by Arlene Webb
“Blanket,” she said. “A black blanket.”
“Black blanket,” he barked the words, followed by a soft grunt of relief.
Thankfully, he moved away and approached objects, parroting after her in his harsh voice. He pointed at the wooden lamp with a brown shade.
“Lamp, it’s a light.”
“Lamplight?”
“Yes. Why don’t you understand these things?” She rose, forced halting steps, and switched the lamp on. Soft light filled the room and he drew back. Gulp. She clicked it off.
“Lamp, it’s a light.” He sighed and rubbed his temple.
“Please let me go home. Why are you doing this?” No response. “You want me to teach you more?”
“Teach.” He strode to the fireplace. He flung his vibrant hair aside and beckoned her.
“Fireplace.” It was a word she’d already told him.
“Yes. Fireplace.” He stood, arms crossed—one bare foot tapped against the floor.
She should move, but her legs wouldn’t agree. Another sigh blew through his lips, and he stepped back.
One robotic step at a time brought her to the hearth. A box of matches rested on the mantle. She struck a match, cupped the flame, and lit the cardboard kindling. Not easy, but her injured arm was the least of her worries.
A flash of red and he hovered beside her. What if she ran for the other room? Maybe there was a gun around he needed her to explain.
The cardboard burst into flame and he gasped. He crouched and put his fingers in the fire. The astonished grin curving his lips made his face inhumanly beautiful. He drew his hand away, like someone who’d simply dipped fingers in warm water, and stared as if he’d never seen flickering flames before.
She’d been so freaked over his weird rearranging, his incredible strength, she barely puzzled over his appearance. His skin looked too smooth to be dyed. Even his bare feet matched his chest and arms. That long hair was such a bright, clean crimson. The black soot on his stomach blended in with the darker red chest hair, and he wore her sunglasses, despite the low light in the cabin. The air around him crackled with unleashed energy, and he jumped up.
His large hand shot out, and she went twirling in his arms. Shivers of electric heat danced through her. Power sparked off his warm skin, and he held her with a grip so feathery light it only increased her fear.
“My God. A pyromaniac. You don’t speak English, but you learn instantly.” She gaped up at him, afraid she’d soon vomit.
He grunted and waltzed her to the couch. As if she was made of porcelain, he pressed her down and returned to the fireplace. He grabbed a log from the stack next to the hearth, looked at it curiously, and tossed it on the flames. A couple of strides and he returned. He sat down and patted her leg, eyebrows raised.
“I’m a freaked woman who doesn’t want to die.”
An impatient snort and red fingers clasped her thigh, sending shards of heat zooming through her.
“Please don’t kill me. My name’s Jaylynn.” Where oh where, were the men in blue when you needed them?
Cleveland, Ohio
8:55 AM
Friday, July 8th
Blue? Malcolm drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He preferred continuity in established patterns and didn’t like the unexpected. When had they changed police flashers from red to blue? Just one more irritation added to this morning’s annoyances.
Little sleep. Flat tire. Call girls texting him. Apparently, while his eyes were closed, his escort had found his cell and acquired his number. What other bolts out of the damn blue were around the bend? Besides being late for work for the first time in eight years.
A glance in the rearview showed the officer slowing, a tap of Malcolm’s finger lowered his window, and he swallowed his yawn. The latest darling to endure his idiosyncrasies had blushed when he requested to supervise her bathing, before and after. She’d respected the lack of cuddling, and had been so anxious to please, he’d agreed to spend the night.
Of course, he hadn’t planned to count the minutes as they shared the hotel room table until 3 AM, quizzing from Gray’s Anatomy. A second year med student, she hoped for a brighter future. Her step to hug her mentor as he made his exit hadn’t been good.
None of his sweethearts allowed him to slink out, as a john should. After even one visit, attachments formed. Next time, he’d request a different woman.
The police car crunched to a stop behind him, and he raised his sight to the horizon.
What a peculiar—
His brain flat-lined, and Malcolm collapsed.
* * *
The policeman blinked hard. A weird burst of light had darted across the sky. Either something screwed up with a satellite, electrical discharge out of whack, or he needed to get his eyes checked. He shrugged and approached the sedan parked on the shoulder, propped by a deflated rear tire. Inside, he found an adult male slumped sideways, and his jaw hit the asphalt.
Heart attack, aneurysm, seizure…or something much worse. The man had short blue hair, baby blue dress shirt and black pants, and his arms and clean-shaven face were a soft blue. At 9 AM in Cleveland? Maybe a rock star struggling for attention, some idiot drinking colloidal silver.
Screw it. He hadn’t survived this long by taking chances. He pulled on his latex gloves and opened the driver door.
“Metro, Adam seven.”
“Go ahead Adam seven.”
“Yeah, I got a 10-24 here. I-90, southbound, just before exit 27. Appears to be a non-responsive Caucasian—well, sort of Caucasian—male. Some kind of blue skin discoloration. Let the EMTs know about the blue skin. You copy?”
He brushed his fingers over the neck artery—bingo. He swallowed his relief and stepped back. Not that he rated male beauty, but this unconscious guy would certainly cause a flutter from the double X side of the species.
The ambulance arrived in record time. No one argued about moving him to the medical center, before attempting to wake him or searching for identity. The pulse stayed steady, but they’d never handled a victim contaminated a smooth shade of sapphire before.
Some sort of skin dye? A gang thing? Dressed like a stockbroker, a man over a decade past his teens should be beyond that type of experimentation. Male model with edible body paint and a color fetish? That made as much sense as an invasion of Smurfs.
The officer waited for the tow truck. He wondered if anyone else’s day had started as colorfully as his had.
Chapter Three
Cleveland Ohio
8:56 AM
Friday, July 8th
Sight. He cringed at the contaminated environment, focused on the blinking, safe-black object in his lap, and picked it up. Touch. He dropped it. Why’d he have hands?
Scent. Many odors wafted through the open window, all strange.
Taste. He licked lips he shouldn’t have and—acceleration—surged to find himself trapped within the unfamiliar body. Pain. His head hurt, unable to correlate the bombardment of stimuli, and he struggled to focus.
Sound. The multitude of noise included something stepping closer. Confusion, terror, a deluge of emotions shuddered through him, and he went limp. He’d take the path of least resistance and hide within before interacting with whatever it was.
Where, oh where, was the monochromatic purity of his color? He clamped his optical units closed. He was quite willing to sacrifice sight.
The grating from the opening door caused worry to pulsate through him. The lack of facts, an inability to anticipate what might happen, sent his fear skyrocketing. Should he defend himself? How? He didn’t even know what he or it was.
It bent over him, its rubbery touch cautious. A good sign, which created a calming sense of power. Should he seize control? Unresponsive had to be the better course of action. It didn’t seem right to hit or shove the unknown aside. Thankfully, it felt the pulse at his neck and retreated.
Time flowed while it chattered close by, and he debated using all his newly discovered senses.
If he could but overcome his trepidation, he’d face whatever surrounded him. A blaring noise approached and then slowed. Forget looking. He was now outnumbered, and panic shuddered through him.
He reached for the inorganic object he’d dropped. Comfort and an increased sense of order out of chaos came from holding something that didn’t create instant revulsion. He slipped it into a pocket on his lower covering. Hand hidden, he clutched his refuge object as the creatures invaded to handle him again.
Their careful, gentle behavior lowered his terror level, making it easier for him to concentrate. The duplication in their speech could be correlated into pattern.
He remained motionless as they lifted him and placed him on a flat surface. He tested the flimsy restraints. They’d break if needed. He clicked off the distance the noisy vehicle traveled, calmed by the mental distraction.
The two individuals repeated blue-dude often enough to assume, the probability calculated in the upper tenth percentile, that’s what they’d labeled him.
Unfortunately, the syllables contained an underlying texture of fear. His differences seemed to be unacceptable to them. He must understand the concept of…skin.
Why look? Dread overwhelmed him, and the knowledge that deadly hues surrounded him would only be confirmed. He clung to the delusion of safety.
When the vehicle stopped, the chatter increased to a level requiring tremendous energy to separate the multitude of patterns. After they lifted him, he dared to crack the lids of his optical units—his eyes.
Oh my!
Joy over the beautiful overhead sky didn’t last. They carried him into an enclosed structure. Oh, oh, oh. He slammed his eyes shut at the sight of the deadly hue now above him.
The uncontrolled trembling of the body in which he surged caused the alien jabbering to escalate. A plastic mouth apparatus fed him unneeded oxygen. A creature grabbed his arm, activating his internal scream. He felt a prick, and a micro-thin object sucked fluid. Overwhelmed, he pulled away from the body’s skin and fled internally to hug the cartilage and skeletal frame.
Rapid verbal exchange commenced. Diluting his color was the catalyst? That seemed probable. They feared the blue of his outer-casing or skin, and when he pulled away, he became a more acceptable hue, which surprised them. He forced himself to draw closer and stabilized around his skin.
Would looking at them start another frenzy of language? While he finished this thought, he suffered the gentle pressure on his eyes. He held the lids shut, and the confused contact moved to his arm. This unbearable touch had to cease. What could he do to get these creatures off him?
Reaction produced a counter reaction. There must be a solution.
The deeper voice barked to another lighter voice. What they called “the needle” pierced his skin to push in liquid. Upon analysis, he concluded it wasn’t a priority.
He pulled away, allowing the yellowish hue to return to his skin—yes! They released him. Mercifully, he’d pleased them, and their footsteps resonated further back.
When his eyes cracked open, his horror exploded. Not only was he in an all white shelter, the two departing aliens wore solid death coverings.
Oh my-my-my—there—escape. The scream strangled in his throat. An exit to the sky sat eight feet away.
Flexed muscles ripped the restraints. His panicked leap left the needle dangling behind him. One blow shattered the glass, and he flung himself out, unable to comprehend why the white hadn’t moved to take him. Although the out-of-step light and the green he fell toward were irritating, the coverings and walls behind him caused a terror he couldn’t control. He landed eighteen feet below the broken opening and ran.
The green crushed under his feet until he entered a large paved area. He tried one of two handles facing him on a metallic blue vehicle. With minimal energy, the handle broke clean, and a section opened. He hopped inside the vehicle, forced the door closed, and scanned the area. So far, no white coverings approached.
The light clung heavily around him, and he noted the enclosed space behind him. He yanked the corner of the seat out, crawled into the trunk, and pushed, then smoothed the metal and fabric back into place. The dark interior gave him a much needed sense of security. The white should have destroyed him. Perhaps this frightening world was so oppressive he’d soon wish it had.
Time passed, a numerical procession, while his worries churned. He allowed himself to surge, becoming the blue dude he apparently was, and clutched the metal object in his pocket.
A moment later, his fear decreased and curiosity rose. He took the inert object apart, and put it back together, four times. A communication device he had yet to activate. He wasn’t ready to interact with creatures that coexisted with death. But if he sought out another means to learn other than using the mobile phone, he’d have to leave this illusion of safety.
Then again, maybe not. Carefree footsteps closed in. The door opened and something entered. The vehicle started and then halted. Angry mutterings and it sounded like the creature fastened the broken door closed. Another minute to settle back in the control seat, and they moved.
Notes played in a pattern, went quiet, and the creature spoke, “Hey, sweetheart, where you want to meet?”
“Rock and Roll Hall of Fame,” answered a distant, metallic voice.
“I’m almost home. Ten minute shower, then I’ll be there.”
The creature quieted, and the vehicle moved faster.
Wheel turns clicked off in his head until they slowed to pull up an incline. An abrasive noise, something opening, sent him surging in terror. Thankfully, the noise slowed to a stop while the vehicle halted. The creature exited, paused, issued angry words, and opened the unbroken door.
He froze. It pushed at the covering enclosing him. Then the footsteps returned to the control seat.
When the trunk popped open and the light poured in, he moved the body at its full capacity to exit, drop, and roll. From the darkness under the vehicle, he heard the strange creature slam the trunk closed. Footsteps moved away, and he peered out. The creature disappeared through a side door.
Curiosity overrode his fear, and he crawled out. The cement floor was painted a pretty blue to match the walls. Safe boxes rested on a grey countertop. The red gas can triggered his increasing anxiety, until he noted the object next to it. A plastic type box—the color of death.
Hyperventilating, he waited. After a few seconds, absorption didn’t seem imminent. He stepped as far from the white as he could get and opened the door the creature had used. He found himself in a small foyer with pleasing walls and deadly trim.
His gaze lowered, face twisted, he moved forward. A musical splattering called from where the creature lurked, and he felt pulled toward the notes. Should he confront someone who accepted a chaos of hues? Despite the allure of the harmonious pattern, he needed more understanding.
He swallowed back the nausea, unable to avoid glancing at a large white box in the adjoining room. With a deep shuddering breath, he entered the open area and noted a beautiful blue container on the raised counter.
The wonderful noise stopped. He scanned and focused on a safe covering in the next room. He bypassed a flickering screen on a raised wooden area. Black chenille around his shoulders, he huddled behind a chair in the corner.
Shortly, the creature tore through the room and hastened out the door. When the noise from the exiting vehicle ended, he dared to approach the flickering monitor. Inorganic. A pleasant humming emitted from it.
Could it hold answers? He eased down to sit. His elbow brushed a small device. The control felt right. It fit under his hand—he jerked back. Movement of the item correlated with a screen change. A bombardment of hues, many deadly, filled the monitor. He drew a deep breath. Engrossed, he surfed until the numbers in the lower right rose from 5:15 PM to 7:15 PM.
He sat back and swallowed. “I’m a man in front of a computer speaking English.” His voice—soft, cool tones—wasn’t unpleasant. “I need a name, a history, and rep
lenishment of this water-based carbon unit, labeled a body.”
The table in the darkening room held a green ceramic vase of fresh Irises. He gathered the pretty flowers by their heads and placed them on the table. A shudder went through him when he picked up the vase.
He poured water into his mouth, set the empty container on the floor by his feet, and straightened. He pulled the wallet out of his hip pocket.
An identity had been given him in this plane of existence, and it wasn’t blue-dude.
My name is Malcolm James.
Chapter Four
Glass of water in hand, Aaron stepped into his bedroom. Outside his window, the sun sank into the ocean in fiery layers of color. Inside the Spartan room, all trace of hues had been removed, except green, brown, and black. A whole day had passed without him alerting authorities, doing the right thing.
Covered with his leather jacket, the strange woman lay curled on his bed for hours in a fetal position. A computer search for clues to her origin had been futile, and if Aaron couldn’t rouse her, he’d finally make that phone call.
He splashed water on a green hand towel and sponged her forehead. Long eyelashes fluttered, and cognitive light blinked up at him.
“Shh. I’m not going to hurt you.” With his best “I’m not a deranged predator” smile, he slipped his hand beneath her head and tipped the glass forward. Her luminous eyes widened, she sipped, and then gulped. After she drained the glass, he released her and drew back.
The adjective “lovely” danced, shades of emerald in his head.
She sat up. With one glance around the room, she heaved a sigh of relief, and faced him. He’d kept the sunglasses on for her. A nervous smile curved her lips. “Dad?”
He laughed. “No, green lady, no. My name’s Aaron.”
“Aaron,” she whispered, sweet and musical.
David, with a pine-green candle, burst into the room.