What You Wish For (23 page)

All around my feet, chickens pecked at the ground. A pair of hens scattered as I walked towards the house, emitting loud, unhappy squawks. There was a knot in my stomach like a fist. I tried to look through the windows but the curtains were drawn. There were no sounds coming from within. I stepped back and looked up at the first floor windows. I thought I saw somebody step away from one window. Had they seen me? I was almost paralysed with trepidation. I was acutely aware that right here, right now, everything could go wrong. All my searching could prove to have been in vain.

I walked around the side of the building, where a large white van was parked. It had no markings, just a few muddy smears across its flanks. I looked through the window. There was nothing to see.

I took a deep breath, strode up to the front door and knocked.

There was no reply. I knocked harder. Behind me the chickens clucked and scratched. I rang the doorbell. Exasperated, I walked around the other side of the house. As I turned the corner I saw a face at the window, looking out at me, shock displayed on pale female features. The face pulled away the instant I turned, leaving smudges of breath on the glass.

It had been Marie.

I ran up to the glass and thumped it.

‘Marie! It’s me! It’s Richard!’ I banged the glass harder. I pressed my face to the window and looked into an empty kitchen. I saw a door open inside and a woman looked straight at me.

Samantha O’Connell
. I banged the glass again. I shouted Marie’s name, over and over.

Driven by desperation, I stooped, picked up a stone and threw it with all my strength at the window.

As the glass smashed, shards flying, the front door flew open and two men ran out. One of them was Kevin. The other one was holding a shotgun, which he pointed at my chest. I put my hands up to shoulder level and stepped backwards, stopping a few feet in front of the gate.

Kevin looked me up and down. ‘So you found us after all.’

He seemed nervous, probably remembering the first time we had met, when I had almost strangled him on the floor of his flat.

‘Andrew said you would. I thought you were too stupid, myself.’

‘I just want to see Marie,’ I said, as calmly as I could. My voice didn’t sound natural. It was too high, cracked with nerves.

‘That’s not going to happen,’ said Kevin.

‘Shall I shoot him now?’ The man holding the shotgun lifted the barrel in my direction, reminding me of Jake in Portland. I was tempted to tell him he had a spiritual twin across the ocean.

‘No,’ said a voice from behind them, and Andrew stepped into view.

I almost ran at him but was deterred by the shotgun barrels that were pointing at my face. I clenched and unclenched my fists. I tried to breathe slowly, calmly.

Andrew was dressed head to toe in black. His hair was slicked back. His glasses were different, with thicker, darker frames. He looked very confident, powerful, arrogant. Bile rose in my throat. When Andrew smiled the rage inside me roared. I looked at the shotgun. I was helpless, and now I was this close to Marie I wasn’t going to take any risks.

‘Reports of your death were exaggerated,’ I said.

Andrew smiled thinly.

‘How did you do it? Fake your death.’

He snorted through his nose. ‘It wasn’t hard. You believed what you wanted to believe, Richard.’

I had no time for this.

‘I want to see Marie,’ I said. ‘I know she’s here.’

Andrew interlaced his fingers. ‘She doesn’t want to see you.’

‘Let her tell me that herself.’

He laughed softly. ‘It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? Why do you think she left you in the first place? She hates you, Richard. You’re one of them. A non-believer. She knows that you would try to keep her tied to the Earth. Only here, with me, will she meet her true destiny.’

‘What, to be taken away into outer space? It’s not going to fucking happen. The Chorus,’ I spat. ‘What a fucking joke. You don’t even believe it yourself. You’re just here because you like having all these people worshipping you like you’re some kind of prophet, when you’re actually a liar and a fucking pornographer. It’s all crap. Evil crap.’

Andrew shook his head sadly. He smirked.

‘Oh, Richard, Richard . . . Can’t you see? This is why Marie couldn’t stay with you. You’re such a cynic. You don’t believe in anything, do you? Not a thing.’

Quietly, I said, ‘I believe in Marie and me. I know that I love her.’

Kevin sniggered.

Andrew came closer. ‘It’s not really love that you feel for Marie. Lust, yes, and who can blame you? She’s very attractive. As a lot of people have seen.’ He looked at Kevin, who blushed. ‘And maybe you think you love her, but you could never love her as much as I do, as much as the Chorus do. And if you really did love her, you’d be happy to let her go.’

‘If you love somebody set them free?’ I said with a sneer.

‘Exactly.’

‘Crap. If you love somebody you want them near you. You don’t want to let them go. You want them beside you, to share everything with you. That’s how I feel about Marie. You’re the one who’s keeping her prisoner. Why don’t you let her come outside and talk to me? Because you know she’ll want to come home with me.’

‘She’s happy here,’ Kevin interjected. ‘She loves it here. She loves us all.’

‘You’re her family, I suppose.’

‘That’s right.’

We were silent for a few moments. I could see faces at the windows, but I couldn’t make out Marie among them. I had found her at last, but I couldn’t talk to her, couldn’t see her. Anger and frustration eddied inside me.

‘I’m not leaving until I can talk to her,’ I said.

‘No,’ Andrew replied. ‘That isn’t possible.’

‘How would you feel,’ I threatened, ‘if all this were to appear in next week’s
Herald
? “Alien cult members hide out near Eastbourne. Internet porn circle smashed by police”.’

Andrew laughed. ‘I couldn’t care less what you put in your pathetic newspaper.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

Andrew raised an eyebrow. ‘Look at me, Richard. I’m hardly trembling, am I?’

I stepped towards him, looking at the shotgun from the corner of my eye.

‘You ought to be afraid,’ I said. As I spoke, a young woman came to the doorway. I recognised her immediately. Cherry Nova.

Andrew looked over his shoulder and shooed Cherry back inside.

He turned back to me. ‘Who am I supposed to be afraid of? Gary Kennedy?’ Though as he said this, there was a flicker of fear in his eyes that betrayed his true feelings.

‘He’s dead,’ I said.

Andrew raised both eyebrows and smiled broadly. ‘What good news. How did that happen?’

I explained: ‘He followed me to America, looking for Cherry. The Loved Ones murdered him.’

‘Well, well. Good for them. And you’ve been to Oregon? Goodness, Richard, I’m mildly impressed. How did you get on with Lisa? A little darling, isn’t she? I trust you were faithful to Marie while you were out there.’

My face betrayed me. Of course, I hadn’t actually been unfaithful to Marie, but I had come so close.

‘Oh! So you weren’t so in love with Marie that you could keep your hands to yourself? Tut. How disappointing. Don’t tell me you screwed Lisa? That
would
be impressive.’

‘No. No, I—’

‘And I expect it was Pete who told you where to find us. I knew we should never have let him leave here.’

I opened my mouth to speak but Andrew said, ‘I’m getting bored now. I’m going to go back indoors. I’ve got a lot to sort out.’

He walked back to the door of the farmhouse. Before going inside he said, ‘This is goodbye, Richard. We won’t meet again. Kevin and Philip will escort you from the yard.’

He went inside.

Philip lifted the shotgun again and said, ‘You heard him.’

‘Marie!’ I yelled, peering desperately at the house.

‘Come on. It’s time to fuck off.’ Philip jabbed the gun towards me.

I had no choice. I turned around and walked as slowly as I could out of the farmyard, past the chickens and through the rusted gate. Halfway up the path I turned around to look at Kevin and his shotgun-toting companion, but they had been swallowed up by the mist.

There was only one thing I could do: go home and get reinforcements. I would talk to Simon, buy a baseball bat, a knife and a torch, and go back under the cover of darkness. I had to get into that house, find Marie and take her home. And if all else failed I would go to the police. I would tell them that Andrew was holding Marie against her will. I knew that they still wanted to talk to me about Simon’s beating, which would lead to all sorts of awkward questions about Gary . . . I needed to report his murder anyway, should have done it before I left America. But I had been too worried about being detained, and I was still scared that it would be my word against thirty Loved Ones.

I would have to risk it, though. I would go to the police – I had no choice – but I was still concerned they would slow me down, ask loads of questions, stop me getting to Marie. I was scared Andrew was going to do something to her. I had to get back to that farmhouse as quickly as possible.

I got in my car and headed back towards Hastings. It sickened me to think I had been so close to Marie and yet was going home without her. Only a pane of glass had separated us, and she had looked so beautiful, a ghost at the window. There were hot and cold currents of air blowing through my chest, a dryness in my mouth. Driving was difficult, but I made it home before dark.

I opened my front door and kicked aside the small pile of post. I sat down on the sofa. I had been awake for over twenty-four hours, and with my emotions up and down and all over the place, I was shattered. My mind was still fizzing and zipping around, but my body had given up. It didn’t want to do anything except sleep.

‘No,’ I said aloud, as a yawn tried to surface. I would get out of this ridiculous outfit, drink more coffee and then go and get Simon. He would help me. After everything – all the animosity there used to be between us – he had turned out to be a good friend.

I went upstairs to get changed. Dusk had fallen and the streetlights were beginning to come on. In the half-light I undressed. I was too weary to stand. I sat on the bed and pulled my socks off. I could feel sleep clawing at me, trying to pull me under. I closed my heavy eyelids, forced them open. But I couldn’t do it. I felt myself slipping into sleep, my body betraying me.

I was gone.

24

I watched the spaceship descend. It broke through the underbelly of the clouds in a haze of colour: red and green and violet and white. The colours flickered in random patterns around the base of the ship, which was black and shone like the armour of some great beetle. I was rooted where I stood, my car parked out of reach, beyond the next field. There was nobody else around. I was alone.

There was no sound from the ship. It descended in silence, an eerie quiet that made me clasp my hands over my ears. The circular base of the spaceship came closer, and in a smooth, fluid motion, four huge legs unfolded themselves from the undercarriage, as if this was an organic structure, a living being, and a few seconds later the legs touched the Earth. The ground shook a little, barely enough to register on the Richter scale, but enough to make me lose my footing and fall down.

I lay on my back, sick with terror, looking up.

They had landed. It was all true.

For a long time nothing happened. I was frozen, unable to lift my body from the ground. Along with the terror was a sense of wonder, and one of privilege: they had chosen me. I would be the first to make contact. Perhaps they would ask me to be their spokesman upon Earth, to spread their message of peace.

If it
was
peace.

Because what if it was war that they wanted? What weapons did they have? I pictured tripods and death machines, death rays demolishing the streets, cities falling, mankind massacred. We would be their slaves. Or food. All these movie images of acid blood and evil eyes, of malevolent intelligence – these images paralysed me.

And so when the hatch swung open and a bright light appeared in the belly of the ship, I tried to scream.

It caught in my throat and I swallowed it.

Shadows were cast in the doorway; dark figures that peered at the landscape. Had they been here before? Was this their first visit? And would I be the first human they had come across? An instinctive fear told me to run, and with an unprecedented act of willpower, I rose to my feet, just as two of the visitors began to descend from the ship. They floated down without the aid of steps or other visible means. As soon as they touched the soil I uprooted my legs and ran.

I hurdled barbed wire. It caught on my trousers and made me fall, my hands ripping on the wire. I cried out in pain then examined my palms. Blood poured from open wounds like stigmata. I clenched my fists and ran on, across the field, the sky turning purple above me, a cold wind pressing against me, trying to force me backwards. I knew the aliens were behind me, but I didn’t dare turn round.

Shortness of breath pricked my lungs, but soon I would be at my car. Just over the crest of the hill . . .

Across another barbed wire fence, more carefully this time though; the wounds on my palms had healed. There was no trace of blood, no scars.

I looked up from my examination of my hands and saw them:

A dozen or so humanoid figures walked in a line towards me, blocking my escape. They wore cloaks and hoods. A small figure near the centre of the line stretched out an arm.

‘Come with us,’ it said.

I jumped up from the bed and checked my watch. It was still set to Pacific time. I turned to the alarm clock. It was half-eight. I had slept for more than twelve hours, and my head still felt heavy with jet lag. And Jesus, the dream . . . It had seemed so real.

I peeked out through the curtains, just to make sure no spaceship had landed during the night. Then I thought:
Marie
. I had to get moving. I needed to get back to the farmhouse. On the way I would buy weapons, whatever I could find. I needed a gun, but I had no idea where to get hold of one. Or maybe I should go straight to the police after all. I couldn’t think straight. I decided I would phone Simon. He would know what to do.

But first I had to get ready. I ran around the house in a disorganised flap, washing the stale sweat from my skin, getting dressed, shoving biscuits into my face. I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut. I visualised what I wanted to happen. I wanted Marie to walk out of that house and choose to come with me, to walk past Andrew and his gun-toting friend and wave goodbye to them. We would link arms and I would walk her to my car. Then I would bring her home.

I sat on the sofa with the intention of calling Simon. I noticed that I had a new voicemail. I pressed play.

A female voice said, ‘Check your email,’ then hung up.

I ran across the room to the PC. It had been Marie’s voice. Unmistakably her. The voicemail had been left at two o’clock that morning, while I was unconscious upstairs, deep in REM sleep, deaf to the sound of the telephone. Fuck! My stupid body, letting me down when I needed to be awake and alert.

I switched on the PC and went into my email account. The internet was infuriatingly slow. I banged the monitor, shouted, ‘Come on, come
on
.’

There it was. At the very top of my inbox, a new message from her. From Marie.