Experiment

by Simcoe, Marina

  “I just want to make it easier for you,” he continued in a rush. “No matter what, I won’t see it as cheating on your part. Okay?”

  “I can’t believe it!” With a sob, I shrunk further away from him, feeling both ashamed and disgusted.

  He reached for me. “You know we don’t have a choice—”

  “Isabella, it’s time.” Trevin walked out of the kitchen, his voice firm.

  Breathing hard, I backed away from both of them, moving to the front door.

  “Miss Bruno . . .” Miller came from around Trevin, but I was no longer listening to whatever either of them had to say.

  Twisting around, I dashed for the exit.

  “You go, sis!” Mary cheered from the kitchen just as one of the twins started crying.

  Shoving at the front door with my shoulder, I ran outside, without having any idea where I was going. Panic overtook me, propelling me to sprint as far away from this place as possible, away from the men in suits.

  “Miss Bruno!” The doors of one of the black vehicles in front of our house flew open, and two men in black uniforms leaped out. They cut me off and tackled me to the ground on our front yard.

  “Quickly, in the van with her,” Miller bit out the command, catching up with us.

  “Let me go!” I screamed, fighting against the hands lifting me off the ground. “I don’t want this! I’m not going!”

  The last I saw before they shoved me in and shut the doors were the pale faces of my family standing in the doorway of the house where I grew up.

  My sister, comforting Lily in her arms. My mom, her hand over her mouth, Luca crawling at her feet. The thought of Tony and my dad flashed through my brain. The images of my little brothers who would come home from school that afternoon and find me gone.

  I never got a chance to say a proper goodbye to any of them.

  Chapter 2

  “THE PLANE IS READY, sir.” Carter shoved the phone back in his pocket.

  “Good.” Trevin glanced at his wrist device. “We’re making good time.”

  Handcuffed in the back of the van, I glared at them from behind the few curls that had fallen over my face from my messy bun.

  “As long as there are no more unforeseen delays.” Trevin threw a meaningful glance my way.

  “Fuck you,” I hissed through my teeth. Panic shook me, breeding hot, seething anger.

  With a long-suffering look Trevin heaved an exasperated sigh, as if dealing with a petulant child.

  “Isabella . . .” He moved over to my side, and I slid away from him along the metal bench, as far as the handcuffs locked to the bar on the wall would allow. “I’m not enjoying doing this.”

  “Are you expecting sympathy?” I snapped.

  “Unfortunately, our instructions were not to give you any alcohol or pharmaceuticals,” he cast me a semi-sympathetic look. “I would like to be able to give you something, to help you calm down.”

  “Right,” I huffed, sarcasm thick as mud in my voice. “Because being intoxicated is exactly the same as being calm.”

  Actually, the way my heart pounded against my ribs and every muscle and bone in my body trembled, I would have liked a shot of something. Anything to forget for a brief moment, the horror of my situation.

  “I am, however, allowed to use any restraining device.” His voice sounded firm now, with a clear note of threat. “As long as it doesn’t leave permanent damage. I also have full authority to use force as necessary to get you to your destination.”

  “Really?” I tilted my head, hoping my expression was more mocking than terrified. “So the freaking alien doesn’t mind his bride sporting a shiner at the altar?”

  “You’ll be wearing a veil,” Trevin deadpanned.

  “French lace,” Carter enthusiastically jumped into the conversation. “Italian silk dress. Real pearls. I’ve heard they even have a pair of diamond-encrusted shoes for you. All this info is hitting the media as we speak. Millions have been spent on the outfit and the ceremony in the historical cathedral in Capital City. Lots of work, and all last minute.”

  “Why bother?” I scrunched my face in disgust and confusion that overshadowed my fear for a moment. “What is there to celebrate?”

  “It’s a goodwill gesture from both sides,” Carter replied, seemingly unfazed by my expression. “A step forward in bringing the two races closer. The romantic aspect of a wedding doesn’t hurt public opinion either.”

  “What is this? The eighteenth century?” I glared at him. “For you to try to unite two races through marriage? Do you honestly believe that any normal human being would buy the farce you’re planning?”

  “The farce is a distraction, Isabella—a way to pacify the masses, if you will.” Trevin’s voice remained even, although, I noted his eye twitch. “As of this moment, the world is soaking up the information we are feeding them. People are gawking at the pictures of your dress and church decorations, going through the celebrity guest list, and reading the fake love story between a human and a Kealan that someone at the coalition penned last week.” He leaned back, muttering cynically, “I bet it will be made into a movie one day.”

  I smirked sarcastically. “Too bad any idea of a fairytale romance will be blown to pieces as you drag me down that aisle kicking and screaming.”

  To my surprise and disappointment, my threat didn’t seem to affect Trevin much. The expression on his face was now more tired and worn than angry or concerned.

  “And what good would that do anyone, Isabella? The Kealans are getting you tonight, one way or another.”

  “What if I fight this, like a rabid raccoon, every step of the way?”

  “To what purpose? I was there when the coalition forces tried to fight their invasion nine years ago. The Kealan weapons turned people into dust. Our best fighter pilots were gone in seconds.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “They got what they wanted—the Earth—within hours. What can you do to stop them from getting you now?”

  I sat there for a moment, subdued by his words and the new wave of terror they brought.

  “What will they do to me? Do you think they’ll kill me?” I asked, knowing that no one in this vehicle could give me any guarantee that it wouldn’t happen.

  “They asked for you to be handed in alive,” Carter ventured carefully, as Trevin fell frighteningly silent. “They are going ahead with this wedding, which appears to be a sign of good intentions.”

  None of it sounded convincing at the least.

  Trevin leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Fuck them all,” he gritted through his teeth.

  DURING THE DRIVE AND then a flight in a private jet, my anger simmered down under the overwhelming fear of the unknown. Dread and anxiety wracked me. When the plane landed in Capital City and they furtively transported me in a limo to a luxury hotel, I felt as if a tight ball of nerves bounced inside me, with no escape.

  Rushed through the lobby between two rows of guards in black uniforms, I had a hard time getting a grip on reality all over again, going through the motions as if in a haze.

  High in the penthouse of the hotel that apparently was entirely reserved by the coalition for today, I impassively let the team of beauty professionals do whatever they were trained to do to my body—a bath, a massage, a manicure and pedicure—while my mind kept beating against the bars of the cage the events of this morning had put it in.

  “We will have to do some waxing,” the woman who seemed to be orchestrating this whole beauty routine informed me while I lay on the massage table.

  “Whatever.” I shrugged. All their manipulations didn’t exactly relax me but made thick numbness settle over me. I felt tired of worrying and worn by fear.

  She nodded, and another woman, wearing a white coat, quickly and efficiently waxed the hair off my legs and underarms then lifted one of my legs up. The warm sensation between my thighs followed by a sharp pain ruthlessly snapped me back to reality.

  “What the . . .” I lifted my head, to see what was going
on in my neither regions. “What are you doing?”

  The woman in the coat continued with her work, without paying me any attention. The one at my side nervously consulted her tablet.

  “I’m afraid there was a specific request to remove all hair from, um . . . your private area. Leanne is a celebrity beautician.” She pointed at the woman who kept working on my ‘private area’. “She specializes in bikini waxing, including the Brazilian.”

  “Where did the request come from?” I asked Leanne, who proceeded to ignore me.

  “The staff have strict instructions not to talk to you about anything related to the wedding,” the woman with the tablet pointed out. “And I am here to make sure they follow all instructions.”

  Air left my lungs and my body jerked again as Leanne yanked the fabric strip off my body over and over, ripping the hair out by the roots.

  “Those are the wishes of your groom, of course.”

  Turning my head to the side, I bit my lip, bracing for more. It was easy to pretend that the tears rolling down my face had everything to do with the physical pain, and nothing with the fact that my body was being custom groomed to be used by someone I had never met. Someone who was planning to see me naked tonight—hairless from the neck down.

  Defiance bubbled hot inside me, pushing pain and fear aside. More hair was ripped off by the skillful Leanne, but I hardly paid any attention to what she was doing now. Trevin might be right that I couldn’t fight this, but I refused to be silenced.

  “My groom?” I croaked. “That’s what they told you, didn’t they? We’re madly in love, right?” I barely winced from another rip of the cloth.

  “Isabella.” The voice of the woman with the tablet held a warning, but I was not going to stop.

  “What if I told you I’ve never met any of them? I have no idea what is going to happen to me tonight. I may be raped . . . or eaten, for all I know—”

  A shudder of uncontrollable terror ran through my body.

  “Leanne, leave the room, please,” the woman with the tablet ordered quickly as Leanne wiped the freshly waxed area with some oil, her hands shaking.

  “All done,” she muttered and rushed out of the room.

  The woman with the tablet urgently called, “Madam Representative,” into her wrist device.

  “You know I haven’t agreed to any of this . . .” I started again.

  “Isabella.” She draped a fluffy bathrobe over me. “The instructions of not talking were meant to apply to all parties. I thought it would be understood without further explanation.”

  “So, you’re in on it, too?” I drew in a shuddered breath.

  “Miss Pen works for the coalition,” came the reply, said in a strong female voice from the entrance to the room.

  “Madam Representative.” Miss Pen inclined her head.

  “Barbara Adan?” I gasped, hurriedly stuffing my arms in the sleeves of the bathrobe and closing it over my chest.

  The second representative of the coalition I met today, Barbara Adan was the only woman of the three officials representing North America.

  “Give us a moment, would you?” she asked Miss Pen, who obeyed with another bow of her head.

  “I’d say nice to meet you, Isabella, but I really wish it was under better circumstances.” Barbara leaned against the back of one of the two armchairs by the fireplace, gesturing me to take a seat in the other. “Do you mind if I smoke?

  “Me?” Struck by her sudden appearance here as well as by her odd request, I needed a second to collect my bearings. “No, I don’t, but I don’t think it’s allowed in here . . .”

  “No, it’s not.” She marched to the climate control panel on the wall and punched in a few numbers. The soft hum of a fan filled the room. “But with the smoke and carbon monoxide detectors off now, no one will know if you don’t tell them. Right?”

  She took a pack of real cigarettes out of her pocket then lit one and took a long inhale. “We all have our vices,” she said, blowing the smoke out. “What’s yours?”

  I watched, in fascination at the puff of smoke coming out of her mouth. Hardly anyone smoked nowadays—cigarettes were prohibitively expensive. I’d never seen anyone do it in person.

  “Um.” I remembered her question. “I have a sweet tooth.”

  “Hardly a vice.” Barbara gave me a smile. The way her gaze lingered on my face, felt unsettling, as if she was taking a last look at a person about to die—or be sacrificed. “I can only imagine the morning you had.” A kind note slipped into her voice, giving me hope.

  “I don’t want to go through with this.” I was glad my own voice came out firm and clear, because I didn’t want any doubts in anyone’s mind about my objection to what was being done to me.

  “Unfortunately, none of us has any choice about this.” She took another drag of her cigarette.

  The hope from the sympathy I had glimpsed in her was not that easily crushed, it slithered under whatever armour of composure I’d been trying to build in her presence, prickling my eyes with tears that threatened to spill any minute. “I just want to go home,” I said, and this time my voice was much softer, trembling in my throat.

  “I know, honey, and I wish I could simply let you go.” She sat on the armrest facing me, the skirt of her grey tailored suit stretched over her thighs. “I don’t think it would make you feel any better, but there were those of us who opposed the Kealan request to hand you over. The aliens left us no choice, though. They made it clear they wouldn’t stop eradicating the population of the entire planet if we opposed. Billions of lives in exchange for you.”

  “Why me?” I protested. “There is nothing special about me.”

  “There must be something for them. Are you certain you’ve never met any of them face to face?”

  “No. Never.” I shook my head vehemently. “Only ever saw them on the news on TV.”

  “Well, since the request to hand you over tonight came right after your medical testing, I can only assume you’ve met the criteria of whatever they’ve been looking for all these years.”

  “This wasn’t my first medical, though. Why now?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. They never shared the reasoning either behind the testing or your selection.”

  I clasped my hands together, but it did nothing to stop them from shaking as my whole body trembled with fear. The words ‘medical criteria’ did not carry any reassurance.

  “Here is what I’ve been thinking . . .” Barbara crushed her cigarette into the slate coaster on the coffee table then leaned in towards me. “They wanted you to have Kealan citizenship and honoured our laws and traditions by asking us for a better way to go about it. I find it encouraging. It tells me they aren’t indifferent to your wellbeing and shows their intention of making the transition easier for you.”

  I huffed a nervous laugh.

  “Giving me considerably more information and at least some time to get used to this idea would be a much better first step.”

  “There is definitely a time constraint on their part—they made that very clear. What I’m saying, Isabella, is that there is hope they don’t necessarily want to harm you. They are willing to exterminate the population of a whole planet for you. You’re obviously special to them in some way.”

  I dropped my gaze to my lap, there was too much uncertainty in her words to make me feel any better about my future, but they made me think about the race of beings who were taking me tonight.

  “Do any of them speak English?” I asked. “Will I be able to talk to anyone there?”

  “They sent a personal translator for you.” Barbara perked up. “Another good sign. They want you to be able to communicate with them.”

  “They say the Kealans look like the Roswell Greys. You’ve met them. Is that true?”

  There was no official information on their appearance. The few rumours out there compared them to the Greys, which was unappealing and terrifying, adding to my fear and anxiety.

  “I haven’t se
en them without their cloaks.” Barbara shook her head. “No one has. The rumour that they are the Greys stems from the fact that the towns they eradicated nine years ago were all small places in North America, the British Isles, and the Siberian region of Eurasia where UFO sightings have been reported during the past century, including Roswell. Also, the little glimpses that some of us have caught of their appearance seem to confirm some similarities—pale skin, large black eyes—”

  She cut herself short, obviously catching the fact that her words were only putting me more on edge.

  “Listen.” She shifted on the armrest. “No matter their appearance, the Kealans are intelligent, sentient beings. You will be in their environment, closer than any one of us has had the chance to be. Communicate with them. There must be a way to reason with them.”

  “Is that what you would do in my situation?”

  She straightened, perched on the armrest. “Yes. I’d definitely hope for a peaceful, diplomatic resolution.”

  BARBARA ADAN HANDED Miss Pen a small silver box, containing a bio-electronic translator for me.

  “I believe communication is the key. With this, you’ll be able to understand them,” she said before wishing me good luck and leaving me in the care of Miss Pen and her team of beauty experts once again.

  “Do not try to take it out by yourself.” Miss Pen inserted the translator that looked like a blob of black rubber with prongs into my ear. “It will be rather painful if you do.”

  Afterwards, I was placed in a white armchair in front of a large mirror. Someone handed me a flute of champagne, obviously unaware about the aliens’ instructions of no alcohol. I emptied it immediately before they discovered their mistake.

  The bubbly effervescence warmed my insides, somewhat easing the anxiety vibrating through every cell of my body, enough for me to get through whatever they were doing to me, without passing out.

  My long, curly mane, inherited from the Italian side of my dad’s family, was straightened and tamed into a sleek up-do.

  Then they put me in some lacy lingerie and stockings and carefully slid over my head the puffy cloud of my dress—a voluminous, creamy-white contraption, covered in lace and beads, with satin ribbons laced on the back.