by Tiana Laveen
“We thought you were dead!” he gripped her to him, squeezing her tight.
After a while, they made themselves more comfortable.
Jayson propped his feet up on his blood red chaise. Behind him were matching sheer curtains, tied with black silk ribbons. Jayme recognized them; they were a house warming gift from his favorite little sister, many years ago. She was surprised to see them up, he’d said they were garish, not his taste—yet here they were, blending in perfectly with the fine Oriental rug from their grandmother and large, matching ivory vases. Jayson ran from homosexual stereotypes, one being that all gay men had design flair. He in fact did have impeccable style, but he didn’t want to be stigmatized with it, nor was he effeminate. Jayson was all man—handsome, smart, and would cut someone down like a tree if they hurt a person he loved, especially his little sister, the cop who pretended to need no protecting.
He picked up his cup of coffee from the clear table and took a slow, deliberate sip. Jayme removed her hood, exposing her disheveled tresses. They hadn’t laid eyes on each other in over six months.
“You...look so good, Jayson.” Her eyes focused on him.
“Been sober for four months...” He coughed, avoiding her gaze and readjusted himself on the seat—all six feet, four inches and two hundred and thirty pounds of him. “Instead of me thinking your death was going to kill me, drive me deeper into my addiction, it made me want to get my life together. I knew how upset you were, how you told me I was wasting my life away. That’s all I could think about when the police told me you’d gone missing. Haven’t drank even a beer or snorted a damn thing in all that time.”
Jayme sat still, a whirl of emotions playing havoc inside of her. She’d waited to hear this so long—but why couldn’t she feel happiness?
Xzion…
“Jayme, I’m glad you’re alive but there is no explanation you’ve given as to why you didn’t give a phone call, nothing!” And now the anger poured out. She hadn’t been inside his home for more than fifteen minutes. He offered her food and a hot beverage, which she readily accepted, the crumbs around her mouth from the left-over bacon wraps and biscuits were the proof. She wasn’t prepared for this conversation, but it had to happen—he needed to know the truth, no matter how unbelievable it sounded, so, she told him everything.
When she finished, he was sitting so close to her, she could smell the red cinnamon gum on his breath. Big Red, just like when they were little.
He caressed her hand, his long, dark brown fingers cupping hers. He kissed her cheek and looked at her with love, clearly trying to collect himself.
“You know, no one really knew what assignment you were working on. Wanda told us it had something to do with the ‘XXX’ murderer. She said you were excited about a new top secret assignment and we figured...well, you’d suffered like the rest of the people that ran into him. Regardless, I believe everything you’ve told me.” He crossed his ankles and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling.
“You do?” Her eyes watered, certain he was going to tell her that she was now the family drug addict—coming up with such tall tales.
“Yes, I do. There are strange going-ons in this world, Jayme. I’ve always told you that.”
“But you’re an old soul, I just figured you got that from Grandma and thought it was sage advice.” She smiled as she took another sip of her coffee.
He grinned and patted her leg. “So, I take it, it wouldn’t be wise for you tell Mama and Dad that you’re still alive, even though I am sure they are going crazy with grief...not that they gave a damn about anyone but themselves, but I refuse to stoop to their level. They should be told you are okay, if you can, that is.” He rose to his feet.
“Yeah, it wouldn’t be smart. At this point, I just need to lay low. I would like to go to my apartment and get my things, but I’m sure all of my stuff is gone by now, and the place rented out to someone else.”
“Nope. Mama and Wanda packed everything up and put it in storage. I offered to help, but of course Mama rejected my offer, saying Dad might come by later.” He rolled his eyes. “I guess I’d have to show him my weekend pass from Hell, since that’s where he thinks I reside. Thank God for these flame retardant pants!”
Jayme smiled weakly. “Yes, and he is dead wrong, Jayson. Worse yet, I was wrong for not standing up to them for you. I’m sorry, Jayson.”
“Why do you always do this?” He shook his head. “Jayme,” he sighed, “you were a kid then. I don’t care about any of that. They were adults, I am their son, they should’ve known better. Anyway, enough of that—we need to get you squared away. You know you can stay here...let me call into work and tell them I need a sick day.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Where else would I have you go? You’re my sister and I love you. Now listen,” he pointed to her, “I know you said you and this...Jesus Christ, I don’t even know what to call this man...my head is still reelin’ that you’ve been up in this lunatic’s crib this whole damn time but anyway…”
“I know, I know.” She hung her head, gripping her warm cup with all of her might and staring down into the dark brown beverage.
“Don’t go doing anything, foolish. You said you and he had a plan for the agents that roped you into this mess. I don’t know what inside track he had, and though I’d like to strangle them with my bare hands, I don’t want you getting into any further trouble. This guy, Xzion, is dangerous, Jayme. I don’t know what it is like to be a hostage either, to have been kidnapped, especially by someone like that. You’ve been through a lot. I’m just glad you are here to tell the crazy ass story. I’m glad you did what you needed to do, to convince him that he could trust you. That’s the only reason you’re alive. You’re smart, always been smart. Let’s just think this through.”
Big brother, if you only knew...after a while, I wasn’t pretending anymore.
Jayme nodded and slid her shoes off and sighed with relief to remove them from her cramped toes.
“And you need some rest, to freshen up, get your mind together.”
“I know,” she chirped, grinning sheepishly. “I will, just needed a place to fall apart in.”
“Let me get you set up. Of course I can’t get your money. The bank accounts are frozen and since I can’t tell Mama, ain’t shit I can do about it, but...”
“He gave me some money, I’m good.”
Jayson’s brow rose. “This shit gets stranger by the minute. We will discuss this further but you need some good rest first.”
Jayme nodded and heard her brother enter into the nearby small bathroom, bustling around, picking out linens and soap. She hated herself for thinking about Xzion at that moment, missing him. She was hoping she could get over it soon, but was doubtful.
He probably picked up and moved to another location by now...afraid I’d tell someone his whereabouts. Shit, his ass might not even be thinking about me. I doubt that, though. I know he loved me as much, if not more than I loved him. How do you get over loving someone so fucked up in the head?
Her brother’s voice rang out, “Jayme, get your funky ass in this bathroom, woman,” followed by a boisterous chuckle. She smiled and went to him, thanked him for his hospitality and hoped that the hot water would muffle her crying and angry outbursts...
****
Two weeks later...
Aton pulled his black leather gloves up his arm and adjusted his monocle. His silvery eyes almost blended against the white backdrop of his pupils, were it not for the green irises. The color of the tip of a glacier, and equally as cool and majestic, he stepped out of the pod, the three men dressed in black military uniforms close behind him. He stroked the bridge of his long nose as he paused, squinting in the darkness of the Baltimore night before gauging his surroundings.
I fucking hate this planet...
He continued on, clutching his jade staff as he drew closer to Xzion’s home. Once there, he stood back and watched Kizun, his latest apprentice, easily break th
e code and enter the dwelling. The area immediately filled with blue light and the coolness comforted them as soon as they stepped foot inside.
Aton moved throughout the area, then looked over his shoulder at the men, nodding at them to stand back. In the distance, he could see Xzion’s bedroom door partially ajar, and his form, topped with jet black hair sitting lethargically over the edge of an unmade bed. As he drew closer, he saw the man’s arm, the wrist open, the buttons lit and jumping. At the doorway, his worst fears reared their ugly head.
Is he dead?!
“Xzion!” he screamed out, alerting the attention of the others who raced in, their heavy combat boots pounding the floors. He pressed his fingertips into Xzion’s neck, feeling his pulse.
“Quick! We must get him back to Zarkstorm at once! He might not even make it!”
They lifted Xzion’s limp body from the soiled sheets, trying desperately to remove seven scrabble game tiles from his grip, to no avail...
FOREVER...
****
Jayme sat in the back of the library, ten pounds lighter, her hair in thick long cornrows and her brother’s oversized black hoodie cloaking half of her face. She thought the first few weeks with Xzion were the worst she’d endured. She was wrong. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think that her body was revolting against her. It was hard to keep food down, and she cried more often than she’d dare admit. She missed the son of a bitch, and not one night passed when he wasn’t in her dreams. In those dreams, however, appeared bits and pieces to a puzzle she needed solved. She wanted her damn life back, but she had to go in reverse, find out who everyone really was, and retrieve what was stolen from her.
Xzion, who do you work for? What is the relationship with the FBI really about?
She flipped through files, online articles and old hard bound books regarding the FBI. How the organization began, the entire history. It was fascinating and initially only spurred the reason she’d been captivated with the organization, even as a child. Minutes turned to hours, and after several cups of bland coffee and two stale candy bars, something caught her attention. There, in a book from 1973, was an old, sepia photograph of an astronaut, standing next a pod similar to the one she’d seen in Xzion’s home. Jayme placed her finger on it, tapping it, and read the excerpt:
The FBI nor NASA corroborates Astronaut Graham Berlin’s account of life outside of Earth. He emphatically states, “The FBI is covering up this situation. They’ve known about it for years. The Roswell case in New Mexico is a hoax, smoke and mirrors. These pods are real. I brought one back, this one, and was hushed. Look how sophisticated the inside is. There is even a cordless phone device. This is how they come to our planet. I have seen their planet, it is similar to Earth, but with cooling systems to help them stay alive. The aliens are not well. They are nearing extinction due to decades of reverse evolution. I’ve spoken to their President. They look just like humans, but they are not.” The FBI stated that Mr. Berlin underwent a grueling ordeal during his last mission and they do not know of any vehicular pods, alien race or leader of such a species, nor is there a cover-up to keep the American people away from any of the allegations. The object in question was ruled out to be government aerial debris...
Jayme sat back, her eyes wide, her mouth dry.
Cooling systems? Look like humans? What the hell...
She continued to read.
...Among them is a 1950 declaration from special agent Guy Hottel, which seems to offer confirmation for the theory that aliens landed at Roswell, New Mexico...three flying saucers have been recovered...
Jayme closed the book and huffed in exasperation.
I wonder if this Graham Berlin is still alive?
She began to type away in the computer, trying to find anything—a lead, an address, something that would clue her in to the astronaut’s whereabouts, even if it were a morgue. An hour of searching yielded nothing. She sat back in her seat, flush with frustration. After a few moments of deliberation, she snatched up the cell phone her brother had gotten for her, and dialed his number. She leapt up from her seat and stormed into the public bathroom, making her way inside of an unoccupied stall, the toilet filled with un-flushed urine. The phone continued to ring and ring.
“This is Jayson Knight, customer service rep 78. I am unable to answer your call right now, but if you leave your claim number, the nature of your call and a...”
Jayme cursed and disconnected the call.
As she made her way back to her avalanche of books, periodicals worn with time and faded magazines, her phone buzzed. She answered, crouching down as she gripped the receiver with a slightly shaky hand.
“Jayson!”
“I’ve been wondering where you were at today. You took off this morning. I won’t be home until eight tonight but...”
“I need your help. Are you still friends with Terrence?”
There was hesitation on the other end and Jayme knew exactly why. Terrence was an associate of hers, on the beat. He seemed nice enough, a tad reserved and had a nervous way of clearing his throat over and over. He also seemed to leave her and her colleagues in the trenches, while he was conveniently tied up. She suspected he was afraid of being shot, and she found that reprehensible with his chosen profession. Regardless, she knew that at one point in time, he and Jayson had been friends, she suspected more, but could never get a confession of any sort from her brother. What she did know for a fact was that they suddenly stopped speaking, though Terrence always asked her, with a rather glum expression, how her brother was doing. He transferred to another precinct, and she heard no more from him, but she couldn’t make the call herself. She needed the connection, someone who wouldn’t suspect anything.
“We talk every now and again.” Jayson sighed. “Why?”
“I tried to get an address for a guy I need to speak to, but can’t get it online or from the phone book. Terrence has access. He could look in the database. The guy’s name is Graham Berlin. The man could be dead for all I know, but I need to be sure. He’s a retired astronaut and he is from Virginia. He might still live there if he is even still alive.”
“Jayme, what the hell is this about? You are supposed to be trying to find a lawyer and a...”
“Jayson!” she said impatiently, closing her eyes and feeling her knees buckle. She slowly opened her eyes again and glanced around, then settled her gaze back to the open passage in the book. “At this point, I can’t trust anyone. I better have my shit together, my story straight, before I contact anyone. Please help me...” She tried to control it, but she couldn’t stop the tremble in her voice. She’d found a mole hill in the big backyard, and she was digging, afraid of what she may unearth, but she knew she had to, no matter how frightening the journey. Standing still was getting her nowhere.
“Okay, I’ll call you back...” Her brother abruptly disconnected the call, no doubt not happy about the assignment. Jayme looked back down at the book, flipped some pages. Certain passages stuck out.
... as many as eight alien corpses were recovered from two crash sites: three dead and perhaps one alive from the Foster ranch, and three dead and one living from the Socorro site.
Jayme shook her head in disbelief.
Why would Xzion have one of these pods in his house? It looks almost identical and what does this have to do with so-called alien visits? No one will tell me anything. I must find out myself. My life depends upon it...
****
Two days later...
The greyhound ride to Virginia was too damn long, but she preferred it over this...
Jayme stood in the dimly lit lobby, almost overcome by the strong odor of cleaning ammonia. She hated hospitals and hated nursing homes even more. It was something she wrestled with, especially since she’d been in much worse surroundings, but the whole thing took her back to the death of her grandmother—the woman she and Jayson spent lazy Southern summers with. The woman had been drenched in old charm and rustic magic. She always made sure her gran
dbabies came down for three weeks to enjoy the Peach festival, go fishing and get away from the city life the old lady personally abhorred. Jayme had always been amazed at how different her father and grandmother were. At times, she couldn’t even believe that he’d come from the woman’s womb.
She was easy going, laid back, while the preacher man in her Maryland childhood home was strict, condescending and easily irritated. The last time she laid eyes on her beloved Memaw was in a nursing home—the woman no longer knew herself, let alone Jayme, and it had crushed her sixteen year old self to the core. She stepped out of the sweet and sour memories, and focused on the nurse’s face that now stood before her. The dumpy, round woman with short curly auburn hair crossed her fat, freckled arms after placing her clipboard haphazardly on the counter.
“You’re waiting to see Mr. Berlin, right?” she asked, a slight lisp in her speech.
“Yes. My name is Juh...My name is Claudia Daniels.”
“Yeah, we have you on the list for visitors today. Follow me. He doesn’t get many guests. This should perk up his day.” Jayme followed close behind, smiling faintly as the woman looked over her shoulder and spoke to her.
“What are you, another reporter?” the nurse asked as she neared the door.
“Well, I’m doing some research.” Jayme stayed close behind her, her eyes shifting from side to side as they passed many elderly people in their rooms up the hallway. Some of them were fast asleep with only the sound of a low roaring radio bringing attention to their slumbering form. Some shuffled bit by bit, grasping their walkers, hunched over and occasionally glancing upward to see who passed them by. Some of them stared off into nothingness, their mouths agape, and yet others were cheerfully speaking, but no one seemed to be there to hear the convoluted, one-sided conversations they gleefully shared with the stale air.
“Here he is...” The nurse opened the wide door and revealed a tall, rail thin man with a few strands of coarse white hair coiled atop his reddened scalp. His eyes were a dull blue, almost forgettable.
