A Killer's Secret

by Stanley Gray

  [Alan, I am weak.] Xenobia said.

  Alan got up and went over to her. He felt an urge to rest the back of his hand on her forehead. He almost laughed at the idea. But, he got close to her. He felt a gnawing fear. He didn’t want to lose her.

  [Alan, I need your help.]

  “What? What do you need?” Alan looked around for his phone. Then he smiled. He chastised himself. None of the normal human responses would really work, he reminded himself. You can’t take an alien to the emergency room.

  [I need you to bring me a pariah.]

  Alan blinked. He stared at Xenobia. He waited.

  The silence stretched itself into a long, thin mass of silly putty, and he couldn’t take it any longer. “What?” he asked. He didn’t trust himself to say much more. Pariahs? What the hell was she talking about.

  Alan pinched his arm just to make sure he’d actually woken up.

  [Pariahs. Every planet has…undesirables? People that have been rejected or forgotten.] Xenobia said.

  Alan got up. He went into the kitchen and grabbed a beer. He slurped it down and then went into the freezer. He found the ice tray with the cubes made of Sam Adams. Bending the pink-ish plastic tray, he clinked three cubes into a glass. Then, he poured it full of Canadian Mist. It seemed like an appropriate time to drink liquor on top of liquor.

  “What…do you want me to…do, with these ‘pariahs?’” Alan asked. He swished the liquid around in the glass, watching it. He then took a liberal gulp.

  [You don’t have to do anything. Just bring them here.]

  “What if they don’t want to come here?”

  [Alan, I need you. I need your help. Don’t…don’t you trust me?]

  Alan almost ran. He didn’t want to get shocked. Fuck no, I don’t trust you. That was his initial reaction. But, he suppressed it. If she’d heard it, she didn’t let on. “Of course I trust you.” Alan said.

  [Do you love me?]

  Alan drank some more. He pretended to think about it. The urge to tell to the unvarnished truth had never felt so strong. He moved his mouth, but the words failed to materialize. Instead, he dumbly stared, helpless, his denuded desires laying dormant in their mental nest, protected by nothing more than a viscous coast of gossamer fluid and a thin shell. The inability to speak hurt him.

  He stood. He paced. Alan noticed that he’d taken to walking back and forth, a habit he hadn’t engaged in since his days as a college sophomore. Life seemed like an endless finals week these days.

  “What is love? What does love look like to you?” Alan asked. A part of him resisted saying the words, even if he couldn’t bring himself to directly defy this ethereal entity descended from the skies. He pivoted and looked at Xenobia. She didn’t look anything like the brunette from a few days ago.

  [Alan, please. Will you help me?]

  Alan withdrew his gaze. He marched into the kitchen, and grabbed another round. He tried to fathom what this creature would do with these pariahs. Was she really asking him to kidnap people? He squeezed the can as he chugged, and felt the indentation his grip made before he saw it. Tossing the can towards the overflowing trash can, he watched as the container hit the floor. His mind registered the sound of it clattering onto the tile belatedly.

  “Do I have a choice?” Alan asked as he walked back into the room.

  [Isn’t there a saying here, that everyone always has a choice?] Xenobia said.

  Alan chuckled. The sound was a cynical, resigned one. He knew he was going to say yes. While he may have options, the truth of the situation existed on a spectrum. The reality confronting him was that he effectively was the slave of this alien being.

  “I heard there… there are a lot of homeless people. Not here, but close enough.” Alan said.

  [Good. Will you do this? For me?]

  Alan sighed. “Does it matter why I do anything?” he asked.

  [Of course, it matters. Intent is the focal point of your society.]

  “Yeah.” Alan said. It felt like a huge rock, that single syllable. It hung around his neck like some macabre necromancer’s pendant.

  A silence descended. They both stood there, Alan slightly swaying on the balls of his feet. The room felt drafty. He shivered. Walking to the window, he checked around the edges. After the third attempt, he found a tiny hole that air flowed through. “Have to get some caulking or something.” he said to himself. He reminded himself to check the weather. His body experienced a weird numbness. Intermittently, a tingling sensation slithered through random appendages. His vision blurred images together, and black shades coagulated the peripheries. Alan listened to the pounding rapids of his heartbeat, and silently asked a divine being to kill him.

  “Yeah. I’ll do it.” Alan said.

  [Thank you.] Xenobia responded. Then, satisfied, she retreated back into the bedroom.

  Alan wondered what the fuck Xenobia did all day. What does a psychotic alien mastermind do in their spare time? Knit? Bake cookies? Play Call of Duty? Looking at the clock quietly ticking above the stone mantle, Alan realized he needed to start getting ready for work. He patted his legs in search of his cell phone, then smiled. He shook his head. He wasn’t wearing any pants.

  He glanced over at his laptop. He almost wished he hadn’t decided to turn on the news. Sometimes information is not your friend. Alan stood there, in the middle of his living room, for several seconds, immobilized by a dozen conflicting desires. He was a debauched drunk cheating on his paranormal partner with his stalker. What a mess.

  He steeled himself. Alan understood that he had to return to the bedroom, where the beast lay in waiting. He dreaded another ambush. The creature seemed preternaturally adept at keeping him off balance. That in and of itself seemed sufficient to keep him docile and compliant.

  What was it she had said? She was here to study human depravity?

  He shivered. Alan wondered how much more depraved things could get.

  The trembling intensified. He’d allowed himself a small glimpse into the hypothetical world of worst-case scenarios. He didn’t think Xenobia would stop at kidnapping. Abductions seemed a boring part of the alien playbook. This one seemed anything but ordinary.

  Traveling back through the small hallway, he went into the bedroom. He saw Xenobia bundled under the covers, seemingly asleep. Alan wondered what she dreamed about. Thankful for the respite, he snatched his phone from the square wooden night stand on his side of the bed. He started to walk out, then realized as he crossed the threshold of the doorway that he’d forgotten to grab pants. He plucked a pair of khakis from the top of the laundry pile, then hastened away.

  In the living room once again, he wiggled into the pants. He thought about returning to the boudoir for a belt, but decided against it. He didn’t want to be anywhere near that creature any more. Alan was on the verge of thinking that being sent to kidnap society’s undesirables might be preferable to spending even one more minute in his own home. He ran a hand through his hair, took a breath, then straightened his back. He could do this. He reminded himself that he could do this.

  The keys jangled in his hands as he grabbed them. Sneaking a furtive glance back towards the bedroom, where Xenobia waited patiently like some sylvan predator, Alan paused long enough to stop most of the shaking. He balled the keys up into a fist to prevent them creating any further disturbances, and then walked out into the early morning sunshine. It burned his eyes like stigmata.

  Birds sang, unseen aerial voyeurs out for a cheap meal. It felt odd, to be vaguely aware of a time not long ago when he’d actually enjoyed the sound of avian melodies. Today, they sounded like the annoying, belligerent chorus of television journalists at the site of a mass shooting. Alan stood there, his mind and hands quivering under the brute force of the emotions assaulting the glass panes of consciousness. He pulled out his phone and dialed Dale.

  Alan shuffled his feet and sighed. He looked up at the infant sky. Not a single cloud blemished its innocent beauty. The sparkling blue eyes of that sky s
eemed to reach deep into his heart in that quiet moment, finding the only remaining shred of decency and humanity he seemed to still have left. It felt nice, to stare idly at the heavens.

  After about the twentieth ring, Dale answered. “Yo.” he said.

  Alan took a moment to gather himself. The constant informality of this man was starting to wear thin on him. Alan wanted to take their job seriously. He knew Dale did, too, but… “Yo.” Alan responded.

  Dale chuckled. “What’s going on? You’re up early?”

  Alan began walking to his car. He bit his cheek until he drew blood. His vision began to blur at the edges. He cast one additional glance up at the sky to reassure himself that he wasn’t completely crazy, and nodded. “It’s fucking morning time, Dale. Did you happen to see the news?”

  “Hey, man, what’s your problem?” Dale asked groggily. Alan could hear water running in the background.

  “WHAT’S MY PROBLEM?” Alan took a breath. He tried to refrain from shouting. But, he couldn’t resist the urge. He possessed no control anymore, and about the only thing he had remaining in life was his authority as the Special Agent-In-Charge of this remote, relatively anonymous federal office. “Dale, CNN is in fucking town, asking about this god damned crash that police say never happened. We just barely escaped with our jobs, because this piece of shit congressman decided suddenly to become our fake friend. I’m becoming a stressed-out drunk, I’ve got a fucking stalker, witnesses to the single biggest investigation of our fucking careers are stuffing themselves in barrels…and you don’t answer your fucking phone. But, hey, Dale, take all the fucking time you need. I’m sure they taught you all you needed to know in the military, right?” Alan said.

  He inhaled. He had to take a breath after that expletive-laced mouthful.

  Stunned silence met him on the other end. After several moments, Dale muttered that he was on his way to the office. He, however, did not hang up as was his custom. When Alan lingered, waiting for the burly man to disconnect, Dale took the initiative. “May I hang up now, sir?” he asked. Something hard in his voice made it clear that the man felt anything but defeated.

  Alan hoped in that moment he had not alienated himself from his only real friend in the world. “Yes, Dale. I’ll see you soon.” he said. “Sorry.” Alan said, but realized the other man had already hung up. Alan looked down the street, noticing how quiet and calm things seemed. A large bird, perhaps some sort of raptor, perched on a power line and watched him. Alan waved, then got into the car. He didn’t notice Xenobia standing in the window, watching him as he drove away.

  Chapter 12

  The universe decided he needed a surprise call from a crazy bitch.

  Alan struggled to retrieve his phone. He fumbled around, shifting positions with one hand on the wheel as he tried to pull the device sleek new device from his back pocket. He muttered and grumbled as he tried to keep one eye on the road during the comical process of mobile contortionism. As he finally succeeded in obtaining the phone from his pocket, a smile plastered on his face, he looked up and saw he had nearly veered across the lines into the opposite lane. A car blared its horn, and Alan pulled hard on the wheel to steer himself back into the correct line of cars.

  Breathing hard, nearly hyperventilating, Alan decided to pull over to the side of the road. He closed his eyes, and tried to calm down. What is happening to me? he wondered.

  He laughed as he opened his eyes. He looked right at the dashboard, and saw that he had Bluetooth capabilities. Alan wanted to cry. He wanted to smash his fists into something. He wanted to escape. He briefly toyed with the idea of just disappearing into the desert, living off of locusts and honey like some sort of biblical prophet. Finally, the tension subsiding, he dragged his finger across the screen to check who’d called him so inauspiciously.

  He laughed again. The mirth rumbled through him like stadium applause or bad gas station sushi. He began to cry. There, as the morning rush hour traffic began to pile up, creeping past him, Alan sat on the narrow shoulder of the road, mumbling incoherently to himself and belly laughing. He wondered if the police would show up, and this aroused a new fit of mad giggling.

  Sharon. Sharon had called him. Of all the times, she’d picked right then to phone him. Alan didn’t know if that were mere coincidence, but…he’d long ago dropped the pretense of believing in random chance. Somehow, some way, he thought that Xenobia was behind this further chaos.

  But, Alan regained some semblance of his composure. As he gradually returned to normal, he silently debated the merits of returning her call. Finally, his finger hesitating over the icon, he tapped it and surrendered to the invisible forces that seemed to take special delight in picking life’s winners and losers. He idly wondered which one he was as he listened to the ringing.

  Sharon picked up after the fourth ring. Alan pondered his fate in life as she spoke. How was it that everyone he knew seemed to never pick up the damn phone? He chuckled at that.

  “What’s funny?” Sharon asked.

  Alan blinked. He gulped. He wiped the smile from his face. “I was reading one of the comics from the newspaper.” Alan said.

  “You’re not a good liar, Alan. Anyway, I’m really sorry for being so bitchy when we parted.” Sharon said.

  “Yeah. I was…I accept your apology.” Alan said.

  “You were what?” Sharon asked.

  “Huh?” Alan asked.

  “You said: ‘I was,’ then I only heard a dot-dot-dot. You didn’t finish that thought.” Sharon slammed the words into the receiver.

  Feisty, Alan thought. He knew he couldn’t pause too long, or else he’d arouse suspicion and more ire from…his stalker. Alan reminded himself to never again think with his cock. That stupid little thing had gotten him entangled in a love triangle that consisted of himself, an alien, and his stalker. He could hear the chants for Jerry already. “I was hurt, Sharon.” Alan said. At least those words were true.

  “I was hurt. We had such a good time, and I felt like we had a real connection, and then…you kind of just dumped me off on the side of the road. It seemed like you took a total 180.” he said.

  “And, I apologized.” Sharon said. She sounded defensive. She was the one apologizing. How does not juxtapose contrition and defensiveness?

  “Okay. Okay. I…I accept. Okay?” Alan said.

  A pause. Then: “Alan, I need to tell you something?”

  Alan suppressed his laughter this time. That you’re Elvis? That you’re pregnant with Bigfoot’s baby? Alan felt as if nothing on this earthly plane could surprise him anymore.

  “I am…bi-polar.” she said.

  Alan smiled. He couldn’t remember ever staving off so much laughter in his life. That tidbit most assuredly did not surprise him. Of course, you’re fucking bi-polar. Alan thought. “Oh. I’m sorry.” he said. It was all he could think of in the moment. What do you really say to someone when they share such a doleful and profound secret? Hey, Lenny, I have cancer. Oh, yeah? Sorry. You don’t tell someone that you figured all along they were batshit fucking crazy…since, you know, they were a stalker. Normal people don’t read a book then spend a fucking decade traveling willy-nilly across the fucking country trying to seduce an author. Just like you wouldn’t tell the cancer patient that you’re sorry they probably were going to die an ignominious, painful death in a short time, but only after their significant other probably dumped them and stole their money.

  “Don’t be sorry. It’s just something I have to deal with. If I take my meds like I’m supposed to, most of the time It won’t be an issue. I…had some trouble getting my prescription filled here in town, since my doctor is all the way in Nebraska. I shouldn’t be like that again.” Sharon said.

  Alan smiled. He shook his head. He went to look at his watch, then realized he wasn’t wearing it. He frowned and looked at the dashboard again. “Hey, Sharon, can we meet for dinner or something? I’ve got some really important work to catch up on, and I’m actually pulled over on the sid
e of the road right now, on my way into the office.” he said.

  A perceptible pause stretched out for several second on the other end. Finally, in a voice so low Alan had to strain to hear it: “You’re not trying to put me off, are you?” she asked.

  Alan shook his head, then smiled at the foolishness of the gesture. She couldn’t see him. “No, sweetie. I just really need to go.” he said. He put a hand over his mouth when he realized belatedly that he’d called her sweetie.

  Sharon sounded chipper as she disconnected.

  Almost as soon as Alan put the car in drive and was attempting to merge back into the flow of traffic, his phone range again. Alan startled. He glared at the device as it shimmied and buzzed. “Hello.” he answered.

  “Oh, hey, boss, it’s Dale. I’m actually at the office right now…”

  Alan looked down and shook his head, smiling.

  “So, uh…first, I owe you an apology.”

  “Yeah, you do.” Dale said.

  Alan smirked. “Second, I just got off the phone wit you-know-who.”

  “The stalker?” Dale asked.

  “If I call her a groupie, the dynamics suddenly change.” Alan said. He kept a straight face, and didn’t allow any inflection into the statement.

  Dale cracked up laughing on the other end. It became so loud, the other man had to cover the mouthpiece. After several beats, the Special Agent returned. “That…That was funny.” he said.

  “I thought you might get a kick out of that. Anyway, I did try. After what I did to you, the last thing I wanted was to show up late. But…I almost got into a fucking car crash on the highway into town, because I woke up late, forgot I have frickin’ Bluetooth in my car, and was squirming around trying to find my phone because I thought it was you. Turns out, it was her. And…you want to hear the punchline? Hint: It makes me look like a total jack ass, so I’m sure you’ll enjoy it, either way.” Alan said.