by Rob Mclean
She ran headlong, zigzagging from side to side of the alleyway, trying doors but finding them locked. John gained on her and could see that she was tiring.
“Target 50 meters straight ahead,” the voice in his ear said needlessly.
A helicopter appeared above the buildings. It hovered above the target. The rotors beat a throbbing noise that reverberated down the narrow alleyway. Papers and plastic rubbish gusted away, creating a clean zone around the woman. A powerful spotlight shone down upon the fugitive, dispersing the late afternoon shadows. She stopped running and put her hands on her knees, gulping air, her long dark hair blowing about her.
John advanced with his gun held ready.
“You’re under arrest,” John shouted over the helicopter downdraft, his gun aimed at her. The woman straightened up and faced him squarely. She swept her hair out of her face, revealing large green eyes that appraised him slowly.
“You’ll not prevail,” her words entered John’s head without her tightly pressed lips moving.
“Target acquired,” John radioed in, keeping his attention focused on her.
“I’ll not submit,” this time her lips moved to match her voice. Her eyes bore into him.
John felt his gun getting heavy. He lowered it.
“Execute,” the dispassionate female voice chimed in his ear.
John stared into the vivid green eyes of the woman.
“Why?” he asked both the woman and the voice in his ear. He wanted to swap the handgun for his Taser. He didn’t want to kill this woman.
“Because they say I’m a witch.” Her green eyes flared. John could almost feel the heat of her anger.
“Repeat, execute,” the radio voice insisted.
John raised his gun, again. Around him, similarly uniformed hunters had arrived. The woman didn‘t pay them any attention. She raised her arms and stretched towards the sky.
“Oh Lord,” she cried to the heavens. “They want to kill me. Grant me the power, Lord, to smite our enemies.”
John gripped his gun with both hands steadying the weapon, and took aim. With his dream awareness, he knew for certain that she would summon the Wrath of God any moment. He imagined that the lightning she was conjuring would soon split his skull asunder. He looked to the sky and felt a rising panic as the clouds above darkened and condensed into a swirling vortex above her outstretched arms.
“Your last chance to come quietly,” he urged. He felt the hairs on his arms and neck prickle. The air began to hum with the build-up of static.
Before she had a chance to respond, a shot rang out, and her chest erupted with a red mess. She staggered backwards, twisting slightly as she fell.
Another shot hit her in the shoulder on the same side as before. She spun like a rag doll, arms flailing and legs and hair spinning out wide as she came to rest on her front. Exit wounds on her back oozed rhythmically, pushing her life blood out with decreasing vigour until they stopped altogether. Her yellow dress was almost completely burgundy. Blood seeped about her in an ever-growing pool. John couldn’t believe so much blood could have once fit inside her diminutive frame.
One of the other hunters came running up and rolled her over with his boot. “Looks like you got the bitch good,” he laughed. Blood-drenched hair stuck to her face and blood spilt from her mouth as it fell open. Her green eyes stared balefully, their anger only diminished slightly in death.
“Did I shoot her?” John asked himself. In disbelief he looked at his gun and saw a faint wisp of smoke leaving the barrel. Horror and revulsion made his head spin. He wanted to run away from the scene, but he knew that his fellow hunters would think him weak. He had to stay and deal with the mess.
“It’s just a dream,” his rational mind told him. “Go with it.”
John looked again at the slain woman. He put on his latex gloves as he knelt down to feel for her pulse. He closed her accusing eyes and not finding a pulse, declared her dead.
“Are you sure?” asked one of the other hunters. “Could always put a few more rounds in her to be sure.”
“Nah, she’s dead,” said John standing up and taking off his gloves.
“You’re so sure?” her taunting, whispered voice echoed inside his head.
“She’s not dead,” his rational mind told him.
John looked down at her body. It hadn’t changed. Her eyes were still closed, her blood streaked face unmoved. As his eyes passed down over her body, he saw that she had his Taser in her hand. How she had come to get it from him he couldn’t imagine, but now it was pressed to his ankle.
“Not dead,” her voice whispered inside his skull.
She pulled the trigger. Agonizing pain gripped his leg. Ripping, burning fingers of pain crawled up his leg past his knee. Rigid and immobilized with the current surging through his body, he felt as if his skin was being shredded as the fire advanced up his thigh.
John jolted awake gasping.
Chapter 8
Angela awoke slowly. Her vision was blurry and she had to concentrate to focus. Her stomach squirmed and the room spun, threatening to make her vomit. She tried to sit up, but the dizziness forced her back down. She held her head in her hands and waited for her nausea to subside.
Closing her eyes, hoping it would help stop her vertigo, she suddenly realized that it was too quiet. The absence of any noise was alarming, as she normally woke to the sounds of suburbia. Her eyes flew open and a quick sweep of the room soon told her she was not home. She felt a flutter of anxiety that, on top of her queasy stomach, erupted into full panic. She sat bolt upright and swallowed down hard several times as she fought with her rebellious stomach. Her mouth filled with salty, watery saliva and she knew the battle was lost.
“Oh God,” she said as she got out of bed, then saw the bucket. She had just enough time to get her hair out of the way.
Afterwards she kneeled at the side of the bed and waited to see if her stomach was any happier. ‘Where the hell am I? What happened? How did I get here? And where is here?’ Her thoughts tore about her mind leaving, painful ripples in their wake. Despite her agitation, she sat still for a moment longer, closed her eyes and again listened.
Nothing, just some faint traffic noise. When she opened her eyes, she found it came from a window. Judging from the light, it was very early morning. A bedside clock told her it was just after five. She also saw that she was alone.
Alone in a double bed with boy sheets; dark macho blue colour with a heavy male scent. Probably fur balls of man-hair at the bottom of the bed. Yuck. She didn’t want to think about that. It was then she saw what she was wearing and remembered meeting up with Zeke at that nightclub. It had been his idea to go there. It wasn’t somewhere she would normally want to be seen, but he had been so insistent.
“But how did I get here?” she repeated, hoping it wouldn’t become her new mantra. She saw a box of tissues by the bed and grabbed a few to wipe her mouth. These disgusting boys always have a box of tissues by their bed. She knew Zeke did.
“This isn’t his place,” she thought out aloud. She was having trouble concentrating. She hoped that saying things out aloud might help her work it out.
It was then she realized that she might have been taken advantage of and examined herself closely. She could feel nothing wrong, no residue, no pain, but that was not to say she was satisfied that nothing had happened. Something had to have happened. She just wished she could remember more.
She then looked around for clues as to where she was. A quick look out the window told her she was several floors up. No escape there.
Posters of sports stars adorned the cupboard doors. Soccer players mostly. People and teams she didn’t know. Some weights in the corner. There was a desk with a notice board above it. On the desk were two flat-screens. Why would someone need two televisions? Then she saw the larger one was for a gaming console and the other belonged to a computer under the desk.
Angela got out of bed, and immediately the room tilted. She remembered to a
void the pool of vomit, which she noted had partly gone into a bucket that had been put there earlier. A chill gripped her as the thought that whoever had brought her here had done it often enough to know that she’d be needing the bucket.
Her head started to spin again, so she steadied herself by leaning on the desk. When her head felt better, she examined the noticeboard. There were various to-do notes as well as a calendar with various appointments scribbled in. Photos of what seemed to be family members due to the diversity of ages. She wondered which one had brought her here, looking at the various smiling male faces.
She opened the doors of the built-in cupboards. Only men’s clothing, mostly sports wear and size eleven shoes. A full length mirror hung inside one of the doors.
She examined her reflection critically and decided that she looked like some sleazy slag who’s done the whole football team. Zeke had liked her to dress ‘nicely,’ but look where it had gotten her.
The wretched and embarrassing thought made her heart sink. She grabbed the small gold crucifix that was hanging around her neck and prayed. “Dear God, I have been so stupid. What was I thinking?” Her eyes began to fill with tears. She sank to her knees and prayed. “Dear God, please get me home safely. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please.” She then collapsed in the open cupboard and softly cried.
It was a long while later that she picked herself up. She hunted around for her shoes and found them at the foot of the other side of the bed. She was mildly surprised to find her money was still in there. She looked for her jacket, but couldn’t find it, or more importantly, her phone.
‘Damn,’ she thought, ‘it would have been handy to be able to call for help about now.’
With her shoes in one hand, she briefly made a token effort to straighten out her hair and her clothes. Then, with an air of resignation she walked out of the bedroom.
The big flat-screen television was the first thing she saw, and then the bags of grocery shopping lying unpacked in the kitchen caught her attention. This guy must eat a lot, she thought as there were half a dozen full bags not put away. It was then that the slumbering sounds of snoring led her eyes a body asleep on the lounge. She saw the door beyond and she knew that she could probably sneak out undetected, but a flash of anger and a conviction that God was protecting her made her change her mind. ‘Picked up some groceries,’ she thought ‘and then picked up me.’ She seethed, but a seed of curiosity had germinated.
She stormed over to the sleeping snorer and seeing a foot sticking out, pinched it hard. He awoke with a satisfying jolt.
“Hey jerk! Who the hell do you think you are?” she fully vented her feelings.
“Wha..?” The guy was still groggy from being yanked from his sleep. He shielded himself with his arms while he tried to shake off his sleep.
“You can’t take advantage of a girl like that. You’re lucky I didn’t kill you in your sleep.” Her headache threatened to split her brain apart and didn’t improve her mood.
“Hey, no! That’s not what happened.”
“You tell me what happened then. How did I get here?”
“You were drugged, but not by me,” he protested.
“Yeah, sure,” Her head was pounding. “But now I’m here!”
“Yeah, but I work security at the club you were at last night. I saved you, so nothing, you know, ‘bad’ would happen to you,” he said trying to placate her, then added, “Did it? I mean, you can tell, can’t you?”
“Yes,” she said immediately; then she realized that by saying that, she was telling this stranger that she was not a virgin and that she knew what it felt like to have just had sex, so she then immediately felt hugely embarrassed and ashamed. It didn’t help that he was rather cute and good looking. His blue eyes were partially hidden under his dark bed-hair, giving him an intense, piercing handsomeness; that and the way his body fills his t-shirt. Plus he does seem very nice and genuine. But that only made her shame feel worse. He probably thinks this happens to me all the time and that I’m some sort of expert in what it feels like to be taken advantage of.
“No, not really,” she confessed. “Not for sure. I don’t know. That’s the problem, you see. I don’t know. I just don’t know what happened to me.”
She started crying again. She couldn’t help it. Fresh tears flowed down the same rivulets of mascara that had already dried on her face. She sat heavily on the armrest of the lounge, leaning forward. Tears ran down along her delicate nose and fell onto her bangle-covered wrists and then onto the carpet.
Angela could see that the guy was paralysed with indecision. He looked like he wanted to comfort her in some way, maybe he wanted to just give her a big hug or something, but even he must know that wouldn’t be the right thing to do now. Instead he dashed to get some tissues, which she accepted readily.
He held the box for her as she took more to blow her nose and recompose herself.
“Look, there’s no harm done,” he started to say as he put his hand on her back to comfort her.
“Get the hell away from me,” she screeched, knocking his arm away.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” he said as he stepped away.
“You had no right to bring me here against my will,” she stormed.
“Lady, last night you had no free will. Someone had drugged you and you would have gone wherever they wanted. I brought you here ‘cause I knew you’d be safe. I was just trying to help.”
“You can help by calling me a cab.” Her tone softened slightly.
“Sure.” He dialled the cab company and was put on hold.
“Where’s my phone and my driver’s licence?”
“Don’t have them.” He gave her an apologetic shrug. “Your phone might be back at the club, but we couldn’t find any I.D. I was going to ask you how you got into the club without I.D.?”
“I had it then…” Her face screwed up in concentration. “But I don’t remember much after that.” She felt tears welling up again.
“You need anything?” he asked. “The bathroom’s right through there,” he pointed, and looking around the kitchen and seeing all the bags of groceries, he added, “and it seems we have lots of peanut butter, baked beans and bottled water for breakfast.”
A bedroom door opened and thin, pale, ginger-haired young man walked out with a broad grin on his face.
“Can’t get much sleep with all the shouting going on, so I thought I’d get up and see what’s happening.” Then turning to Angela, he said, “Hi, I’m Jarred.”
“My little brother,” the security guy said. “He helped carry you up.”
Jarred’s slight frame and plain looks contrasted sharply with his more handsome, dark-haired brother who was bigger in physique as well as age. “And I’m John,” he added.
Angela appraised him coolly before announcing that she had to use the bathroom.
*
“Man, what a wildcat,” Jarred said in a whisper.
“Yeah, tell me about it. I think she’s getting over it all though. Should be okay,” John said hopefully. He then turned his attention to the phone as he had come off hold and gave his address to the cab company.
“Jarred, what’s with all the groceries? Did you get some more?” John asked.
“Yeah, stocking up, man. With the alien thing, you never know how things might go. Doesn’t hurt to have a bit in reserve.”
“Do you really think this will see us through?”
“Nah, but it’s better than nothing. I ran out of cash; otherwise I’d have gotten even more. We should go back today and get some more supplies.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get stuff that doesn’t go off. I mean, we’d eat it all eventually if this alien thing turns out to be a non-event.”
“Non-event! What are you thinking? This is the biggest thing ever. Contact with an alien intelligence? That’s huge!” Jarred raved. “The possibility that we all might die only makes it massively more intense.”
“Yeah
, okay, so you need some more money?”
“Yeah, but could you come with me? You should have seen the crowds the way they were grabbing and pushing and shoving. Surprised no one pulled a gun.”
John found his coat and rummaged through his pockets for his wallet. He pulled out the packet of Rohypnol pills just as Angela returned from the bathroom. He had forgotten that he had taken them from Zeke and was momentarily flustered when she asked him about them.
“Um, these are the pills I took from the guys that we, err, suspected drugged you,” he said trying to be legally accurate.
Angela tried to grab the bag of pills from John, but he instinctively pulled away. “Give them to me,” she demanded, her frustration giving way to anger.
“I can’t. They’re evidence,” he said, putting them back in his jacket.
“Really? You know what I think?” she said, her face flushed with a boiling rage, her voice rising in volume and intensity. “I think you have the pills because you saw the whole thing and took the pills from whoever drugged me and then took advantage of the situation brought me here to share! You…” she picked up a textbook from a pile on the end of a bench and screamed as she hurled it in John’s direction. Her aim was badly off, and Jarred had to make a flying leap to stop it hitting the big, flat-screen television. She shrieked in frustration and rushed towards the door.
“No, you’re wrong!” yelled John, hurrying after her as she fled out the door. “If I was the bad guy, why would I bring you here and why would I be letting you get away?” He then realized that by chasing after her, he was actually contradicting his own words. He growled a curse as he had to stop at the door and watch her disappearing down the corridor.
“There should be a cab out the front soon,” he yelled as she turned the corner and went down the stairwell. Then is a more normal voice that probably only Jarred would hear, he added, “Pleasure to have met you, have a nice day.”
Then quietly to himself, “Come again soon.”
Chapter 9
