“Psyche!” Dr. John Sinclair spoke into his cellphone. “I had you going, didn't I? You were really contemplating that I might be an alien. This is the problem with you Dan; you are so eager to find an alien that you don't thoroughly investigate things. Triple black-coded missions? Purple 37 Mars missions? You were eating it all up!”
“Damn you, John! That's not funny.” Dr VanRubbel was yelling through the small phone. “Did you even bother to look at the data I sent you?”
“No,” was his calm reply, “and go to bother to. Now, if you'll excuse me. I have to go back to dinner before you ruin my marriage.”
He hung up the phone. Barbara was timing him on that gold Rolex watch of hers.
* * *
The first person to find the little Sarah's dead crumpled body was neither her family nor the alien life-form watching over her, but the Director of OXyTen, Myles Mitchel. Her inspected the bloody suicide note that was in her little hand. “Damn!” He sighed. “Not another one!”
He reached down and spoke in a walkie-talkie mouth piece. “Get that damn house contained! Find that thing, and scan the family! Chances are the have all been contaminated! Oh and call 911, I'm not about to cover-up another death!”