Alien Love Read online

  “You’re going to tell me you saw aliens, right?”

  “I turn the corner and I see the biggest, ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. It sees me and presses something on its belt, and suddenly it looks like one of us.”

  “Maybe you just imagined it.”

  “I act on instinct and start shooting. Suddenly it’s a freaking monster again and bleeding green goop. Two others that look like soldiers wearing the same type of uniform turn the corner and begin firing at me. I hit the ground and roll around the corner, and we have ourselves a firefight. The rest of my guys find me, and all hell breaks loose. With all the shooting, my guys begin to see dead aliens, and that freaks them out.”

  “They saw the monsters too?”

  “Yeah, Matthews himself shows up a few minutes later and tells us to retreat. We make it back to the elevator and out of the tunnel. Meanwhile, he tells us not to say a word because we really didn’t see anything. It’s all a hallucination.”

  “I’ve heard that one before.”

  “Yeah, but this time the brass put us in separate rooms and questioned us for hours. This doctor told us that we were victims of hallucinations caused by an experimental biochemical weapon. He said that they would have to reassign all of us since we’re now susceptible. Then this guy wearing a black suit and smelling like he’s CIA came into our room. He stared at us like we were lower than shit and said that the weapon is top secret, and the good ole USA would lock us up and throw away the key if we ever said anything.”

  “But you knew you really did see something?”

  “Yeah, so on the way back home I got this vibe that something’s not right. You know the feeling. Matthews went from being all buddy-buddy on the way there to avoiding me and not looking at me on the way home. I went to my apartment, but I couldn’t shake that feeling. So I waited until dark and then I climbed out my back window and checked into a dump of a motel where I could pay cash with no questions asked. The next morning I turned on the news and found out that my apartment was gone, blown higher than a kite. The reporter said I must have left the gas on, and that’s what caused the explosion. You know me well enough to know that I never use the oven. If you can’t fry it or nuke it, you don’t want to eat it.”

  “And you know it’s too much of a coincidence, right?”

  “I know they’re after me. I need a place I can stay for a little while until I figure things out.”

  Jack glanced at his watch. “Sure, stay with me. It’s not much of a place, but you should be safe. There’s still plenty of time for me to run you over there now. You can relax, maybe take a shower, while I go visit my shrink.”

  The two men left the Starbucks and drove toward the freeway ramp. A black sedan left the parking lot and then began skillfully following several car lengths behind.

  Chapter 2

  JACK DROVE toward his apartment, but stole a glance at Pete and saw him staring at the side mirror. When his friend sighed and visibly relaxed, he concluded that a suspicious car must have turned down a side street. Jack worried his friend might be paranoid.

  “No suitcase?”

  “I’m traveling light. I won’t be with you very long. I just need a day or two, and then I’ll move on.”

  “Do you need any cash?”

  “Thanks, but I cleared out all my accounts yesterday. I’m not taking any credit cards with me either.”

  “No wheels?”

  “Too easy to trace me. I’ll probably take a bus.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “It’s better if you don’t know. I just need to keep my head down low for a while until they forget about me. I wish I could get over my nightmares.”

  “You’re not the only one with nightmares.”

  Just like old times, Jack thought as he unlocked his apartment’s door and they entered cautiously. It’s so easy to fall back into a routine, he thought as the two men moved slowly from room to room. They entered each room much the same way they had moved through houses in Kandahar Province. Once they had given each room a thorough examination, Jack brewed a pot of coffee and insisted Pete take it easy while he kept an appointment with his shrink.

  The modern medical office building with sunlight reflecting off its metal and glass exterior could just as well be the headquarters of some technology company. It was a far cry from the dingy VA Hospital that referred most of Doctor Felicity Wilson’s patients. Jack studied the other people in the waiting room, but thankfully he didn’t recognize anyone. Even though he looked normal, he knew he wasn’t right inside. All the patients in the waiting room were defective products the Navy sent back for repair. Unlike other Navy equipment though, the shrinks couldn’t fix him by simply tightening a screw or replacing a battery.

  The young physician assistant called his name and led him to a small room with two chairs and a table containing pamphlets that addressed a variety of stress-related conditions. A faded picture on a wall showed a man wearing an Army officer’s uniform.

  Doctor Wilson brushed the red bangs out of her eyes and asked her usual set of questions. Nightmares? Headaches? Panic attacks whenever anything seemed out of the ordinary? Jack gave his usual responses while observing that she never hurried him and seemed to hang on every word he said.

  “I’d like you to try to take some of the visualization exercises we’ve been practicing a step further now. Just before you go to sleep, think hard about how you could change the nightmare to give it a better ending. It’s not easy, but it will help you move past this bump in the road that’s keeping you from recovering.”

  “Better ending? Don’t you think I’ve thought about that? If I ignored Tony’s orders and blew away Ahmed the day before he attacked us, I would have saved two members of my team; unfortunately, the Navy would have convicted me of murder. You’d have one less patient, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation now.”

  “What about well before the attack? Isn’t there anything else you could have said to convince Lieutenant Franklin to listen to you and not to Tony?”

  “Based on what? If I told him that I disobeyed direct orders because someone projected the wrong colors in his aura, he would have locked me up in the loony bin long before Ahmed blew himself up.”

  “We’re not going to have the conversation about colors and auras again. I don’t believe in that stuff or in astrology.” Jack detected an unusual note of exasperation because usually she had a lot of patience with him.

  “I can’t help what I see. By the way, you’re pink, just in case you’re wondering.”

  “I’m going to assume pink is good. As far as your visualization, just use your imagination. Let’s say that you found proof that Ahmed was a double agent and showed the proof to Lieutenant Franklin.”

  Jack shook his head slowly. “You’ve never been in the service. Part of the SEALS’ code that we live by is that we never go over a superior’s head. I did that. I did it for the right reasons, but I did it.”

  “But you were right, and your commanding officer was wrong.”

  “Not if you read the official report. Franklin and my team leader closed ranks and covered themselves. It was my word against theirs.”

  “What about your men?”

  “What about them?”

  “Didn’t they back you up?”

  “Sure, that’s why they’re all civilians again. I appreciate everything you’re trying to do for me, but I’ve thought about nothing else but this for months now. I can’t think of anything I could have done differently. I know I did the right thing.”

  “You mean when the attack came?”

  “Yeah, then and before.”

  “But you blacked out.”

  “I saw the results when I snapped out of it. My team told me what I did, and I believe them and not the brass.”

  “You must have done something right. They awarded you all those medals.”

  “Didn’t you ever hear of ‘blood money’? Every time I look at those worthless pieces of metal I think
of how different things would be if someone believed me before the traitor decided to pull the pin.”

  Doctor Wilson continued questioning him and jotting down notes as he answered. Finally she glanced at her watch and sighed.

  “We’ll have to pick this up again at our next session. I’ll call in a refill to your pharmacy. Just try some of those visualization exercises and use your imagination. You’re a good man, Jack. You need to stop beating yourself up. Eventually, you’ll realize you have nothing to feel guilty about.”

  She rose and shook his hand before pulling him closer and gently patting his back a couple of times before releasing him. Doctor Wilson had to be close to his mother’s age, but no one ever accused Marjorie Starling of being nurturing. Jack started for the door and then realized that he saw a resemblance between the Army officer in the picture and his psychologist.

  “Your father?”

  “Yes.”

  He waited, but Doctor Wilson didn’t speak although he noticed her eyes glisten. He turned and left, closing the door softly behind him.

  Jack thought of Doctor Wilson on his drive home. She had called him at home after one traumatic session to ask if he were feeling better. No other physician had ever done that. He’d give her suggestions a try even though he knew they wouldn’t work. Pete, Ricky, Bill, and all the others were alive, and that’s what counted. He’d just have to live with what happened to Hank and Joe. He saw their images in his dreams every night.

  When he thought about Pete, he remembered their conversation that morning. Nothing ever shook up that little guy because he never worried about things the way most people did. He never read a newspaper or a book, and certainly not any science fiction. In fact, for a minute Jack wondered whether his friend could even read. Once he confided that he’d joined the service so he could finally have a decent pair of shoes and a winter coat. He’d downed the Navy chow as if it were in a gourmet restaurant. He never spoke about government conspiracies, black helicopters, or expressed views on anything related to politics. He just did his job until something scared him bad enough to push him over the edge. Maybe the military really did invent some kind of biological weapon. That made a lot more sense than anything Pete said, Jack thought as he drove home.

  Pete had stood up for him at the hearing, and now he would help his buddy any way he could. Maybe Doctor Wilson could treat him, Jack mused as he parked in his usual spot in front of his apartment. He pulled out his key as he reached the door and decided to make some noise so that he wouldn’t startle his friend. Pete was probably armed and jumpy enough to take a shot at him if he surprised him. He turned the key back and forth several times before opening the door.

  “Pete?”

  No one answered, and he saw that his coffee table had been tipped over. Jack stood stock still for a few moments and listened very intently. He heard someone’s TV blasting a commercial for Geico Insurance but otherwise nothing but silence. He had learned to rely on his ears when searching homes in Afghanistan, so he stopped occasionally to listen as he headed toward his bedroom. His heart pounded when he saw his sheets on the floor and a red stain on the wall near his light switch. The small table near his bed now lay shoved against the closet door. He moved cautiously, checking the bathroom and then the kitchen, but those rooms looked undisturbed except for a damp towel hanging over the shower door.

  Jack went back into the bedroom, forced open the sliding closet door that had come off its tracks, and reached all the way to the left until he found his old raincoat that had a tear in the lining on the inner side of one pocket. The tear created a secret compartment inside the lining. He put his hand into one of the deep pockets and then into the lining and pulled out his Sig Sauer along with three extra magazines. He always kept the gun loaded. Jack knew his friend could take care of himself, and he had a sudden thought that chilled him. How many men had it taken to overpower him? Some people must have followed us back to the apartment. Whoever they were, they probably were watching me right now.

  Jack double-bolted his door that night. He placed his gun under his pillow in exactly the same way as he did on those many nights when he slept in hostile territory.

  Chapter 3

  JACK WOKE the next morning to a banging on his door. He grabbed his gun and walked to the door, as the knocking grew louder and more insistent. He opened the shade slightly and saw a solitary hulking figure. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that the man wore a uniform. Jack opened the door and then stared as he recognized the man.

  “Scarpo, what the hell are you doing here?”

  “We have to talk.” He spoke in the same low, rumbling voice that Jack had learned to hate. He noticed Scarpo now sported officer stripes.

  “I’ve got nothing to say to you, and I’m not taking orders from anyone now.”

  “It’s about your buddy Pete.”

  Jack stepped aside, but took his hand from behind his back so Scarpo could see the gun. Scarpo took a seat and carefully pulled up his trousers to maintain their crease. He pointedly ignored the weapon as if it were of little importance.

  “What did you and your goons do to him?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We had a report that you were seen talking to him.”

  “That’s bullshit. Is this about what he saw in New Mexico?”

  Scarpo’s eyes widened and the muscles in his jaw tightened. “I wouldn’t believe anything he told you. He’s been buttonholing everyone he knows and telling some half-ass story. I’m here to tell you that it would be much healthier for you to forget anything he told you.”

  “What have you done with him? What exactly did he see?”

  “Your buddy’s turned to drugs since his release, and now he’s spreading rumors. We don’t have him. If we find him, we’ll get him some help. You might put yourself in danger if you hang around him.”

  “Your concern is very touching, and I know just how much you care. You haven’t forgotten about Karachi, have you?”

  Scarpo’s face tightened. “You won’t get the chance to sucker punch me a second time.”

  “We both know it wasn’t a sucker punch. If I find out that you have Pete, your buddies won’t be able to save you this time.”

  Scarpo’s face darkened, and he snarled, “I just came here to give you some friendly advice. I thought with your disability and all, you might have trouble understanding what’s really happening. When we settle our accounts, I won’t need any help. You’re not getting lucky twice.”

  He rose slowly and glared at Jack before turning his back as he headed to the door. He walked slowly and calmly as if he controlled the situation and then slammed the door behind him.

  Jack felt dizzy; his heart pounded as if it would break right through his chest. He forced himself to sit down and concentrate on his mantra, even though his mind was going a hundred miles an hour. His body slowly returned to normal. He rose too quickly and felt a wave of dizziness and nausea. He steadied himself and walked to the door and double locked it while looking through the peephole to make sure Scarpo was no longer around.

  He glanced at his watch and then headed toward the bathroom. He would meet his mother for lunch and then call in some favors to learn where Scarpo worked and whether or not he stashed Pete there. Once he knew for sure, he’d reassemble his old team and rescue him. Never leave anyone behind he thought and remembered how often that message had been drummed into his head.

  ***

  Parking at noon in downtown San Diego is always a nightmare. Jack found a spot on an isolated part of Ash Street, so that meant walking several blocks to the fashionable Gaslamp Quarter where his mother had made a lunch reservation at Fernando’s. He readied himself for the inevitable stares and worried expressions from women who would go out of their way to avoid him. He consciously tried to steer clear of approaching women who were walking alone, since he knew from past experience that his size frightened them. Sometimes a woman walking in his direction would spot him and then deliberately
cross over to the other side of the street before he could step aside.

  He understood a solitary woman’s unease when faced with someone his size, but he resented the fact they judged him without knowing him. He felt like shouting, “I’m safe. I’ve never hurt anyone who didn’t have a gun. Why can’t you understand that?” Instead of saying anything, he just made sure he gave solitary women plenty of space and tried not to make eye contact.

  Jack covered the distance to the restaurant rapidly and saw his mother at a corner table where she was in the process of downing a large margarita. It reassured him to see the pale yellow light radiating around the well-dressed middle-aged woman. Her aura displayed different colors when she became angry or sad, so he knew even before she spoke that today she felt fine.

  Most people never thought of Marjorie Starling as short or overweight because of her commanding presence. When she spoke in her courtroom voice, waiters stood a little straighter and moved much faster. She closed her law office when she first brought Jack home and did not go back to work until he started high school. Now she ran a booming practice that catered to parentless couples seeking in vitro fertilization by providing surrogate mothers to carry their babies to term along with all the legal adoption paperwork. She held up a basket of chips and motioned for him to come over and join her. She stood and they embraced. Her strong arms tightened around his back. She held fast to him until he started to feel uncomfortable and pulled away.

  She seemed a little unsteady on her feet, but Jack chalked that up to the margarita. Unlike his father, she usually came across as calm and unemotional. He remembered he had asked her advice once when he was still in high school; she had responding by laying out the pros and cons of each possible course of action until he shouted, “I’m not your client. Just tell me what you think I should do.”

  They ordered their favorites. Marjorie had established the ritual of a biweekly lunch at Fernando’s shortly after the hospital released him. She studied her son with her shrewd eyes before speaking.