A Killer's Secret

by Stanley Gray

  [I was worried about you. I was scared. Please don’t leave without telling me again.]

  Alan shifted on his feet, but remained standing. Something about the exchange tickled his mental antennae, and made him want to remain standing. “What was that thing you just did? Can you become invisible?” he asked. The idea both intrigued and horrified him.

  Just as he was beginning to formulate a plan for how to combat this thing, Alan realized she had changed the game.

  [Why? If I could become invisible, would this disturb you?] The alien laughed. [When you abandoned me, this disturb me. Where go?] it asked.

  The confusing breakdown of syntax and grammar befuddled him. Alan grasped at the tangential thought of where Xenobia had even learned English. Hadn’t she mentioned something about Russia? He smirked, despite himself, as he thought about Xenobia communicating in Russian.

  Alan walked slowly, deliberately over to his chair and sat. He wanted a beer. Or some hard liquor. It felt odd to think that over the last few days, he’d drank considerably less.

  [Would you like a shot of whisky?]

  Alan grimaced. He sighed. “Yeah. Thanks.” he said.

  When Xenobia brought him the proffered shot, he gulped it down. He grunted. He kicked the leg rest out and reclined. Looking at the small blue creature, he waited. As he did so, he tried to observe it. Xenobia’s almond eyes were misshapen, and placed more towards the center her head. As opposed to on the side. A vast black chasm existed in those barren orbs. A slender ridge protruded from the taut skin of her face, with two small holes at the bottom. He assumed these were her nostrils.

  What did she breathe? Did she breathe?

  [Would you tell me the truth if I asked you where you’d gone?] she finally asked, sitting on the couch. She peered at him.

  He felt it again. The piercing sense of disrupted equilibrium. The headache and pressure behind his eyes. He reached up and clutched at his temples.

  Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the sensation vanished.

  Nearly hyperventilating, he held out a hand towards her in an unconscious warning gesture. As he recovered from the mental attack, he realized once again the creature could care less about his warnings.

  “Does my answer matter? You’d know the truth, anyway. So, why bother even asking me?” he asked.

  [I am curious. Humans…are odd beings. There are many truths.] The alien paused, and it seemed to be thinking. [I can see into minds. But I cannot see into…hearts. I cannot read the future.] Another pregnant stretch of silence. [We come to study your people, even as you try to study mine.] she said.

  Alan pondered this. His stomach grumbled. Whisky on an empty stomach can be a bad idea. He shifted in the chair, and looked around. The house looked nice, comfortable. “How did you clean up the house?” he asked.

  [Alan, please. We can talk more about me later. If I am to reveal things about myself, I must trust you.]

  Alan snorted. He chuckled. “One could say that goes both ways. Why should I share with you if I don’t trust you?” he asked.

  [Because I am more advanced and powerful than you.] Xenobia responded. The words came out matter-of-factly.

  Alan’s phone began to buzz. He felt it in his pocket. Looking down, he dumbly felt around to find the device. His arms and hands felt leaden. His mouth felt dry.

  “Hello?” he answered.

  “Hey, Alan. Is now a good time?” the voice on the other end said.

  Alan clenched his jaw. He closed his eyes. He fought the urge to sigh. He wanted to hang up. Visions of the phone, floating on the surface of the lake danced in his mind.

  Devin Jordan. Devin Jordan was calling him. Now. In the middle of an argument with his alien roommate. Alan could do without ever hearing another word from the prick. But, here he was, ambushed by fate.

  “Hi, Devin. What’s up?” Alan asked.

  “Well, I may have some good news. Have you been watching or listening to the news?” Devin asked.

  Alan glanced at Xenobia. Then, holding out one finger, he stood. Walking out onto the desk, he closed the door behind him. “I haven’t had a whole lot of time.” Alan said.

  “That’s weird. Because I haven’t noticed anything being done at that new office of yours in the last few days.” Devin said.

  A thousand witty retorts raced through his brain, but he indulged none of them. He simply waited.

  “How is the office, anyway? I noticed an expense report for an unauthorized trip to Medford. Is everything okay?” Devin asked.

  “Yeah. Everything is fine. We could probably use a better internet package, at least at the office. The trip to Medford was essential. The printer-slash-fax-machine needed parts, and there wasn’t a store here for those sorts of things.” Alan said.

  “Okay. Well, anything you need. Anyway, here’s the news: no shut down.” Devin said.

  Alan sighed. He looked up and thanked his lucky stars. He didn’t need unemployment heaped onto his current list of troubles. “That is good news.” Alan said.

  “Well, yes. And no. It seems our department will be receiving less money than expected. Quite a bit less, actually. They cut our annual increase by a third. Most of NASA’s money is being redirected to satellites and checking the moon for minerals. We’re not resorting to layoffs, yet, but we are forming a few plans for restructuring and cost reductions.” Devin said.

  Alan could only wait. He knew what was coming. Since Alan posed one of the few perceived threats to his boss, and was now stationed in proverbial Siberia, he was about to have his ability to do his job severely hindered. It wasn’t an immediate lay-off, but it was probably a career death sentence.

  “So, no more per diems for fast food. Or any food. Personnel are more than reasonably compensated. No overtime. No new internet packages. I actually wouldn’t be surprised if we scrap the office altogether, and have you guys work from home. We would provide a small stipend to cover any costs associated with that.” Devin said

  Alan glanced back into the living room. He saw Xenobia there, staring. He shuddered. The last thing he wanted to do was work from home.

  “One last thing. Alan, something very strange happened. Do you know who Paul Harris is?” Devin asked.

  Alan laughed. “Yes. Of course, I know.” he said.

  “Well, Congressman Harris called my office, and left a message about some crash there. He seemed worried and angry, and really desperate for answers. He was not happy with you or your performance. But…when I called him back today, he seemed not to know anything about that message, or any crash. He actually said a lot of nice things about you. Remarked on how helpful you’ve been.”

  Devin didn’t ask a question, so Alan kept mum. He felt flabbergasted. If there was anyone he disliked as much as his current interlocutor, it might be Mr. Harris. Yet, the senior congressman had given him glowing praise at a time when he needed it. Praise that was complete horse shit.

  Alan realized as he waited for the awkward silence to be broken on the other end that, had it not been for the bull shit from Washington, he probably would be looking for work. He didn’t like that. He hated the idea of owing that piece of slime a favor.

  “Was there a crash? I saw several reports from your new office, detailing an investigation into a crash.” Devin said.

  “I’ll look into it. Thanks, Devin, for the call. It’s great to hear we’re still in business, albeit with less money. I’ve got an urgent call. Can I call you back?” Alan asked.

  Then he pulled a Dale and hung up.

  He walked around the corner and into the yard, wanting to get some separation from Xenobia. He needed to think. Except, as he stood in the chilly breeze, looking out at the water and trees, he felt bereft. Thoughts evaded him like drug dealers avoided drug dogs.

  He dialed Dale.

  For once, the rotund man answered on the first ring. “Alan? Fuck! I’ve been going insane from boredom. What’s up, man?” he asked.

  Alan wondered how to answer that. “We
ll, no shut-down.” Alan said.

  “That’s great, man. So, that mean we’re going out to Fun Lakes Casino to put some cheap buffet food and booze in our bellies?” Dale asked.

  “Not quite. Well, unless you’re buying.” Alan said. He simpered. Then he tried to explain to his overweight friend and colleague that he no longer could use his government job as a meal ticket. “So, Devin ordered we work from home, don’t eat out, and pretty much pinch pennies wherever they can be pinched.” Alan summarized.

  “That sucks, bro.” Dale responded.

  Alan laughed. “Devin also…mentioned…the incident.” he said.

  Silence.

  Alan waited, looking around. He tried to find beauty in the scenic surroundings, but instead only saw a landscape dominated by darkness. In the woods, he saw predators. In the sky, he saw an apathetic expanse that proved home to fighter jets. In the water, he saw carnivorous fish lurking in the shoals.

  “Maybe I will buy dinner. Just this once.” Dale finally said. His voice lost the usual confident snark that had morphed into his own personal brand.

  Alan picked up on the hint. He looked at his watch. “I just got home. Let me wrap a few things up, and I’ll meet you, say…7:00?” he asked.

  They agreed to meet and ended the call.

  Returning inside, he steeled himself. He knew he had to talk with Xenobia, or else she’d turn his mind into mush with her weird fucking paranormal parlor tricks. He smiled sharkishly as he visualized sicking Xenobia on his boss, Special Agent-in-Charge Devin Jordan. He stood in the entry way and looked at her. She seemed so harmless. So vulnerable.

  “I went to the coast with a friend because I have been stressed out.” Alan said.

  [A friend.]

  “Yes, a friend.” Alan said.

  [A girl friend?] Xenobia asked.

  “Well, she is a girl, I guess. And a friend. So, sure.”

  [You guess she’s a girl? Is this person…a romantic interest?]

  “I never asked what she identifies as. I never paid much attention to her anatomy. No, it is not a romantic interest.” Alan said. He tensed, because he knew it was coming. It wasn’t any less pleasant when it did happen. The blinding headache and horrible ringing in his ears, the dizziness. His jaw hurt from the vibrations, and his whole body hurt from twisting around in a comically futile effort to get away from the sensation.

  When it ended, he recovered faster, however.

  “Should I use ‘I feel,’ statements? Well, I feel hurt and violated when you rape my brain.” Alan said.

  [Alan, I can understand sarcasm. It’s been hard, learning to identify it. But, I know it when I see it.] Xenobia said.

  “How about when you hear it?” he asked.

  She gave him another dose of the mental sodomy.

  He laughed as she did so, a maniacal laugh. The pain was real, but Alan was slowly building a tolerance to it, and he was plumb tired of kowtowing to it. If she was going to hurt him, he wasn’t going to keep crying about it.

  “You can read my brain and see my memories. You tell me. Is it a romantic interest?” Alan asked.

  Xenobia paused. [I don’t know. You may have learned how to block me out. Because… I can’t see.] she said the words with regret.

  “I need to go meet my agent to discuss a case.” Alan said.

  [Okay, Alan. I am not enslaving you. I just…need your help. I feel alone, here without you. You are…very strong, and handy.] she said.

  Alan smirked and walked across the room, and out the front door.

  They met in the casino parking lot. Dale rushed forward and embraced the other man, wrapping him up tight with his large arms. Despite the extra weight that sometimes made him appear soft, he retained the strength that had helped make him into an elite special forces warrior. His beard smelled as if it hadn’t been washed in days. Ala pushed away, smiling despite himself.

  The moon and sun dueled in the sky, and the lunar orb got a lucky shot in. The day gasped for air as it died, growing purple with rage and horror as it faced its own imminent demise.

  “I got us reservations as Buena Comida.” Dale said. He shuffled his feet and looked away. A car slid past them, headlights slicing through the gloaming.

  Alan raised an eyebrow and peered at Dale. Not long ago, he’d wanted to expound ad nauseum on the ills of asking him to pay for his own food. Now he offered savory viands from the most expensive place in town.

  “It’s nice to have a treat, every once in a while.” Dale said. Then he smirked and looked up into Alan’s eyes. “And, it will be more private.” he said.

  Alan clapped the other man on the shoulder and chuckled. He felt a resurgence of the affection he felt for this enigmatic guy. He’d been so wrapped up with Sharon and Xenobia, his little love triangle, that he’d forgotten to even think about details like that. He chided himself and made a mental reminder to not get caught off-guard like that again.

  Alan followed Dale as they traipsed through the near-empty parking lot. He couldn’t help but smile when he visualized himself on a Jerry Springer episode. My secret E.T. love triangle. He tried to remove the image from his head, because, if he didn’t, he’d be laughing hysterically throughout their whole meal. He didn’t want to do that.

  Alan planned on getting everything he could out of his stingy subordinate. The last time the son of a bitch had bought dinner was…Alan couldn’t even recall the last time.

  Alan thought about that for a moment. He stopped, right there under the jaundiced light of a street lamp. He didn’t like it. He wondered if whatever Xenobia did to his mind hurt his ability to remember things. Was it destroying his brain?

  Dale held the door for him, and he walked in. The warm halitosis of the casino’s interior smacked him in the face. He pursed his lips and stood next to the door, trying to get acclimated. Stale smoke and the collective body odor of a few hundred sweating old drunk people blended together in the witch’s cauldron of the gambling hall. Desperation and avarice mixed with flashing lights and the cheap perfume of the servers and wandering bar tenders.

  After a few moments, they navigated their way towards the back, past the buffet where Alan had thought they’d end up. Dale possessed an amazing appetite. Alan could easily envision the other man spending a few hundred bucks just on himself at a fancier restaurant such as Buena Comida.

  The host found them a table and led the way, chatting about the specials or something. Alan paid attention to the layout of the establishment. He tried to identify any of the patrons he could see, and felt glad when he could not. He almost ran into his partner when he stopped at their table, apologizing under his breath as he slid into his side of the booth. The seats were red Formica-topped things that had probably been salvaged from some old diner that had gone out of business.

  Alan took one look at the menu, and dropped it on the table. He stared at Dale.

  “It’s okay, man. Really. I live alone. They pay us okay, and I save at least half of most of my paychecks. You know?” Dale lowered his voice. “It’s okay.” He smiled. “I’ll probably end up spending a few hundred bucks just on myself.” he said.

  Alan chuckled. His retrieved the menu, shrugging, and tried to decide on what to eat. Filet mignon? “We have to get crab cakes.” Alan said.

  “Definitely.” Dale said.

  When the waiter had taken their drink orders and left, Dale began to talk. His voice wavered and he frequently looked away from Alan. The big man kept balling up his cloth napkin, rolling it in his hands.

  “So, what’s the skinny?” he asked.

  Alan thought about that. If he were to be totally honest, he didn’t know. However, that answer wouldn’t play well with the gruff man sitting across from him. “Well, for starters, Congressman Harris apparently praised me. Apparently Devin and he made contact…I think Devin called Harris.” Alan gulped. He looked around to see if anyone were coming their way. “Ummm…so,, apparently, the congressman has no recollection of any crash.” Alan said.r />
  That got Dale’s attention.

  “So, do we just try to pretend all of that just didn’t happen? Are we supposed to just go back to work, and act like that massive fucking burned patch of wet grass…didn’t happen? Traffic wasn’t backed up for miles, no one called police dispatch….no one from K.P.D. drove you to the crash site.” Dale said. He was panting. His face glowed a special shade of red.

  “I guess, Dale.” Alan snapped. He blushed and immediately apologized. As if cued, the waiter appeared at just the right time, bearing drinks. Alan sipped his whisky. Licked his lips.

  “We do have other cases.” Alan said.

  Dale cleared his throat and nodded slightly in the director of the server who stood over him. Alan smiled and nodded back.

  “I’ll have the filet mignon. Now,” Alan pointed at a point on the second page of the laminated menu. The background was a weird shade of yellow, and the flowery black cursive script seemed a bit hard to read. “can I get two sides? And do I choose them from right here?” he asked. The waiter confirmed that he could order two sides from the relevant portion of the menu. Alan ordered mashed potatoes and a salad.

  When the tall man with slicked-back black hair finally departed with their orders, they returned to their conversation. “So, what are your thoughts? This has to be big, because…even Harris is spooked. Paul Harris is never spooked.” Alan thought out loud. Dale nodded his head in silent agreement.

  “So, I’ve been trying to figure out which agencies might be the most likely to be involved. C.I.A.” Alan ticked one finger. “Homeland Security.” Second finger. “F.B.I.” Three fingers. Alan looked up at the ceiling, and thought. After a moment, he spoke again. “I think it’s probably the C.I.A.”

  Dale nodded. “That makes more sense than the others. But, still.” Dale seemed pale. “Man, that’s some serious shit, if they are basically spying on their own citizens and actively engaging in…suppressing evidence.” he said.