by J. E. Taylor
“André, can you tell the viewers why you are here?”
André took a deep breath. “Sure. It was dumb luck,” he answered, knowing that was not what she wanted to hear.
“Can you expand on that a little?” she asked, with the same winning smile.
André almost laughed at the thought of expanding on dumb luck, but he kept his expression neutral. “I drifted into this galaxy and Commander Robbins found me. He saved my life.”
“Were you alone in space?”
André nodded. “Yes.”
“For how long?”
“I figure about five years,” he answered.
“Why were you in space alone?”
“Because I was exiled.”
Joanna gasped, but André could tell it was all for the camera. Her mind was working overtime and André had to bite down on the growing unease filling him.
“Why?”
“Because the emperor was a supreme nutcase and I happened to be an easy scapegoat,” he said, directly to the camera. He shrugged, trying to brush it off but the truth bit at him, getting under his skin. He shifted in his seat.
“Pardon?” Joanna asked.
André sighed. “It’s a long, involved story, but the bottom line is the emperor considered me a threat, so he executed my parents and sealed me in a space pod and sent me into space to die.”
Joanna’s composure slipped for a fraction of a second and her mouth dropped open. She popped it closed and focused on the story that just got a little hotter. “Are you?”
“Am I what?”
“A threat?” Joanna answered, pleased that he had walked right into this line of questioning.
Irritation bloomed and André smiled, hiding it for the time being. He shook his head. “No. Especially not to Earth.” He glanced past the camera to where Katrina stood. “This is my home.” He looked back at Joanna. “The only home I’ve ever known.”
Joanna took a deep breath, disappointed at the way André was working the interview. “Is that why you volunteered to stop the meteor?”
André nodded. “It was the right thing to do.”
“Even if it meant coming out to the world?”
“Yes. I’m not that different from the next guy,” André answered with a shrug. “I bruise when I get hit.” He pointed to his face. “I’m not invincible,” he said.
“And yet you can vaporize a meteor the size of Texas,” Joanna said. She had been privy to some of the data that had been collected by NASA prior to their return. “It vanished into thin air.”
André shrugged. “I’ve got a more developed level of extra-sensory perception than most humans.”
“That sets you apart. Humans can’t do that.”
“That’s where you are wrong. You have the capability inside; you just don’t know how to break down the barriers in your mind to open the floodgates.” He smiled. Do not elaborate on that, André. Matthew’s voice boomed in his head.
“And how do you know that?” Joanna asked.
André smiled at her. “Do you follow your hunches?” he asked her, turning the tables on her.
“Yes,” she answered with no hesitation.
“There you go,” André said. “Hunches, instinct—whatever you want to call it—is a form of ESP.”
Joanna laughed. “You are comparing a hunch to completely destroying a meteor?”
“What else do you want to ask me?”
Joanna glanced at her cameraman. “How did you get hurt?”
“What has the media been told?” André asked. He wanted to know how much he could say. They were told that we had a run-in with an alien craft. The fact that it was Zyclonian was not disclosed, Matthew’s voice informed him.
“We were told that you ran into trouble in the form of an alien space craft.” Joanna echoed what Matthew had silently told him.
André sighed. How much can I say? he sent to his father, the answer came a second later: As much as you want. “Yes,” André answered. “Ironically, it was from the planet I came from.”
Joanna couldn’t hide the surprise fast enough. “Really?”
“Bastards are looking for more worlds to conquer,” André answered. He shifted in his seat, sighing as he looked between the camera and Joanna.
“Did you know they were coming?” Joanna asked.
André shook his head. “No.”
“Did they know you were here?”
“No.” But they do now. “Not until the press conference the day we left to stop the meteor. The explorer picked up the satellite feed. He knew we were coming.”
“Why did they hurt you?”
André looked squarely at her. “Because they still want me dead,” he replied, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but not doing a very convincing job. “They wanted to bring my head back to the emperor as a gift,” he added for shock value.
Joanna recoiled in disgust. “The word on the street is that you saved your father and a medic on board.”
André shrugged. “I guess,” he said, shying away again.
Matthew strutted into camera range. “My son is being modest. If he hadn’t stepped in, we would have died.” He put his hand on André’s shoulder. “In the process, he was almost killed.”
André twisted his wedding band, studying the way his finger molded around the metal.
“What happened, André?” Joanna asked, feigning sorrow.
He raised his eyes to the camera. “We fought; I killed him. End of story,” he concluded, closing the door on further questioning.
“The alien body was brought back. Can you tell us why?”
André raised his eyebrows and shot a glance at his father.
Matthew took a deep breath. “His blood type matched my son’s.”
André blinked. “Huh?”
“You needed blood.” Matthew looked down at him.
“So you...” He trailed off, getting the picture out of Matthew’s mind. He sighed and closed his eyes. He hadn’t realized just how close they came to really losing him. The slow rush of blood out of his face left him cold and dizzy.
“We brought the body back for organ donation if André ever found himself in a situation where he needed a heart, liver, or kidneys,” Matthew explained.
Joanna glanced at André. “You didn’t know how bad off you were, did you?”
André shook his head.
“I bet you were glad to see your wife and son when you woke up,” she commented, taking advantage of his instability.
André’s head snapped in her direction, his face transitioning from shock to anger. “I told you to keep them out of this interview,” he said, wishing he could storm out of the room.
“I’m sorry,” Joanna said. “But the American public has a right to know that an alien and an American have created a child.”
Tim switched the camera off. “Joanna, I’m not taping this,” he said, glaring at her.
She swung around, her face a mask of surprise. “It’s a Pulitzer. An alien mix breed.”
“Get out.” André stood, pointing at the door and ignoring the sharp pain in his leg. “Now!”
Matthew grabbed her by the arm and escorted her to the front door. “If you mention my grandson, I will ruin your life,” he threatened and opened the door, shoving her out onto the front step and closing the door on her. He turned to Tim.
Tim disassembled the camera, muttering under his breath about how much of a bitch Joanna was.
André lowered himself into the chair, wincing.
“Are you all right?” Tim asked, looking up from his camera case.
André returned his stare. “No. My leg is bleeding again,” he said. A red spot on the leg of his sweatpants spread on his thigh.
“You really got hurt?”
André nodded. “My leg, stomach, and shoulder were split open. You heard my father. I lost a lot of blood,” he said, leaning his head back against the chair, controlling the pain. The air hissed between his clenched teeth.
André laughed despite the pain. “No I’m not,” he said, thinking about how he toyed with Captain Trevor.
Tim smiled. “Whether you know it or not, you are.” He turned to leave and paused. He glanced back at André. “I won’t let her turn you into a circus freak.”
“Thanks,” André said. He gripped the armrest, sweat lining his palms and tacky on the small of his back.
“Take it easy, kid,” Tim said and left by way of the front door.
As soon as the door closed, André let out a roar of pain. “This fucking hurts!” He gripped his thigh.
Matthew glanced at him. “You shouldn’t have stood on it. The doctor told you not to put any pressure on your leg for the next two weeks,” he said. He ran upstairs and grabbed the bag of bandages the hospital gave them. “I don’t want blood all over my chair,” Matthew said as he came back down stairs, retrieving the wheelchair and lining it up so André could switch easily. He cut the sweatpants, ripping the severed pant leg off and looking at the blood soaked bandages. “Jesus,” he cursed under his breath.
“I don’t want to sit in a pool of blood either,” André remarked.
Matthew glared up at him. “Suck it up.” He removed the bandage and grabbed the bottle of iodine Cal had given them to apply with each dressing change. He poured a thin line into the stitched wound.
The iodine burned and André clamped his teeth down on a yelp, gripping the armrests so tightly the color drained from his hands.
Matthew covered the cut with the bandages and sat back on his heels.
“Why the hell didn’t they seal the cut like they did with my shoulder and stomach?”
“We’ve been over this, André. The cut was too deep. You have to wait until it heals naturally,” Matthew said and turned toward Katrina. “Kat, grab the pain medicine, please.”
She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with the pain pills and a glass of water in her free hand, handing them to Matthew.
Matthew poured two pills into his hand and handed them to André with the glass of water.
André downed them and put his head in his hands, trying to control his breathing and the pain.
Katrina rubbed the back of his neck.
“Get away from me,” André said, the tears dripping onto his lap, staining the fresh bandage and the remaining pant leg.
“I’m just—”
“Get the hell away from me!”
Katrina backed away. Sam began to cry in her arms.
Matthew gathered the soaked bandages and stood, disappearing into the kitchen.
“You shouldn’t yell at Katrina like that,” Matthew said when he returned with clean hands.
“You put that bastard’s blood in me?”
Matthew nodded.
“You should have let me bleed out.”
Matthew sighed. “André.”
“You should have let me die,” André screamed.
The mental slap shot out of Matthew before he could stop it.
André’s head rocked to the side with the power of it. A pink handprint appeared on his cheek and he touched the still stinging skin.
Matthew approached him. “I don’t give a damn how much you hated that bastard. He was the only option I had of saving you.” He towered over André. “I took it and I will not apologize for saving you,” he growled down at his son. “And if I ever hear you talk to Katrina in that tone again, I will knock you on your ass. Understand?”
André swallowed, his own anger and pain diminished by the shock of the slap.
“We set up Linda’s office as a bedroom until you can climb the stairs,” Matthew said. “Katrina brought down some clothes for you. Go change your pants.” He pointed toward the makeshift bedroom.
André nodded, rolling the wheelchair down the small hallway. He wheeled in and stopped in the middle of the room. The shakes began and with it came the sobs, the entire ordeal finally hitting home.
André didn’t react when Katrina came into the room and closed the door. The sobs kept coming, ripping through his chest with a force that clamped his lungs, leaving him gasping and shaking enough to rattle the wheelchair. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his cheek, whispering, “Shhh” he reached up, wrapping his hands around her wrists and holding her close, like a drowning man clutching his only life jacket.
Katrina kissed his temple. “I love you,” she whispered into his ear.
He opened his mind to her for the first time since he got home and gave her the playback of the entire ordeal.
Katrina laid her head on his shoulder as the assault of his memories swarmed in her mind. “Oh, babe.”
“They put his blood in me,” he said when the sobs subsided.
“Think of how much that would have pissed him off,” Katrina answered, putting a spin he hadn’t thought of.
André turned toward her, wiping his face. He let out a small laugh. “It would have royally pissed him off to know he saved my life.”
Katrina smiled. She disappeared into the adjoining bathroom and ran some warm water on a washcloth. She walked back to André, handing it to him.
He wiped his face and hands and handed the cloth to her. “Can you help me out of these?” he asked, waving to his stained sweatpants.
“Sure,” Katrina said and helped him stand on his good foot.
“I’m going to need underwear and another pair of sweats,” he said, standing on his good leg, looking at the seat of the wheelchair. “And something to clean that up with.”
Katrina leaned over and wiped up the seat. She disappeared again. This time she came back with both the wet washcloth and a dry towel. She dried off the seat and looked at him. “Are you going to drop the pants or what?”
He smiled. “I figured you’d give me a hand with that.”
She returned the smile. “I suppose you want me to clean the blood off your ass too.”
André nodded, the heat crawling into his cheeks. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
Katrina turned the chair and locked the wheels so he could steady himself on the handles. She pulled his pants and underwear down to his ankles, taking them completely off his hurt leg and leaving them bunched around the ankle of his good leg. She ran the wet washcloth over the back of his thighs, and despite the situation, he felt the flood of heat flare, his libido taking over at the smooth strokes of the cloth.
“Next time I’m gonna rinse this with cold water,” she muttered from behind him.
“Sorry,” he said and sent an innocent grin over his shoulders.
She finished cleaning the blood off his buttocks and wiped around the front of his good thigh. “You can sit now.” She pointed him to the dry towel sitting over the chair.
He slid into the seat. She pulled the dirty garments off his good foot, disappearing into the bathroom with the soiled clothing and the dirty cloth. She came back with a clean cloth and cleaned up the front of André. Her touch excited him now that the drugs silenced the pain.
“André,” she said, the sharpness in her voice relaying her less than thrilled response.
“Katrina,” he replied in the same tone, a smile spreading on his lips. He ran his hand into her hair. “Come on,” he whispered, pulling her toward his now clean lap.
Katrina pulled her head out of his grasp and sent a glare his way, tossing him a pair of clean underwear.
“Come on, Kat,” he said, smiling up at her as the full effect of the pain pills settled into his muscles, relaxing and leaving him languid in the chair with the exception of the stiff member standing at attention in his lap. “You know what I want,” he slurred.
“Cut the shit, André,” Katrina snapped and tossed him a clean pair of shorts.
André pouted and shimmied into his underwear, before glancing up at Katrina, trying to send her that “come-hither” look that always got her going.
She rolled her eyes and t
he edges of her lips stretched into a grin. “You need your rest and don’t you dare give me that look.”
“What look?” he said, shrugging and widening his eyes with mock innocence.
“You’re high as a kite right now, aren’t you?” She chuckled and pecked him on the cheek as she left the room.
André slid the shorts on and rolled himself out into the living room, his cheeks aching from the silly grin plastered on his lips. “Sorry for yellin’,” he said, his words forming slowly under the influence of the medicine.
Matthew nodded. “You want to watch the ball game?” He pointed to the television.
“Nah, I’m hungry,” André said and rolled into the kitchen. He looked at the kitchen cabinets and they all opened, making him giggle. Surveying the food, his gaze stopped on a box of chocolate chip cookies and with a tilt of his head, the box landed in his lap. He closed the cabinets and rolled out into the living room with the full box of cookies. Pulling the wheelchair next to the couch, he transferred himself to the soft cushions, lounging and facing the television. “Want some?” he asked with his mouth full of cookies, offering the box to his father.
“No thanks,” Matthew said. “Don’t get crumbs all over the place.”
“’K,” André replied. Each cookie just fueled his hunger until he reached into the bottom of the box and found nothing but crumbs. He sighed and closed his eyes.
MATTHEW GLANCED OVER at André as a light snore interrupted his concentration. The empty box of cookies lay on André’s chest, teetering each time André inhaled. Matthew got up and retrieved the empty box, tossing it onto the coffee table before sitting down again. He wondered how long the medicine would last this time. In the hospital, it only lasted a couple of hours with intravenous injections, and by the time his next dose came around, he was an irritable mess. The instructions on the bottle said one every six hours, but Matthew doubted one pill would do the trick, so he had slipped André two in the hopes it would quiet him down after the interview trauma.
Katrina came down, holding Sam. “He’s asleep?”
Matthew nodded. “I gave him a double dose of the medication and it knocked him out.” He smiled. “I have a feeling this is going to be a rough two weeks.”
Katrina laughed. “It’s going to be a rough couple of months. He’s going to hate not playing football,” she said, lifting Sam up in the air. “Your daddy’s not going to be the star quarterback this year.” She smiled at her son.
