by Mark Edwards
Laura was a farmer’s daughter from the Deep South. ‘We were plagued by crop circles. One would appear practically every week. And the cows . . . mutilated, poor things. My daddy went crazy; it damn near killed him. But I knew the reason. I’d seen the ships.’
Merlin ran a bookstore in San Francisco. ‘I was driving across the Golden Gate Bridge at night and I saw these lights above me. I stopped my car and got out. There were flashes of silver in the sky, like, y’know, quicksilver. All the other drivers were tooting their horns. I think they thought I was going to jump. When I got home and told my partner he told me I must have imagined it. I left him.’
They must have told these stories so many times, but they weren’t bored with repeating themselves. This was the core of their existence. It drove them, influenced everything they did. Most of them had given up everything, signed over their property and possessions to the group. Only those with children had not done this, like Joan, who was sixty-two, whose sons wrote to her every week, begging her to leave this crazy life and return to normality.
‘Once they tried to take me home by force,’ she said.
‘I remember,’ nodded Jake.
‘They came in their van and tried to snatch me. Said they were going to take me back home, where I belonged. I had to tell them this is where I belong. This is my family now. Why would I want to return to that world of drugs and violence and dirt and hatred? Jake and some of the others had to scare them off and tell them to never come back.’
Her eyes were wide, and burned like the eyes of a zealot. But it was the fire of passion. What did I have to be passionate about in my life? I drifted along like a raft on a placid lake, never really going anywhere. I’d had a job that bored me, and I didn’t even have that any more. I earned money and used it to pay bills and buy clothes, books, DVDs, furniture. I acquired stuff. I watched TV. I got drunk and had hangovers. I worried about my health. I phoned my parents when I had to. I slept. I looked forward to weekends so I could lie in bed late.
That was my life.
And then when Marie had come along she changed things. She gave my life, and heart, a new beat. She made me happy to get out of bed in the morning, to come home at night. She gave me ambition. I spent money on presents for her. We drank together to have a good time; blurred memories. We made love and slept in each other’s arms. I looked forward to weekends so I could spend more time with her.
She was my passion; she was what I believed in. And again I thought that if she didn’t come back, if I didn’t find her, I would have nothing.
I looked around me at the radiant faces. Did it matter if they were deluded, if one day they would be disappointed? These people had something to believe in, a dream to follow, a creed to defend. All I had was my need . . . my search.
‘Have you ever heard of someone called Candy?’ I asked Denny and Laura quietly, using Marie’s alias.
‘It sounds familiar.’
‘She was on some alien porn sites,’ I said.
He looked embarrassed. ‘Well, no, I wouldn’t know her then . . .’
‘We’re not into that kind of thing,’ said Laura, giving me a hostile look.
I held my hands up. ‘Well, neither am I. She was just, um, a girl I knew.’ Their reaction had been one of horror. But there was also something defensive about it, like it was something they didn’t want to talk about. All of a sudden, I wanted to get away from them. From the whole group.
I turned to Zara and fabricated a yawn.
‘Do you want me to show you to your room?’ she said, and I nodded.
I followed her up and along the corridor. She was carrying a half-full bottle of wine. We stopped outside the door of her bedroom, which was just along from mine. When I stopped walking I realised how drunk I was.
‘Do you want to come in and help me finish this off?’ she said, holding up the bottle.
‘Yes,’ tumbled from my mouth before I could stop myself.
She had a room to herself. I sat beside her on the bed. She drank straight from the bottle and then passed it to me. Before I had a chance to put it to my lips she leaned over and kissed me.
The disappointment of not finding Marie had knocked me off-balance, and here I was, crying out, desperate for love. I needed comfort, warmth, the basic healing power of another body.
Zara wrapped her slender arms around me. I wanted her, and it would be so easy, would feel so good, to give in, to undress her and slip beneath the sheets with her, to feel the warmth of another body against mine . . .
‘No, I can’t.’
She pulled back as I stood up, moving across the room. I was aroused; my body wanted to do this, but I couldn’t.
‘I’m sorry, it’s—’
‘Hey, don’t worry,’ she said rapidly. ‘Just please don’t say “It’s not you, it’s me” or I’ll kill you.’
‘I really want to,’ I said. ‘But there’s somebody—’
She raised a hand. ‘OK. I think you’d better go.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘If you say that one more time, Richard.’
I went back to my room and grabbed my phone from my bag. The phone was usually attached to me all the time, in case Marie tried to contact me, but since meeting Zara I’d been keeping it hidden and checking it sporadically, worried that my urge to check it every other minute might make people suspicious.
As I left my room, a group of people came up the stairs. I concealed the phone behind my back and trotted down the stairs. I managed to make it out the front door without bumping into anyone else. I walked down onto the beach and sat on a rock a good distance from the Embassy. I looked up at the spire – the window was lit and I thought I could see a figure moving around. Behind the spire the sky was starless, though a segment of moon appeared through the clouds. Behind me I could hear the sea as it kissed the shore.
I turned the phone on and waited for it to connect to a network. It immediately chimed to let me know I had a text from Simon asking me to call him. It was eleven p.m. here so would be seven a.m. in the UK. I called him. The phone rang a dozen times before he picked up.
‘Richard?’
‘Sorry, did I wake you up?’
He grunted. ‘Have you found her?’
There was a slight time delay which made the conversation feel stilted.
‘No. She’s not here.’
‘Oh shit. Sorry, mate. There’s no news at this end either.’
‘How are you feeling?’ I asked.
‘How do I feel? I feel like someone owes me a huge fucking favour.’
‘I know, I know. I feel terrible.’
‘But,’ he coughed, ‘I suppose you have let me stay at yours. And Sue doesn’t appear to hate me so much now she’s seen me with my head kicked in. We’re having crisis talks. I’m staying at yours till she agrees to take me back.’
I told him I was going to stay here for a short while and see what else I could find out. I had no other leads.
‘Did you tell the police about Gary Kennedy?’ I asked.
‘Susan told them what you told her. But I haven’t heard anything since.’
I thought I heard someone on the beach.
‘I’d better go,’ I said. ‘I’ll call you if anything happens. Take care, all right? Don’t forget to feed Calico.’
‘That bloody cat . . .’ he started, but I hung up.
I looked up the beach but couldn’t see anyone. My skin prickled. I was sure I was being watched. But all I could see were the rocks and sand; all I could hear was the rhythmic lapping of the waves. I headed back to the house.
19
Zara shook me awake. I lifted my head from the pillow and moaned. It felt like there was a cannonball attached to my neck.
‘Hey, sleepyhead,’ she said. ‘I made you coffee.’
She set it down on the bedside table and perched on the edge of the bed. She smelled of soap and looked pretty and fresh in the morning light. Again, I was struck by how much she looked like Mari
e. The difference was that Zara was here, next to me. Last night she had tried to kiss me and I had rejected her. Part of me wanted to pull back the quilt, invite her into my bed. But I couldn’t.
A frown darkened Zara’s features. ‘I heard that,’ she said softly.
‘What?’
‘That thought. It was loud and clear.’ She turned away sadly. ‘There’s somebody else. You should have told me, Richard. I hate . . . awkwardness.’
Surely she couldn’t really read minds? I prayed not.
I sat up. ‘Zara . . .’
Her eyes shone with moisture. ‘You don’t need to say anything. I get it. Men are always in love with somebody else. Who is she?’
I put my head in my hands. How much wine had I drunk the night before? My tongue felt like I could use it to sand wood.
I didn’t see any harm in telling her now. Maybe she would have some information.
‘Her name’s Marie.’
She furrowed her brow. ‘Isn’t that—?’
‘I kind of . . . lied about that. Marie isn’t really an alien. She’s a woman. A flesh and blood woman. One who walked out on me, vanished into thin air. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest about that . . . I didn’t want people to think I only came here looking for her.’
‘But you thought she might be here?’
I nodded. ‘Marie is really into the whole alien thing.’
Zara tipped her head.
‘As well,’ I added hastily. ‘We, er, talked about coming here together. I thought maybe she’d beaten me to it. That’s why I ran into the house looking for her. I was a little over-excited.’
The secret of lying convincingly, I had discovered, was to make yourself believe what you were saying at the moment you were saying it.
Zara scrutinised me, apparently trying to work out if everything I was saying was bullshit. But what she said next surprised me.
‘This girl broke your heart.’
I sighed.
‘Are your motives pure, Richard?’
I blinked at her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, your reasons for wanting to join the Chorus. Are you doing it for Marie? Or because you are running away from your heartbreak? You need to make a decision now – do you really want to come with us, or do you want to stay behind and try to fix the love that’s broken?’
I wanted to fix what was broken. I said, ‘I want to come with you.’
She rubbed her eyes. ‘You’re sure? Because your reasons need to be true and pure.’
‘Yes, yes . . . This is what I’ve always wanted. To join the Chorus. It’s my destiny.’
Last night, when I went to bed, I had decided I would stay here for forty-eight hours, talk to everyone, see if anyone knew anything about Marie or any of the other missing Brits. Then I would do my own vanishing act. Until then, though I hated deceiving kind, trusting Zara, she and the others had to continue to believe I was a genuine believer.
I held my breath, waiting to see if Zara trusted me, trying to think about random nonsense – just in case she actually could read minds.
Zara looked right into my eyes, and I was sure she was going to tell me to get out.
‘I believe you,’ she said. ‘Now, you’d better get up and get dressed. It’s Trance Time.’
I showered and put on my white underwear, white jeans and white shirt. Zara led me downstairs.
All of the other Loved Ones were in the open room – I counted just over thirty. They sat cross-legged on cushions, in rows of six or seven, facing the window. Their eyes were closed and they were silent and still.
At the front of the congregation, sitting beneath the window, across which the curtains were drawn, sat one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. She had crow-black hair cut in a bob that fell like silk drapes to her shoulders. Her face was the image of tranquillity: her heavy eyelids were closed; her skin was smooth and tanned and free of any blemishes. She wore white like everyone else, and her slim, lightly tanned arms lay on her crossed legs. She opened her eyes – the pupils were the colour of rich coffee – and looked over at Zara and me. She nodded and, after Zara and I had sat down beside Jake and Joan, she said, ‘Let the Trance take hold.’
I could see Rick across the room. He had one eye open and he peered around surreptitiously. He saw me, also with one eye open, and we were both forced to suppress a laugh. All of the others had closed their eyes now and had placed their hands on the people beside or in front of them, palms resting on shoulders, some holding hands, so everyone in the room was connected. The only sound was that of our communal breathing. A thin stream of light pushed through the gap in the curtains; dust swirled in the shine. Not wanting to be caught out, I closed my eyes too.
Lisa began to speak in a deep, husky drawl: ‘I hear the first bars of the symphony. I hear the beating of drums. I hear chords swell and boom. I hear the music of the stars. I hear the vox celeste.
‘The love is building, rising, travelling like light between suns and planets. The love is directed at us. We absorb the love, soak it into our skins. It gives us strength. The love comes closer, the distance diminishes every day. The love is in the song, in the music, in the voice. They want to show us the way to the stars. They have so much to teach us.’ She let out a long, whispered sigh. ‘Oh, the love . . . it’s here in this room, it’s here for us. Can you feel it?’
All around me people began to sigh like Lisa had done. I joined in. Although I felt foolish, I couldn’t help but be affected by the vibes around me. Sex hung in the air like clouds of steam in a sauna. Beside me, Jake breathed heavily; Joan let out little gasps of pleasure; Zara groaned as I imagined she would in bed. Everyone in the room was in a high state of arousal. Surely this wasn’t going to turn into an orgy? It was only nine in the morning.
Lisa continued to speak. I badly wanted to look at her but forced myself to keep my eyes shut.
The excitement in her voice grew. ‘The music moves up an octave. Strings and horns and bass . . . Oh, listen! Hear the words! Listen to them say they love us. Listen to them tell us we’re special, we’re chosen. We can see the truth. We do not doubt, for we can hear the voice. Oh, the voice, the love, the love . . .’
Marie would have loved this. I recalled the night she had stared at the stars from our bedroom window and told me about the voice, about how only she and Andrew could hear it.
The moaning and sighing grew louder. I braced myself. But nobody made a move towards anyone else. They were locked inside their minds, in a trance. What were they picturing? Images like those I had seen on the internet? Or was I the only one here thinking about sex? Apart from Rick I was the only one in the room who didn’t believe.
‘Listen! Listen!’ Lisa was saying, and the sighing swelled and people began to pant and emit little squeaks and low groans that grew louder and louder until Lisa made a sound like she was climaxing and everyone else made the sound too, an orchestra of orgasms, and then there was silence.
Seconds passed.
I opened my eyes. The people around me were damp with sweat, a beatific expression on each of their faces. Gradually, they too opened their eyes and exchanged looks, like lovers after great sex. They smiled, touched each other tenderly, their eyes moist, skin glistening with perspiration.
I glanced at my watch. An hour had gone by since I’d entered the room. The gathered Loved Ones began to rise to their feet and were about to file out when Lisa said, ‘Please wait. I want to speak to all of you.’
All eyes focused on her, eyes full of love and devotion. These people, it struck me, would do anything for her.
‘We have two new members with us today,’ she said. ‘Richard and Rick. They will be joining us on our journey. I want you to make them both feel welcome.’
I heard many voices say, ‘Welcome,’ and a number of hands touched my back and shoulders, stroking and patting. I nodded at Lisa. Across the room, Rick received similar treatment. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt.
‘Over the last few
days,’ Lisa announced, ‘I’ve been communicating intensively with the Chorus. It’s been exhausting—’ A murmur of sympathy ‘—but so invigorating.’ She beamed at us and everyone beamed back.
‘I’ve spoken to our other embassies, who have also been communicating on the same level. We’re each receiving the same message.’ She paused dramatically. ‘The message is that contact is imminent.’
All around me the Loved Ones whooped and clapped, embracing one another, their faces sparkling with excitement.
Lisa went on. ‘There’s been unprecedented UFO activity all over the country, all over the world. Sightings are coming in all the time.’ Her tone darkened. ‘Still, the world’s governments choose to pretend they don’t know what is going on. They continue to propagate lies, to cloud the minds of our fellow citizens.’ The crowd hissed and gasped like kids at a pantomime.
‘However, this doesn’t mean they are not watching us. We must be extra-vigilant. We cannot let anyone try to stop us now.’ She paused dramatically. ‘It is time to break contact with the outside world.’
She waited for the murmurs to die down.
‘I don’t want anyone to stray beyond the beach from tonight on. You have eight hours to call and say goodbye to relatives and friends, if that is what you wish to do. But do not make it explicit that you are saying goodbye. That might make them try to stop us. Anyone who tries that will be dealt with in the harshest way possible. I want you all to stop using your social media accounts. Do not put anything on them that gives any hint of what is happening. Anyone who does not comply with my request will not be included when we make contact. You will be cast out. Is that understood?’
There were nods and grunts of affirmation. The words cast out had sent a shiver of fear through the room.
‘So, if you choose to contact outsiders today, keep it casual. Don’t say goodbye. And I want you all in a state of alert now. Contact could be made at any time. It could come with very little warning. I want you to stay pure. No drugs, no alcohol. Again, you have eight hours. Sex is allowed, but don’t exhaust yourselves. If you can abstain, then that would be better. Remember, there will be greater pleasures to discover after contact is made.’
