by Tiana Laveen
He hoped for many things, though he believed they may be unrealistic. He hadn’t forgotten that she was a human; their thought processes were completely different. He’d learned English as a youth while in training and the next day, he learned Spanish, and spoke both fluently. Still, they still had a failure to communicate. The language wasn’t the problem—it was the heart. As long as her human emotions were in the way, he would never be able to have her, fully and completely but without her emotions; he’d never get what he wanted from her, either. The double-edged sword cut to the core, at times immobilizing his greatest aspiration. Regardless, she was substandard, frail, weak in that regard but instead of feeling disgust regarding her emotional handicap, he felt sorry for her and lest he admit it—a twinge of envy. Once again, he was competing with an entity that he was no match for—her perfume, the sun, now this.
This…emotion.
He stirred in the white wine sauce, enjoying the smells from his gleaming glass and silvery kitchen. A place fit for interior design magazine covers—not to be actually used, only as a stage presence. Nzion was more into the visual pleasing aesthetics. The comfort of a place was the least of his concern. As long as he found it appealing then the goal was met, but now there was this new issue to contend with: coziness. Humans needed to be comfortable in order to perform at their optimization. He’d seen it over the years. Things he would not have batted his camera lensed right eye at would make a human counterpart double over and hurl their dinner or at the very least, throw up their hands in refusal. In some ways, they were similar beings; in others, polar opposites. And now that he was interested in one, beyond the superficial or for his vocational training, things had become far more fascinating.
Since he’d had her in his custody, he’d taken to reading about and observing these Earth creatures. He’d moved past his vast knowledge of drugs, intoxication, narcotic dealing and the like, and delved deeper into an aspect of their world that he had little to no understanding of—and frankly, had never desired to find out more about. Until now...
What does she like? What does she desire? What does she want? Can I make her happy? What would make her trust me? How could she ever understand me? Will we ever make love?
****
Nzion entered the bedroom to hear the shower water shut off and taper until all that was left was the plopping of water droplets against the shower tiled floor. As tempting as it was, he hadn’t installed a camera inside of the bathroom though he was certain she’d checked. She’d been in there quite some time, and he wondered what thoughts roamed her mind. He set the sleek, burgundy tray down on the nightstand. He’d carefully placed each item upon it—the oval white plate garnished with a sprig of fresh parsley, the tender sautéed chicken breast soaking in light fragrant sauce. A small salver contained a house salad with a dollop of home-made Italian dressing. Two thick slices of bread spread with garlic butter and a small glass of Sangiovese completed the meal.
The bathroom door opened. Steam bellowed out, but somehow, the heat did not disturb him. She looked startled to see him there, but didn’t say anything as she gripped the white towel tighter around her naked body, her knuckles clenching, as if the Egyptian cotton in some way had magical powers to protect her. She cautiously entered the bedroom, while he stared at the water droplets on her shoulders...now jealous of them, too...
Her eyes darted to the tray.
I know you’re hungry, love.
Love? I called her love—well, in my mind I did. It’s a term of endearment affiliated with that perplexing emotion. Hmmm, it sounded right, just flowed I suppose.
He stepped away from his thoughts, cleared his throat and pointed to his handiwork.
“I, uh, turned up the heat and made you some dinner. I hope it is to your liking.” He then removed a remote control from his pocket and pointed it at a blank wall. Suddenly, a panel in the partition flipped, exposing a wide flat screen television.
“You can turn this on whenever you wish. Let me know if you have any problems with it.” He scratched at the new scruff growing along his jaw, making a mental note to shave later that evening as he made his way back toward the bedroom door to leave.
“Cristiano Hernández,” she said, breaking the tension. “I don’t know what your intentions are toward me, but if you care about my feelings, as you are least pretending to, please reconsider what you’re doing. The longer you keep me here, the worse it will be for you. I know you may be afraid that I will tell the...”
“I’m afraid of nothing,” he growled as he turned back to her. “Feelings are pointless, Officer Knight. That isn’t what I care about and I’m not sure where you got your information, but my name isn’t Cristiano Hernández.”
Tension lines creased her forehead and he knew damn well where she’d gotten the appellation. It was the false name he used to obtain a fake driver’s license and registration, and make his purchases. Every place he went, he changed it—but like a good cop, she’d scanned his license plate and found out the bogus information, buying it as if it were the last of a rare, clearance, highly-sought after item in Walmart.
“Well, then, what do you care about?” she questioned as she sat on the bed, tucking her leg beneath her.
“A little bit of nothing, and absolutely everything...and my name is Xzion.” He walked out, closing and locking the door behind him.
****
Three days later...
“I’ve put it off long enough.”
Xzion slid his dark brown leather gloves on, along with his coat. He checked his prize on the camera, seeing that she was sound asleep. Aton was pressing the issue like a hungry dog a few feet away from a Thanksgiving ham, his urgings incessant. He wanted to know what was going on, causing the delay. Xzion knew he’d better act fast or the man would be down to see him—and if Aton had to come, there would be major issues and big trouble. Things were more involved now; he didn’t want Aton to ruin his progress. The night before, he’d permitted Jayme access to one additional room, catty corner to his bedroom. He admitted to himself he sought her pleasure as he watched her moving about the area, cautiously, yet seemingly happy to be somewhere else, even if it was still under his roof.
The room was equipped with a small indoor pool and state-of-the-art exercise equipment. He knew how important that was to her, and she hadn’t caused him any more problems…well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had tried to rewire his computer to gain access to the outside world—crafty but crude efforts. Still, he’d taken for granted that she’d have any abilities outside of surfing the web for the latest eBay auctions and talking into her police walkie talkie as far as technology was concerned. It’s not that he mistook her for stupid; he felt human intellect was inferior by far, and this was an image he couldn’t easily shake.
Yet, she was intelligent, despite what she was; he had to give her that. She had in fact zero’ed in on him out of all the cars out that fateful evening; she stayed on him and made her move once she felt the close was clear. She’d surprised him several times, and it made him wonder if she were able to teach him anything he actually didn’t already know...
The next incident that he found side splitting was when she had tried to lock herself in the bathroom, threatening a mutiny, even saying she’d hurt herself before he had a chance to get to her. Once she realized he could unlock the door via his trusty remote control, she conceded, slumping away once again to the uncomfortable familiarity of his bed, now, with clean sheets. He’d also taken the liberty to purchase her several new outfits and the necessary toiletries—soap, shampoo, and the like. Every day she asked what he wanted, what compromise they could arrive at, and she’d promise to not tell. Once, she went on a small hunger strike, but once he closed the door, he saw her ravenously consume the beef wellington he’d prepared for her, forfeiting use of the utensils, her hands digging into the plate as if she were a piglet and it, a trough. The poor girl was starved due to her own obstinacy.
Hours later, Xzion smiled weakly
as he glanced at her on the cameras. She was sleeping peacefully, and he had work to do. He left the house, planning to return in less than an hour and a half with two more heinous murders under his belt. More importantly, neither the police nor the FBI would be one step closer to unraveling his identity or the whereabouts of the beloved neighborhood cop...
****
One week later...
“Can I ask you a question, please?” The color was now coming back to her face as she shakily held the glass of grapefruit juice, her scrambled eggs half gone.
“Yes.” he responded, taking another sip from his glass of iced tea.
“Have you done…” She paused, closing her eyes wearily, as if to compose herself. “Have you killed anyone since you’ve had me in here?”
He looked at her from across his dining room table, crossed his ankles then looked down at his plate, still full of raw broccoli and bloody beef that had barely felt the singe of a hot flame.
“Yes.”
Jayme’s jaw tightened as she placed her fork down on her plate.
“It’s obvious that you have no intentions of letting me go. You’re content on me dying here, along with all the people you’ve wiped out. You don’t care about anyone at all.” Her voice quivered. She was on the verge of losing control.
Regardless of what was happening, he hated seeing her upset. One night, he witnessed her having a nightmare. He knew he was the cause of it, and it distressed him.
“If I wanted you to die, I wouldn’t feed you and maintain your wellness. I wouldn’t care about what you like, and try to accommodate those wishes. Tell me, Jayme, how do you feel about the information you read regarding the FBI? We haven’t discussed it.” She grimaced, and her lips turned downward.
Yes, let’s talk about that instead...
“What do you want me to say, huh?” Her eyebrow rose, as well as her attitude. “You want to hear me say that I’m shocked, that I feel like a sucker? You want me to tell you that you’re right? Okay, you’re right...whatever your name is.” She waved at him and took another bite of her eggs.
She isn’t afraid of me anymore. Interesting...
“My name is Xzion. I told you that, and I know you remember...”
He watched her try to hide within herself, struggling to keep her face expressionless.
“Ex-zie-yon.” He sounded it out for her.
A brief pause followed.
“That’s a strange name,” she finally responded, barely audible, her gaze fixed on her plate.
“I’d imagine from your perspective it is.”
“Is it a cultural name?” She took another bite of her eggs after shooting him a quick glance.
“In a way, you could say that.”
“I take it you’re Hispanic?”
“Yes, Colombian.”
“Interesting. You are from one of the epicenters of drug trafficking, yet you are killing them, the drug dealers.” The dots were connecting in her mind. He could read her like a book.
Ahhh, a good police officer is always still at work...
Xzion smirked within as he, too, thought of the irony. The fact of the matter was—though he’d chosen his supposed ethnicity, and Spanish was his second language learned, he did in fact look the part. There were a myriad of appearances on his planet, just like on Earth, only race was never assigned to anyone. Your intelligence depended on how people were categorized and before the evolution, how well you could fight. Skintone had never been an issue in their entire history of being in existence. He couldn’t even recall any in-depth discussions about it. It was like one person wearing blue jeans, and another, dockers. No one cared or paid it any mind. And, though his people looked very much like humans on the outside, internally, it was a whole other matter—that was where their discrimination against one another existed. That was their ugly hierarchy.
He thought for a while, trying to choose his words carefully, though his curiosity was killing him.
“Why do you care about my culture?”
“Just speaking...having a conversation.”
“I’d like that, you know, having a conversation with you.”
And he was sincere. He wanted it so badly that he dreamed of it. So many nights, he envisioned making love to her, and the two talking about things, all sorts of things. Only, in the dreams, he was allowed to tell her the truth, and she accepted it and loved him anyhow...
She nodded and took another bite of her eggs.
Regardless of what he wanted and dreamed of, he was grounded firmly in the reality of the situation and focused on the here and now, instead of his own home-brewed, distorted fairytales.
She is playing a game with me...another survival tactic. Now she is trying to shame me into doing the right thing, and being standoffish, seeing what reaction she can get. She is trying to have more conversations with me, open me up. That’s fine, I’ll play along...
You know,” he grinned as he sat back leisurely in his chair, “that’s funny about you people.”
She looked up at him, her eyes turning into slits. Though her tongue didn’t betray her, her eyes sure as hell did. She was mad.
“See, right there, you think my use of the phrase, ‘you people’ is me speaking about black people, right?” He pointed at her and burst out laughing, amused by her ignorance of what the hell was going on. “No, it seems to me, since I’ve been here,” he took another sip of iced cold beverage, “the people, meaning everyone, all races, are obsessed with skin tones, colors, follicle textures and what that means. You all like to categorize yourselves and tell each other who is this, and who is that. You have fights about what is Chinese, what is Black, what is Eskimo. It is quite silly, honesty and...a little pathetic.” He shrugged. Her frowning expression didn’t faze him. It was the truth, and he was going to keep on delivering it the only way he knew how—painfully. “You are too sensitive and Black people, at least in this country, from my observations,” he dabbed the side of his mouth with his napkin. A swirl of steak blood seeped into the linen, “have not used your resources to the best of your ability. Stop worrying about the color of your skin. It doesn’t mean shit and instead of the worries regarding imagined slights, why don’t more people, in this case black people,” he smiled, “focus on the racism that exists in the world of drug trade, huh?”
He watched her sit back in her seat and cross her arms over her chest...and she was listening.
“The Blacks in America are obsessed with what white people are doing to you, to your culture...but what about what you all are doing to your own culture? You lose yourself when you annihilate yourself, Officer Knight. You see it day in and day out.” He licked his upper lip, leaned in closer to her and folded his hands. “Even, with all of the people I’ve wiped out, as you called it, I haven’t scratched the surface of what you all to do each other on a daily basis.”
“How many people have you murdered?” Her voice cut through the room, and regardless of the question and tone, he found it to be a symphony to his sensitive ears.
“I will not tell you the exact number of executions I’ve done, because it isn’t pertinent to you but...”
“Why not? If you’ve done five, you’ve done five million. It’s all just a number right?” Her sarcasm wasn’t missed, nor was the angry bite in her tone.
“I’ve done over ten thousand. Does that change anything, Officer Knight?”
The color drained from her face at his admission and she sat back in her chair, as if the additional added distance would somehow protect her from him. Then, her facial muscles relaxed.
“I know the exact number, as stated, but that rounded figure will suffice.” His lips drew downward as he leaned even more over the table, placing his elbows upon it, his eyes on her. The strange look in hers was a mixture of fright and disbelief. Whichever direction she decided on, it didn’t matter; he was ready to put his cards on the table, at least some of them.
“I’ve told you that I’m not who you think I am. I let you know
about the FBI. Not to rub it in your face, but because you have been dragged into something way over your head. You’ve been deceived. You needed to understand what has happened; it was the correct thing to do.”
“And when did you care about being correct or doing the right thing?” She rolled her eyes and looked at him in complete disgust. “Was it right to murder all of those people? You are not judge and jury...and you want me to trust you, to be your friend or something? I, of all people, would like drug addiction and trafficking eradicated, but you...” She shook her head and stopped speaking, now trying to guard her words again.
“You’re correct, I’m not judge and jury and though the act itself of selling and ingesting poison, I find sickening, unlike you and your like, it was not an emotional or moral decision. You do not understand, and I’m not sure you ever will, even if I were to confess all of the details, to lay the truth at your feet.”
“Why do you still have me here? What do you want? Let’s make a deal, come on!” She pounded her fist on the table. Her booming voice pierced his ears and made them pulsate. Her anger was doing something to him, something he hadn’t felt before. He didn’t know what it was, but it drove him to keep talking, to try to fix whatever was occurring between the two of them.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s all you have? You don’t know? Oh, you know...” She bit her lip and turned away.
And so the game continues, Officer Knight. You’re not losing control, you are trying another angle. I applaud you for your efforts. Now, it’s my turn...
He gained his composure, and pushed on.
“This is a prime example, Officer Knight, of what I am talking about. You have more sympathy for the deceased drug dealers that aided in killing your people for decades, taking them by the hand, and single-handedly placing them into body bags,” he glowered, “versus the truth I’m conveying.”
