by Lydia Hope
This conversation was the most bizarre to have with a male. Where was Zeke, normal, human, predictable Zeke when she needed him? Instead, she was gazing adoringly at a guy who had four hearts.
He started pacing. Slowly, keeping near the wall in case he needed to catch himself, but pacing nonetheless. Back and forth. Back and forth. He did look stronger. He had gained weight. He could walk.
A lock of loose hair got into his face and he impatiently flicked it back catching the collar of his crude shirt in the act and revealing a portion of his tattoos.
“Do the signs on your neck mean anything?”
“Yes.”
“Will you tell to me what they mean?”
He touched one finger to the center of the base of his neck where the central sign shifted as if alive with the beat of his pulse.
“This is my birth sign. It’s a blend of three family signs. The base is of my mother’s, the middle part is from my sire’s clan, and the top belongs to the man who raised me. My birth father had died early.”
“Can the signs be the same for several people?”
“Some signs are shared. Siblings have the same birth sign. Other marks denote your social standing, your chosen profession, your rank. Crimes, if you committed any. Many things. No one shares all the same signs.”
Gemma was silent for a moment thinking that she hadn’t been mistaken. The illustration of a Rix in Dr. Delano’s office depicted the same tattoos that Simon bore. She knew because her memory had absorbed every tiny detail about him.
“Simon, do you remember I told you how my uncle got bitten by Perali?”
“Yes.” He stretched and clawed at the brick wall. Clawed.
His nails made a rough scraping sound, and with a mixture of fascination and horror, Gemma observed white grooves appear on the stone’s surface.
“Did you just do that?”
“Do what?” He resumed his slow shuffling pacing.
“This cat thing on the wall.” She clawed the air with her own hands and meowed. “Nail sharpening thing.”
He stopped. Looked at his hand. “The nails are growing out. They itch.”
Gemma’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “I gotcha.”
“You were telling me about your uncle.”
“Yes. Perali saliva is apparently not good for us, puny humans with no claws and only one heart. Uncle Drexel’s arm got badly infected and needed treatment. Aunt Herise arranged for treatment, so twice now I’ve taken my uncle to a clinic. He’s very lucky to have gotten the appointments, mind you, and his doctor is top-notch, knows a lot about aliens and their bad effects on humans. He works out of a nice warm examination room where I stay and wait for Uncle Drexel. There are pictures on the walls. Of aliens.”
He stopped pacing and planted his feet wide towering over her curled up in the chair. She had to throw her head way back to look at him.
“One drawing is of a Rix. And he has the same marks of his neck.” She pointed to his throat.
“And can you swear they are the same?”
“I can.”
He made a grunting sound deep in his throat.
Gemma swallowed. “His name is Dr. Delano.”
He didn’t say anything.
“He is a very educated man. I think he was glad to talk to me about his interest in alien physiology after he learned I work with aliens. And he asked me about you.”
The frosty air around them got frostier.
“By name?”
“He asked if I came across a Rix housed at the prison. There aren’t many of you running around Earth, so yes, it is unusual. He got real… intense.”
“Intense,” Simon repeated softly, sibilance adding a sinister quality to his words.
Gemma gripped the armrests of the wheelchair tightly.
“Simon, are you in danger from Dr. Delano?”
He cocked his head, eyes black and noncommittal, the mirrors reflecting the world around him without letting anything out from within.
“Danger?” he echoed reflectively and went back to pacing. “I’ll find a way to kill him. Eventually.”
Now it was Gemma’s turn to tense. “I’m sure you don’t mean that.”
“I don’t say things I don’t mean, Gemma.”
She loved hearing him say her name. Even in such a context, it was music to her ears.
“I hope it wouldn’t come to that. And I hope he won’t come looking for you,” she was assuring herself as much as him.
“If he knows I am alive, he will.”
“Well, about that. I kind of told him you died,” she sounded sheepish.
His head whipped to her and his eyes seemed to gleam. His upper lip curled in slow motion revealing his bluish top gum. Funky and weirdly attractive.
She needed to have her head checked.
She pulled her knit hat low on her forehead and rushed to explain, “He gave me a strange vibe. The conversation was happening very fast and suddenly he was wanting to know if I saw a Rix at the prison. He crowded me and his eyes got all crazy like he wasn’t right in the head. So I lied.”
He took it as his due. “As I said, your protective instincts are in the right place. It’ll buy us some time.”
“Us?”
“Us.” He stopped pacing. “You need to take me back.”
“Crap!” She scrambled from the chair. “I lost track of time.”
Amused, Simon got in and Gemma speedily pushed him back to the building. Lightheaded and out of breath from exertion - either he’d gained serious weight or she still had a long way to recovery - Gemma walked them in and underwent a quick pat-down. She speed-walked to the elevator and punched the access code to make it come down.
Marigold was on duty, her eagle eyes latched on Gemma and Simon from her remote position at the supply counter. Simon dipped his head down and settled back making an effort to look helpless and frail, an appearance that, despite his lingering thinness, he now had to work to project. Once word got out that Simon could eat, move, and communicate like everybody else, the wheelchair outings would dry up. He and Gemma both knew it.
The elevator was especially crotchety today, or perhaps Gemma, knowing they were about to miss their time, was being overly impatient. It arrived in due course and took her and Simon upstairs at its usual snail speed. Opening the door, she was relieved to see the cell block empty; other inmates hadn’t returned yet. Little Green Man howled in his cell like a deranged wolf.
With no one to observe him except Gemma, Simon got out of his chair and moved toward his cell under his own power. Gemma followed pushing the empty chair out of the elevator and parking it to the side where it wouldn't obstruct the pathway for when others returned. She was making her way across the narrow corridor to Simon’s cell to lock him up when the door leading to the stairwell opened and Ruby came in with the Obu close on her heels.
There was a split second of stunned silence with everyone frozen mid-stride. And then things started happening with lightning speed.
The Obu was the first to regain the power of motion. His huge body shot toward Gemma as if launched from a catapult, pushing Ruby aside with its mass. Ruby’s body slammed into the wall with a smacking sound and she grunted, robbed of any ability to act quickly.
Eyes widening in terror, breath ballooning her lungs, Gemma’s muscles went tight preparing to flee from the Obu. But even as she processed her reaction in the milliseconds it took for the events to unfold, she knew she wouldn’t be able to get away in time.
A strong hand roughly grabbed her by the scruff and yanked her backward with enough force to make her feet leave the ground. The cell door slammed into place. The Obu rammed into the bars face-first. The entire concrete wall shook.
Blinking fast, Gemma realized she was standing inside Simon’s cell, her back pressed flush to his tall bony body. Her lungs released the pent-up air and breath wheezed out of her slowly. She sagged and Simon wrapped his arm across her chest in the manner of a seatbelt to help her keep her balance
.
The fast encounter between his head and iron bars meant little to the Obu. The beast whimpered and whined pathetically rubbing his face against the door, indicating a desire to have Gemma pet him. His semi-erect member hung almost to his knees.
Yeah, no way in hell, buddy.
She instinctively pressed backward, closer still to the haven of Simon’s body.
“Your door isn’t locked,” she whispered out of one side of her mouth when she realized Simon’s hand pressing firmly on the bars was the only thing that stood between them and the Obu.
“I know,” he mouthed into her hair holding the door closed.
Other prisoners filed in from the stairs and crowded around in front of Simon’s cell, anxious to see the rest of the show. But two guards also came in from the courtyard and started yelling, threatening bodily harm to dawdling inmates who were taking too long in the corridor.
Ruby materialized next to the Obu. She whipped her stun gun out and aimed it at his bushy flank.
“On the count of three, fucktard. I’m not playing games. One…”
“Ruby, he can’t understand you,” Gemma cautioned.
“No? He’ll understand this.” She pressed the trigger sending a weak burst of electricity into him, enough to get his attention.
He yelped and jumped, looking at Ruby with wounded puppy eyes. But Ruby was granite.
“To your cell. Now.” She pointed with her taser to where she expected him to go.
Throwing doleful glances at Gemma - like maybe she’d change her mind at the last minute and come out - he turned and shuffled to his cell, huge rolled shoulders slumped in defeat. Ruby followed and made sure he was locked up tight.
The animation on the block dissipated as inmates took their assigned cells.
Still, Gemma remained where she was, her back fused to Simon’s front, until Ruby came to open his door and Simon let her.
“Come, hon. It’s safe. Come on out.”
Strangely, Gemma had no desire to leave. She was perfectly happy standing next to Simon. She could feel slight whirring vibrations in his chest - two heartbeats? - and smell the musky essence of him, unique and unmistakable.
Simon was the first to move as he took a step back ungluing them and withdrew his arm from her person by dragging it across her chest with a rasping sound.
She shivered.
Ruby looked at his six-fingered hand and her eyes traveled up to his face. Gemma could read surprise mixed with revulsion clear in her friend’s expression.
Without a backward glance, Gemma left Simon’s cell and locked it up by pressing her palm to the onyx reader.
“Big bastard,” Ruby commented when the two of them resumed their tasks.
“He’s massive. I owe you a huge favor, Ruby. If you weren’t on hand to get him back to his cell when you did, I'd have been toast.”
When Ruby didn’t reply, Gemma looked up and found her speculative gaze. “I wasn’t talking about the Obu.”
Gemma hated her breathless reaction, the flushing face, the quickening pulse. “Oh. Simon? Yeah, he’s tall.”
“That, too. Whatever you’re doing to him, it’s working. He is no longer the ghost I’ve always known.”
Denying the obvious was futile. Trusting that Ruby won’t spread the news around the prison, Gemma gave a curt nod.
“Are you safe from him?” Ruby’s face showed concern.
“We’ve talked about that. I’m safe from him. He just saved me from the beast.”
“Think about it. He’s no longer unresponsive. He’s a male. You’re female.” Ruby pressed.
A warm sensation flooded Gemma’s core, and it shocked her. Aliens and humans didn’t mix. She couldn’t even imagine intimacy with any. They were beasts, or near ones.
And yet the warmth that had spread through her at the thought of being touched by Simon felt nothing like revulsion.
Chapter 19
The next day Gemma felt better yet. Strength was returning to her body, and even though she wasn’t a hundred percent back to normal, she could finally wake up in the morning and not dread having to go through the day.
The weather was warm for winter, misty and foggy, not at all unpleasant, but it made her bad ankle ache worse because of it. The thing could now predict fluctuations in barometric pressure.
Her mood as she hobbled to work was grim. Last night at the dinner table, Aunt Herise had put her to notice about a rent increase. Not a shocker; Gemma had seen it coming ever since Uncle Drexel had lost his ability to provide.
The size of the increase, though, exceeded her steepest projections.
In her spiel about the rent hike that sounded rehearsed, Aunt Herise had rationalized that the family atmosphere and home-cooked nutritious meals would more than compensate for the price she was asking.
Family atmosphere, my heiney.
She was going to have to look for other accommodations. Maybe find a room to share.
Gemma was the first to arrive at her cell block, with Arlo showing up shortly after.
“Good morning.” He gave her a weak, insincere smile.
“Hello, Arlo. We missed you yesterday.” Gemma gave him an equally insincere smile in return.
“I’m sure you did. Couldn't be helped.”
“But at least I’m back to share the load. Thank you, by the way.”
“You’re so welcome. We rejoice in your presence.”
“I’m glad it all worked out.”
“Amen to that,” he said sourly and threw her a nasty look which she ignored.
The door clanged and Ruby came in. Gemma took one look at her face and knew all was not right in Ruby’s world.
At the first opportunity, she asked what was wrong.
“Cricket, what else.” Ruby drew a long-suffering sigh. “I took our kitten, Jute, to the market corner this morning. Left him on the street. Maybe someone will take him in. He’s so cute.” Tears welled in Ruby’s tired eyes and she blinked fast.
“No! Why?”
“Cricket can’t have him. He makes her wheeze so badly.”
Gemma’s heart was breaking. She felt on the verge of crying herself. “Ruby… ”
Her friend bobbed her head looking aged, helpless, and tired.
“He was meowing when I dropped him off. We fed him and it’s not too cold today, so I figured he has a chance. See, Cricket can barely breathe when he’s around. She’s beyond devastated. That cat meant the world to her. Gemma, what did she do to deserve this? What did we both of us do?” Ruby angrily mopped tears with her sleeve.
“You should’ve told me! Maybe I could’ve taken him.”
Ruby gave a rusty laugh. “Don’t be silly. Your witch of an aunt would probably make a stew out of him. She’s evil. By the way, how’s your uncle doing? Any progress?”
Ruby clearly didn’t want to dwell any more on the loss of her cat. What was done was done. Life went on.
“He’s better. After the second procedure, his wounds started to knit together. But I’m afraid he’ll never be able to use his arm like before.”
“He’s healing, that’s something. He needs to do the best he can in his situation. That’s what we all need to do.”
Gemma couldn't agree more.
Arlo, catching them with their heads together and whispering, shot them a glance full of venom but didn’t call them out. Distracted by the two of them, he was walking down the corridor when he suddenly jumped and cussed a blue streak. Unholy laughter intermixed with screams and high-pitched gibberish was the answer.
“Little Green Man,” Gemma guessed. “Arlo breached the no-man’s land in front of his cell and got sprayed.”
“Arlo should know better.” Ruby wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know what the point is of keeping this freak in prison. He needs to go to a mental institution.”
“I don’t think the City has a mental institution for aliens, Ruby,” Gemma said. “We are it.”
Gemma’s mood was thoroughly ruined for the rest of th
e day. Some days were simply crap, and the only option was to push through hoping for a better day tomorrow.
When the third floor was up for their yard time, Gemma went into Simon’s cell to wait for the Obu to get out under the watchful eye of Ruby. Arlo looked with surprise at her behind bars but said nothing.
After they all cleared out, she got the chair ready. Turning, she bumped into Simon who had stood up without making a sound.
“You scared me.”
“You aren’t scared,” he commented, off-hand.
“Startled, then. You move too quietly.”
“You’re not yourself today. That’s all.” He slowly shuffled over and settled into the chair.
“There’s that,” Gemma conceded.
They rode the elevator down and went outside.
The thick mist enveloped them the minute they set foot out of the door. The visibility was null, so much so that if Gemma hadn’t by now memorized the way to the old church, she’d be hard-pressed to guide them there.
Reaching their usual spot where Simon liked to stay facing the docks, they stopped. Seeing the docks today was impossible. Seeing the old church’s wall ten feet away was impossible. The dense fog obscured all but the most immediate objects.
“Do you want to stay here or ride around?” Gemma asked.
“Ride around.”
She pushed the heavy chair down a misty path to get them moving. The City was very quiet today.
“We shouldn’t go too far. I can’t tell where your boundary is in the mist. I don’t want you to get zapped.”
“I know where the boundary is.”
She squinted with sudden suspicion. “How? Because it shocks you?”
He said nothing.
She checked their direction, but the mist rolled in thick and gauging the exact line of Simon’s invisible confinement was difficult.
“Do the shocks hurt?”
Again, he said nothing.
She gave up asking. Why bother? He wouldn't communicate. He didn’t want her concern.
