2. Roswell:
Rachel
had made sure Peter was in the bathroom when she met up with Tim. She couldn’t
risk Tim figuring out who he was. Too much depended on them getting these
passports and getting to the US.
“Where exactly are we going?” Peter asked
as they sat in the airport, waiting for their flight to be called.
“Look up the International UFO Society on the iPad,” Rachel said, indicating it.
“They investigate aliens,” Peter said,
summarising what he was reading.
“We know that they have moved your ship
since we saw it last. If there is anyone on earth who would know where it was
moved to it’s the head of a UFO hunting society,” Rachel explained.
“He will help us find the ship?” Peter
asked, sitting up straighter in his seat.
“Hopefully,” Rachel replied. “He may even
have some ideas about what sort of alien came out of that ship.”
“He might know where I’m from?” Peter
said, leaning forward in his chair now, his hands tightly grasping the
armrests.
Before they left for the airport that
morning, Rachel had contacted Max, the head of the International UFO Society from the B&B, asking if he had heard
anything about it from his side of the Pacific. He emailed back within four
hours and told her he knew some things. The headquarters of SPHERE was close to
Roswell, which made sense to Rachel as SPHERE investigated the goings on in
space and Roswell was the site of a 1947 unidentified flying object crash.
She wondered if the head of the UFO group
would recognise an alien if they saw one. In ways, she told herself, it would
lend to their credibility; but at the same time, if they did recognise him, it
would be tough for them to get away. On top of having to escape from the alien
enthusiasts they would have to flee from SPHERE as well. That would be no easy
task. She had already spent over twenty-two grand on this venture, which was a
large percentage of her life savings.
She sighed as she watched Peter seated
beside her in the plane, staring out of the window. She didn’t really want to
help the alien, but she had to show him earth could be a nice place. She felt
the ‘weight of the world’ on her shoulders in having to avoid an invasion if he
didn’t like earth, or feel welcome here. Her experience of aliens was limited
to movies and TV shows, but she figured that Peter could be a scout, here to
see if we are as intelligent as his own race; whatever that was. So, at least
for now, she was sticking with the alien boy and would go with him to Roswell,
and wherever else he needed to go as well; as long as her cash could afford it.
They arrived in Roswell twenty-four hours
after they left Australia, though to Rachel it felt more like one hundred and
twenty-four. Rachel had booked her and Peter into a motel just outside the
town. The motels in Roswell usually carried names that alluded to the types of
tourist that visited it. Rachel, while booking online the night before, turned
down names such as UFO Hunting Lodge,
Extra-terrestrial Landing Site, and Alien Nesting Ground. Instead she had
chosen a less conspicuous place for her and her new friend to lay their heads.
It was simply the Route 20 Motel, Roswell.
From her brief time online she gathered they were a chain of Motels along Route
20 which ran coast to coast across the US. It was perfect for her and Peter. If
anyone was thinking there was something more interesting about the couple of
alien hunters she planned to make Peter and herself out to be; the last place
they would look was here.
They pulled up outside the place in a
rented car, taken out in Peter’s name as his was less traceable.
“Looks like a dive,” Peter commented.
He and the iPad had become even closer friends
over the journey. He had spent some time watching culturally iconic television
shows, reading the Oxford English
Dictionary, and occasionally perusing the Urban Dictionary website whenever there was available internet but
not enough time for an entire episode of TV. It was from one of these three
sources that he had discovered the American colloquial word ‘dive’.
To be fair to him the place was a real dive. Rachel hadn’t seen a
motel before, but she was certain this one was particularly bad. It was the
typical two-floor structure with the door to each room facing onto a veranda on
the ground floor and a balcony on the first. The colour was an off brown, which
looked as if it had not been painted in about a decade. The paint had peeled in
parts, revealing a dirty undercoat. There was a reception in the establishment,
but its over door lighting declared it to be the R__EP_I_N.
“It is a place that could easily be
improved,” Rachel said in agreed with Peter.
They parked their car; it was a wine
coloured small vehicle, one of the cheapest cars available in the rental place
on their arrival. Their car was one of the five cars parked in the lot outside
the motel.
“Pretty empty,” Rachel noted, “possibly a
reflection of the quality of the accommodation.”
“That is most encouraging,” Peter
commented.
“Well,” Rachel said, “let’s go and get
our keys.”
Rachel and Peter walked towards the ‘Repin’
to get their keys from whoever might be behind the counter. On their way Peter
pointed out a couple of broken windows that had been boarded up instead of
repaired.
“I have seen this before,” Peter
commented.
“Where?” Rachel asked.
“In a documentary; you only board up
windows with wooden boards when the building is no longer being used.”
“They have internet,” Rachel commented,
“it must be open.”
They walked into the reception, pushing
open the dirty glass door, which you couldn’t see through from the many layers
of grime. The door screeched against the wooden floorboards as Rachel pushed it
open. It jammed halfway and she rugby tackled it with her shoulder, dislodging
it from a rusty nail poking its head out from a crack.
The guy behind the counter had his hands
in his dungarees, which were coated in stains Rachel didn’t want to know the
origins of. Despite herself she guessed anyway, there was mud, what looked like
dried takeout, possibly grease from a burger. Rachel stopped herself, and at
the same moment the smell hit her. He was obese and a curious glance around the
room revealed why. There were empty packets of chips, Twinkies, cakes, chocolates, candies and various other confectionaries
littered the floor. As well as this, his free hand was stuffed inside a fresh, extra
large packet of chips, balanced delicately on his round stomach. The guy looked
up from whatever he was watching and saw Rachel.
“Ms. Rachel,” he said as he removed his
hand from his pants and held it out to shake Rachel’s.
Rachel waved him off, with an upturned
nose to add to the effect, “pleasure, I’m sure,” Rachel said, “could you please
give Peter our keys and an air freshener. There is a… stale smell in the
building.”
Rachel left the room as fast as she had
come in. Peter watched her go but dutifully waited for the keys as he had,
indirectly, been told.
“She’s a lovely woman,” the guy behind
the counter said sarcastically.
“I will let her know you said so,” Peter
said, still not quite grasping sarcasm, though he was almost certain the man
didn’t mean what he was saying, “I’m sure she thinks you are wonderful as
well,” he added, before grabbing the key and leaving the reception.
“What room number are we?” Rachel asked
from the trunk of the rental as Peter walked towards her, holding the key aloft
triumphantly.
“Forty-eight,” Peter said, reading the
key from an awkward twisted position above his head.
Rachel looked over Peters shoulder and
scanned the building, “it’s upstairs,” she concluded after a few moments of
studying.
Peter had arrived at the car by this
point and took his bag from her, before handing over the key. Both of them made
their way up the stairs along the side of the building. Forty-eight was the
third last room along the way.
“Downstairs there was one to ten,” Peter
noted, “what happened to the numbers in between?”
“They collapsed in an earthquake,” Rachel
said, “The top collapsed onto the others, leaving only floors one and four.”
“That’s amazing,” Peter said, looking
around him in disbelief. “That is why the place looks so run down,” he noted.
“They did a good job considering the fact that two floors disappeared.”
Rachel rolled her eyes, but decided not
to tell Peter that she had been joking about the earthquake. Hopefully he would
learn by himself. They got to door forty-eight. It looked okay in comparison to
some of the rooms they had passed on their way. Forty-three, forty-five and
forty-nine all had broken doors or windows; at the very least forty-eight was
whole.
Rachel stood outside the door, facing it,
breathing slowly as she psyched herself up to go into the motel room. For a few
moments Peter watched her, expectantly.
“Why aren’t you opening the door? Have
you forgotten how?” Peter asked, genuinely concerned.
She turned to look at him. Peter couldn’t
read her face and so continued, “I can attempt to help. I don’t know much about
opening doors but I think you put the key in the lock and twist it. It seems
easy in theory but I think it might be more difficult in practice.”
Rachel rolled her eyes, “I haven’t
forgotten how to open a door,” she said.
Peter took a step away from her, unsure
of how to deal with her.
“Sorry,” Peter said and backed away from
her.
Rachel turned back towards the door
again. Peter watched. She still didn’t move. She was reflected in the window of
their motel room, and Peter saw her eyes were shut. He wondered what she was
doing.
“Okay,” she said suddenly opening her
eyes after about a minute, “let’s just get this over with.”
She turned the key and pushed open the
door, praying she had prepared herself for whatever horrors lay behind it.
Unlike the door downstairs this one swung open silently, without catching.
Inside, the room was covered in mahogany wood panelling. The carpet was a dark
brown, as were the bed sheets. Even the door to the bathroom was mahogany.
Together this made the room look dark in spite of the open window allowing in the
afternoon sun.
Rachel left out a breath that neither she
nor Peter noticed she was holding in. “It isn’t as horrible as I was afraid it
would be,” she noted, her body physically relaxed.
“One bed,” Peter noticed as he looked at
her, his eyebrow rose.
“I expressly told him that I wanted two
singles,” Rachel said, she was annoyed again and stamped her feet in a way that
made Peter want to see her do it again.
“Is there a tub?” Peter asked.
Rachel looked to him, surprised. She
thought about asking how he knew about bathtubs but decided against it.
“I’ll check,” Rachel said and walked over
to the bathroom in five large strides.
The paranormal chaser opened this door
more confidently than she had the first door. This was a mistake. Unlike the
room she had just left the colour scheme for the bathroom was white. The
toilet, sink and bath were all white. The floor and walls were also white. At
least they had been. The toilet’s interior was a dark brown, stained from use.
Meanwhile there was some dark red stain in the bathtub. Rachel couldn’t stop
herself from walking forwards and peering over the top of the tub to see what
the red stuff was.
Peter joined her in the little bathroom
as she recoiled from the bath.
“What is it?” Peter asked, unsure of what
he was seeing.
“Blood,” she exclaimed, “someone was hurt
in here; maybe even killed. There is a lot of blood, which makes me think
killed.”
“That’s charming,” Peter said, and
measured the bath with his eyes.
“What are you doing?” Rachel asked as
Peter sat on the side of the bathtub, stretching out a leg.
“I think it is about the right size for
me to sleep in it,” he noted as he leaned backwards, “my feet will possibly
stick out but that’s okay, don’t you think?”
“You can’t sleep in that thing,” she
shouted at him.
Peter pulled back from her and tripped
over the toilet, hitting his head on the sink on the way down.
“Peter,” she said and dropped to his
side.
“I’m fantastic” he said, rising to his
feet. “You just startled me,” he said, pulling her up.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “and I wouldn’t
say you are fantastic,” she added, “alright, at a stretch, but not fantastic.”
“Why not?” Peter asked, “I am not hurt,
so fantastic seemed the appropriate word?”
“It means amazing,” she said.
“I know,” he replied, “I could have
chosen that word but I went for its synonym; fantastic.”
“No,” Rachel said and sighed, “I mean
using either of those words means that you think you are a wonderful person.
You like yourself a lot. It makes you sound arrogant and in love with
yourself.”
“A douchebag?” Peter asked, having
thought about it for a few seconds.
“Exactly,” Rachel smiled, “and you don’t
want to come across as a douche, do you?”
“I gathered from the Dictionary of Urban
that it is not a good thing to be considered,” he said.
She giggled, “no.”
“Why can’t I sleep in the tub?” he asked
her.
“It has blood in it,” she said, not
understanding why he would even consider sleeping in it when it was covered in
blood.
“This doesn’t matter to me. I need
somewhere to sleep and since it is not socially acceptable for you and I to
sleep in a bed together because of the differences in our genders the bathtub
seems like the appropriate place for me to take my rest.”
“I’m going down to complain,” she said
and stamped her foot and Peter found himself smiling. She had done the thing he
wanted to see again. Still he found himself wanting to see more; and not
knowing why.
“Rachel,” he interrupted her stamping, “I
must interject. There is no reason for you to complain, I will put down a piece
of cloth and lie on it and it will be perfect.”
“Or we could just wash it?” She said
sarcastically and followed the comment with a shake of her head and threw open
the door to go out.
Peter stared after her in disbelief. “Humans,”
he sighed to himself.
*
* *
“What
do you mean they have left the country?” Cohen asked McGregor once he looked up
from the Internet.
“I mean they have taken off to the
States,” McGregor replied.
“How unusual,” Cohen said, thinking out
loud, “can you discover if this trip is planned or if it seems more of a spur
of the moment thing?” the older agent asked. “How come we always get the crappy
assignments McGregor? I think they don’t like us. While some alien life form is
prancing about the earth we have been sent to watch two wackos travelling the
world in search of ghosts and monsters, or whatever it is they do.”
“Spur of the moment,” McGregor replied,
“she booked the flights in her name yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” Cohen exclaimed. “Why would
the two of them, paranormal investigators and all, decide to take off to the
USA the day after an unidentified rocket enters earth’s atmosphere practically
right where they were?”
“Boss,” McGregor interrupted his
monologue, “you will never guess where they went.”
“The US,” Cohen said, “you already told me
that.”
“More specifically,” McGregor said as he
twisted in his black swivel chair to look at his supervising officer.
“More specifically?” Cohen asked,
interested now. McGregor’s eyes had that bright blue light they sometimes got
when something piqued his interest.
“Roswell, New Mexico,” Declan McGregor
replied.
“McG,” Cohen smiled, “I think we are onto
something here. Perhaps we didn’t get the dud job after all.”
“I know,” he replied. “How unusual that
two unconnected people would take off looking for Roswell, the home of
everything alien.”
“How unusual is right,” Cohen said and
took out his phone. They would be on the next plane out of there.
“I can’t trace where they are staying,”
McG said as Cohen hung up the phone.
“How come?” Cohen asked him.
“They probably put that in the guy’s
name,” Declan pointed out, “I don’t know it so I can’t trace whatever he booked.”
“That’s okay Deckie my boy,” Cohen said
smiling, “this little venture into the world of computer hacking has gleaned
plenty of useful information. We now know that they are in Roswell, even if we
don’t know the exact hotel they are staying in. We also know that they wouldn’t
have gone to Roswell unless they had some connection to this whole ordeal.”
A couple of minutes later, Cohen’s phone
rang again, after he hung up he looked to McGregor, “they want us to come in,”
he said.
Declan rolled his eyes, “why?” he asked.
“I bet because this has become an actual, serious lead; and they are going to
come and take it off us now, just when we were getting our claws into its juicy
bits.”
Cohen looked at the younger man
incredulously, “I cannot understand how they let you into this organisation,”
he said as he shook his head.
It
didn’t take long to get to the Earth’s Army headquarters in Australia. It took moments
for the car to come after the phone call; and Cohen and McGregor were hastily
loaded into the back.
“It’s the boss that wants to see you
both,” one of the people who had brought them in said.
“Agent Reece?” McGregor asked. “He could
have just called, there was no need for all of this Secret Agent carry on.”
“It’s not Agent Reece that’s looking for
you,” the agent said, he wasn’t wearing his badge and Declan wasn’t normally
placed on duty in Australia; so they couldn’t tell his name and he hadn’t thought it important
enough to inform them.
“Then who?” Cohen asked.
“It’s me,” McG said, smiling widely. “Secretly
I took over the entire organisation and now I’ve called you in Cohen to tell
you that I don’t need you anymore, and so, you’re fired.”
“Very funny,” Cohen said. “You are never
going to be the boss.”
“You’d never know,” Declan smiled his
cheeky smile, “I am pretty amazing, if I was whoever hires the leader of the EA
I would totally hire me. I’d be my first, second and third choices.”
The other agents were watching McGregor
with looks ranging from amusement to annoyance, to wondering if this McGregor
guy should even be allowed to work with SPHERE and the EA.
“I think your jests are best saved for
when there aren’t important agents surrounding us and telling us that some
boss, a boss higher than Agent Reece, wants to see us,” Cohen suggested.
“The things I say about how amazing I
am,” Declan said to the gathered crowd of SPHERE and EA agents, “is either
because I truly am as amazing as I say, or I am insecure and I cover it up with
these random outbursts about how amazing I am. I don’t want to embarrass you by
telling you which of those two options are the truth, but I will let you decide
which of them you are comfortable with.”
“Come on,” the agent who had been talking
to them the entire time said as he pulled them from the black Chevrolet Suburban,
standard issue for agents from various government organisations across the western
world.
McGregor hadn’t been to the Australian
office before. Unlike the US one, which was all steel, glass and shiny metals;
this particular office was a little more low key. The walls were made of brick,
with a row of windows sandwiched between two rows of bricks. The windows didn’t
have anything separating them from one another; they just appeared to be one
long window stretching across the entire length of the building. There were
three floors like this. The ground floor was a little different. It looked
slightly more like the building America had. There was a lot of glass, which
McGregor and Cohen knew was bulletproof, that was standard for SPHERE and EA
buildings as well.
“This way please,” The nameless agent
said, motioning for them to take a door to their left. The building’s interior
was a lot more impressive than its exterior. McGregor, who was a technology wiz
kid, loved coming to these centres and seeing the wonders that modern
technology had to offer on display. The Earth’s Army and SPHERE headquarters
always only got the best equipment in, and they updated or upgraded it every
year. It was a techies dream place of employment.
“This is as far as I can go,” their
leading agent said. “From here you need to head up that fight of stairs, to the
second floor, on your right you will see double doors that will read command.
Head into those doors and then down at the end of the corridor, the corridor
leading straight ahead, not the left or right hand corridor, you will find a
waiting room. Wait there until you are transmitted further instruction.” He
passed on the instructions.
“Can do,” McGregor said and smiled a
toothy grin. His teeth were a little wonky. His left front tooth was tilted
towards the right, meaning that the right tooth was pushed back a little in
order to accommodate the other tooth. He could have had braces to fix this
anomaly when he was younger, in fact he was probably still young enough to get
them now if he chose to. McGregor would never do that, however. He felt that
his teeth were characteristic, a unique feature of his face, like his
cheekbones and his dimples, things that set him apart from others as himself.
He would much rather be himself and have strange teeth than be someone else and
have braces. If he was honest with himself braces were nowhere on the list of
things Declan McGregor had ever or would ever want to be a feature of his face.
The corridor they had to walk to the end
of was long and windowless. No light was let in apart from that coming from
both ends of the corridor. The walls were grim and foreboding. McG felt this part
of the building was reserved for those in trouble.
“Do you get the feeling that people
brought here don’t come back out?” Declan asked Cohen.
“Please don’t say things like that, boy,”
the older man said. “You and your theories and your wild streaks. You know how
jittery you make me sometimes?”
“Sorry,” McGregor apologised and decided
to keep quiet for the time being.
They had reached the waiting room by this
point anyway. It hadn’t taken half as long as it felt it would from the other
end. The corridor that had seemed so long and foreboding was now behind both of
them and it was what lay ahead that caught the attention of both men.
They went into the room, which was bright
and white. Everything except the legs of the tables and chairs was white. Even
the light from what one could assume was the sun wasn’t yellow, but white.
Declan brushed off one of the seats
before he sat down, he was actually a little concerned that any dirt he brought
in with him from outside would tarnish the pure white beauty of the room. Among
other things Declan McGregor had an appreciation for art and beauty. He
particularly liked rivers, the way water moved and cut a path for itself
through land was fascinating. There was a particularly strange beauty to the
whiteness of the room. One McGregor didn’t want to destroy. If he had his
camera phone on him he may have Instagram-ed this room.
“Just sit down,” Cohen snapped at him.
Declan turned and looked at his superior,
one eyebrow raised, questioningly.
“Sit down,” Cohen said again, the
intonation had changed but the anger remained in his voice.
Normally McGregor wouldn’t do what he was
told, when told in such a manner, or any manner really. This time, though, he did
exactly what he was told. There was something in Cohen’s tone that he knew not
to mess with.
The remainder of the wait was spent in
silence. Every now and again Declan thought of something he would like to say.
The young man spent most of his time with the older Agent. He seldom saw any of
his family as he spent large chunks of his time with Cohen in space, visiting
planets and protecting earth. As Cohen had pointed out back near Longreach,
this was one of the first times they had been on earth in some time. Each time
something interesting popped into the enthusiastic young agent’s head he would
look to Cohen, hoping now would be a good time to say something. Cohen looked
downtrodden and so Declan thought twice about saying anything. For the first
time McGregor wondered about Cohen’s family. He was old enough that he could
have had children, and a wife. McGregor had parents and siblings. He had been
close to them before SPHERE came along.
“Benedict Cohen, Declan McGregor?” a
woman called in a similar way to how one is called in a doctor’s surgery.
Cohen had his head in his hands at the
time. He was seated across the room from Declan. He was the only colour in the
room, and it made him stand out in Declan’s vision.
Cohen looked towards the woman, she was
looking around the room, as if she were searching for the owners of the two
names she had just called among a crowd. Cohen stood and moved towards her,
this was satisfying enough for the PA. She turned on her heal and moved back
into the long corridor, walking back in the direction Cohen and McGregor had
come from.
“Why did she call our names when we were
the only two people in there?” Declan wondered aloud.
“Hush,” Cohen said, “if we are in trouble
you won’t make it any better with that mouth of yours,” he said through
clenched teeth.
“Alright, Benedict,” McGregor said
sarcastically, “what kind of name is Benedict anyway?” He muttered the
question, more to himself than to Cohen.
“A much better one than Declan,” Cohen
mumbled back to him.
McGregor cracked a smile in the older
man’s direction. It was attempting to be a smile that would get a smile in response
but Cohen had refocused his attention on the woman who had called their names.
She was al the way back down the corridor now, just in front of the doors they
had entered through. She turned a little, glancing to make sure they were both
still following her. When she was sure they were she turned to the left, pushing
open some double doors.
“Here goes nothing,” McGregor said as
they turned the corner and followed her through the double doors.
They shut behind them with a click. The
two agents were locked inside this area now. Cohen peered back towards the
door, looking a little more worried than he was a minute before. Declan placed
a hand on his shoulder and quickened his pace slightly, pulling Cohen along
with him.
“The sooner this is over, the better,” he
said as they closed the gap between themselves and their guide.
*
* *
The
owner of the motel had complied with Rachel’s wishes, giving her a set of keys
to one of the other rooms on the higher floor. It was much better suited to
what they needed, and there were no bloodstains anywhere in the room.
They settled down for a pretty restful
sleep, the amount of travel had left both Rachel and Peter exhausted by the
time they finally lay down to sleep, or as Peter saw it, when Rachel was
finally happy enough with their surroundings to allow herself to get some
sleep.
The next day was a big day for them. They
rose early, and since the motel didn’t have a restaurant, nor did it provide
the facilities for someone to cook for themselves, they headed to a local diner
for breakfast.
Rachel ate very little; the food did not
grab her attention, as it wasn’t very healthy. She had heard that Americans
weren’t the most health-conscious people; but this diner, which was the only
place open for breakfast, was ridiculous. Rachel eventually settled on some
plain pancakes and a coffee. Peter, on the other hand, had no inhibitions and
concerns about his weight and health. He ordered the biggest, greasiest,
fattiest breakfast Rachel had ever seen on a plate. There were fried eggs,
sausages, mushrooms, tomatoes, bacon and some scrambled egg with toast.
“You’ll have a heart attack,” she
commented as she moved diced pieces of pancake around her plate. This kind of
establishment really didn’t appeal to her.
“Do I look like I’m going to have a heart
attack any time soon?” Peter asked sarcastically.
Rachel had noticed Peter’s looks before.
She wasn’t sure if people from his planet looked humanoid naturally, or if it
was a shape he had taken on to blend in with the planet he was visiting; he
didn’t remember either. Whichever way it was, Peter managed to pull off
‘attractive human’ quite well. If he had been a bona fide human being Rachel may
have even found him attractive. Peter was a little over six foot, he had dark
hair and blue eyes. His hair was like a natural bowl cut, not a look she was
fond of but something that was easily changed. He wasn’t overly muscular but he
was defined.
That very morning she had seen him
picking up his shirt off of the floor. She had noticed it before, of course,
but there was a six-pack there. It was noticeable as he reached his arms above
his head to pull the shirt over his body. She was a little upset when the
t-shirt obscured the view. Peter was humble for a guy of his looks. He wore
t-shirts that were at least one size too baggy. He wasn’t in to the slim fit
shirts, or maybe he would be if she introduced him to them. Those t-shirts
hugged the stomach, which would allow her to see the outline of his muscles
more regularly.
As she sat watching him eat she wondered
what he thought about her. She was painfully aware that human males thought
about a lot of things, but generally not her. Peter could be different though.
Right now he was probably only thinking about the food he was shovelling into
his mouth at an unprecedented rate. Watching him turned Rachel’s stomach. She
gave up on pretending to eat the pancakes and pushed them away.
Peter motioned to them with his fork, his
mouth full of food.
“Go ahead,” Rachel said, waving him off,
“I can’t eat today.”
“mmurismint
mis minpgormint,” He muttered through a mouthful of bacon that now had
pancake thrown on top of it.
“You know you should never talk with your
mouth full?” Rachel said, pointing her fork at him. “I have no idea what it is
you’re saying. It could be ‘punishment is a doorframe’ or ‘encouragement is
ignorant’.”
“Nourishment is important,” Peter said,
spitting a little bit of food into her face.
“It is,” Rachel agreed, “but I doubt you
can find much ‘nourishment’ here.
Peter frowned at her, and she looked down
towards her black coffee.
She sipped it silently, as he watched her
for a couple of seconds; but once it was evident no reply was coming he
shrugged and went back to shovelling food.
“We should go,” Rachel said abruptly,
standing as she spoke. Her stomach couldn’t take any more of watching him eat.
“Where are we going?” Peter asked. He had
made sure to swallow his food this time.
“We have to meet Ted Algrove,” Rachel
said.
“Who’s Ted Algrove?” Peter asked her, as
he placed his knife and fork down carefully on his plate.
“He is my American contact. I talked to
him before we left Austrailia,” she explained. “Hopefully he can help us locate
your ship.”
“What time are we meeting him?” Peter
asked, a little excitedly.
“In twenty minutes,” Rachel replied.
“I’m coming,” Peter said and picked up
his piece of toast.
They exited the diner through its green
and glass doors, a little bell rang over head and Peter noticed the waitress
pop her head up from whatever gossip magazine she was reading, hopeful for more
customers. Peter felt bad for her and he turned and gave her a wave and a
smile.
Rachel did not miss this gesture. “Are
you flirting?” she asked him.
He quickly flicked through something on
the iPad he carried everywhere. “By which you mean do I think I could
potentially date her and wish to let her know through subtle means?” Peter
asked her.
Rachel sighed and smiled at him. “Yes,”
she said, “that’s what to flirt means.”
“I was not flirting,” he said. “I simply
saw her looking up and the disappointment that we weren’t people coming to
enjoy her food, and I waved, encouragingly.”
“Okay,” Rachel said, “you seemed to like
that food?”
“This was my favourite piece,” Peter said
holding up toast. “Also, what you did not eat was good.”
“Toast and pancakes,” Rachel noted, “you
are a starch man.”
“Some of the other food was slimy,” he commented,
“could we find somewhere else to eat the next time humans are meant to seek
nourishment.”
“Dinner time?” Rachel asked.
“Was dinner time not this one?” he said
to her, “the building we were in was called a dinner.”
“No,” she laughed, “that word is
pronounced diner, it is a place that does various meals during the day. What we
had there was breakfast.”
“Breakfast,” Peter said and nodded.
“Yes, because you break the fast you have
been on while sleeping through the night?” Rachel explained.
“What is a fast?”
“A period of time you don’t eat
anything.”
“My fast is broken!” Peter shouted and
punched the air, causing some eyes to dart towards him.
“We need to go this way,” Rachel said and
motioned down a street to their left. She grabbed Peter and pulled him out of
the gaze of questioning eyes.
*
* *
Declan
and Benedict followed their guide into a room with a large desk. A moveable
light was positioned over the desk. It appeared as if you could move it to
shine into people’s faces, probably used for interrogations. Two black plastic
chairs with metal legs were placed beside one another at one side of the table,
the side McGregor and Cohen stood on, while at the other side there was another
chair, this one leather. There was also a door to some other part of the
building and a large mirror.
“Interrogation room,” Cohen whispered
more to himself than to anyone else.
“Please, take a seat,” the woman motioned
at the chairs, “the boss will be along to speak with you any minute now.”
McG noted she had a fake-sounding British
accent. He could just make out subtle Australian lilt underneath. It appeared
she used her false tone to sound more important. McGregor detested the English
accent, and hated that he had one himself. He wondered at what type of person
would want to fake being British. In his mind it did not endear the woman to
him.
McGregor was the first to take a seat, he
had been walking to the chairs while he was pondering the lady’s accent. Cohen
stood staring. He thought they were in a lot of trouble, McGregor figured it
couldn’t be that bad. They would tell whomever this boss was that Rachel and
Peter left Australia and headed for Roswell. From there, some agents on US soil
would take over the case.
The door at the other side of the room
opened and a man in a long, black jacket walked in. He had a hood up, covering
his face. He looked a little like a Lord
Sidious, or one of his protégées. However, the face beneath the cloak was
much younger than McGregor expected from the large cloak. He said nothing as he
approached his chair and sat. His actions moved Cohen out of whatever panic had
caused his paralysis. It was bad for him to be standing when the boss was
seated; and so he hurriedly moved to the seat next to Declan and sat down.
The important man seated across from them
pulled down his hood, revealing his face. On the left hand side he had what
appeared to be a horn, or spike, growing from beneath his ear and circling
towards his mouth. The right hand side had a stub of the same, but the spike
itself had been cut off. The result looked painful.
Cohen gasped on seeing his face. To Declan
he looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place him. He thought a face with
thin, curving spikes would be instantly recognisable. McGregor was an alien
hunter, however, which meant he had seen a lot of strange things in his twenty
or so years on earth.
“I,” the spike-faced man began, “am
Thomas.”
Declan pursed his lips, tilted his head
to the left and looked up at Thomas from that position. He nodded once,
exaggeratedly. Clearly Declan didn’t know who this guy was, and whoever he was,
Thomas thought he should know.
“I am the leader of Earth’s Army and SPHERE,”
he finished, noticing Declan didn’t know who he was.
“Oh,” it was Cohen that spoke, “we know
who you are, sir, don’t we McGregor? The actual
boss; I didn’t even imagine they could mean you when they told us that the boss
wanted to see us. You’re the… well, the boss,” Benedict concluded.
“Your flattery is noted Benedict,” Thomas
said and flashed a friendly smile at him.
Cohen visibly relaxed in his seat.
McGregor noticed this and wondered if there was much research out there about
bosses smiling, and knowing their employees’ first names, putting those
employees who were in trouble at ease. He guessed there probably was. Thomas,
as leader of the EA and SPHERE, had most likely read all of the available texts
on those sorts of topics. Meanwhile McGregor spent his days reading about space
travel, combat techniques, and all known sub and extra-terrestrials. Well, he
probably should have read those things, usually he just read Batman comics, and
sometimes the odd classical literature title: for indulgence’s sake.
“And what of you Declan McGregor?” he
asked turning to the young man, “we have met once before, have we not.”
“We have?” Declan asked, not sure which
event he was referring to.
“You were present last year when Mr
Murphy inspected the mother ship, were you not?”
“I was,” Declan said, “I had just
finished a mission on Chronos,” he
said to Cohen, who wasn’t really interested. “All available ships were called
to ‘A’ to meet that Murphy kid, you were on your leave at the time. I was
assigned to Agent Falcon, I think.”
“That’s correct,” Thomas said. “It was
good you were able to be there, to witness the union of two great institutes of
our day.”
“How do you even know I was there?”
McGregor asked Thomas, leaning in towards him and raising an eyebrow. “There
must have been over two thousand people at that event.”
“Quite right,” Thomas commented, “two
thousand, one hundred and fifty-three to be exact. Well, fifty-four if you
include David, which I assume we must.”
“Do you remember everyone who was there?”
McGregor asked Thomas, still unable to believe that anyone could pull off such
a feat, “and who they were with?”
“Of course,” Thomas smiled, this time it
wasn’t a comforting smile, it was one that said ‘I am the man’. “I make it my
business to know everyone and everything that happens in… my business,” he
settled on, not finding a better way to end his sentence.
“That’s interesting,” Declan lied as he
put his feet up on the desk, “now, why are we here?”
“Declan,” Cohen chastised, “take your
feet down; and speak to the boss with a little more respect.”
McGregor was lying back on his chair,
pointing a little away from Benedict; he glanced upwards at the older agent. On
seeing the stern look on his face, McG sighed and righted himself. He chose not
to correct how he had spoken to Thomas, however.
“It’s okay,” Thomas said finally, when it
was evident to the older two agents that no apology would be forthcoming.
Declan took this as an invitation to
throw his feet back up on the desk. Thomas merely rolled his eyes.
He held out a hand towards Cohen, who
appeared close to jumping from his seat and going for McGregor’s throat, “boys
will be boys after all,” he said to Cohen.
Cohen relaxed again.
“I apologise if I caused offence,” Declan
said, “I didn’t intend to. I just wish to know why we have been called here.
Not even really for me, more for Agent Cohen, look at him. He nearly had a
panic attack on the way here, then another one after hearing it wasn’t Agent
Reece we were meeting, than another one in the waiting room, then another one
as we were led to this room, another one on entering this room, and a final
almost panic attack when he heard the nonchalant way I speak to my superiors.
It would be good, for his health if nothing more, if we could start discussing
whatever it is we are here to discuss.”
Cohen had tensed again, McGregor noticed
it, but Thomas seemed to be oblivious. He was smiling at McGregor, another type
of smile. This one seemed nostalgic. McGregor guessed that the things he had
just said reminded Thomas of being a younger agent, and how he had treated
superiority. Normally, in McGregor’s experience, those who once acted like him
but stopped in order to fit into the system, and advance in the system, looked
back on their days of rebellious youth with fondness.
On the other hand there were also people
who were always supposed to be in positions of authority, or thought they were,
who looked back on their rebellious days with disdain. McGregor had promised himself
he would never be like that. He didn’t ever want to look back on his rebellious
days, he planned they would continue forever.
“You are not in trouble,” Thomas finally
said and, despite himself, Declan heard himself sigh in relief at the exact
same time as Cohen did.
“Well that’s a relief,” McGregor said as
he sat up straight in his seat again, “so why are we here.”
“I have a mission for the two of you,”
Thomas said, “It appears that Rachel or Peter may be the alien we are looking
for, neither of them exist in our databases,” he said as he flicked through a
case file, “we cannot be sure and we will be pursuing other leads, as you will
understand. There are people who believe these two are just paranormal chasers,
but I believe differently. I cannot expend any more manpower on following the
two of them. However, local teams in Roswell will be standing by to offer you
both assistance should you need it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Cohen said and McGregor
nodded.
“This is a lot of responsibility,” McGregor
said, “thank you for trusting us with it.”
“Do not let me down,” Thomas said and
smiled, another smile in his repertoire of smiles, “The EA is very stretched at
the moment, especially with what is happening on Velarious.”
“Not to mention Limerick,” McGregor added
in a sigh.
“Not to mention Limerick,” Thomas agreed,
“we are doing all we can to assist in that area,” he said. “We are counting on
you both,” he added, becoming serious again as he looked at his watch, “do not
let the EA down,” he stood from his seat and nodded to each of them in turn.
“If you will excuse me, I have another meeting to attend.”
With that he was gone, out the door he
had come in.
Cohen stared after him. McGregor had his
feet on the table again and his hands behind his head, resting the back of it
on his open palms.
“How many other pairs of agents do you
think he is going to say that to?” McGregor asked Cohen, derailing his train of
thought.
“Hmm?” he muttered and looked to the
younger agent he was assigned to supervise, and find a potentially dangerous
alien with.
“Never mind,” McGregor said, waving his
superior officer off as the door opened and Agent Reece walked in.
“Sir,” Cohen said and stood to attention.
McGregor rolled his eyes and laboriously
stood for his superior officer as well.
“Boys,” Agent Reece said. He was wearing
his standard issue sunglasses; indoors, Mc.G tried to figure out if he looked
more like a douchebag or a narcissist. He went for both.
“Sir,” McGregor said in reply.
“We have a plane waiting for you,” he
said, “it’s out back and they want you in the next thirty minutes. You have a
weapons and gear meet in ten. You where to go.”
“Thank you, sir,” Cohen said and began
moving towards the door out.
Agent Reece caught him by the shoulder as
he moved past, “I don’t know what mission Earth’s Army has assigned you both,
but I have heard that it is important; don’t let me down. If you two,
especially him,” he added pointing to McGregor, “muck this one up it will be on
my head as well as your own. I don’t want your mistakes on my head.”
“You have no problem with douching up
your eyes though,” McGregor said and shoved his way past the Agent.
“Sorry, sir,” Cohen said, “it has been a
tough day,” he didn’t wait for an answer, but followed McGregor out.
*
* *
Rachel
and Peter drove their rental to the edge of the city. They were driving in
search of a collection of trailers and caravans. There they hoped to find
answers.
“Where are we?” Peter asked as he took in
the sights around him.
“This is where the alien fanatics stay,” Rachel
said as they sat in the car. “They would love to meet a real alien, but you
cannot let them know that’s what you are, okay?”
“Okay,” he said and then thought, “why
not?”
“They will want to study you, learn about
your home planet and all kinds of things.”
“I can’t tell them any of that?” Peter asked.
“That is why we are here, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Rachel said, “it may not look like
it, but these guys are the experts on aliens on this planet. There are people
in the government as well, of course, but those are the people you want to
avoid.”
Max, their contact in this group, headed
towards the car when he saw it pulled up on their lot. Rachel had seen an image
of him on his blog, and he knew what kind of car they would be coming in. There
were two things about these guys that Rachel knew. The first was that if there
was anything alien going on they would know about it, even if it did happen in
Australia; and the second was that they were extremely paranoid about
everything. They had two tenants: first that aliens existed, and secondly that
the government was covering it up. The lack of information available to the
public about aliens made it make sense that they wouldn’t trust their
governments. She wondered could she trust the government after all of this. She
hoped this was the first time aliens had ever landed on earth; but she doubted
it. Recent events proved that the government at least had some plans for
dealing with aliens appearing. The likelihood was that the governments of the
world would lie about Peter as well, if they ever caught him.
“Hello,” a squeaky voice came from
outside the car window. Max was leaning on the door, tapping on the window.
Rachel was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice him coming.
“Hi,” Rachel said as she opened the car
door.
Rachel opened the car door, pushing Max back.
At the same time, Peter got out and went around to shake his hand.
“Pleasure to meet you alien-finding
expert,” he said, and Rachel rolled her eyes, he sounded a little too
enthusiastic and… simple.
“Expert,” Max squeaked, “no one has ever
called me that before.”
“Get used to it,” Rachel said and smiled,
“I’m Rachel Smith and this is Peter McIntosh,” she said as she shook his hand,
“we are the people who were in contact with you about the ship seen in Australia
a few days ago.”
“Yes, yes,” Max said, “I know who you
are. I wouldn’t be out here talking to you if I thought there was a possibility
it was the Feds or something. That’s why I asked about the car.”
“What do you know about the Australia
incident?” Rachel asked him.
“Not here, not here,” he said, his voice
even higher than it had been before. “You can be heard by satellites you know.
We need to get inside. The metal of the trailer will protect us from prying
ears.”
Rachel rolled her eyes in the direction
of Peter; he didn’t seem to notice as he turned to follow the older man towards
his trailer.
Once they were comfortably seated inside,
with some form of tea neither Peter nor Rachel recognised, she asked the same
question again.
“It’s great isn’t it?” he asked her,
smiling from ear to ear.
“What’s great about it?” Rachel asked.
“It was on TV,” he said. “People as far
away as Brisbane saw it in the sky as it came hurtling towards the earth. The
way it was shaped it was very clear that it wasn’t a meteor, you could tell
that from even the most amateur of footage. It had something written on it, I
saw that with my own eyes. The words, they weren’t English, they weren’t even
Chinese. I don’t know what it said, but it was definitely alien and no one can
cover it up this time.”
“Have you learned anything about its
origins?” she asked him, and Peter leaned in intently, he wanted to hear this
as well.
“No one is sure,” Max said, “but
according to our sources within NASA and the FBI, yes, we have sources on the
inside,” he added at her surprised look, “it appears to have come from the
direction of the Sombrero Galaxy.”
“Remind me which one that is again?”
Rachel asked him.
“We cannot be sure if that is even the
correct galaxy,” he told her, “it may be that this ship came from further away
from there.”
“Okay,” Rachel said, holding up her left
index finger to stop him before he began ranting, “but tell me about the
Sombrero Galaxy. For now it seems that is where he is from.”
“He?” Max asked, one eyebrow raised at he
looked at the Australian women from over the rim of his teacup.
“Generic he,” she said, waving him off
and hoping her slip up wouldn’t be dwelt on.
“The Sombrero Galaxy is around
twenty-eight million light-years from earth. In short, that means that we do
not yet have the means to reach it, we do not even have the means to leave our
galaxy via the shortest route yet. The galaxy is located in the constellation
of Virgo, and was believed to be a small spiral galaxy until recently. Now it
is known to be much larger than was originally supposed, and can actually be
seen by some of the better amateur telescopes.”
“Do we know anything of its make-up?”
Rachel asked him.
“The galaxy is set at a different angle
to ours. This means that unlike when we look at other galaxies from earth, for
example the Pinwheel Galaxy, or barred spiral galaxies, we see the Sombrero
Galaxy differently. The Pinwheel Galaxy and many others like it face earth.
Therefore when we look at those galaxies they appear sort of like the plans to
a house would, from above. Meanwhile the Sombrero Galaxy is level with earth,
so instead of seeing it from above we see it from the side. This means we know
very little about it. From here it appears there is a bright nucleus, or
centre; and most galaxy cores contain supermassive black holes. The Sombrero
part is an enormous layer of dust that orbits the galaxy; this is the reason it
is so fascinating to astronomers. Their research has found that the stars are
formed here, unlike in the centre, as is the case of other galaxies.”
“Do we know if there are any planets?”
Peter asked.
Max raised an eyebrow at him,
“interesting question. I guess if we are discussing an alien it makes sense to
want to know if there are any planets found within the galaxy.”
“Well,” Peter added, “if there weren’t it
would conclusively decide that this alien craft didn’t come from the Sombrero
Galaxy,” he pointed out.
“That is true,” Max agreed.
“What do we know?” Rachel asked.
“The Sombrero Galaxy is quite large,” Max
said, “about 50million light-years across, which is half the estimated size of
the Milky Way Galaxy in which we live. The distance is too great for any of our
present space technology to locate planets. It is currently even really
difficult to find planets that are not part of our solar system. The method I
know of is pointing a telescope at a star and seeing if something moves around
it, or if they is a black spot moving across the star.”
“So we don’t know if there are any
planets?” Peter asked and threw himself back against the seat he was on.
“We cannot be certain,” Max concluded,
“but it is safe to assume that, with between 100 and 200 billion stars in the
galaxy that there must be some planets somewhere.”
“That seems a reasonable assumption,”
Rachel surmised.
“There are no other questions I can think
to ask you,” Peter said, “you cannot know what planet this thing came from and
nothing you can tell us about that planet, or its culture. I am at a loss here.
What are we doing here Rachel?”
“Well,” Rachel said, trying to apologise
for Peter’s words in her tone, “we could focus on whatever happened in
Australia and learn what we can about the ship?”
“Oh,” Peter said, realising that he
should probably not be so quick to dismiss things. “Yes. We should ask about
that.”
“Well,” Max said. “It had a key.”
“A key?” Rachel asked. “You’re sure.”
“Pretty sure,” Max said and pulled out a
strange, flat object from his pocket.
On seeing the object in Max’s hand,
Peter’s eyes widened. He reached towards the older man and Max quickly closed
his hands to stop him touching it.
“We see with our eyes, and not with our
hands,” Max said moving the key away from Peter.
“How did you get that?” Rachel asked,
ignoring the exchange between Peter and Max.
“I have contacts,” Max said. “We have the
ship too.”
“You have the ship?” Peter said. “I can’t
believe you have the ship.”
“It’s being moved to London,” Max said.
“London?” Peter asked Rachel.
“Capital of Great Britain, east of here,
about five thousand miles,” she said without looking at him.
“Why London?” Rachel asked.
“It was found by the owner of Ripley’s Believe it or Not Museum in
London just before whoever those agents were arrived on the scene,” Max
explained.
“We were there,” Peter said. “There is no
way someone else got there and moved it before those vans closed in on it.”
“You were there?” Max asked. “How did you
miss this?”
“Were you there?” Rachel asked.
“No,” he said, “I got this on the
market.”
“That’s really impressive,” Peter noted,
eyeing the object Max was holding onto for dear life.
“It must have set you back?” Rachel
asked, wondering how much it would cost her to buy it from him. If Peter was
going to get home they would need every part of the ship; and if Max was right
and this was a key they would most certainly need that piece.
“It did,” Max said, but wasn’t giving
anything away, “but it was worth it. How could I be the main expert in all
things alien and not own part of the only known Extra-terrestrial object on
earth?”
“We understand,” Rachel said, “London you
say?”
He nodded, “the ship will be in London,
probably available for viewing in the next week.”
“I guess that is where we are going next
then,” she said to Peter as she stood from the squished seat, shuffling to the
edge of the table and then standing.
“But…” Peter began an objection.
“Come on now,” Rachel said, “we should
leave Max get on with his day, we have taken enough of Max’s time today. I am
sure he has lots to do.”
Peter gave her a look, but thought it was
best to argue no further, instead he slipped out of the seat and followed her
from the trailer and back to their rental.
“We left without the key?” Peter pointed
out once they were in the car and pulling out of the trailer park Max called
home.
“We will get it later,” Rachel said, “he
was never going to hand it over willingly.”
“So we will steal it?” Peter asked.
“We steal it,” she confirmed, “let’s go
for some lunch,” she said.
*
* *
They
pulled up outside a restaurant. Rachel was adamant that she wouldn’t end up
eating in any diners again. The memory of breakfast hung on to her mind, making
her stomach turn even now. She pushed it back, trying to allow the aroma of
better food fill her nostrils as they walked through the doors of this fine-r
establishment.
There was a waitress waiting to receive
them as they entered and when Peter told her there were two of them she
beckoned them towards one of the smaller booths on the right hand side of the
entrance doors.
“Here are your menus,” the blonde
waitress smiled as she handed them over.
“Poor girl,” Peter said when she was out
of earshot.
“What do you mean?” Rachel asked, looking
up from the menu she was perusing.
“She smiled,” Peter said, “but she hates
this place.”
“How can you tell?” Rachel asked him.
“I don’t know,” Peter admitted, “but I
think it has something to do with the walls?”
Rachel raised an eyebrow and looked
around the room, taking in the walls. They were a beige colour, with red drapes
and gold trim.
“I think the walls are nice,” she pointed
out, and lifted the menu again.
Peter reached over and moved the menu,
which was blocking her face from his view, “would you think that if you had to
look at them for eight hours a day, six days a week?”
“Perhaps not,” Rachel said, and pulled
the menu from his grip so she could look at it again.
“Rachel?” Peter asked.
“Yes?” Rachel groaned as she moved the
menu to the table.
“Do you think I’m a good looking human?”
Peter asked her.
“You’re not human,” she said and smiled.
“But if I was?” He insisted.
“I guess so,” she said, studying his
features.
“I think you are a good looking human
female too,” he said and smiled at her.
“Thank you,” she said and picked back up
the menu as the blonde waitress returned.
“Are you guys ready to order?” She asked;
her fake smile still plastered to her face.
“When do you finish work?” Peter asked
her.
She moved a step backwards, away from the
table and brought her hand, holding her notepad and pen up to her chest and
laughed nervously.
“I… am…” she stuttered.
“Oh,” Peter said, realising what she was
thinking, “don’t worry. I don’t want to date you. I just see that you are sad
and would like you to be happy. Perhaps I could buy you dinner.”
She hesitated. Rachel rolled her eyes.
“Not with me,” he clarified, “I mean I
could take you to your favourite place, you and a friend, and pay for your
dinner there.”
Rachel reached out her hand and tapped
him, “just leave her a bigger tip honey,” she laughed. Turning to their
waitress she added, “can we get two Cokes?
We’re not ready for the food order yet though.”
“Of course,” the blonde waitress said and
scurried away. Rachel noticed that she handed her notepad to another waitress,
assigning her to the table.
He was blissfully unaware of this fact as
he flicked through the menu. Rachel looked to her own as well.
“I don’t know what any of this is,” Peter
said and dropped the menu to the table with a thud, “you pick something for
me.”
“Would you like chicken, beef, lamb,
seafood or pork?” Rachel said as she flicked to the various meat options.
“I don’t really know what they are,” he
admitted.
“What about having the same thing as I
have?” she asked him.
“That sounds like the best idea,” he
nodded his agreement.
“I’ll order two then,” she said and
beckoned their new waitress over.
“What happened to the other girl?” Peter
asked, when a red-haired waitress stepped up to their table, notebook and two Cokes in hand.
“She’s on her break,” their new waitress
lied, “what can I get you both?” She asked, and Rachel put in their order.
Two courses and a cup of coffee later
Rachel and Peter sat back in their seats in the booth contented. Rachel smiled
at Peter and held out her wallet to him, motioning that he should go and pay.
He took the piece of leather in his hand and checked for cash. On seeing the
green dollar bills he headed towards the cashier.
Am I really
going to try stealing this key with him? She wondered to herself, thinking of the
clueless nature of the alien-boy.
She shook her head, knowing she was
crazy. She looked up and saw him pay. Although Rachel wasn’t the model citizen,
she had never been a thief either. She stood from her seat and left the
restaurant, not even glancing to see where Peter was. This was all getting too
much for her. Only a few days before she had been driving down a road in the
middle of Aus. minding her own business. Now she was in Roswell, with an alien,
thinking about breaking into a trailer and stealing a key for that same alien’s
spacecraft. It was all too much. She needed to clear her head. She knew there
was a possibility that leaving Peter by himself in the big bad world might be a
bad idea, but there was nothing else she could do right now. She had to get
away and think.
Rachel hopped into the little rental and put
it in drive. She sped down the road, only thinking about the fact that she had
to get away from Peter. She headed back towards the motel they were staying in
just off Route 20. She slowed the little red car outside the entrance to the
place but thought twice about pulling over. This was bound to be the first
place Peter would look for her.
“Why am I freaking out?” She asked
herself, alone in the car, as she smacked her head into her open palms,
accidently setting off the car’s horn.
The reception door opened and the guy who
worked there came out and waved at her, recognising the car. She waved back,
and then flashed her lights at him, before pulling back out and heading towards
the motorway.
*
* *
Peter
returned to the booth he and Rachel had been seated at with her wallet in hand.
His eyes widened slightly when he turned the corner, which brought the booth
into full view, and noticed she was no longer there. He sat down to wait for
her, thinking she must have slipped out to use the ladies’ room before they
left.
“Sorry,” the red-haired waitress, who had
served Rachel and he, said; tapping him on the shoulder and waking him from
some deep daydream.
“Hmm?” he said, as his eyes came into
focus, taking in who was there. He knew it wasn’t Rachel, but he wasn’t sure
who it was.
“You have been sitting here for twenty
minutes since you paid,” the red-haired waitress said, Peter got the feeling
she was worried that he was waiting for the blonde girl to come back from her
break, “I am really sorry to have to do this,” she said, “but I have to ask you
to either order something, or leave. I am sorry, it’s just we have other
customers waiting for this booth.”
“Oh,” he said and looked in the direction
of the bathroom. “I am sorry. I don’t mean to hold up the table. I was just
waiting for Rachel,” he explained as he stood from the table, “I think she must
be in the restrooms?”
“If you will follow me, we have a waiting
area,” the redheaded waitress said and led him back towards the entrance, where
two sofas lined the wall. “I’ll just seat this couple in that booth and then I
will check the restrooms for Rachel,” she said and beckoned for the couple
seated on one of the couches to follow her. Peter plonked himself down onto the
empty seat, looking towards the doors to the bathrooms.
A minute later he was being told that
Rachel wasn’t in there.
“Are you certain?” He asked, hardly able
to believe his ears.
“I am, sir,” she told him, “she must have
left while you were paying.”
“Rachel wouldn’t just leave me here,” he
said, moaning a little, “we have come here all the way from Australia. She
couldn’t just take off and leave me.”
“I’m sorry sir, but it appears that she
has,” the waitress said and thanked him for his custom.
Peter stood from the red sofa. He looked
around the restaurant one more time. Perhaps Rachel was hiding, waiting for him
to believe that she had abandoned him, but, when he least expected it, she
would jump out and all would be well again.
No one came towards him. Peter left the
restaurant and walked towards the car that he and Rachel had arrived in. It was
gone as well. Peter dropped to the asphalt.
He scanned the car lot on the slight
chance that he had forgotten where the car was parked. From his position
sitting on the road he wasn’t able to see much. After turning his head a few
times and catching glimpses of about thirty different cars he gave up. Peter
allowed himself to fall backwards until he was lying on the tarmac outside the
restaurant. A car was attempting to head towards the exit, and to do so it
needed to pass the spot he was lying in. The car honked its horn at him, but
Peter ignored it.
Peter lay on the ground, wondering where
Rachel was gone. He felt something inside him, or rather the absence of
something. For the first time since he’d arrived on earth, he felt alone. Peter
was truly abandoned now; just like the name Rachel gave him.
The car horn continued honking, as the
driver got out of his vehicle and cursed at Peter, lying on the ground,
completely oblivious to the world around him.
“Rachel”, he whimpered.
