Special Agents: The Mysterious Case of the Monsters Under the Bed (Part 7)

SpecialAgentsPart 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Blue goo spouted from Rachel’s gun. It splattered the monster freezing it half way to the boy, mouth-hand extended. The boy jerked his feet under him and turned back to Lauren unusually calm. Most children didn’t give a many mouthed monster just a cursory glance…most children weren’t still awake when they came calling.

Ripping her tablet out of her pocket, Rachel punted the sealed monster out the window and marked it. She bent over Lauren.

“Not good, not good,” Lauren said through gritted teeth.

“Get me some light,” Rachel hissed at the boy.

He dashed to a desk lamp and flipped it on spilling light over Lauren’s trembling body. Rachel jerked her night vision goggles off. She wanted to see Lauren’s wound in real colors not the night vision glow-in –the-dark green. Soft-as-spring white scales crawled up Lauren’s arm from the wound and down her wrist to her fingers. They grew up out of the skin one at a time and popped into place under the previous scale.

“Rachel,” Lauren whispered.

“Yes, Lauren, yes,” Rachel said bending over her sister. Tears blurred her vision. Was this it? Was Lauren’s name going on the wall in the Hall of Heroes?

“Get the silencer before we wake up the house. It hurts and I might need to say something bad.”

Rachel hiccupped. She smiled. A bite wasn’t going to take her brave sister that fast. She pulled out the Silencer and gave the room a quick shot of it. A red beam flashed over the room and muffled all outside noise.

“We should put a tourniquet on that?”

“A what?”

“I saw it on YouTube,” the boy said brushing his black hair out of his face.

“What does it do?”

Her phone rang.

“It’s Sam,” Lauren groaned.

The boy jumped up and rushed to his closet. Throwing open the door he grabbed an old leather belt that looked like it probably came with a pair of uncomfortable Sunday slacks. Rachel watched him while she answered the phone.

“What’s going on? Why aren’t you back with Tom?”

“Lauren got bit by one of the bed monsters . . . and the boy in the room was awake.”

“What? Did he see you?” Sam said so loudly both the boy and Lauren heard him.

“No, we’re hiding in the closet,” Lauren said.

The boy smiled.

“Of course he saw us,” Rachel said. “He’s putting a turn-something on Lauren’s arm.”

“A tourniquet? Why??”

“She’s growing scales.”

“Scales?”

“That’s what I said. I’ll send you a picture. We’re gonna need an extraction.”

Sam switched from incredulous to doing his job. “On it. Get that tourniquet on, and bring the boy with you. We’re gonna need to debrief him. I’ll get Rob and Dee.”

“Reading you loud and clear. Thanks Sam. Over and out.”

Rachel hung up the phone. The boy gently lifted Lauren’s arm and slid the belt under it above the wound. Lauren took in a sharp breath. Rachel gripped her other hand. The boy tightened the belt as tight as he could and tied it by tucking it through itself in the back. The popping scales s l o w e d and stopped.

“Get over there by the window. Our extraction team should be here in a second,” Rachel said to the boy.

“What about her?”

“I’ll get her.”

“You’ll need help.”

Rachel glared at him.

“Let him help,” Lauren said. “You get the team in.”

Rachel searched her face and nodded. She hurried to the window, whipped back the curtain, and phoned the extraction team.

The boy grabbed Lauren’s good arm. He hooked it around his shoulder and pulled her to her feet. The room swayed, but the boy kept a tight grip on Lauren and she didn’t fall.

“What was in that bite?” Lauren muttered.

“Something not good, I imagine,” the boy said. He maneuvered her through the minefield of GI Joes, army men, and a few Legos. Three lights shined in the window blinding them for a moment. The boy blocked the glare with a raised arm.

“Someone order an extraction team?” A cocky voice asked.

“Someone named the Best Team of the Year, perhaps?” said a snarky voice.

“Someone who thought they would never need us?” said a third very-pleased-with-themselves voice.

“I hate the extraction team,” Lauren whispered trying to see through the wild curls in her eyes.

Rachel brushed them out of her face.

“Thanks.”

“Come on, we’re not getting any younger,” the snarky voice said.

“Take Lauren first, she’s wounded,” Rachel said. She helped the boy edge Lauren closer.

The lights dipped down letting them see their rescuers. Three teens with large black jet packs grinned at them. Wild hair, wild jewelry, and wild clothes plus their age set the extraction team apart. Most agents their age had been retired or put to work behind a desk. Not these three. The extraction team had been a staple of the Agency for ten years. Rumor was that Carmichael had promised them they could keep their job until they slipped up.

Rave, with his shaved head, took Lauren in his arms and zipped off into the night towards where Tom kept the car running. Remington grinned. He pulled his long hair back in a pony-tail held out his hand to the black-haired boy.

“I’m not being carried.”

“Can you fly?”

The boy looked down at the ground. “Better yet,” he said. “I’m not going.”

Rachel pointed her Super Soaker at him. “Either go or be taken. I don’t care. I want to make sure my sister’s okay and you’re holding me up.”

The boy stared at the gun and gulped. He climbed out the windowsill and let Remington carry him off.

“Good work,” Remy said reaching for Rachel.

Rachel flicked her jet pack on and shot out the window. The clean-up crew swarmed over the house making sure the monsters were picked up and the family stayed sound asleep until they were ready for them to wake up. Rachel hooked herself to Remy’s pack and let the older girl guided her back to Tom. Worry for Lauren crowded her mind. Would she be okay? Would she have to deal with lasting effects? What had bit her? What about that boy? What would they do with him?

Her phone rang. It was Sam.

“What?”

“Tom had to leave. Lauren’s worse. He had to bring her back now. Remy will get you home ASAP.”

Rachel looked down between her dangling feet. Sam was right. Tom was gone.

“Hurry, Remy.”

“Cut off your pack,” she said.

Rachel followed her direction. Remy pulled her close and thumbed her nitro tanks. They shot off in to the night headed straight for the Agency.

Please be okay, Lauren, Rachel prayed. Be okay.

Extraction Team: The Oldest Special Agents

Extraction Team: The Oldest Special Agents

 

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Special Agents: The Mysterious Case of the Monsters Under the Bed (Part 3)

 

SpecialAgents

 

(Part 1)

(Part 2)

“Well then, well then,” Jane coughed waving her hand in the air in a vain attempt to dissipate the eye-poking fog.

Rachel rushed over to a box on the wall, lifted the panel, and hammered her fist into a big, red button. An alarm sounded. Overhead, a exhaust fan ground to life and sucked the dangerous mist out of the hallway.

“ALL CLEAR,” a simulated, monotone voice said.

The alarm shut off.

Jane removed her goggles and leaned against the tunnel wall. “That wasn’t right,” she whispered to herself tapping her chin and staring off into nothing.

The three special agents slipped their goggles up onto their foreheads. If they had a dollar for every time one of Jane’s experiments went wrong, they’d be rich. Three pairs of eyes rolled. Rachel giggled.

“Lauren, you’re hair!”

“What?” she patted her head.

“That’s not right,” Jane said straightening up from the wall.

“It’s yellow! And even curlier!”

“Yellow? Wait, you’re hair’s turning blue!”

“Blue!”

“And it’s straighter.”

The girls both turned to Jane.

“Well, I guess this isn’t a dangerous, eye-poking smoke,” Jane smiled.

“It most certainly isn’t,” Lauren said.

“More like a strange hair dye,” Rachel said.

“This better come out before we go home,” Lauren said.

Sam shook his head. “Jane, we’re supposed to see you about some new toys.”

“Oh right, the monsters under the bed!” Jane said. “Let’s go.”

Jane led them into her department. Blinking lights, small moving objects that walked around on their own, test tubes, wires, glass beakers filled with oddly colored liquids, things hissing smoke, and odd things just hissing covered the developmental stations. The testing areas waited on the other side of the large room. Several children in white lab coats and goggles aimed Lego guns, swung sticks the length of their forearms, played with oddly colored string, shot marbles down long tunnels creating controlled explosions, and wrote all of it down on tablets stuck in their pockets. Each of them had oddly colored hair. They ignored the smoke and kept working.

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“Paisley. Roger,” Jane called her two top assistants. “Can you show Agents Rachel and Lauren the new Monster Guns? I need to figure out why everyone’s hair changed color.”

“Andhowtogetitback,” Lauren said in a rush.

“What?” Jane said.

“How to get it back,” Rachel said more slowly.

“Yes. That too.”

Jane hurried off and Rachel, Lauren, and Sam followed Paisley and Roger, with bright green and red hair, over to a test room with a shooting range. Paisley and Roger where older kids, no longer young enough to go on missions, but they came back every summer to help with the cases and both planned on majoring in Chemistry and Engineering in college so they could continue working with Jane and design better toys. Roger held the door to the shooting range open. Rachel and Lauren hurried over to a table with two large water guns.

“Okay, you two, test out these babies,” Roger said. He plucked a gun up off the table and handed it to Lauren. Paisley handed the other to Rachel. Sam pulled his goggles on, stayed by the door, and took notes on his tablet. Paisley and Roger joined him.

“As you can see,” Paisley said. “We’ve modified the Super Soakers. You no longer have to pump them to build up enough force to fire. Just press that red button on the side and the gun’s ready to go. If you don’t press it, the gun will never fire.”

“Kinda like the Nurf guns?” Lauren asked hefting the bright orange and green gun up near her waist.

“Exactly,” said Roger.

“Okay,” Rachel said.

Both girls assumed the proper stance: feet apart, weight back, dominate foot just a little forward. They let the guns hang at their waist, their arms supporting the weight. A door chimed open and three cardboard monsters flipped up at the end of the shooting range. The special agents thumbed the red button simultaneously and fired.

Bright yellow and blue goo spewed from the front of the guns. It flew at the cardboard monsters encasing them and stiffening in an instant. The monsters were immobilized.

“Sweet!” said Lauren.

“This is much better than the Nurf guns,” Rachel said.

Paisley and Roger both gave them a little bow.

“Let’s take them down to the obstacle course and really test them out,” Sam said. “I need to see them in action if I’m going to approve them for the mission.”

“You worry too much,” Lauren said. “Look at this! We don’t have to worry about hitting them dead center with a capsule. This is way better.”

“Exactly,” Rachel said. “We both hit them the first time.”

“Yes, but we all know shooting in a room like this is totally different from shooting in a bedroom. I want to see them there. I need to know what kind of clean up we’re going to need. I need to know if the Pause is going to work. You both remember George, don’t you?”

Roger and Paisley shifted uncomfortably. Rachel and Lauren nodded, sober.

“Okay then.”

“If you want to see them in action before we go on the mission,” Rachel said, “we better hurry. We’re running out of night-time.”

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Special Agents: The Mysterious Case of the Monsters under the Bed (Part 2)

SpecialAgents

“Did you hear?” Sam Mortimer asked as the elevator came to a wobbly stop and opened to a long cold tunnel.

“We just got here,” Lauren said. “What do you think?”

“Hi Janis,” Rachel said.

“Hi Janis,” Lauren and Sam both said. They walked towards the imposing women with the eye patch and a gray wispy bun. She nodded to all three of them from behind her desk.

“Sign in, young’ins,” she growled.

“I already did,” Sam said.

Janis nodded. Rachel and Lauren hurried up to the desk, stood on their tiptoes, and signed in on Janis ledger. She harrumphed at them taking the ledger back.

“Well, don’t stand around like wet cheese, get to the meeting. Agent Carmichael’s waiting for you.”

All three kids scurried off.

“I don’t like her,” Lauren said. “She’s not very nice.”

“She’s scary,” Rachel said.

“How do you think she got that eye patch?” Sam whispered.

“I heard she smokes a pipe when she’s on break,” Lauren said.

“I heard it was cigars,” Rachel added.

“Either way, she’s strange,” Lauren said, tugging at her hat.

“Yes, but how do you think she got the eye patch?” Sam said.

The three agents argued over the finer points of earning an eye patch while they hurried down the long tunnel leading to the warren of offices, shooting galleries, test rooms, and developmental stations. A thick carpet lined the hall Janis guarded with one wary eye. It muffled some of the echo produced by the reinforced steel walls and curved ceiling of the underground headquarters. Grommets marched in straight lines from floor up over their heads and down to the floor again keeping the steel paneling held securely in place.

“I still think she got poked,” Sam muttered as he pulled open the door to Carmichael’s office for the twins.

“Of course she got poked,” Rachel said with a sigh.

“She is missing her eye,” Lauren added.

“Agents!” Carmichael snapped.

They hurried into the room and seated themselves at Carmichael’s large desk situating their tool belts so they could sit more comfortably and not on various sharp or lumpy objects.

“Agents,” Carmichael said leaning across his desk. “We have a problem. There are monsters under the beds.”

“NO!” gasped Rachel.

“It can’t be,” Lauren said.

Sam hunched his shoulders and slipped down in his chair.

“It is and it can,” Carmichael said. “We have the three houses mapped out. You will go exterminate the monsters as a unit, girls. Sam, I want you there to back them up and see if you can catch one. We don’t know if this is an outbreak yet or . . .”

“Her,” whispered Rachel.

“Exactly,” Carmichael said. “So gear up. Jane’s got some new toys for you to try, and watch your backs.”

The three agents slipped out of their chairs, gave Carmichael a salute, and left the room.

Back in the hall, Sam dropped against the wall.

“I can’t believe . . . I never would have thought . . . do you think she’s back?”

“Maybe it’s just a few we didn’t catch last time,” Rachel said.

“We’ll take care of them this time,” Lauren said.

She grabbed Sam by the arm. Rachel grabbed him up by his other arm and the bustled him off down the hall to Jane. Twisting and turning down one hall or another, following the red and green line for new toys, they soon reached Jane’s door. Rachel hauled it open. A thick white cloud of smoke billowed out the door. Jane tumbled out after it coughing and wheezing.

“Goggles on,” she said. “That stuff will poke your eye out.”

With a gasp, all three agents slipped their goggles on.

To be Continued . . .

 

How did Janis loose her eye?

How did Janis loose her eye?

(To Read Part 1 Click Here)

Lessons from the Boutique 6: Fashion from Boutique to Housewife

Prada Fashion Fall 2011

Prada Fashion Fall 2011

This article took an unexpected turn. It was supposed to go up two weeks ago, before the Red Heels article. But, providentially, it has gone from expounding my husband and I’s view of fashion as Christians to a re-examination of that viewpoint, lengthy discussions over meals, and articles written by both of us. So this is not so much a lesson, as it is a story of growth and change. This is a transition article from where I was to where I am. Hence, it’s the last Lesson from the Boutique.

Over the years, I’ve traveled from self-righteous frump, self-focused goth, respectable yet loud fashionista, to a woman who desires Christ’s commands. He stripped away the world’s varnish one layer at a time until I’m more concerned with Christ’s kingdom and my Church family than this fading ball of dust. Christ is thorough. He doesn’t leave any part of our heart and mind uncaptivated by Himself. Nor does He dictatorially force us. He leads us like lambs, sanctifying us.

After a year out of the boutique, I’m still sorting all this fashion stuff out. What liberty do I have in Christ? What influence should my church family play? How much can I pull from my culture? I hope you can be understanding  as I think through fashion via my keyboard and seek to apply what I’m learning.

From the boutique, I learned valuable lessons, which helped me see how selfishly I dressed most of my life. They showed me that I had gone from a holier-than-thou wardrobe to a shock-value wardrobe. (“You can tell I’m holy by how little thought I put into my outfit. See how holy and modest I am. I’m way frumpier than you!” to “If I can get one more home school mom’s mouth to drop open, I’ll have twenty points just this morning.”)

Lesson 1: Image is important because what you wear says something about you. Are you saying what you want to say?

Lesson 2: Image is important because what you wear communicates respect. Are you respecting those around you with your clothing?

Lesson 3: Image is important because it is a form of honesty. Are you sharing yourself honestly, or hiding behind your clothing?

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I lived and breathed these three principles for over 10 years. They were my guiding stars every morning when I got dressed, when I shopped, and when I critiqued wardrobes. But, I’ve come to believe I missed important Biblical principles. Who is my standard for respectability? Did I go to the Bible first, before my culture? Unfortunately not. I moved fashion entirely into Christian Liberty, and then looked to the world for what it considered respectable. God has some very real and important things to say about fashion. I never did the hard work of paying attention to His Word except in the widest application.

We’ve all been told that we should dress up on Sunday morning because we’re going before the King. This is true. But, this King doesn’t want all the pomp and show that our worldly kings desire. He wants a humble and pure heart. This is what He values. We, as Reformed Baptist, preach and believe that you can’t worship God how you want to, but that you must worship Him according to the commands in His Word. Why do we think coming into His Church as His bride is any different? God tells us how we are to dress in a way that honors Him the most. This must be what informs us. What a humble King we have. Look how He commands us, His faithful daughters, to come before Him. He doesn’t set an impossible standard of beauty and wealth that none of us can reach. He doesn’t pit us against one another in a constant game of cutting-edge style. He is far more merciful than we are on ourselves. And yet, at the same time, He is far harder. He is far more concerned with our hearts than with what we’re wearing.

1 Timothy 2:9-10 “Likewise also the women should adorn themselves in respectable apparel, with modesty and self-control, not with braided hair and gold or pearls or costly attire, but with what is proper for women who profess godliness – with good works.”

 

1 Peter 3:3-4 “Do not let your adorning be external – the braiding of hair and the putting on of gold jewelry, or the clothing you wear – but let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God’s sight is very precious.”

 

So, transitioning out of the boutique and into a housewife, I’m trying to relearn some lessons. Here is where my husband and I are so far.

1. Respectable apparel: The clothing you wear as a daughter of the Lord, first off on Sunday, but influencing your wardrobe as a whole, should be respectable. It should be clean, in good order, and put together, a bit dressy, but with self-control. Sunday is not a fashion show. Our society does help us define what is respectable in our day and age. It would be inappropriate for a woman to arrive in a respectable Victorian-era gown to church. Nor would it be appropriate to come to church in “denim underwear”. That may be stylish for young women today and the Victorian gown may be modest, but one isn’t self-controlled and the other is distracting. You have to live when and where you live, not defining respectability by a different ages standards. We are called to dress with self-control, not flaunting ourselves, or our clothing.

2. Good Works: God is more concerned with our good-works than our wonderful fashion sense. We spend a fair amount of time thinking about what we’re going to wear when we’re going on a date, or out with girlfriends, or even on Sunday morning. God wants us to spend more time thinking about good works than about wardrobe. The context of these good works in Timothy is the managing of the Church. Men are to put on prayer and women are to put on good works. Does what you wear on Sunday Morning communicate this concept? Are you ready with a helping hand to those in need? Are your children behaved and your husband respected by you? These are far more beautiful to God than what you’re wearing to cover your skin.

3. Submissive: You’re clothing should communicate a submissive heart, a meekness of spirit. Have you ever shopped asking yourself if what you’re wearing communicates submissiveness? It messes with your mind, believe me! The context of the 2 Peter passage is abuse by authority. God tells women that if your husband is abusing you, look to your wardrobe. What? Don’t nag your husband. Don’t belittle him. He should see you not as all the other women in the world who fret and worry over what they will wear and this wrinkle and that wrinkle. He should see you  worried about spiritual matters. He should see you without a fearful heart. Submission is honestly very scary. (I’ve written about that before.) It requires a complete giving up of yourself to the authority of another. Your husband should see that while you submit to him, it’s to Christ that you ultimately submit. Think how our marriages would be transformed, Ladies, if instead of spending so much time in front of the mirror, we spent more time working to lovingly submit to our husbands.

4. Hope: I’m getting older. Every day my skin seems more dry, my hair more gray, my energy sapped. I swore I would age well. I would not hide from my wrinkles or gray hair. But, there are days I’m so tempted to test out the latest serum to see if it will magically remove the aging of my body. Look to the Bible ladies! “Imperishable beauty” is what Peter calls a gentle and quiet spirit. Look at this great hope given us. If we seek first the Kingdom of God, God Himself promises us Imperishable Beauty. This doesn’t mean that we won’t age. It does mean we’ll become more beautiful to Christ, our Husband, as we grow in good works, a gentleness of spirit towards our earthly husband, and poverty of spirit. The world will see old women, but Christ will see great beauty.

This is where I’m at right now. How has it affected me practically? I’m testing out several new systems to cut down on my dressing time. I need to make sure I’m wearing respectable things that are encouraging to others, which takes planning and time. But, good works are to be my main adornment, so I don’t want to spend as much time fretting over my wardrobe.

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As I’ve thought about this, I’ve been convicted about what I wear on Sundays. I tend to be a very loud dresser. I love big jewelry. I love mixing things up that don’t exactly go together. None of those things are sinful in and of themselves, but Christ has said how I’m to come to Him on Sunday. I need to listen and make sure I’m on the same page. I’m going to try to wear more simple outfits on Sunday. Respectable? Yes. Stylish? Yes. Simple? Yes.

I’ve also been convicted about how I view other women who don’t dress “stylishly”. Could it be that after all these years of groaning about horrible home-school-mom-fashion, that I was wrong, at least on a certain level? That what I saw as frumpy might in fact be a woman seeking submission, self-control, and good works instead of fashion as the world sees it? I think so. You won’t catch me in a jean skirt and sneakers anytime soon, but you will catch me—I hope and pray—trying to submit my wild heart to the dictates of my most beloved Husband, and my loved earthly husband.

Now, done with Boutiques and on to Housewife!

Thoughts???

The Housewife and her Man!

The Housewife and her Man!

If you would like to read some very well done articles on Modesty, please check out my fellow 1689’er Queen of Scotch and this Matt Walsh article. Also, I hope to share some of my husbands thoughts soon. Here’s the first one from his blog: Rod of Iron!

Lesson 1: First Things First

Lesson 2: Opening and Closing

Lesson 3: Have a System

Lesson 4: Dealing with People

Lesson 5: Red Heels

Rachel and Lauren: Twins, Homeschooled, Special Agents

SpecialAgents

“Are they asleep?” Lauren asked.

She peeked her head out her bedroom door and craned her neck trying to see into the dark living room. Neither the Christmas tree’s lights nor the TV glowed. Everything seemed dark, quiet, and still. But she never could tell with parents. They appeared suddenly when she least expected it and usually when she least wanted it. With parents, it was always better to double-check.

“We better check,” Rachel said from across the hall, reading her mind.

Rachel ducked back in her room. Coyotes yipped and barked outside beyond the confines of their little fenced in yard. Lauren shivered. Rachel’s blonde head reappeared in her doorway. She tiptoed out into the hall, waving at Lauren to follow her. In bare feet, their toes silent on the cold tile but decidedly not in their pjs, they made their way across the living room and to their parent’s bedroom door. Rachel handed the remote to Lauren and tugged the long antenna of the Sleep Detector free. Lauren flipped the red switch on the remote up. A tiny green light lit her face and touched her dark brown curls. Rachel pointed the antenna at herself.

“Testing, testing,” she whispered.

A red light blinked on the remote.

“Glad to know you’re not asleep,” Lauren laughed.

Rachel hushed her, bent down, and poked the antenna under the door. They waited, counting silently, breathing softly. A blue light blinked three times.

“They’re asleep,” Lauren reported.

“Let’s go,” Rachel said.

She pressed the antenna back into the Sleep Detector. Lauren handed her the remote as they padded back to their rooms. First, they stopped in Lauren’s room decorated in pops of bright, cheerful yellow, which warmed in the small circle of light from her desk lamp. Lauren rushed to her closet and felt along the inside wall. There! A tiny nail-head caught under her long fingers. She pushed it. The back of the closet flipped from right to left hiding her drawers of tee shirts and shorts. It replaced them with a small wall of gears and strange gadgets.

“Did the message say what we needed?” she asked Rachel.

“No, so just standard issue I guess.”

They both strapped matching wristwatches on their left hands and buckled on tan utility belts. In her big pocket, Lauren stuck a yellow tablet. Rachel packed her turquoise one. Lauren pulled on a bright green hat with a pom-pom and earflaps. It stiffened as it wrapped around her head. Rachel slipped a pair of pearl earrings in her ears and fastened the backs on. Wires sprang from the pearls to wrap her ears.

“Can you read me?” Rachel said.

“Loud and clear,” Lauren said. “But I’m also standing right beside you.”

Rachel tapped the wire cage on her right ear. It buzzed to life.

“Say again,” she said.

“I’m standing right beside you.”

“Okay, now it’s working.”

Odds and ends filled the other pockets: bits of string, glue, a pair of tiny binoculars, several different colored marbles, matching flashlights, and of course, duct tape.

Last, Lauren lifted a small gun off the wall that didn’t hold her tee shirts and shorts. She pulled back the slide, checked the load, and satisfied, stuck it in the holster at her side and tied it down. Rachel shadowed her movements exactly.

“Ready?” Rachel asked.

Lauren found the nail-head on the opposite wall and pressed it. The rack of gadgets flipped back around to a shelf of tee shirts and shorts.

“Ready.”

Still tiptoeing, in bare feet, the girls hurried across the hall to Rachel’s room shutting off the lamp on Lauren’s desk as they left. They didn’t turn any lights on in Rachel’s room. They didn’t need lights now. From the side of Lauren’s cap a small screen appeared over her eye. She could see the room like the sun shown in on a hot summer day. A wire shot out of Rachel’s earring and held the same small screen over her eye. They hurried over to Rachel’s closet without bumping into anything or tripping over the carpet.

Rachel opened the closet door, stood out of the way to let Lauren in, and closed the door behind them. They stood in the pitch-black closet, easily seeing the clothes and stuffed animals lining the shelves. Rachel tugged on a simple silver wire hanger stuck between a Sunday dress and her winter coat. Lauren took her hand and they moved closer.

The soft sound of gears and steam invaded the dark closet, which they could see clear as daytime. The twins smiled at each other. Beneath them, the floor lowered. Down. Down. Down they went. Rachel’s closet disappeared above their heads.

To be Continued…

Gadgets

(Rachel and Lauren are my two nieces on my husband’s side of the family. I will probably alternate the Texas Cousins stories and the Special Agent stories. The Special Agent stories are going to be geared towards 10 – 12 year olds. Your thoughts and comments are welcome.)