There was only one answer that kept bouncing back to James. He’d toss it away and it would bounce right back to him; she was Succubus, a demon sent here to seduce him just enough to suck out his soul. That was the only idea he could pull out of that soupy vomit his thoughts were mixed into. She was not from space—that idea was stupid on so many levels; she was from hell.
The ‘suck out his soul’ idea made him chuckle in spite of himself. What a bunch of 1980’s horror movie drama he’d built in his head. James had always played with the idea that he was an atheist. Such nonsense of heaven, hell, and aliens sprouting from him was just the confusion of a man who had seen the unexplainable.
There was, however, a fight of left side versus right side, heart versus spirit, going on within James. He was raised a Catholic—where movies like the exorcist are a documentary, not a horror fiction. There was residue from his Catholic beliefs still stirring in him, questioning every logical answer he gave himself, challenging every spiritual belief he tried to sweep away. The idea that Teresa was a Succubus coming above ground just to seek him out and test his faith was still in the very back of his thoughts—where all old ideas rot, creeping around building momentum to pop up again.
Now, James was prisoner to his inner demons. Turning over in bed and coming face to face with Teresa quietly sleeping, James saw the beautiful face he loved, but flashes of the demon face came back, and each time, they hit with more ice, more chill, and stabbed at his heart a bit. Each stab cemented the idea that Teresa, the woman he wished to cherish, was nothing more than hellish. Looking at her closely, James could see frost building on her lips as she slept—such a little detail that he’d seen a thousand times before; how could he have dismissed it? Wrapped in the warmth of covers and man, she still had a chill to her that was not human at all.
Some believe that hell is fire
A lake of flames
That laps the waist
I believe hell is cold
Frigid air that bites the lips
Then pounds the toes
Who was James if he loved a demon? What did that mean of him? What kind of mortal sides with a demon? What kind of man lays in bed next to a demon and mumbles poetry instead of leaving? Instead of praying?
Teresa opened her eyes and gave James a sleepy smile. He could not help himself.
“Are you from hell?” Teresa touched his cheek with her hand and snuggled herself closer to him.
“What’s that?”
James kissed the top of her head and held her tight. If he was right, hell was a place he’d go if he kept along this path. Closing his eyes, James fell asleep dreaming of nothing but damnation. He knew that he wouldn’t let her go again. His soul was now lost.
Jacob
The smitten kept rolling around Jacob’s cheeks. He wasn’t sure if ‘smitten’ was the right word for the situation he was in with Abigail and his baby. They were different. They both were bad, the baby more so than Abigail; yet he would do anything for them. Jacob thought this ‘smitten’.
The word ‘smitten’ meant to be really attracted to a person or thing, but it also meant you could be attacked or affected by something like a disease or a predator. Either way, it worked for Jacob. He was very attracted, for whatever reason, to Abigail, and he was inflicted with the disease of caring for the baby who was not just a baby. He knew, without a fraction of a doubt, that his baby was the predator.
After cleaning up Abigail’s last mess, Jacob knew he’d live the rest of his days in fear of anyone finding out what happened to Mrs. Hanson. Every eyeball on him in town was just a step away from the towns people, and police, figuring out what he did. If they found out, he hoped he would be dead by then, or at the very least they’d understand that he did it for his woman and child. He did what he had to, to keep them safe, yeah that’s it. Isn’t that what fathers do, whatever it takes to keep the mother and baby safe under his watch?
Lately, Jacob had taken to stopping by the library after work and looking up any pregnancy book he could get his hands on. Hiding in a back corner, he’d read a chapter or two and try to put the pieces of Abigail’s pregnancy together. Jacob read about what a normal pregnancy was, and then tried his damnedest to pretend that what Abigail had, and what was in the book, were the same. Abigail was only a little different—just an inch or two to the left different, not by much. He knew that was a lie. Abigail’s pregnancy was thousands of miles away from what a regular pregnancy looked like. Making excuses for her was the smitten working on him. He knew it, but couldn’t fight his own conclusions.
After Jacob put the book away and waved a silent goodbye to the dusty looking librarian, he knew that he was a fool. He was fooling himself Abigail’s pregnancy was going fast. The skin on her belly was like crumbled tissue paper. He could see the outline of the babies eyes. Abigail craved blood smeared on her skin, not pickles and ice cream. Plus, Abigail’s belly and the baby were hot to the touch. Abigail was made of ice, yet her belly felt steamy. It was all so wrong and Jacob was a fool to dream it otherwise.
Hitting the steering wheel on his truck, driving down his favorite dirt road—which was the road home—Jacob told himself over and over again that he was smitten. It wasn’t his fault he had fallen for something other than human. The baby couldn’t help her wicked ways; she was different. A smitten fool is what Jacob nicknamed himself, wondering if—instead of a crib—he’d need a cage.
The neighbor sat on her back porch trying to convince herself, yet again, that her pygmy goat was taken by coyotes. It had to be a pack of coyotes that ate it gone; there was no trace of the pygmy goat. Not a drop of blood, not a tangle of fur on the fence, nothing. That was something that made her sleep lighter and her blood thinner. Drinking her tea with just a sprinkle of whiskey in it, she had to stay sober—it was pizza and poker night with her bachelor daughter, and if she got to drinking, her daughter would notice. Then, the gossip whispers of ‘mom’s drinking too much again’ would start.
Looking over at the yard, watching her other goats ‘bah’ out to the world and nibble at the grass, the neighbor couldn’t help but shiver. The neighbor wanted to go over and see the little wild girl who lived with the man, but every time she got herself up, dressed, put her shoes on, and grabbed some cookies to take over, she stopped at her back door and couldn’t go any farther.
It was as if the air itself held her back. There was an invisible shield that the neighbor knew she shouldn’t pass, even if it was logically ridiculous. A stupid old lady notion to not go over to that house, but she couldn’t help herself. She just knew better than to go play in tall grass when it was full of snakes.
With the picture of the pygmy goat jumping around her brain, the neighbor decided to take another light hit of whiskey. She wanted to lessen her dread, but not loosen her tongue too much. If she let it slip that she was suspicious of the wild-child girl and the guy to her children, they would never let it drop and before she could say ‘never mind’ the wild girl and guy would be flooded with police and her daughter raising hell for the world to hear. Closing her eyes, the neighbor sniffed the air, took a shot of whiskey straight from the bottle, and told herself that now might be a good time to start believing in Jesus.
Lisa
Lisa could no longer deny that cabin fever had set in. The sadness and apathy that kept her locked in her apartment had washed off, and now she was stuck with an intense need to leave her self-induced jail. The feelings of being a freak were strong; Lisa felt that every eye in town would be on her. She was sure she’d slip if one random person said the wrong word, or gave her the wrong look. She’d slip and show them the real her, then what? Does somebody call the police and the SWAT team to take her to alien jail? To freak alien jail?
Freak aside, Lisa could no longer stop herself from going out. There was no helping it, she needed out. The idea of coffee kept crawling all over her face. The want for cooked beast was so intense it felt like it swelled her tongue. She needed to go out; maybe she’d walk
around, find a place for coffee, and sit in the back, way back where nobody would see her. Then, she could find a place for cooked beast, buy the biggest chunk they had, in another quiet corner where nobody could spy her.
Showering, putting on clothes, Lisa fought with her wants and her paranoia the whole time. The want for coffee and meat mixed with the paranoia that everyone would point at the freak danced around in her head until she felt like screaming. Lisa told herself to stay in the apartment, starve herself, deny herself anything, be defiant of Superior Mother in every way until they came and claimed her, took her back to The Grey, and did away with her once and for all. That would end the pain for both sides. But, Lisa stomped those ideas away and put on her shoes.
She stood outside her apartment door, dressed, and only needed to take steps forward—just like The Black two steps, then two steps more—until she was out of the building. Fingers and toes tingling, everything in Lisa shouted at her to go back inside where it was safe, but she wouldn’t listen to the tingle. She never listened to anyone; why start with herself now? Instead, she’d go out, and if they saw her as a freak, then all the more reason for the Mothers to come. All the more reason to get back to the tomb of The Grey. Maybe the tingling was a warning—a physical warning that Lisa should heed. NOW go, now go. Drink their drinks and eat their food.
Heading down the stairs onto the sidewalk, Lisa realized that she’d lived there for almost a month now—maybe less, maybe more—and had never seen the front of the apartment building. She had never even bothered to look down the street.
Step one, step two, just like The Black, keep going forward, Lisa’s breath was heavy. The air outside was cool and even. It wasn’t too cold. It wasn’t warm. It was like a best friend, a breeze that wrapped around you, leaving you feeling happy. That’s what Lisa imagined a best friend felt like. Someone that, no matter what, you could go to for comfort whether it be a laugh or a cry. Lisa was surrounded by other women in The Grey and had not one friend.
Among The Grey, there were no friends, best or otherwise. There was execution of a goal and nothing else. Walking, Lisa mourned the fact that she was a woman of The Grey. She wanted emancipation to breathe this air everyday if she felt like it. Lisa, an empath to humans, wanted only to be empathetic to herself. She did not belong in The Grey. With every step down the block, all she could think was that she did not belong in The Grey. She did not really belong with the humans. Where did she belong? Where was home? Where was peace of mind and a day where she could breathe, eat, and wander without questioning her steps and thoughts?
Lisa wanted a job, a quiet life where she could lay low, mind her own business, figure out what this thing called life was, and get to the bottom of who she was. A life were nobody cared how clean her floors were or how quickly she executed a task. That seemed the right thing to do. That seemed to fit perfectly when she thought about this afternoon, tomorrow, or next week. I want emancipation, but I think that is only achieved by death. Death isn’t what Lisa craved. She craved more coffee, more cooked beast, but most of all, she craved freedom.
The coffee house, two blocks down from her apartment, looked like it used to be a house. Lisa could imagine a tiny old lady living there until her last breath. When the new owners came, maybe she’d inspired them, maybe they knew her or of her. Whatever the story, it looked welcoming, almost calling Lisa by name.
The staff at this coffee house was young, while the establishment was old. It was the two balances of the universe. Old was something Lisa had never seen in The Grey. The steam of the coffee flowed down Lisa’s throat with grace. She found herself a little table in the corner near the back porch. It was perfectly perfect; then along came that friendly breeze to keep her company. It seemed the perfect nook to ponder all her troubles without having to stress. Feeling the heat from the mug on her hands, Lisa would buy and drink coffee all day if it meant she could sit right there and hide in what felt like harmony.
She felt content, a content she had never experienced before. A content that she would chase for years, strive for. Sip after sip, Lisa almost hummed. Then, through the window, she saw Allison ordering coffee. Allison stood very straight, not a slouch to her, with a smile on her face and a warm nature to her. The coffee guy seemed very pleased to see her making hand gestures and laughing. Such an everyday scene, nothng special about it, but it fueled Lisa’s anger. She wanted that, she wanted warmth, she wanted someone’s eyes to light up when they saw her. Her contentment was starting to fade.
Allison turned her head and met Lisa’s eyes. Allison didn’t smile at Lisa, but notably, she didn’t flinch either. Lisa felt as if she had told a total stranger her dirtiest secret, and now there was no way of taking it back. Then, to Lisa’s astonishment, Allison started walking towards her.
Allison sat down next to Lisa, and she could feel her warmth. Allison gave off a presence of comfort maybe, safe maybe. Lisa couldn’t describe it, other than Allison being the complete opposite of herself. Where Allison was kind, Lisa was crabby. Allison had an air to her that put a person at ease. Lisa never understood what ease was. These two women could not be more different.
“I don’t know what to say…” Allison smiled with what almost seemed like a tear in her eye. “I should try to kill you in the middle of the night…Well, that’s what I tell myself…” Lisa smiled at this. Allison was trying to put a challenge on the table. This cute little table on the back porch of the coffee house.
Lisa’s smile turned into a laughter, “You, kill me? That’s precious.” It sounded very bitchy and that is exactly what Lisa wanted. Allison was warm tea, long kisses, and soft laughter. Lisa was frigid, alien, and well-trained by Mothers. There was no question in Lisa’s mind of who could kill who.
“I’m not immortal. I don’t have super powers. In fact, I am a disgrace to my race, but I am very well trained in how to survive. So yeah, you can’t kill me, not you anyway.” Allison seemed amused by what Lisa was saying. Both seemed like cats, staring each other down and hissing, but both enjoying the game.
“Glad we cleared that up…” Allison rolled her eyes. Lisa wanted to slap her, but felt it better to wait her out—wait for her to leave. Maybe Lisa could get content back, maybe she could remember ease. But, Allison wasn’t budging. The two women sitting together seemed innocent enough—two friends having coffee. if only the coffee guy knew that this was a standoff between the spy and the journalist in any made-for-TV movie.
“How many exactly…there’s more of you…I’ve seen two so far…there’s more…” Allison had a pleading tone. She wasn’t asking a question; she was begging for an answer.
Lisa felt ease ball up, hit her chest, and turn into anxiety. Allison had seen two other women of The Grey? How was this possible? Superior Mother was so careful, so very careful. How could this be? Lisa was trained in stoic and didn’t want Allison to notice a hint of weakness and doubt. “If you keep fishing, there will be many hungry sharks circling your boat. You can’t leave things alone, can you?” The coffee was getting cold, the breeze had stopped and Allison’s death-wish questions had ruined the porch, the breeze, and the contentment for Lisa.
Without a word, a snarl, or that slap she wanted to give, Lisa got up and started walking away from the little coffee house and her perfectly perfect spot. She felt betrayed by everything, even the breeze. Thankfully, Allison didn’t follow. She felt a relief in that. Not only did Lisa need to walk away from Allison, but she needed to walk away from everything, even herself.
The ball of anxiety Lisa felt in her chest told her to walk home; she ignored it and followed her feet in the opposite direction. She knew she wasn’t the greatest decision maker, but this choice—the choice to walk on, walk away—felt right.
With each step, the question of what Allison said pounded against the inside of her skull. “There’s more?” The question stood still in the air above Lisa’s head. Yes, there’s more, many more. Lisa needed to know what else Allison knew. She needed this leverage when
she was taken back to The Grey. We are not a secret anymore. We are made. We are known. Superior Mother is faulted. She is not all-knowing. Lisa pushed her lips together. How to use this information? It’s so incredibly valuable.
Lisa was filled with thoughts of Allison. At the core of it, she wanted to know everything about Allison. She wanted to understand where that type of warmth came from. Where did the fire spark? Lisa had no fire, there was no kindling to start. The idea of laying Allison on a table, slicing her open, and crawling inside her floated around Lisa’s thoughts. To feel that warmth. Her mouth watered at the idea of laying inside the warmth of Allison. It was savage, but she didn’t care or question the buzz she felt in her head thinking of Allison’s bloody corpse as a quilt.
In us all, there is a savage. The women of The Grey used their organization, control, and placid environment to keep the savage in line. That was Lisa’s theory anyway, and she wanted to feel her savage pop its head out and sneak peeks at the world. She no longer wanted to ignore her savage. She’d grabbed it, shoved it back down, and told it to shut up for too long. No more, Lisa told her steps. No more.
She sat on a park bench and was surrounded by homeless, teenagers, and several rats, but none of that mattered. What mattered at this very second was the revolution evolving within her. This revolution of thought and loyalty spun together, weaving themselves into every inch of her. What she wanted was clear, as clear as contentment was in that coffee house.
Lisa did not want to be an empath to humans any longer; nor did she feel any loyalty to The Grey. She was now empathetic to herself and herself only. She was now loyal only to herself and her cause. A cause that whispered to her core and tingled as it came out. It was a just cause, and for once, Lisa knew exactly what she wanted after so many hours, days, and nights of never understanding. Lisa wanted to break The Grey. Break The Grey, she told herself. She didn’t know how. She wasn’t even sure why. But, it was one hundred percent right. That was one hundred percent her truth.
Women of the Grey- The Complete Trilogy Page 34
