The Traveler

by Melissa Delport

  I take a quick shower before retiring to Megan’s room which I am sharing with Kate. Megan has loaned me a pair of sweatpants and fresh underwear, as well as a red V-necked T-shirt with the words “Keep Calm” emblazoned across the front. The irony is not lost on me as I pull on the clean clothes. The Grahams have kindly offered us the use of Byron and Megan’s rooms, as well as the sofa downstairs, while the family of four have all ensconced themselves in Dennis and Sally’s master bedroom. I’m sure their generosity is borne primarily of distrust, but I appreciate the gesture regardless. Jason and Darren are sharing Byron’s bedroom, although I am fairly certain that given half a chance Darren would trade places with me in a heartbeat. The calming effect he has on Kate would be worth it, but there is no way I’m going to share a bed with Jason. Dex is sleeping on a sofa downstairs.

  When I enter the bedroom Kate is huddled under the covers, the sheet pulled right up to her neck. She looks far younger than her twenty-three years and her brown eyes are wide and frightened. I am too exhausted to try and soothe her fears, which would be difficult at the best of times considering they mirror my own. As tired as I am, I know I am not going to be able to sleep any time soon, and, heaving a sigh, I pull on my still-damp sneakers. Sadly, the Graham women’s feet were nowhere near my size.

  “Try and get some sleep, Kate,” I say softly and then, escaping the stifling claustrophobia of the room, I make my way downstairs as quietly as possible so as not to wake or alarm the others. I head for the kitchen, pouring a glass of water straight from the faucet and I lean back against the refrigerator door. The cold metal touching the base of my back just above the waistband of the sweatpants I am wearing makes me shiver and my hand is starting to throb. The bottle of Tylenol is stowed in the pocket of my jacket which is slung over the dining-room chair close to the living room. Silently, I walk towards it eyeing the back of the sofa where I know Dex is sleeping.

  “Try to get some sleep, Rachel.” His low voice emanates from the darkness echoing my words to Kate only moments ago.

  “I thought you were asleep.” A thought occurs to me and I cock my head to one side, “You do sleep, don’t you?”

  “You know I sleep.” The answer is unexpected and jolts me back to a lazy afternoon spent in Central Park all those years ago.

  “You are so beautiful.” Dex’s hand on my cheek was warm and dry and sent a million tiny jolts of electricity through my body. His words were honeyed and husky and struck a chord deep down that sent all my misgivings and self-doubt scattering.

  “You’re the beautiful one,” I murmured, watching as a slow smile spread across his face and his eyes closed lazily in the afternoon sun. I played idly with his hair and watched as his breathing slowed and deepened. Feeling ridiculously content I watched the people around us; mothers pushing chubby babies in their prams, dads kicking balls with their children and lovers walking hand-in-hand. Everyone seemed so happy but absurdly, I felt somehow that their joy was insignificant in comparison to my own bliss. I sat that way for the longest time until Dex began to twitch and mutter, his peaceful slumber soon becoming a private nightmare. I shook him gently, trying to wake him and, when that didn’t work, I shoved, yanking his arm and all but yelling in his ear. Nothing I did worked and no-one came to my aid. Over and over he chanted my name as he writhed and convulsed on my lap and nothing I did could wake him. I hated the fact that whatever he was dreaming, whatever was terrifying him so much had something to do with me and eventually, in desperation, I slapped him. His eyes opened so quickly that I jumped, startled.

  Totally unprepared when he leapt away from me I was thrown off balance and fell to the floor, knocking my chin on the ground. It wasn’t painful; the grass was soft enough, but my tooth cut through my lip which started bleeding. I dabbed at my mouth with my hand and stared at Dex, my blue eyes widening at the horrified look on his face.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, moving toward him on my knees, desperate to touch him, to reassure myself that he was all right. He was so pale, a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. He cringed as I neared him. “You were having a bad dream,” I murmured pitifully.

  “I have to go,” he announced suddenly, getting to his feet.

  “What? Why?” The about-turn in his attitude had me reeling. What had happened? The closeness we had shared earlier was gone, replaced by an icy dread in the pit of my stomach.

  “I... I just have something I have to do,” he announced briskly, brushing the grass from his black pants. Dex never wore shorts, I wondered if he was embarrassed by his legs, whether they were skinny or overly pale, although I doubted it – the rest of him was broad and muscular. He never seemed to feel the heat like I did, always dressing in black.

  “But...” The words died on my lips as I watched his retreating figure. Hurt and embarrassed I resumed my solitary vigil over the people in the park. Suddenly, they didn’t seem so unlucky.

  “It was a nightmare,” Dex’s low voice draws me closer to the sofa and I blink in surprise. It’s almost as if he is reading my thoughts.

  “What was it about?” He had never told me and I figure now’s as good a time as any to ask.

  “You.”

  “I figured that much.” I come to stand next to the sofa gazing down at him. His right arm is bent behind his head and his left is slung across his stomach.

  “I never have bad dreams,” he says, his green eyes never leaving my face, “the only time I ever have them is when I’m around you.”

  “Yeah, well you gave me asthma,” I retort, only half joking. His gaze narrows in confusion.

  “What?”

  “I got asthma when you left,” I shrug, perching myself on the caramel-colored sofa across from him.

  “How do you figure I gave it to you?” He sits up and faces me. It’s surreal having this conversation with him after everything that has happened.

  “I don’t know,” I shrug, “I got it after you left and...” I trail off, something occurring to me. I leap off the sofa and cross into the dining-room where my jacket is hanging over one of the dining chairs. Digging in the pocket my hand closes over my inhaler and I draw it out, eyeing it curiously.

  “What’s that?” Dex’s head appears over the top of the sofa and I smile sadly at him.

  “Proof,” I toss the inhaler over and, much to my irritation, he catches it easily with those lightning reflexes of his.

  “Proof?”

  “Yeah, proof that you gave me asthma. Although I haven’t used it once since you... well, since I found you in the park.” I ruminate for a minute. It’s true; I haven’t needed my inhaler since Dex’s reappearance, despite the immense stress I’ve been under since. I had been teasing when I accused him, but maybe there is more truth to it than I thought. He sets the inhaler on the table.

  “Well you give me nightmares, so I guess we’re even.”

  I stick my hand back inside the pocket and pull out the Tylenol. I swallow two, hoping they work quickly – the dull throb is fast becoming far more painful.

  “Is it hurting?” he asks, his voice surprisingly tender.

  “A bit,” I lie, not wanting his sympathy. I shove the bottle of painkillers back into the jacket pocket and my fingers brush my mobile phone. I carry it back to the sofa, taking a seat and curling my legs underneath me. I flip my phone over and over in my right hand.

  “Make the call, Rachel.” I glance up in surprise and the phone slips from my hand onto the sofa cushion beside me.

  “What call?”

  He sighs in exasperation, "The one you’ve been thinking about all afternoon.”

  “My parents are dead,” I state hollowly and his head jerks up in surprise.

  “I’m so__”

  “Sorry?” I cut him off, “sorry that they’re dead?” I give a snort of disgust, “If they weren’t before they sure would be now. They lived in New York, remember? Please do us both a favor and don’t act like you give a damn about my parents.”

  “I don’t,” he a
grees, but before I can even say ‘I told you so’ he continues, “but I do care about you and I know they were important to you.”

  My parents were my only family. I have no siblings, although Kimberley and I had become blood sisters at about the age of seven, so that counted for something, I guess. Other than my parents there was no-one, no-one who would be worried about me now, or be trying to find me to make sure I was safe. I had heard the others during the course of the afternoon trying to reach their loved ones, and had seen the tears and the pain on their faces when they couldn’t.

  “How did they die?” Dex asks softly.

  “A car accident, two years ago,” I answer.

  “I’m sorry to hear you had to go through that.” He sounds so sincere. There is a small silence and then he continues, “Now, why don’t you go ahead and make that call.”

  “I just told you...” This time he interrupts me.

  “It wasn’t your parents you were thinking about calling, Rachel. Just make the call.”

  Chapter 13

  I don’t question him. To my surprise there is a faint signal. I simply lift the handset and dial the number. I have had Kimberley’s number for years. I got it once from her parents when I went to visit on my own, determined to call and make things right between us – to apologize for my behavior. I had never had the nerve, although the number had stayed stored on my speed-dial, second only to Bill and the station’s. There was no-one else to add.

  To my utter disbelief Kim’s number rings although there is a lot of static on the line. When she actually answers I almost drop the phone again in surprise.

  “Kimmy?” I whisper, unable to believe my luck.

  “Rachel?” Kim practically shrieks and I pull the phone away from my ear, “Oh my God, Rachel, are you okay?” I can hear someone on her end urging her to be quiet and she lowers her voice. “Where are you?”

  “I’m in Weehawken, I’m...”

  “Oh, thank God, you made it out of the New York,” the relief in her voice is palpable and I feel tears spring to my eyes.

  “Where are you?” I ask. I had lost track of where Kim was living. When she left her parents' house she moved around a lot, part of her job. She was a make-up artist for a small production company, last I heard. I always knew she would end up doing something artistic, what she lacked in talent she made up for in passion.

  “I’m just outside Atlanta. We were on set, shooting a commercial for the Georgia Aquarium of all things! Nothing like watching four hours of hard work washed off after three minutes in the water, I swear if I wasn’t the only make-up artist available I would have...”

  “Kimmy!” I hiss, knowing she’s almost impossible to stop when she gets on a roll like this.

  “Sorry! Well, we made it out of Atlanta but we lost a lot of people in the process, Rach,” Her use of my old nickname makes my eyes well up even more.

  “Yeah, we did too,” I pause, thinking of Joe, Peter and Bill and the countless others I had watched die. An increase in the crackling static reminds me that we could lose signal any second.

  “Kim, we don’t have much time. Where are you right now?”

  “A small town outside of Atlanta; we saw the broadcast; they said to stay indoors. We’re doing one better... hiding out in the subway until they nail these guys.” I heave a sigh. Kim, like everyone else, still believes that we will prevail.

  “Listen to me, Kim, that's not going to happen! You need to get out of there now. Head for the Appalachians, the Black Mountains – I’ll meet you in Yancey County. Stick to the smaller towns and stay as far away from those monsters as possible.” I can hear murmurs of disagreement, Kim has put me on loudspeaker and obviously there is some objection to this plan.

  “She works for ABC news, she knows what she’s talking about...” I hear her counter.

  “Kimmy!” I hiss urgently. “You have to listen to me! They'll find you and they'll kill you. You have to go, now!”

  “Rachel, just give me a sec...” The line goes dead and I gaze at my screen in horror. I dial her back immediately but all I get is a no-signal tone, although I still have faint signal. The problem must be on her side – particularly if she is underground in the subway. Frantically I stab at the keypad but still there is nothing. I try a few more times, my breathing coming in faster spurts. I can’t believe that I actually got hold of her and now I don’t know if she’s even going to listen to me. There is so much more I wanted to say; like I’m sorry for the way I acted, that I love her and she will always be my best friend no matter what. I have so many regrets about what happened between Kimberley and I, but I just always assumed there would be time to make things right.

  I don’t even notice Dex getting up from the sofa and the first time I am aware of him is when his warm hand closes over mine and slowly pulls the phone from my grasp. Wordlessly he sets it on the table in front of me. I stare at it for a moment and then, finally, I break down - all the tears and anger and pain of the last day finally overwhelming me. Dex lifts me gently into his arms and then takes a seat, cradling me in his lap and holding me tightly as silent sobs wrack my body and tears pour, unbridled, down my cheeks.

  “We stopped speaking,” I croak, what feels like hours later. My tears had finally run dry, although it had taken a long time for me to be able to speak. “After you left I fell apart and Kim tried to reach me, but I pulled away. I’ve been alone for seven years.” I take a raggedy breath and gaze up at him, unaware of the reproach shining in my eyes.

  “For what it’s worth, I am sorry that I hurt you Rachel.” His voice is softer than I have heard it since he came back into my life.

  “You left me.” Despite everything, I still harbor this hurt above everything else.

  “I had no choice.”

  “You used me.”

  “I never used you,” he shakes his head, “I just never saw you coming.”

  The words hang in the space between us and when he meets my gaze I see the conflict in his eyes.

  “I tried to push you away. I would promise myself every single time we were together that I would tell you goodbye. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It made me angry – with you, with myself. It was a constant struggle. I had been trained for a mission and here I was spending lazy days with a girl – a human girl – and it was tearing me apart.”

  “You didn’t seem too cut up about ending it,” I point out.

  “Let’s not do this, Rachel,” he sighs.

  Despite all the things I want to say, I fall silent, and we sit in the dark for a while as I struggle to contain my emotions. Part of what he says makes sense now – his abrupt mood swings, how he would pull away, become aloof, distance himself. He was definitely conflicted, although at the time I could not comprehend just how much. Might it be possible that his feelings for me were real? I still can’t believe that Dex is what he says he is. That he is here to kill people, to kill everyone. And then I remember Darren and the look in his eyes when he asked me about Dex -about our history. How he set his doubt aside and didn’t question. Determined not to let Dex get to me again, I change the subject.

  “So, why you?” I ask, breaking the silence. “Why were you chosen to come here seven years ago?”

  “I wasn’t alone.” I know better than to ask him who was with him. I feel shaky but stronger, as if I wept away most of my fear. Instead, I feel an irrational anger burning in the pit of my stomach, most of it directed at him. I shrug out of his arms and move away from him, perching on the coffee table instead.

  “So, what... you came to get the information that you needed to conquer and then you left. What have you been doing for the past seven years?”

  “Planning. Traveling.” If he notices the sudden change in me, he doesn’t comment on it.

  “How long does it take you to get here?”

  “Three of Earth’s months.” Venon must be pretty damn far away considering NASA’s New Horizon's Pluto mission made it to the moon in under nine hours.

&nb
sp; “And you don’t age?” I had asked him earlier about why he looks exactly the same and he hadn’t given me an answer, so I’m surprised when he offers an explanation.

  “I will age here on earth, a lot faster than I would on Venon.”

  “How old are you on Venon?”

  “I couldn’t tell you in any way that would make sense, but suffice it to say I’m twenty-five.”

  “I’m twenty-four now,” I muse out loud.

  “I know.” The fact that he is admitting to keeping track of my age irks me.

  “I guess Megan is more your scene now, huh? She’s just about the age I was when we met.” I let the implied accusation hang in the air.

  “Earthlings don’t interest me, Rachel. They are a poor, pitiful excuse for a race. Weak and ignorant.”

  “Well this weak and ignorant earthling interested you enough seven years ago,” I hiss and he raises his eyebrow at the acid in my tone.

  “You are not weak or ignorant. You’re strong and intelligent.”

  “You used to think I was beautiful.”

  “I was wrong. You were pretty, very pretty.” His eyes bore into my face and I flush under his scrutiny, “But now... now you’re something else. Even more than that. You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful... and damaged.”

  “Damaged?”

  “Yes, damaged. You’ve lost the naiveté, the innocence you once had. It makes you even more beautiful somehow... but I have a sickening feeling that it’s because of me.” He speaks so openly, so honestly. I won’t be drawn to his charms again. He’s a monster, I remind myself, and I cast around for another change of subject.