The Bodyguard: an alien romance

by Tina Proffitt

  “But they weren't,” Porter says. “They were in the open safe. Why would he risk his rank or his pension over something that happened so many years ago?”

  “If there's one thing I know for sure about my stepfather, he wouldn't risk anything that was his. He doesn't take chances. Something must have happened to him.”

  “Like maybe he was abducted while he was looking for these,” Porter says.

  “Could he have been?” I look to Van, as though he has all the answers. “Could that be what's been happening, whole towns disappearing at once?”

  Van holds up a hand to silence me. “Perhaps he just had to leave in a hurry.”

  If I sound hysterical, I’m not. I just want to know what happened to my mother. I shrug as though I’m taking this all in my stride too, even though I’m not. “The major general never leaves in a hurry. He's too methodical.”

  “Eliminate what it could not be and whatever you have left no matter how improbable must be the truth.” Porter smiles proudly at me. “Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”

  “I already thought it was aliens,” I say, and Porter's smile disappears.

  “A mass abduction,” Porter says, “could point to the aliens, if they exist, searching for something.”

  “Or someone.” I look at Van. I do feel hysterical now. “There is no if here, Porter,” I say. “They do exist.”

  And what if my mother was taken by them again?

  Van waves his hand in a gesture of dismissal.

  I keep forgetting that he can feel my feelings.

  “If you guys have surveillance cameras,” Porter says, nodding at the equipment behind me and Van, “you should be able to see the last time he was in his closet.”

  “There are no cameras in private areas,” I say impatiently.

  Porter's cheeks light up, then I feel bad. None of this is his fault. Besides, he's already been through enough with his family being changed the way the whole town of Berryville and the entire Hawthorne campus has. “Good job finding this,” I say to him and a half-smile appears on his face.

  “We should still be able to see him leaving,” Porter says.

  “The cameras have a built-in one week overhaul,” I say. “Every week, they start over and previous recordings are deleted. That means the M.G. hasn't been home in the past week. He must have disappeared some time before all the others.”

  “We do not know that for sure,” Van says.

  “The little creature on the recording can appear and disappear,” I say. “Why couldn't he make other people do the same?”

  “The little creature?” Porter's face drains completely.

  I hook my arm around Porter's. “Come on, Sherlock. Show us the safe.”

  “Your stepfather was going over some of his documents,” Van says reassuringly, “remembered he had to leave in a hurry, and accidentally left it like this.”

  The safe at the back of the closet, hidden behind some sport coats, is sitting open alright. But like I said, the M.G. doesn't do accidents, so I can't buy Van's rational explanation of what happened.

  Porter and I both hold documents from inside the safe in our hands.

  “Nothing here either confirms or contradicts the existence of extraterrestrials,” Porter says.

  I’m sure he's trying to reassure himself more than anyone.

  “Whether or not we can prove they exist or not doesn't matter,” I say. “They're here, and we've got to let someone know.”

  “Who would believe us?” Porter says. “Telling the military would be like asking to get kicked out of the club. They're not going to help. They're going to tell us we're wrong, that we didn't see what we thought we did, confiscate the recording, tell us to shut up about it all, then threaten us to top it off.”

  “Who will believe us?” I repeat Porter's question back to him. “My mother, that's who.”

  “Your stepfather as well,” Van says calmly.

  “Hey, yeah,” Porter says. “Even if he is in the military, he could be a big help with all of his experience. But neither of you knows where he is.”

  There's a hint of jealousy in Porter's voice, like Van and I are in a club he can't join. If he only knew.

  “That may be.” I smile because I realize there's an obvious answer staring me in the face that I overlooked. “But I know how we might be able to find out where he is. Follow me.”

  Van and Porter follow me down the long hallway and down the stairs to the door of my stepfather's study. I turn the knob on the mahogany paneled door even though I know what the outcome will be.

  “It's locked.” I turn to Van. “But I thought you might know of a way we could get in.”

  Van springs into action. I had nothing to worry about. He knows a way in. Apparently soldier training also includes breaking and entering because first he takes a good hard look at the door, examining the hinges and the lock. The door handle is one of those handles that pushes down to open.

  “You could poke something into the key hole,” Porter says. “Bobby pins might work.”

  “Like I’d have those,” I scoff.

  “It is not the kind of lock that one could just shove a straightened paperclip into like a bathroom door,” Van says. “It is more complicated.”

  Apparently, the major general thought of the possibility that someone might try to break in at some point when he chose this door handle.

  “What about a credit card between the door and the jam?” Porter suggests. “That could open the bolt.”

  “I don't have either,” I say.

  “I've got a credit card.” Porter pats his empty back pocket then smiles sheepishly. “I guess I left my wallet at home.”

  Van is still examining the lock when Porter chimes in again. “You could use a metal clothes hanger to spring it, but the jamb is blocking the gap between the door and the wall. And I'm sure your dad would be mad if we tore up the door frame.”

  “Ya think?” I roll my eyes. I almost correct Porter that he isn't my dad, but I shrug instead. “Desperate times.”

  “I know what to do,” Porter says as he takes a couple of steps back and braces his shoulder. He takes a running start at the door.

  Van reaches out a hand and stops him before he hits the door. “There is another way,” he says calmly, “one that will not require a trip to the emergency room.” Then he turns to me. “It is going to require a new door knob when I am finished.”

  “Go for it,” I say.

  Van takes my hand. “Lead me to your stepfather's power tools.”

  Apparently Porter wants to stay behind because I don't hear him following us to the garage.

  I know my real dad kept all kinds of tools around because I used to watch him work on his car in the driveway. It was my job to hand him the tools he needed. I'm not exactly sure if the major general has power tools. But I don't care, I’m not ruining the moment with details. Something about the way Van said stepfather makes me think he picked up on Porter's faux pas and is trying to let me know that he listens to me. And even if I'm reading way too much into it and he isn't, I still get a warm and fuzzy feeling from the way he holds my hand. I get the distinct feeling that I’ve earned at least Van's friendship.

  In only a few minutes, Van's got a hole drilled through the lock.

  In the garage, he chose a drill, a big one, and a can a lubricating oil, and a couple of different drill bits. He used them to drive a hole straight through the door lock.

  The last thing he does is stick a flathead screwdriver into the keyhole and it turns. The door swings open, and we're in, just not in the way I expected. I guess even ninjas have to resort to power tools every once in a while.

  This isn't the first time I’ve seen the inside of the M.G.'s office, but it is the first time I’ve been inside. There are no surprises in here. There's a folded American flag inside a glass frame. I remember my mother saying once that his father was a veteran of the Vietnam War. There is a bust of a man I don't recognize. So I get closer to read what's ins
cribed on a brass plaque beneath it.

  All the countries on Earth will have to unite to survive and to make a common front against attack by people from other planets. – General Douglas MacArthur.

  I'm not sure I agree with that. It assumes that all the people from other planets will be our enemy.

  I'm still standing there contemplating this point of view when I hear Van's long purposeful strides coming towards me until I can feel his closeness behind me. It's like he's electrically charged, and when he's this close, I catch fire. He leans close to my ear, his voice low and smooth. “MacArthur's nickname was Gaijin Shogun,” he says reverently. “In Japanese it means foreign military leader. They meant it respectfully.”

  With a deliberately casual motion, I look back at him. From the expression on his face, I can tell that he's moved by all the military stuff. Shido must mean a lot to him. I respect that. But I don't want him to see me staring at him and make him uncomfortable, so I force my attention away.

  My stepfather's desk should be a treasure trove. Astonishingly, the drawers aren't locked, and I open the top first then move on to the rest. It takes getting all the way to the filing cabinets to find anything other than your typical desk stuff like envelopes and pencils. But inside those folders are all kinds of surprises. On top of a stack of papers is a note with the name of a book written on it, UFOs and Defense: What Must We Prepare For? Below that, in my stepfather's handwriting, were the words, Need to have this book translated from French. Too important for the rest of the world not to read it.

  The next thing that jumps out at me about the rest of the papers is the stamp across the tops of all of them that reads, TOP SECRET. They are all records of UFO sightings, all over the world, and in order of plausibility, ranging from not credible to incontrovertible evidence. Below them, I pull out a map and unfold it. “This underground cave looks like one of the caverns we used to visit on school field trips in elementary school.”

  This seems to get Van's attention. In a lightning fast motion, he comes to stand beside me. But he doesn't seem as surprised as I am to see the map among all the other papers. He takes the map from me and runs his fingertip across it as though he's following a path from memory. The look on his face is almost awed.

  “Is this where you come from?” I say, taking a wild guess.

  Van stiffens at the question.

  Did I say something wrong?

  He offers me a forgiving smile, then I realize that he must not want to talk about where he's from in front of Porter. I feel my cheeks start to heat from embarrassment.

  Porter, who's on the floor with his own folder open in front of him, is happily digging through papers, but I notice that his color hasn't changed. He's still snowy white beneath his freckles.

  A few minutes pass in silence. From the papers in my folder, I read more about this cave, the Manitou, that's not far from my house.

  Then Porter's voice interrupts, almost in a whisper. “The government knows about aliens. It's all true.”

  “Did you doubt all the eyewitnesses?” I say, heaving an exasperated breath. “I get so tired of hearing all the debunkers go on and on, when it's so obvious that it's all true. I guess some people have to believe it isn't true so they can sleep at night.”

  “I guess I’ve held onto a thread of disbelief. I mean, to tell you the truth, seeing all of this evidence in black and white is making my stomach sick.”

  “The truth can have that effect on people,” Van says knowingly.

  I glance his way. None of this from the very beginning has frightened him at all. In fact, he's taken it all in his stride. And I thought I was unemotional. But the question still hammers at me, where is Van from?

  “Where they live,” Porter says, flipping through more papers. “Where they come from. It's all here. Did you know aliens have bases on Earth?” He practically shouts this last bit.

  And I have to admit, even I’m a little taken aback. I’ve given a lot of thought to abductions in the past twenty-four hours, being taken away in a spaceship to another planet, but aliens living here, on Earth, is a new one even for me.

  “—underground,” Porter continues. “They live bloody underground, and they've been there as long as there's been life on Earth.”

  “Some can only come out in the dark or when there is little sunlight,” Van says calmly, “like the goblin you saw, and that is why they choose to live underground or under the ocean. Some are more adapted. The human lookalikes or hybrids are able to travel above and below ground. They can blend in and not raise a panic because they look so much like humans.”

  Van is speaking to Porter and me, but his words are meant for just me. A cold chill runs through my whole body. I realize he's finally telling me where he's from. He's not just my bodyguard or watcher as he called it, he's a full-fledged alien.

  “How do you know so much about all of this?” Porter says, interrupting my panic. His eyes narrow on Van.

  I don't want the two of them getting into a fight. Porter would have no chance. Plus, I'm starting to think that Van is holding onto a secret that he's sworn to keep. So I do my best to change the subject. “How could they have kept all of this a secret for so long?” I say.

  “Secrets are best kept by limiting the number of people who know them,” Van says.

  “Have they kept it a secret?” Porter says, staring right at Van. “Or has the truth been kept from all of us?”

  “Your stepfather has kept the truth of what he saw from everyone,” Van says to me.

  “But like all half-truths and lies,” I say, “they always come out in the end, even if it's on a death bed.”

  “She's right,” Porter says. “Oppression works by turning its victims against each other instead of against their oppressors. The military has worked hard and deliberately all along to discredit witnesses and cover up the truth by making the victims into kooks.”

  “Like my mother,” I whisper. “She was a victim but she had no one to turn to, no one to believe her.” I turn away from Van and Porter. I don't want either one of them to see me cry.

  “Why have we been told there's no life on other planets,” Porter says, “if there clearly is?”

  “There is life on other planets,” Van says calmly, “but in parts of the solar system you cannot see from here. Inhabitants left this galaxy long ago. Only human life exists on the surface of Earth.”

  I'm fumbling with one of the bottom drawers in the major general's desk when a secret panel pops open. At the bottom, there's a leather box. I expect to see more secret papers that he keeps hidden away, maybe even a previous wife he never told my mother about, but instead— “It's a tape,” I say, “another one of my mother talking to her psychiatrist.”

  “The date written is July tenth, sixteen years ago, a day before my birthday,” I say. This tape has got to be even more important than the first two. Why else would the major general be keeping it under lock and key?

  The sound is clear like the last one.

  “Why did you want to come in today?” her psychiatrist asks.

  “I'm scheduled for a C-section tomorrow morning. This will be the last time I can come in for some time.”

  “How do you feel about your daughter's impeding birth?”

  “Happy. Everything's fine. That's not why I’m here.”

  “You hesitated. Is there some aspect you're having trouble with?”

  “You're a medical doctor. Have you ever delivered a baby before?”

  “No, I can say with great relief that I haven't ever had to. You're not in any pain, are you?”

  “No need to panic, doctor. I’m fine.”

  The doctor's sigh of relief is audible. “I did witness a birth once in medical school. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, when the baby is delivered, you can't always tell how they're going to look. I mean, there are so many genetic mutations that she could be born with, blue eyes like my mother's or brown like mine. She could have dark hair like mine or blond like my
mother had.”

  “Yes.” The doctor chuckles. “I'm sorry, I don't see where you're going with this.”

  “It's just that...I'm afraid of who she's going to look like.”

  “Afraid?”

  “Yes.”

  “We've talked about your difficulties with your mother, but if you're worried that your relationship with your child will be affected by any physical similarities, rest assured that you are approaching the beginning of her life with your eyes open. That you are conscious of the possibility means that you will overcome any potential threat to your mental well-being.”

  “It's not that I'm worried about her looking like my mother...I'm worried that she'll look like her biological father.”

  “Why would you worry that she'll look like your husband?”

  “I don't mean my husband—I mean the being who fathered her.”

  “Being? What are you saying?”

  “My husband is not her father.”

  “Another man? An affair?”

  “Another being—like a man, but not.”

  “I don't know what to say.”

  “You don't have to say anything. I just needed to say it out loud.”

  “Do you mean to say that you believe an extraterrestrial being fathered your baby?”

  “It...he did.”

  “Are we talking artificial insemination?”

  “No.”

  “Rape?”

  “No.”

  “Consensual sex.”

  “I remember being asleep and barely waking, as if I was still dreaming. A fog filled my bedroom.”

  “Where was your husband?”

  “Right next to me asleep.”

  “Didn't you try to wake him?”

  “I wasn't afraid. It was a very pleasant feeling. I knew somehow that he wasn't from this world, but it didn't matter to me.”

  “You recall the incident vividly?”

  “Yes, I woke up feeling euphoric. My husband and I had been trying to get pregnant for a year and a half, and I knew that it had finally happened. The next morning, I found out I was pregnant.”