by Iris Astres
Home.
Chapter Three
Jane’s car was just another resurrected beater like the rest of them, small temptation for whatever thieves were left after the exodus. If she went to all the trouble of navigating it into the yard behind the house, it was to keep it out of sight of anyone who might know Rick. Once she’d managed that, she killed the engine, pulled the brake, and sat.
She’d done the right thing rescuing that man. It was the only thing she could do. But now what? What was she going to do all alone here with a big, slightly broken, alien prostitute?
She made herself get out and pop the trunk. The man was curled up on his side, breathing but not conscious. That might be what was best for him, but it was bad for her. Jane tugged at his deadweight and couldn’t even budge him. Shit. She’d never been a weakling, but this man was not only a head taller than she was, he was heavy, dense with muscle, or maybe alien molecules were just thicker. She yanked at the back of his torn shirt with one foot braced against the bumper until she had his torso upright, seated with his back against the place where the trunk latched shut. From there she somehow managed to hoist him up until his butt cleared the ledge. At which point Jane let gravity take over.
They landed in a heap on the dead grass. He seemed to come back to his senses slightly. Jane scooted out from underneath him, cradling his head to keep it from connecting too hard with the ground. When she’d worked herself clear, she stood up, brushing at her jeans and trying to decide the quickest way to get him in the tiny house.
She should hurry. As deserted as this little patch of nowhere was, a woman pulling an unconscious man across the lawn was the kind of thing that drew attention. She sat back down beside him, leaning close enough to whisper in his ear.
“I need you to get up and get into the house yourself. Can you do that?”
He didn’t answer her.
She cast a weary glance at the three steps that led up to the porch. “I’ll get the door,” she said. “Try to pull yourself together. I’ll be back.”
A sudden creep of paranoia made her pause to look around. Like most of the small towns still standing in the Outlands, everyone left on this street was a retiree—too old and stubborn to move elsewhere. The farmhands working in the onion fields had modern trailers and an actual community with families and kids to keep them where they were. Her cover as another teacher sent by Opting In would work just fine. If she were alone. But anyone who saw her with a Bod would have too many questions not to ask around. And that would be disaster for them both.
The houses on either side of hers were boarded up, but did that mean there wasn’t anyone inside? It would only take one drugged-out kid, one drifter picking through abandoned houses, and she and her new friend were done for. Jane felt watched, hounded, as she made her way to her front door.
She pulled the screen door back and worked the key into its hole, pulling on the knob a little so the sticky latch released. The door pushed open. She clicked the lights on, tossed her purse on the counter, and turned sharply around.
Her own cry cracked like gunshot into the thin desert air. She slapped a hand against her heart and tried to breathe.
The man was standing right behind her. Tall and straight despite his wounds. How strong must he be?
“Come in.” She took his hand and pulled him past her, kicking at the door. Momentum got them both into her bedroom. She was relieved at how agreeably he let himself be guided to the bed.
“You’re all right,” she said, although it wasn’t true. Half his face was badly swollen and raw skin was visible beneath the tatters in his clothes. He seemed at peace and unconcerned, but that could just be shock. Could he die from that? She didn’t know. “Let’s take some of this off and get you into bed.”
She knelt and fumbled with the catches of his half boots, slipping the soft leather over one heel, then the other, before setting them aside. Mechanically, he worked the buttons of his tunic open. The torn black fabric slid over his shoulders, and she took it from him, wondering idly if it could be salvaged. They both glanced at his trousers. He lay back without making any move to take them off. Jane was glad of that. Enough jarring reality for now.
He looked a little like a corpse on a mortician’s slab the way his arms lay stiffly at his sides. The lack of movement worried her, but it was better than to see him doubled up in pain. She felt his forehead, which was cool and dry. Maybe he would be okay. Only the swelling in his eye looked truly painful. Jane cupped it with her hand. “I’m sorry.” And she was. But he’d get better. Once she cleaned him up and tended to his wounds, he’d be okay.
Jane started off the bed. His arm shot out and neatly grabbed her wrist.
“Who are you?”
“Jane.” She said the name like he should know it. As if they’d been together all their lives. But of course he wouldn’t know. Couldn’t know who she was or where they were or why.
“Jane,” he said in a low voice, “have I put you in danger?”
“No.” A gentle pull against her wrist told her he wanted better than that quick dismissal.
“We’re okay as long as we stay out of sight.” The second time she said it, he accepted it and let go of her wrist. “Let me get something to dress those wounds.” Jane stroked his hand against the nubby cotton bedspread before getting up and moving back into the kitchen.
Midafternoon sun poured through the window. While she filled a pot with warm tap water, she let her gaze roam over the small yard. Beyond the drying patch of grass, a bougainvillea spread over the back fence, and its deep red flowers fanned out beautifully against the rocks and sky. She was free now. That was worth remembering.
Jane turned the tap off, went into the pantry, and rummaged till she found the bag that held her medicine. The small cosmetics case was full of remedies for minor ailments—head and stomach, cold and flu. There wasn’t much for someone who’d been beaten bloody by a bunch of morons from Earth First, but it would have to do for now. She fished out her ACE bandage, medicated ointment, and some ibuprofen, setting them down on a small, round platter. She went to the freezer and dumped the contents of her plastic ice trays into two different dish towels, pulling out a third just for good measure.
When she got back to the doorway, Jane hesitated. Maybe he was sleeping. She crept closer, lowered herself gently beside him on the bed. He drew a long, deep breath and turned his face toward her.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, thank you.” he replied. Jane rolled her eyes at her own stupid question.
There was a wooden chair in the far corner of the room. She pulled it to the bed and sat. The washcloth floated in the pan of water, so she picked it up and wrung it out. “I’m going to clean away some of the blood and dirt. If it stings, I’m sorry.” Carefully, she wiped the grit and blood away, murmuring soft apologies as she went. “Tell me if I’m hurting you.”
“Hurt me,” he invited.
Jane stopped. The movement made some water splash out of the pan onto the floor.
“Backusians don’t mind pain.” He tried to smile. Failed. A purplish line of dried blood down the center of his lower lip made Jane wince indignantly on his behalf. A split lip was so painful. Why had they beaten him that way? What was the point of it? She fumbled on the tray for medicated ointment and squeezed a little out onto her finger. With great care she spread the balm over the contours of his mouth.
It was a good mouth—wide and firm. A handsome face beneath the damage. But then, she’d heard all Bods were handsome, which was something that would come in handy if your livelihood was sex.
As she examined his exposed chest for more wounds, Jane found herself absorbed by all the muscles she could see around his stomach. His physique was truly beautiful. And probably useful too. Those muscles would have kept his vital organs from getting too badly hurt. At least that’s what she told herself.
“Would you like to touch?”
“What?” Her gaze lifted to his.
&nbs
p; “You can touch me if you like.”
“Sorry.” Jane rolled her eyes with mild self-reproach. “I was staring, right? Don’t take offense. It’s just that I’m a very zoney person. I have the kind of brain that likes to wander off.”
She grabbed a dish towel full of ice and very gently pressed it over his swollen eye, watching him for signs of pain. “The cold will ease the swelling,” she explained. “Use it as often as you can, but only for short periods. All right?”
Once in place, the ice pack hid the damaged portion of his face. The untouched half was shockingly handsome, a perfect frame of cheek and jaw for sooty eyes and curving mouth. Maybe even she would pay to look at him for a few hours.
Smiling slightly at the thought of someone like her in a brothel, she capped the ointment and snapped the top off the ibuprofen, shaking three pills into her hand.
“Here.” She held them out, then reached beside him for the extra pillow. “Let me help you sit up for a second.”
Jane’s breasts were always bumping into things. His chest was no exception. But did he arch a little higher, or did she just imagine that he did? She pulled away. Held out the water glass and pills.
He cast an unenthusiastic glance into her hand.
“You don’t like pills?”
“Not when I need to stay alert.”
“Alert?” She swept her eyes around the empty room. “I wouldn’t bother with alert. Besides a lot of nothing, there’s just me, and I’m not all that entertaining.”
That made the smile reappear, a fraction broader now that she’d spread balm over his lips. “Are you a boring girl?”
“Completely,” Jane said with no hesitation.
He studied her with that one sooty eye and did not look even a little bored. “So that would make you dull and zoney. What else should I know about you?”
“What else?” Jane thought about what she could say to that. She was serious, cautious, plodding. Predictable in all the ways bleeding hearts tended to be. She was also an amazing fuckup, which was embarrassing considering how much effort she put into doing the right thing. Hopefully he wouldn’t find that out too soon. She pushed the pills a little closer.
“With due respect to your assurances,” he said, “I’d like to be awake if any of those men return.”
“Ah.” She handed him the water. “Like I said, there’s no way they can find us, but these drugs won’t knock you out. They’ll just help bring the swelling down.” She paused, curling her fingers back around the pills. “At least I think that’s true. But you’re not human, are you?”
“Humanoid.”
“Right.” That ugly word held all the comfort of a loaded gun.
“Our species are remarkably compatible.”
Jane sat back, eyebrows raised. That was a pickup line. A pretty good one too. His delivery was so sinful even she could feel a tingling effect. Lips pressed together in a sort of matronly discouragement, she watched him take the pills from her and swallow them.
“What’s your name?”
“It’s Raj.” He handed back the glass.
“Rodge?” It couldn’t be.
“No, Raj. The final sound is soft and long like the last sound of pleasure. Raj. You see?”
“I see,” she said and looked into the empty glass. “You were thirsty. I should have thought.”
“You did think. You are thinking.”
“Well, yes,” she allowed. “But not that well. You could have used some water in the barn. Or when I slammed you in that trunk.”
“A time to drink, a time to flee.” He wriggled back down on the bed. His inky hair had come loose from the tie he used to hold it off his face. She pulled the band of leather free and set it on the table by the bed. This time, when she leaned over to remove the extra pillow, Jane arched her back to keep her big tits to herself.
“Tell me more about your thinking.”
“My what?” She rose abruptly, caught him staring at her chest.
“How do you know those men won’t come and find you here?”
“How could they?” That answer didn’t satisfy him, but Jane really didn’t know what she should say. Five years of Rick’s indifference had left her a little rusty when it came to justifying her decisions. She forced herself to take him through it. Their safety was connected now. He had a right. “If anybody’s even looking, they’ll go north,” she said. “That’s the genius of my little plan. Everything worth running to is north. All the cities. All the businesses. Not to mention better weather, better people, better opportunities. Where we are now was all but deserted after the second civil war. Nothing left but onion fields and snakes. No one in their right mind would ever come here if they had a choice. And I’m known to be dull but not particularly stupid.” Jane thought those reasons over. Nodded confirmation. “Not to mention the small fact that seventeen miles south of where you start is no one’s idea of a sprint for freedom. They’ll never guess I’m down here in a million years. ”
“And what about this house?”
“Oh.” She took a look around her. “I got this from the do-gooders.” She glanced to see what Raj would make of that. Do-gooder was Rick’s word. And since the real name of her volunteer group—Opting In—would have annoyed her husband, Jane had started using it as well.
“This place is shared by a group of schoolteachers who go from place to place to teach the kids of migrant workers how to read. I got the key from a woman I work with. My husband doesn’t know that she exists.”
“Your husband?”
“Ex-husband, I suppose. I was leaving him today. Don’t worry,” she said, patting his bare chest. “I decided long before I found you tied up out in the garage.”
“I take it that you don’t approve of anti-alien violence?”
“I don’t,” said Jane with a no-nonsense headshake.
“But that’s not why you left your husband?”
“It is actually.” Wait. Was it? Jane didn’t want to hash her reasons out again. “Let’s just say his other qualities weren’t enough to get me past the murders.”
“Murders?”
“One murder,” she corrected. “One and half if we count you.”
“That must have been Fino.” The man’s gaze drifted to the ceiling. “Is that how Fino died? He was so young.”
Jane had nothing to say to that. She lifted up the ice pack. Blotted up the melted water with the other towel, surveyed the effects, and gently set it down again. Something in the man made her feel fidgety. Something about that one perfect eye, the beating pulse, the faint curve to his lips. Some stillness in him was unnerving. The growing shadows left a startling impression of his beauty. All that perfection seemed made up. Not real.
“So you’re certain you’ve left no way for him to find this house?”
“Again?” Jane sighed discouragement for all these worries. “On the off, off chance Rick bothers digging through his brain and actually comes up with the name Opting In, which isn’t likely, by the way, since he never gave two shits about my volunteering, what can he do? Call the agency? And ask them what? No question he could ask would get him anywhere near the woman who gave me these keys.” Jane shook her head, thinking of Lois in her tidy little trailer. “If he does anything, I’m telling you he’ll drive up north and poke around the hotels on the interstate.”
“If?”
The thought of Rick’s indifference seemed to shock him, which was quaint.
“My husband won’t be thrilled I walked out on him. He’ll be annoyed at the disruption to his life. A little hurt. But from there to putting in the effort to come find me…” Jane pulled her mouth downward as she shook her head.
Unless he’s mad about the money. That thought made her turn back to the tray, hoping to hide the worry from her guest. The twenty thousand she’d taken had all come from her parents, so she knew she had the right. Even Rick would recognize the truth in that. Eventually.
“Besides fixing old cars, those boys would rather curs
e and drink a bunch of beer than do anything else. I’m not flattering myself that they’ll come looking for me, and you shouldn’t either.”
She gave him a look that said she was ninety-nine percent sure. The look that he returned said he was none too pleased about that one percent.
“Why did you risk your life to save me?”
Jane narrowed her eyes for a moment. With effort, she decided she’d ignore the unfair hint of scolding in the question. “It’s hard to know what’s right and wrong, these days,” she said. “When something’s finally clear, you have to do it.” Her patient nodded, touched her hand.
Jane looked down at his long, straight fingers, smooth and handsome like the rest of him. His wrists, however, were both red and raw. She squeezed a little ointment out and spread it very carefully over the rough, abraded skin. “Of course I had to do something,” she muttered. “No one should be beaten that way. Let alone kidnapped, strung up, and murdered. Even if Bods do half the things they say.”
“What exactly do they say Bods do?”
She straightened, realizing too late that she’d just wandered into unpleasant terrain. He probably knew what people said about his kind, but still.
“They say Backu—how do you say that name?”
“Backusian.”
“Right.” She frowned. “What’s the difference between that and Bod?”
“No difference, I suppose. ‘Bod’ is a nickname, short for ‘Body’ or the ‘Body House.’ It also sounds like ‘bawd.’ Do you know what that word means?”
“Whore,” said Jane.
“That’s right.” His voice had that seductive sound again.
“Anyway,” said Jane, “you came from outer space to start a chain of brothels known as Body Houses for frustrated, lonely women. Or horny women. Or broken women who need mystical sex-healing. Or all of the above, depending on who you ask.”
He said nothing to that, just stared at her with his good eye.
She started working on his other hand. A strong pulse beat against her fingertips. “So you’re here on some sacred mission to make women happy. That alone makes you suspicious to the kind of men who join Earth First. Some of them have started saying you infect your clients with orgasmic insanity. Everyone who leaves the brothel is a time-release sex zombie. And when you’ve fucked enough of them, you’ll have an army made of willing puppets, which you’ll use to kill off men so you can take their place and claim control of planet Earth.”
