by Mark Edwards
Kevin nodded at the screen. ‘Here we go.’ The words THE SHOCKING EVIDENCE flashed across the screen in red. I read:
Here is the incredible EVIDENCE that They didn’t want you to see. On the following pages you will see the startling PROOF that ALIENS from other galaxies are visiting Earth and forcing YOUNG WOMEN and GIRLS to take part in UNNATURAL ACTS! These poor women are hypnotized and sometimes even taken to other planets where they are used to BREED human-alien HYBRIDS for who knows what purposes?!
‘There are about twenty of these sites,’ Kevin said, flicking through. ‘I subscribe to most of them. It’s all rubbish. I mean, the aliens don’t force women to shag them. They enjoy it. It’s a privilege.’
The images were similar to the pictures of Marie, although some appeared more professional, and many were in colour. The aliens were usually Greys, with a few Nordic types thrown in for good measure. There were loads of videos too, which appeared to feature small men dressed up as Greys. Their penises looked human, except they were wearing grey condoms. I rubbed my eyes.
‘Beautiful images, aren’t they?’ said Kevin. ‘Especially the ones that are real.’
I barely had the mental energy to respond.
He tapped the screen. ‘Didn’t I tell you? There are real pictures among these. Most of them are fake, but some of these are of actual visitors having sex with humans. That’s why I study them so closely, why I collect them. I keep hoping that one day I’ll see a picture of the visitors that seduced me.’ He sighed. ‘You see, Richard, we’re actually quite alike, you and me. We’re both searching for our lost love.’
I was speechless.
‘Ah,’ he said, pointing at the monitor. ‘That’s Cherry Nova.’
The picture displayed was of a large-breasted woman with pillar-box-red hair straddling a Grey. ‘She’s my favourite human,’ Kevin said.
‘Who actually runs these sites?’ I asked.
‘Lots of different people. Some of the pictures come from America or Europe, some from Japan. This site is British, though. Cherry’s one of the top English girls. Or she was, anyway.’ He pointed to the corner of the screen. The logo read Planet Flesh. ‘They’re based in Brighton. That’s just along the coast from you in Hastings, isn’t it?’
I nodded.
Kevin accessed more sites. I was sure I would be confronted by a picture of Marie at any moment, but there were none.
‘That’s really strange,’ he said. ‘I was sure I recognised her.’ He drummed his fingers on the desk beside the mouse. ‘Maybe I’ve got hard copies of the pictures. I keep a box of my favourites under my bed. Wait here and I’ll go and have a look.’
He went off to his bedroom. I dreaded to think what it smelled like in there. Precious seminal fluid, probably. I smoked a cigarette while I waited. A few minutes later Kevin burst through his bedroom door clutching a sheet of paper which he waved at me. ‘I found it!’
He handed it to me and sat back down. It was the picture in which the alien was behind Marie. The one I hated the most.
There was a date in the corner – the image had appeared online two years ago. ‘Look,’ said Kevin, ‘these appeared on the Planet Flesh page. The same page that Cherry Nova always appeared on. Shit! Are you thinking what I’m thinking? This is really exciting!’
I stood up and pushed him off his chair. He landed on his back on the filthy carpet. In a flash I was astride him, and I put my hands around his throat and started to squeeze.
‘Exciting? Exciting? ’ I yelled. ‘This is my life! My fucking life!’ All of my pent-up fury and frustration surged through me. Kevin gasped for air, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. He made a horrible choking sound and grabbed my wrists. He dug his fingernails into my flesh. The pain broke the spell I was under and I let go.
He stared at me, rubbing his throat. ‘Get out,’ he croaked.
‘I’m sorry . . .’
‘Get out!’ he cried. ‘You’re a maniac.’
I picked up my briefcase and walked backwards away from him, repeating my apologies. He started to sob. I opened the front door and made my exit.
Outside, I flattened myself against a wall, gasping for breath, afraid.
Afraid of what I might have done to him. But more than that: terrified of what this search for Marie was doing to me.
On the train home, my mobile rang. It was Simon.
‘I’ve got that information you wanted about Andrew. Shall I pick you up at the station? What time’s your train due in?’
Simon was waiting in his car outside Hastings station, the radio turned up so loud I could hear the thump of the bass as I approached. I opened the door and climbed in. The interior of the car smelled of gherkins and fries. It had been raining on and off all day; raindrops drummed on the windscreen; the wipers squeaked back and forth.
Simon turned the radio down and pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Andrew Jade.’ He paused and looked at me. ‘Are you all right? You look like shit, mate.’
‘I’m OK,’ I said.
He nodded, impatient to share his news.
‘I found out some good stuff, but I don’t know how much any of it is going to help.’ He rustled the paper. ‘He was born in Eastbourne on March seventeenth 1967. He seems to have lived in Eastbourne all his life. Went to the local comprehensive. Left at eighteen with three A-levels and went to Sussex University where he read geography . . . He was an only child, it seems. There’s no record that he was ever married. In fact, his name hasn’t appeared in the paper since he graduated.’
‘Apart from our piece.’
‘That’s right. I got a friend at the DSS to check his benefits history. He signed on for a couple of years after university, then got a job.’ He smiled. ‘You’ll like this. He worked in a camera shop for years. Seems he was something of a camera buff.’
‘But he never mentioned that. Surely he would have?’
Simon pulled a face. ‘I’d have thought so too. I went over to the camera shop this morning. It’s still there, in the back streets near the Arndale Centre. An old bloke called Saul runs it. I asked him if he remembered Andrew Jade and he nearly threw me out of his shop. I could tell that Andrew wasn’t exactly well-liked by this bloke so I pretended I was a debt collector trying to find him. That worked a treat.’
He turned the windscreen wipers off.
‘Andrew worked for Saul for ten years. Apparently he was really good. Although, get this, Saul said he had some weird ideas. He said Andrew used to go on about flying saucers and space invaders and all that. It gave him the creeps. According to Saul, Andrew was always being visited by these “nutters” who would bring in photos of UFOs and want them developed immediately. Saul didn’t mind, he said, because it was extra business.’
I said, ‘So he was interested in UFOs at least twelve or thirteen years ago.’
‘Yeah. And that’s not all he was interested in. One night Saul left Andrew working late on his own. Saul had to go to a council meeting or something. He did go on about it at great length, but I didn’t really listen. Anyway, after the meeting, he remembered that he’d left that day’s takings at the shop so he had to go back and collect them. That’s when he caught Andrew.’ He smirked. ‘Remember, this was in the days before digital photography went mainstream. According to Saul, Andrew was in the darkroom, developing a load of “mucky pictures”.’
‘My God!’
‘Yeah, that’s what I thought. Although I always thought Andrew looked like a creep.’
‘What . . . what kind of pictures were they?’
‘Well, I don’t know what Saul’s idea of mucky is, but it sounded like the pictures weren’t just of naked women. It wasn’t like the stuff you see in Playboy. From what I could gather they were of people fucking. Saul sacked Andrew on the spot and told him to take his filth with him. And that was the last time he saw him. Although he did see our story in the Herald this summer, and he says he remembers thinking that Andrew hadn’t changed: th
at he was still a weirdo.’
Had the pictures been of alien porn? It wasn’t a subject I could raise with Simon. I didn’t want him to know about Marie being in such pictures. I wouldn’t tell him unless it was absolutely necessary. Later that evening I would tell him everything else, just leaving out the bit about the world of alien pornography and my encounter with Kevin.
‘After that, I can’t find any trace of what Andrew did for a living. He didn’t go back on the dole. If he had another job then I don’t know what it was. Maybe he made a living from his consultancy thing. Did Marie ever say how she and Andrew met?’
‘They met through their interest in UFOs. But I don’t know exactly how or when.’
Simon looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘You know, I reckon you’re right. Andrew’s death and Marie’s disappearance have got to be linked. Even if it’s just that she’s done a runner because she’s so grief-stricken. Are you sure they were never, you know, shagging?’
I sighed. ‘No. No, I’m not sure. I’m not sure about anything anymore.’
There was a brief pause during which all I could hear was the rain on the windscreen. ‘That was all I could find out, anyway. I checked the electoral register for his address, but he wasn’t on it. I could try and check his Council Tax records, but that’s pretty difficult.’ He laughed. ‘Fucking Data Protection Act. I’m going to have get some more contacts like my one at the DSS. You know, I’m enjoying this. Investigative journalism. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do. Like you and your flash photos for the Telegram.’
He saw the way I was looking at him and put his hands up.
‘Hey, I’m just saying, that’s all. I know you’re not enjoying any of this. Neither would I. Although I wouldn’t mind if Susan vanished into thin air right now. Talking of which, I’ve got a favour to ask.’ He coughed.
‘What is it?’
He nodded at the back seat. A grey leather suitcase lay there.
‘I’ve been kicked out,’ he said. ‘Can I come and stay with you? Just for a few nights, until I find myself a flat? I figure you owe me a favour.’
The thought of Simon staying in my house was horrifying. He was such a slob. But he had helped me, and maybe I could use the company . . .
‘What have you been up to?’ I asked. ‘You’ve been having an affair, haven’t you?’
He coughed. ‘Well, yeah, I’ve been seeing this girl. Cassandra. Works on the media sales team . . .’
‘You idiot. Can’t you stay with her?’
‘Uh-uh.’
‘Why not?’
‘Her boyfriend wouldn’t like it.’
I laughed, even though I knew it wasn’t really funny.
‘And it’s over now, anyway. The ironic thing is that Susan found out the same day Cassandra dumped me.’
‘How unfortunate.’ I sighed. ‘OK. You can stay. But just for a few nights.’
‘Nice one.’ He grinned. ‘You’re a true mate.’
After we got back to my house, and while Simon made himself comfortable (unpacking his suitcase, grumbling about having to sleep on a futon, inspecting the contents of the fridge), I made a few phone calls.
I phoned the Conquest hospital and asked after Kate Walker. ‘She’s had her operation and she’s doing well,’ said the nurse. I hung up before she could ask me any questions.
Next I called Kathy. ‘Any news?’ I asked.
‘Oh God, no, nothing. I’m so sorry . . .’
Finally, I phoned the lecturer I had spoken to; the man who headed Marie’s computer course. He hadn’t heard anything either.
I went upstairs and took a bath. Calico sat on the rug beside me and miaowed. He was probably asking me why I was letting a strange man stay with us.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘He won’t eat your cat food. At least, I hope not.’
I went into the bedroom and dried myself. I looked at myself in the mirror. I had lost weight. You could see my ribs. I hadn’t been this skinny since I left school. My cheekbones had become more prominent, the circles around my eyes deeper. I looked like a junkie.
I got dressed and went into the spare room, which doubled as my office.
My cameras were lined up on the table. Examples of my work were tacked to every surface. Portraits and seascapes and nature shots and news shots. The photograph that had first attracted Bob Milner’s attention took pride of place – the red-faced policemen chasing the crook. And there were prints of my Telegram pictures. They were due to be published very soon. It should have been a momentous occasion, something to be proud of, preceded by a sleepless night. But it held no excitement for me now. I was unable to gather an ounce of enthusiasm.
I crossed the room to the cupboard that was set into the far wall. In a cardboard folder beneath piles of dusty exposures, I found what I was looking for. I took the pictures out and studied them, nodding to myself. They were just as I remembered.
I put the folder back and went downstairs. Simon was eating pizza. ‘Want some?’ he asked, offering me a slice.
I poured myself a vodka and Coke and lit a cigarette. Then I made one final call, to Bob Milner, the Herald’s editor.
‘Yes?’ he answered in his gruff voice.
‘Bob, it’s Richard. I’m just phoning to let you know: I quit.’ I dropped the receiver back into place and took in a lungful of smoke.
Simon looked up at me, his mouth open. I could see the half-chewed pizza on his tongue.
12
I couldn’t sleep that night. My head was too full of questions and images: those pornographic photos, the fight with Kevin, the way the strange ‘Karen’ had stared at me at the conference. All this, mixed up with anxiety over whether I’d done the right thing quitting my job. I hadn’t put much thought into it. I only knew I needed all my time to search for Marie. I told myself that, when all this was over, the lack of a steady pay cheque would prompt me to pursue my dreams, to make sure the Telegram commission wasn’t a one-off. When money started to run out, I would be forced to find work.
I opened one eye to check the time on the bedside clock. Three a.m. I had a vague memory of Marie telling me this was the most common time for alien visitations. And at the exact moment that I thought this, I heard a noise downstairs. A thump and click, like someone closing the front door.
I jumped out of bed and quickly pulled on my jeans and a T-shirt. At the top of the stairs, I called down, ‘Simon?’
I could hear someone moving about in the kitchen, opening drawers, shutting cupboard doors. I jogged down the stairs tentatively, calling Simon’s name again. But as I neared the bottom step I heard faint snoring coming from the living room. Simon’s snoring.
I froze. Did I have a weapon upstairs? I scanned each room in my mind. There was a heavy vase in the spare room, a small pair of scissors in the bathroom. I couldn’t think of anything else, though. I was so panicked that my brain couldn’t focus. I was trapped between fight and flight, my reptilian brain letting me down at this crucial moment.
Before I could decide what to do, a man came out of the kitchen. He was dressed in dark green, with heavy boots. He had a balaclava over his head.
He turned and saw me.
‘Simon!’ I shouted, as loud as I could. The intruder looked towards the living room door, then back at me, hesitated – then ran towards the front door, yanking it open and escaping before I could catch him.
I ran into the living room, shaking the still-snoring Simon and yelling his name.
‘What? What is it?’
‘Get up! There was someone in the house. He’s just run out the front door. I need to catch him.’
Simon sprang into action, pulling on his trousers and shoes, and the two of us ran out into the street. The man in the balaclava was just visible on the corner of the street.
‘Come on!’ I shouted, and Simon and I sprinted after the man. Adrenaline flooded my body, overcoming the burning in my lungs. Who was the intruder? What was he looking for? Could he lead us to Marie?
Panting, with Simon lagging behind me, we reached the end of the street.
‘I’m going to puke,’ Simon said.
I ignored this. ‘Can you see him?’
I ran across the road. There was no one around, no cars. Here in the dead of night, no one stirred.
‘Where the hell has he gone?’ I asked the cold air.
A pair of seagulls took flight over to the right, near the rocks. Had they been disturbed? ‘This way,’ I said to Simon, who followed me at a jog as I ran towards the cliff.
There was a flat-roofed café on the level below me and I thought the intruder might be hiding in its shadows, so asked Simon to check. While he walked towards the building I carried on to the rocks.
I peered over the edge. There were plenty of nooks and crannies below. Places to hide. The sandstone glowed eerily in the moonlight.
‘I know you’re there,’ I called, forcing myself to sound confident. ‘You can’t get away. We’ve called the police. They’re on their way.’
I heard a scuffling sound below. At that moment, Simon arrived. ‘No one by the café.’
I put my finger to my lips and pointed downwards.
‘He’s down there,’ I mouthed.
Simon nodded to show he understood.
‘He’s not here,’ I said loudly. ‘Let’s go home.’
We waited.
About thirty seconds later, I heard scuffling again, and the man emerged from the crevice he’d been hiding in, onto a narrow ledge. He was still wearing the balaclava. From where we stood we could see him but, because of the overhang above him, I was sure he wouldn’t be able to see us.