Addicted In Cold Blood (38 page)

He probably picked up and moved to another location by now...afraid I’d tell someone his whereabouts. Shit, his ass might not even be thinking about me. I doubt that, though. I know he loved me as much, if not more than I loved him. How do you get over loving someone so fucked up in the head?

Her brother’s voice rang out, “Jayme, get your funky ass in this bathroom, woman,” followed by a boisterous chuckle. She smiled and went to him, thanked him for his hospitality and hoped that the hot water would muffle her crying and angry outbursts...

****

Two weeks later...

Aton pulled his black leather gloves up his arm and adjusted his monocle. His silvery eyes almost blended against the white backdrop of his pupils, were it not for the green irises. The color of the tip of a glacier, and equally as cool and majestic, he stepped out of the pod, the three men dressed in black military uniforms close behind him.  He stroked the bridge of his long nose as he paused, squinting in the darkness of the Baltimore night before gauging his surroundings.

I fucking hate this planet...

He continued on, clutching his jade staff as he drew closer to Xzion’s home. Once there, he stood back and watched Kizun, his latest apprentice, easily break the code and enter the dwelling. The area immediately filled with blue light and the coolness comforted them as soon as they stepped foot inside.

Aton moved throughout the area, then looked over his shoulder at the men, nodding at them to stand back. In the distance, he could see Xzion’s bedroom door partially ajar, and his form, topped with jet black hair sitting lethargically over the edge of an unmade bed. As he drew closer, he saw the man’s arm, the wrist open, the buttons lit and jumping. At the doorway, his worst fears reared their ugly head.

Is he dead?!

“Xzion!” he screamed out, alerting the attention of the others who raced in, their heavy combat boots pounding the floors. He pressed his fingertips into Xzion’s neck, feeling his pulse.

“Quick! We must get him back to Zarkstorm at once! He might not even make it!”

They lifted Xzion’s limp body from the soiled sheets, trying desperately to remove seven scrabble game tiles from his grip, to no avail...

FOREVER...

*
***

Jayme sat in the back of the library, ten pounds lighter, her hair in thick long cornrows and her brother’s oversized black hoodie cloaking half of her face. She thought the first few weeks with Xzion were the worst she’d endured. She was wrong. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think that her body was revolting against her. It was hard to keep food down, and she cried more often than she’d dare admit. She missed the son of a bitch, and not one night passed when he wasn’t in her dreams. In those dreams, however, appeared bits and pieces to a puzzle she needed solved.  She wanted her damn life back, but she had to go in reverse, find out who everyone really was, and retrieve what was stolen from her.

Xzion, who do you work for? What is the relationship with the FBI really about?

She flipped through files, online articles and old hard bound books regarding the FBI. How the organization began, the entire history. It was fascinating and initially only spurred the reason she’d been captivated with the organization, even as a child. Minutes turned to hours, and after several cups of bland coffee and two stale candy bars, something caught her attention. There, in a book from 1973, was an old, sepia photograph of an astronaut, standing next a pod similar to the one she’d seen in Xzion’s home. Jayme placed her finger on it, tapping it, and read the excerpt:

The FBI nor NASA corroborates Astronaut Graham Berlin’s account of life outside of Earth. He emphatically states, “The FBI is covering up this situation. They’ve known about it for years. The Roswell case in New Mexico is a hoax, smoke and mirrors. These pods are real. I brought one back, this one, and was hushed. Look how sophisticated the inside is. There is even a cordless phone device. This is how they come to our planet. I have seen their planet, it is similar to Earth, but with cooling systems to help them stay alive. The aliens are not well. They are nearing extinction due to decades of reverse evolution. I’ve spoken to their President. They look just like humans, but they are not.” The FBI stated that Mr. Berlin underwent a grueling ordeal during his last mission and they do not know of any vehicular pods, alien race or leader of such a species, nor is there a cover-up to keep the American people away from any of the allegations. The object in question was ruled out to be government aerial debris...

Jayme sat back, her eyes wide, her mouth dry.

Cooling systems? Look like humans? What the hell...

She continued to read.

...Among them is a 1950 declaration from special agent Guy Hottel, which seems to offer confirmation for the theory that aliens landed at
Roswell, New Mexico...three flying saucers have been recovered...

Jayme closed the book and huffed in exasperation.

I wonder if this
Graham Berlin is still alive?

She began to type away in the computer, trying to find anything—a lead, an address, something that would clue her in to the astronaut’s whereabouts, even if it were a morgue. An hour of searching yielded nothing. She sat back in her seat, flush with frustration. After a few moments of deliberation, she snatched up the cell phone her brother had gotten for her, and dialed his number. She leapt up from her seat and stormed into the public bathroom, making her way inside of an unoccupied stall, the toilet filled with un-flushed urine. The phone continued to ring and ring.

“This is Jayson Knight, customer service rep 78. I am unable to answer your call right now, but if you leave your claim number, the nature of your call and a...”

Jayme cursed and disconnected the call.

As she made her way back to her avalanche of books, periodicals worn with time and faded magazines, her phone buzzed. She answered, crouching down as she gripped the receiver with a slightly shaky hand.

“Jayson!”

“I’ve been wondering where you were at today. You took off this morning. I won’t be home until eight tonight but...”

“I need your help. Are you still friends with Terrence?”

There was hesitation on the other end and Jayme knew exactly why. Terrence was an associate of hers, on the beat. He seemed nice enough, a tad reserved and had a nervous way of clearing his throat over and over. He also seemed to leave her and her colleagues in the trenches, while he was conveniently tied up. She suspected he was afraid of being shot, and she found that reprehensible with his chosen profession. Regardless, she knew that at one point in time, he and Jayson had been friends, she suspected more, but could never get a confession of any sort from her brother. What she did know for a fact was that they suddenly stopped speaking, though Terrence always asked her, with a rather glum expression, how her brother was doing. He transferred to another precinct, and she heard no more from him, but she couldn’t make the call herself. She needed the connection, someone who wouldn’t suspect anything.

“We talk every now and again.” Jayson sighed. “Why?”

“I tried to get an address for a guy I need to speak to, but can’t get it online or from the phone book. Terrence has access. He could look in the database. The guy’s name is Graham Berlin. The man could be dead for all I know, but I need to be sure. He’s a retired astronaut and he is from Virginia. He might still live there if he is even still alive.”

“Jayme, what the hell is this about? You are supposed to be trying to find a lawyer and a...”

“Jayson!” she said impatiently, closing her eyes and feeling her knees buckle. She slowly opened her eyes again and glanced around, then settled her gaze back to the open passage in the book. “At this point, I can’t trust anyone. I better have my shit together, my story straight, before I contact
anyone
. Please help me...” She tried to control it, but she couldn’t stop the tremble in her voice. She’d found a mole hill in the big backyard, and she was digging, afraid of what she may unearth, but she knew she had to, no matter how frightening the journey. Standing still was getting her nowhere.

“Okay, I’ll call you back...” Her brother abruptly disconnected the call, no doubt not happy about the assignment. Jayme looked back down at the book, flipped some pages. Certain passages stuck out.

... as many as eight alien corpses were recovered from two crash sites: three dead and perhaps one alive from the Foster ranch, and three dead and one living from the Socorro site.

Jayme shook her head in disbelief.

Why would Xzion have one of these pods in his house? It looks almost identical and what does this have to do with so-called alien visits? No one will tell me anything. I must find out myself. My life depends upon it...

****

Two days later...

The greyhound ride to Virginia was too damn long, but she preferred it over this...

Jayme stood in the dimly lit lobby, almost overcome by the strong odor of cleaning ammonia. She hated hospitals and hated nursing homes even more. It was something she wrestled with, especially since she’d been in much worse surroundings, but the whole thing took her back to the death of her grandmother—the woman she and Jayson spent lazy Southern summers with. The woman had been drenched in old charm and rustic magic. She always made sure her grandbabies came down for three weeks to enjoy the Peach festival, go fishing and get away from the city life the old lady personally abhorred. Jayme had always been amazed at how different her father and grandmother were. At times, she couldn’t even believe that he’d come from the woman’s womb.

She was easy going, laid back, while the preacher man in her Maryland childhood home was strict, condescending and easily irritated. The last time she laid eyes on her beloved Memaw was in a nursing home—the woman no longer knew herself, let alone Jayme, and it had crushed her sixteen year old self to the core. She stepped out of the sweet and sour memories, and focused on the nurse’s face that now stood before her. The dumpy, round woman with short curly auburn hair crossed her fat, freckled arms after placing her clipboard haphazardly on the counter.

“You’re waiting to see Mr.
Berlin, right?” she asked, a slight lisp in her speech.

“Yes. My name is Juh...My name is Claudia Daniels.”

“Yeah, we have you on the list for visitors today. Follow me. He doesn’t get many guests. This should perk up his day.” Jayme followed close behind, smiling faintly as the woman looked over her shoulder and spoke to her.

“What are you, another reporter?” the nurse asked as she neared the door.

“Well, I’m doing some research.” Jayme stayed close behind her, her eyes shifting from side to side as they passed many elderly people in their rooms up the hallway. Some of them were fast asleep with only the sound of a low roaring radio bringing attention to their slumbering form. Some shuffled bit by bit, grasping their walkers, hunched over and occasionally glancing upward to see who passed them by. Some of them stared off into nothingness, their mouths agape, and yet others were cheerfully speaking, but no one seemed to be there to hear the convoluted, one-sided conversations they gleefully shared with the stale air.

“Here he is...” The nurse opened the wide door and revealed a tall, rail thin man with a few strands of coarse white hair coiled atop his reddened scalp. His eyes were a dull blue, almost forgettable.

“Mr. Berlin, you have a visitor,” the nurse said loudly with a smile on her face.

“I’m not hard of hearing, Beth.” He looked up at the mounted television where an episode of Andy Griffith played, the sepia tones of the Sheriff rich and crisp. “You always yell. I’m old, not deaf!” he added, annoyed.

“Her name is...what’s your name again?” She shot Jayme a glance and ignored the old-timer’s rant.

“Claudia,” she answered as she stood across from him, taking notice of his unusually long hands overlapping his pointy knees. His dark, threadbare socks were pulled up high, and he wore an olive and red plaid overcoat. It clung to his emaciated, slightly hunched frame, and looked as though it weighed more than he did. He slowly turned toward her, looking up at Jayme, appearing to size her up.

“You’ve come to ask me about outer space, huh? I don’t get any respect anymore.” He smiled, showing an oversized set of dentures as his thin, dry lips widened with each word spoken. “I’ll tell what you wanna know.” He grinned and patted his leg. “It at least lets me go down memory lane without someone slamming the door on me in mid-sentence.” He laughed, but she knew he didn’t really find it funny.  She waited until the nurse left, closing the door behind herself, no doubt to tend to other patients.

“Mr.
Berlin, I actually do want to ask you about that, but I...”

“You want to know how a handsome devil like me got in this nursing home, right?” he joked, causing Jayme to loosen up a bit. “I guess I was too good looking for them to let me out in public any longer!”

Jayme grinned, it was hard not to.

“I know when you saw me, you thought, ‘Boy, now that’s a looker!’”