Touched by an Alien

by Koch, Gini

  “Because I want to be alone with you, and there are only a few places where we can do that right now.”

  “One of our rooms wasn’t an option? Or staying in the elevator?”

  “No.” He led me into a room that didn’t look as though it saw a lot of visitors. It was the most normal room I’d seen at any of the A-C locations. It looked like a typical family living room—couch and love seat, a couple of easy chairs, large television set placed, as almost all humans with TVs do, as the room’s centerpiece. There was a wall unit with stereo equipment, VCR and DVD players, and a variety of books and magazines, the usual coffee table set, some throw pillows, and an afghan.

  There was also a small refrigerator. Martini went to it. “Regular Coke or Cherry Coke?”

  “Um . . . Cherry.” I stopped worrying about how they got this stuff and rejoiced that my soda habit wouldn’t suffer.

  He opened the fridge and handed me a can and a straw. He took one as well and settled himself on the couch. I curled up next to him. He lifted a remote off the end table and turned on the TV.

  “Really, “Fantasy Island” reruns?”

  “I like them. “Love Boat” comes on later. Besides, there are no baseball games being televised today.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I checked the cable guide earlier.”

  I thought about this as Mr. Rourke and Tattoo waved to de plane. “Who designed this room?”

  “Aunt Terry.” A commercial came on and he changed the channel. Now we were watching “Scooby-Doo.”

  “Oh, this is the one where the ghost is actually the handyman.”

  “That’s every one.”

  “Then why didn’t you just stay on Fantasy Island’?”

  He grinned. “I’m male.”

  He was that. I leaned my head on his chest while he hugged me close to him and flipped through all the channels. I do mean all. They had top of the line cable here, and we had over 200 choices. Springsteen was right, though—nothing much was on.

  “Is it hurting you to hold me like this?” I remembered what he’d looked like the other day.

  “We heal fast, too. I’m still a little sore, but no bruises left.”

  “Not even on your chest?” I’d slammed that needle in pretty hard.

  “Maybe there.”

  I unbuttoned his shirt. Everything looked normal other than right above his hearts. There was a small bruise still obvious. I couldn’t help myself—I started kissing his chest.

  “Mmmmm, God, that feels good.” He stroked the back of my neck while I ran my hands, lips, and tongue over his bare skin.

  I was getting aroused, not that this took a lot of effort when I was around him. I moved up his neck, and he shifted me into his lap, on my knees facing him. He unbuttoned my shirt and undid my bra, slowly and sensuously this time.

  I kissed his mouth as we ground against each other, the bare skin of our torsos creating erotic friction. His hands slid up my back, under my shirt. He pressed me down against him while his fingers massaged my flesh, making me moan with desire.

  He flipped us so I was lying down and he was on top of me, and within a few moments we were making love again. It was fast but not rushed, like doing it in your parents’ house when they could come home at any minute—the urgency made it better, hotter, and our simultaneous climax was intense.

  Our bodies finally stilled, and we redressed. Making love mostly clothed was becoming something I wanted to do a lot more of. Every few minutes, if I could get away with it.

  I snuggled next to him again, and he put his arm around me. “Fantasy Island” was almost over.

  “Jeff? Does anyone come here besides you?”

  “No, not really.” There was a significant pause. “Christopher used to, when Aunt Terry was alive. And Lissa did.” I decided not to react. He kissed my head. “She was going to choose Christopher, remember?”

  Oh, right. Empath with no blocks against me. “I know.”

  “But it’s kind of flattering that you feel a little jealous. I swear, I don’t have a wife hidden somewhere.” He slid a finger along my jaw and moved my head so I was looking at him. “I want to marry you.”

  “Christopher and everyone else says we won’t be allowed to get married. Ever.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have to stay here, you know. I could leave.”

  “How? I mean, really, Jeff, how? I can easily imagine you needing the same medical care as the other day and then what? You die? You’re imprisoned for Earth doctors to torture and dissect?” I could see these things happening, and I had to bury my face in his chest.

  “Oh, baby, it won’t be like that.” He stroked my head and my back.

  “No,” I forced my head back up. “It will be just like that. I love you, Jeff. I can’t ask you to leave your people just to be with me.”

  He stroked my face. “I don’t want to live without you.”

  My turn to shrug. “I’m a modern girl.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No one’s told you not to be with me, not to sleep with me, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Well, it’s not like babies show up only if you have a marriage license.”

  I saw the realization of what I was saying dawn on him. “But . . . I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “Human couples do it all the time. Would I rather be married, walk down the aisle, go under the canopy, visit a justice of the peace, get married by an Elvis impersonator in Las Vegas? Sure, it’d make my family happy. But . . . I’d rather be with you, without pain and angst, without you becoming ostracized or worse by your family.”

  “But you’ll be ostracized by yours.”

  I thought about it. “No, I won’t be. Mom and Dad understand all that’s going on. If they say they’re good with it, no one else will fight too hard.” I had to laugh. “They did something similar to this, too, when they met.”

  “Your parents don’t like me all that much.”

  “Christopher says my dad likes you a lot. Frankly, he got all happy the moment you said you wanted to marry me and have a lot of kids. I think he’s good with it.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “I think she wanted me to be with someone who wasn’t going to be at risk of death all the time.” I leaned up and kissed his cheek. “But she’s fine with it. She likes you more than you think she does.”

  “True. I don’t pick up hatred from her. Just worry.”

  “Because she’s sane. I worry about you, too.”

  He grinned. “No idea why.”

  “Because,” a male voice I’d never heard before said, “you’re going to die.”

  CHAPTER 60

  MARTINI MOVED US OFF THE COUCH at hyperspeed. We couldn’t get out of the room, though, because there was a man standing in the doorway.

  I recognized him. “Ronald Yates, what a total displeasure.” So much for those rumors of him being in some Saudi Arabian palace.

  He looked point-blank awful. “Yes, for you in particular, my dear.”

  “I’m not your dear.”

  “No, you’re Jeffrey’s.” His smile was quite evil, making Beverly’s look merely tame.

  “How the hell did you get in here?” Martini shoved me behind himself.

  I looked down at Yates’ pant legs. “He came in through the pipe.” I looked up at his face. “You flew off, changed, and snuck back.” Yates smiled. “But I told my mother to get security on that pipe.” Yates smirked and I examined his pants again. They were grossed out, but they were also dry. “Oh. I wasn’t imagining that noise behind us, was I?”

  “No. You’re far more observant than Jeffrey or Christopher.”

  “Only when it comes to fuglies. So you’ve been here for days? Why didn’t you do something the other day, when everyone was trapped?” Or when Martini was out of it and helpless. I decided not to ask that. Why give the evil overlord more ideas?

  “As my late Beverly told me, you’re aware I’ve b
een ill. I needed to . . . regenerate my strength.”

  So, the creepy was explained. “You were hiding in the isolation chamber wing.”

  He shrugged. “It’s amazing how few want to spend any time down there.” I found myself overwhelmingly thankful that they had security and medical guarding Martini when he was in isolation.

  “Yeah.” I managed not to mention that most normal people didn’t want to hang out on the Creepshow Level. Martini had to spend a lot of time there, after all. Why point out that I thought it was a horrible place to spend five minutes? “So, you were the thing I felt following me when I went down there.”

  “Of course. I was hoping you’d investigate.”

  I thanked God for being freaked out. Because if I hadn’t been, I probably would have investigated. Another thought occurred. “Was it you making me feel . . . afraid down there?”

  “Naturally. It’s difficult to move too quickly in my present state. Easier to make you come to me.”

  He clearly wasn’t firing on all cylinders. Either that or he thought all fear made me mad and caused me to charge. It usually did, but he hadn’t taken emotional exhaustion into consideration. Good. He wasn’t infallible. “So you’re out of hyperjuice?” It was worth hoping for.

  He was next to us in less than a second. “Hardly. Unlike Jeffrey, I conserve it for when it’s necessary.” Martini moved and got us near the door, but Yates beat him. He chuckled. “You were always an impetuous boy.”

  I knew this was patently untrue. I squeezed Martini’s hand, hoping that he was picking up my emotions. “So what? What’s wrong with impetuous?” I hoped I sounded cavalier, but I doubted I was managing it well.

  Yates laughed. “Nothing. In the right situations. But this isn’t the right one.” He walked over and sat on the love seat. “Please, sit. We have much to discuss.”

  “Why should we?” Martini asked.

  Someone grabbed me and moved me, wrenching my hand out of Martini’s. I was on the floor by the love seat on my knees, head forced down, with Yates’ hand on the back of my neck. “Because I’ll break her neck if you don’t.”

  Martini moved to the couch. I could hear him and just see his feet. “Let her go.” His voice was strained.

  “I’m not sure.” Yates shoved me down until my forehead was on the floor, at his feet. “I think I want her to acknowledge her leader.”

  “Richard White.”

  This earned me a knock against the floor. Martini growled. “Jeffrey, refrain from posturing or I snap her neck. Now, again, young lady. Acknowledge your leader.”

  “Angela Maria Fiore Katt.”

  Big knock, but I’d slid one hand under my forehead so it wasn’t too bad.

  “Try again.”

  “Solomon David Katt.” Bang. “Christopher White.” Bang. “Jeff Martini.” Bang.

  “Stop it.” I could tell Martini’s teeth were clenched. “What do you want?”

  “Obedience or death.”

  “I’ll take death, please, Alex, for five hundred.” Bang. My fingers hurt.

  “You get one more chance.”

  “Terry White.”

  He flung me across the room. I just missed the wall unit. “How dare you say her name to me?”

  Interesting. “Why not? She married your son.”

  “That impure bitch was never my son’s wife.” The rage was rolling off him. I shot a glance at Martini. He looked confused.

  “They were married.”

  “Not in our way.”

  The light dawned. “She wasn’t one of your religion, your people.”

  “No, she was not. And I forbade Richard to marry her.”

  “Guess you shouldn’t have become Public Enemy Number One then. The minute you got sent to Earth, he married his girl, didn’t he?”

  “And had a son. Born on this planet of fools.” He spat, literally, on the floor.

  “What’s wrong with Christopher?” I, personally, would have done a lot to see him in the doorway at this point.

  “His blood is unclean.”

  I looked at Jeff. “Your father, was he—”

  “Also impure,” Yates snarled.

  “It’s what made the two of you stronger. Not Mister Crypt Keeper here’s blood, but you added blood from outside your families, and that’s what did it.” I looked at Martini. I didn’t know how to send an emotional message to keep this guy monologing.

  Martini nodded. “I suppose.”

  “Is that why you don’t want to convert Jeff and Christopher to the fugly lifestyle?”

  Yates gave me a withering look. Apparently glaring ran strong in this family. “I want them dead because they are not worthy to carry on our race.”

  Oh, I’d heard this one before. Everyone alive on Earth had, after all. “Racial purity. It’s never been a great idea, Yatesey, and it’s still stupid from both a genetics and evolutionary standpoint. Not to mention God probably knows what He’s doing—if you can mate true and create something the same or better than you were, then said mating’s in God’s overall plan.”

  “There is no God!”

  “Oh, sure there is. Your little alter ego’s proof of that. I mean, I know he believes. What do you believe, Yatesey?”

  “Stop calling me that! My name is Mr. Yates!”

  “Yeah, yeah, they call me MIZ Tibbs. Not impressing anyone over here; we’ve seen the movie, too, Yatesey.”

  He was turning a nasty shade of purple. The A-C gang really had a thing about formality in their naming conventions. Paul’s mother must have had to fight hard to get a single-syllable name assigned to her child.

  Martini moved, and he was in front of me again. “Stay away from her.”

  “Yeah, bring back the Supreme Fugly. I like him better than you. He just stinks. You smell like old person, and I mean that in the worst way possible.”

  Yates was snarling. It was interesting to watch, but I would have preferred to be doing so from a much larger distance than about ten feet. “I will not grace you with eternity.”

  “Can’t grace yourself with it, why should I feel like I’m missing out? Fugly International can’t claim eternity, either. In case you’ve forgotten, we took out all your buddies the other day.”

  Martini had hold of my hand, and he was tensed to move, but we had nowhere to go. Yates was fast enough to stop us, and we didn’t want him loose in the complex anyway. I found myself wishing Christopher were empathic. A thought occurred. Two, actually. But both could be dealt with at the same time. “Yatesey, you seem like the skills aren’t working up to standard.”

  His eyes narrowed. Direct hit. “Everything I need is functioning perfectly.”

  “Really? Jeff, baby, please put up a block.” I focused all the hatred I had, all the anger, right at Yates.

  He grinned. “Thank you.”

  Aha, he could feel them, the negative emotions. And he liked them, which wasn’t a surprise considering how twisted this man was. But what did the positive ones do to him? “You can take the block down.”

  “Make up your mind,” Martini muttered.

  I focused again on how much I loved him. And not just him—everyone in the complex who I knew and at least liked. I concentrated on the feelings of love, friendship, loyalty.

  Yates glared at me. “It doesn’t affect me. Nice try.”

  “It should have,” Martini said slowly. “I could feel it through my blocks, both kinds,” he added to me. “You’re losing your empathic abilities.”

  “Hardly,” Yates said dismissively. “Your inamorata just has no idea of how to send an effective emotional attack.” His eyes narrowed, and I could tell he was attacking Martini.

  I wrapped my arms around his waist. “Hang on, Jeff.”

  Martini started to laugh. “Not a problem, baby.” He moved me to his side, keeping his arm around my shoulders. “He’s got nothing left. Beverly was hell on Earth, but Granddad here’s shooting blanks.”

  “You have no right to claim me as your blood,” Y
ates hissed.

  Martini snorted. “Like we want to? Come on, Gramps, we hate your guts.”

  “Why is Mephistopheles allowing you this little grandstand?”

  “He is not in control!”

  “Um, yeah, actually, I think he is. He’s not the one dying.” I actually knew why the grandstand was taking place. It seemed both cruel and showing my hand to say why, however. Especially since my purse was up in my room.

  I knew Mephistopheles was going to manifest soon. I also didn’t want this room destroyed—it meant too much to Martini. And I liked it here, too. After all, we’d made love on the couch and had the most normal hour of our admittedly short lives together here. It was ours, ours and Terry’s, and I didn’t want it to be ruined.

  “Tell you what, Ronny. We’re just gonna walk out, and you can follow us. I mean, that’s what you want, isn’t it? Run of the place? Lording your might over everyone else?”

  Yates glared again. I really thought I could see Christopher’s Glare #4 in this one. Eerie how genetics worked. “You think I’ll allow that?

  I shrugged. “You might not like it, but I think Master Fugly wants a tour. Don’t you, Mephistopheles?”

  Yates’ eyes glowed red. “You intrigue me. Lead on, little one.” The words had more resonance, as if they were coming out of a much larger body.

  “Yeah, I have that affect on scary monster-men.”

  CHAPTER 61

  WE STROLLED OUT OF THE ROOM, and Yates followed. “Thanks a lot,” Martini said under his breath.

  “Didn’t mean you were a monster. Other than in bed.”

  “Uh-huh. What are we going to do?”

  “Trust me.”

  “I’m beginning to hate it when you say that.”

  “You okay with the elevator?” I asked Yates. “I mean, are you okay with waiting to manifest until we’re all out of it? These suckers are really expensive to fix.”

  Yates’ eyes were still glowing. “Yes,” he said slowly. “You have accepted the transfer?”

  “Um, sure, possibly, maybe. Let’s discuss it somewhere else.”

  Martini’s arm tightened around me. “No.”

  “Not your choice, Jeff.” I tried to send an emotional clue but I wasn’t sure if he got it. From an emotional standpoint, I was vamping like a two-dollar hooker in Old Downtown Caliente, but I wasn’t sure if Martini was getting or understanding it. I just hoped somebody else was. And I hoped I was sending the right signals, because if they didn’t do what I needed, we were all probably dead.