.

Get in here and close the door, Heather said. I’m finishing up my packing.

Wendy flopped down on the bed, scattering a pile of cassette tapes and cases.

Sorry, she said.

That’s okay, Heather said.

She flopped down on the bed next to Wendy. She momentarily wondered if the bed in her dorm room would be more or less comfortable than this one.

So, Wendy said, impatiently. Let’s see.

Heather pulled her hair back behind her ears and moved her head back and forth.

Amazing! Wendy exclaimed. You look great. I’m so happy for you. And you finally get to get out of this town.

Thanks to you, Heather said.

She looked around her room. Everywhere she saw pieces of the mother. She was in the wallpaper, the tacky lamp, the baby angel ceramics that lined a shelf too high to reach.

I can’t wait to have a room of my own, she said.

I know, Wendy said, looking at the tacky pink bedspread she was sitting on. She reached over to the desk and held up the brochure that came with the scholarship application.

Now, the real question is, are you moving across the country for the art scholarship or the… other reason? Wendy asked, tapping at a certain picture on the brochure.

The art scholarship, of course, Heather said with a sweep of her eyes.

She twirled a bit and sat at the desk. Then she reached out and took the brochure from Wendy’s hand. She looked again at the picture Wendy’s finger had tapped. Could this picture really be what it looked like? Heather was eager to investigate. For a second, she felt pure excitement, like when she was a child.

The… other reason… is just an amazing coincidence, she said.

"Unbelievable is how I’d put it," Wendy said.

I hope to call it fate, Heather said, exhaling a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She carefully laid the brochure back down. I’d be a fool to turn down this opportunity.

Yeah, yeah.

Wendy started putting the scattered cassettes back into their cases.

"Are you really taking all of these?" she asked, holding up two handfuls of cassettes.

Of course, Heather said.

Suddenly, reality hit. After tomorrow, Wendy wouldn’t be there to talk to every night. She felt a pang in her stomach.

"When are you going to get out of here?" Heather asked.

I don’t know, Wendy said, lying down on the tacky bedsheet. I don’t want to grow up.

Heather sat on the bed, pulled Wendy up, and gave her a hug.

Wendy, she said. You’ve been such a good friend. I wouldn’t have even known about this scholarship if you hadn’t told me about it.

Heather thought for a moment.

Come to think of it, you practically forced me to apply for this thing, Heather said, tapping the brochure.

Are you sorry? Wendy asked.

No, Heather said. But, I’m going to miss you, Wendy.

You too, Wendy said, sniffling. "Let’s not cry, okay?"

Okay, Heather said, wiping her eyes.

She pulled Wendy off the bed and they both stood facing the floor-length mirror across the room. They were both around the same height, fair-skinned, and slim. Wendy had shoulder-length brown hair and blue eyes. Heather had long, wavy red hair and green eyes. They had been neighbors and best friends for ten years.

I bet the whole time you’re driving there, you’ll feel like you’re flying, Wendy said, pulling Heather’s hair back.

That’s a happy little thought, Heather said.

Wendy giggled and let go of Heather’s hair.

Heather resisted the urge to pull the hair back over her face. Instead, she gave Wendy a big hug.

After Wendy left, Heather did a final inventory. Gaudy suitcases filled with gaudy clothes the mother had bought for her. Check. Beat up duffle bag filled with cassettes, sketchbooks, art supplies, and extra batteries. Check. Small boom box with dual cassette decks to make future mix tapes. Check. Bag of toiletries. Check. Bag of shoes. Check. Purse. Check.

Heather climbed into bed. The only thing missing from her mountain of things to pack into the car the next morning was the walkman that she had next to her on top of the covers, loaded with one of her sleeping tapes. She waited for it to rewind, hearing the pitch of the motor increase as it reached the beginning of the tape.

Click. Clack. Play.

The music started. Heather stared at the dark ceiling, wondering what the ceiling in her dorm room would look like. She tried not to think of that picture in the brochure. That might not be at all what it looked like. She tried not to get her hopes up.

Either way, she was finally getting away from this house.

Baird

It’s official. They’re pulling the plug.

Hamlin

Why now? We’ve kept a stable subject for close to twenty years. That’s longer than most of the other cells.

All the remaining cells are being shut down too. We’ve been deemed obsolete.

So what’s going to happen to all of us? We’ve put two decades of our lives into this project.

The Beast’s conduit will still last a few months. We don’t need him to do anything now, except be inconspicuous until it’s time to unleash him.

So, we’re putting all of our chips on Option B?

We have no alternative. The company wants results. Our lives are literally on the line. If we can’t give them their perfect covert operative, we can at least deliver an undetectable mass casualty event.

What about our kids?

I warned you not to get too attached.

NEW ATMOSPHERE (4:43)

The next morning was clear and sunny. A perfect summer day. The perfect day to say goodbye to a life Heather never wanted. The mother and the father were not her real parents. She didn’t remember her real parents all that much. Heather would have given almost anything to have a picture of them, or a recording of their voices, to jog her memory, but she had neither.

Heather had in her possession only two objects from her life before. One was her oldest sketchbook. The second was a third-grade class picture she had pilfered from a photo album and tucked into the pages of that sketchbook. Heather had taken these items with her in the car on the day of the accident. She was never taken back to the house where she had lived with her real parents after she was released from the hospital. Those two items became her only links to a past that got harder to remember as time went by.

Heather reverently put the sketchbook, with the photo and the college brochure tucked inside, on the passenger seat of her car. Next to it, she placed a small case of her favorite driving cassettes. Heather drove a maroon 1980s Citation. It was an old car that was running on a third rebuilt engine. It had separate keys for doors and ignition, and a sideways radio that had been swapped out for a sideways tape deck.

Since the accident, Heather had developed an aversion to computers and technology. Cassette players were about as advanced as she could comfortably handle.

The car was packed. The gaudy suitcase full of gaudy clothes from the mother was in the trunk. Smaller bags packed around it contained shoes and toiletries. She reserved the back seat for art supplies and her portfolio case, filled to bursting with all of her artwork. She was not leaving anything in this house that she would ever want to come back to retrieve.

She turned to face her adopted parents for the last time. Together, they had micromanaged her entire life for the last eleven years. Everything except her artwork. That was the unspoken compromise for being part of the show that her parents put on for their friends. She’d be free of all of it in just a few minutes.

You look nice, dear, the mother said.

Thanks, Mom, Heather said. You look nice, too.

The mother was fully dressed and made up for this driveway-goodbye. She waved to a few of the neighbors who were across the street working on their landscaping.

My baby’s leaving home, the mother called to them.

Come on, Mom, Heather muttered.

Your mother’s just a bit anxious, the father said.

He was doing a poor job of hiding a small gift behind his back.

She’s leaving home, the mother yelled to another neighbor who was checking his mail.

The neighbor smiled and nodded.

Heather saw the father use that interruption to place whatever he was concealing in her passenger seat, underneath her sketchbook. She pretended not to notice.

Mom, Heather said. I’m right here. Goodbye.

Goodbye, dear, the mother said.

When they hugged, Heather felt the mother’s head darting around to watch the reactions of the neighbors.

Goodbye, Dad, she said.

Goodbye, little one, he said.

She hugged the father, took a mental snapshot of them just in case she ever needed it, and got behind the wheel of her car. Just like in a scripted drama, the mother and the father were still waving when Heather drove away. She gave them a honk as she turned the first corner to freedom.

Heather got through four of her favorite cassettes before she had to pull over for her first rest. After she filled the tank with gas, she opened the small wrapped present the father had placed in her car. It was a new iPhone. Heather was horrified. They really didn’t know her at all. She pried the SIM card out and stuck it in her glove box. Then she got out of her car and gave the iPhone to the first kid she saw hanging out near the door to the gas station.

She got directions from an attendant to the nearest Good Will. There, she drove up to the donation door and left the gaudy suitcase filled with gaudy clothes from the mother. No, she didn’t need a receipt. Then, she went into the store and bought an old suitcase and filled it with clothes she deemed appropriate. After she paid for her purchase, she went into one of the changing rooms and donated a final set of clothes. She got back into the car wearing someone else’s old jeans and a shirt from a 90s grunge concert. Continuing on her journey, Heather inched ever farther away from her boring old life in New Hampshire toward new, untold adventures awaiting her arrival at Cameron University in Colorado.

Three days later, Heather finally arrived at the university. It was full of trees and buildings made of stone. She also noticed, as she was driving in, that there were a series of tall globe-topped towers that appeared to ring the university. Heather wondered at their purpose. The towers looked familiar somehow, but she could not figure out where she had seen them before. As she entered the university, Heather felt a shiver run down her spine.

What was that?

The sensation passed. Heather quickly forgot about the towers and focused on finding her new home.

Using the map that was included in the orientation packet, she found her dorm. It was one of a group of three stone buildings situated around a courtyard. Heather had to circle the block a few times until a space opened up on the street in front of the dorm. A lot of students were moving in that day. Heather wondered which ones would be her friends.

She checked in and received her mailbox key and room assignment. Collins building, room 505. That was on the fifth floor. Heather was excited about that until she found out there was no elevator.

The dorm room was a standard affair. Square room with a couple of closets. Heather’s roommate had already moved in, but was not there when Heather arrived. There was a newly purchased stack of textbooks on her roommate’s desk. Heather looked at a few of the titles and sighed. Her roommate was a business major.

When she had finished unloading everything from her car, Heather wandered back to the building where she checked in to inquire about parking. The lady behind the desk took a map from the stack next to her and drew in some additional roads off to one side of the campus. Then she drew a square for a parking lot and wrote G in the middle.

She slid a hang tag with the same letter across the counter to Heather.

"You can legally park in any G lot, she said. This is the only G lot."

She tapped her drawing on Heather’s map.

But that’s so far away, Heather said.

If you walk to here, she pointed to a bus stop sign on the edge of the map where she had drawn the extra streets. "You can catch the E bus. That will eventually bring you back here."

Thanks, Heather said.

The last things Heather deposited into her room before she took her car to the G lot were her childhood sketchbook and her box of cassette tapes. She definitely did not want them to melt in the parking lot in the next county.

When she made it up to her room to deposit the treasured items, she found her roommate had returned. As Heather put her items down on the bed, she did a double take. Her roommate looked just like an adult version of Alice from the old illustrations in the Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland book she had as a child.

Hi. I’m Alice, she said.

Of course you are.

Heather put the sketchbook carefully on her desk and turned to face Alice. The young woman in front of her had fair skin and straight blonde hair with bangs. She was dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, not at all like the Alice in the old storybook, but still…

What?

My name is really Alice, she said. Alice Liddell. And you’re…

Alice looked at a packet of papers Heather had strewn across her bed. Heather saw she was trying to read the name printed on the orientation packet.

Heather Worth, Heather said at the same time as Alice.

Did anyone ever tell you…? Heather began.

Almost every time my name is mentioned, Alice said. They named me after my grandma on my dad’s side, but you’d never know it. To most people, I’m positively fictional.

She held up a water bottle.

I’ve embraced it. See?

The bottle had Drink Me stenciled on it. She took a drink and gave Heather a wink. Heather half expected her to either grow or shrink, but Alice stayed the same size. There was something about her, though…

You’re an artist, huh? Alice asked, indicating Heather’s portfolio.

While Alice was poking around it, Heather closed her right eye and looked at Alice again.

Interesting.

Yeah, but hey, I have to move my car out to a parking lot in the middle of nowhere. Can we continue this when I get back? Heather asked.

Do you want company?

Sure, Heather smiled.

She wasn’t sure if this Alice was going to be her University-Wendy, but she seemed nice enough.

With her car sufficiently sequestered in the G lot, Heather turned her efforts to getting a part-time job before school began the next week. She put on her best job hunting outfit, pulled her red hair back in a ponytail, and tried out her most serious looks in the mirror.

You’re all dressed up, Alice said.

She was lying on her bed, listening to one of Heather’s cassettes.

Do I look okay? Heather asked.

Yeah, I guess, Alice said. If you’re going to be waiting tables.

Perfect, Heather exclaimed.

Heather eventually wandered into a coffee shop called The Wooden Spoon. It looked like one of the old houses in the area had been converted into a kitschy little coffee shop/restaurant. There were pieces of local artwork for sale on the walls and the whole place gave off cozy, welcoming vibes.

She dumped a bag full of applications on the table, found a pen, and ordered a cup of tea from a frazzled server. Before Heather received her tea, a well-dressed older woman sat down across from Heather. She had dark brown hair, pulled into a braid that traveled all the way down her back, and a look on her face that said she needed immediate help. She looked at the pile of applications that Heather was in the middle of filling out.

You need a job? she asked.

Yes.

Have you waited tables before?

Yes, Heather said. For a few years back in…

You’re hired, the woman said. Provided you can start right now. One of my new hires just bailed on us. We’re running shorthanded, and the dinner rush is about to begin. So, I figure, you could be the answer to my dreams and eventually buy this place off me, or just help us make it through this shift. I’ll settle for either right now.

I can do the second one, Heather said.

Great, the woman said, standing up. Follow me to my office. My name is Marie Davenport. Welcome to The Wooden Spoon.

After her first shift ended, Heather sat and sipped the hot tea she had ordered hours earlier and filled out her tax information. Her limbs hurt from the last eight hours of continuous movement. She reached back and pulled the hair tie out, letting her long red hair fall around her shoulders and over her left eye.

So, do you want the job? Marie asked, sitting down next to her with her own cup of hot tea. As she sipped it, Heather could see her relax a little.

As long as it don’t interfere with my class schedule, she said.

That’s fair, Marie said. Come in tomorrow morning at ten for some training and bring me a copy of that schedule.

It was well past midnight when Heather made it back to the dorm. Alice had fallen asleep listening to Heather’s walkman.