Page 11 of Border Control
I open it and my neat kitchen floor seems to fall away from me. “Oh, shit,” I mutter.
John. John, the barrister I work with.
My work phone buzzes with a message. My stomach swoops, palms going clammy as the words blur.“Hey, Laura. We just matched on Bristol Meet. Rofl!”
Uh, yeah. I'm not laughing, more like curling on the floor in utter shame. I don't mix work with my friends or my love life. Everything stays separate and organized. Has to.
I type back, my thumb trembling as I jab the keys,“So I see. However, company policy dictates strict rules on how colleagues interact.”
“Should have known you'd quote the book to me. :) well, I thought it was funny.”
Argh. My skin prickles hot. Is this going to ruin our working rapport? This is why everything has to be kept in compartments!
When I getto Ellen's farm it's past sunset, and there are no lights on in the house. My car lamps strobe over the shadowy shapes of the corrugated steel shed where Ellen parks her heavy machinery and into the lean to, where I expect to see the aliens all piled together and sleeping soundly. But there's just two of them, one of the big purple ones who's passed out asleep, and the tall one with metal limb replacements, Arture. The headlamps reflect off his bare arm as I park, and then my eyes struggle to adjust to the sudden darkness when I turn off the car completely.
“Good evening,” I say, getting out. It's raining, so I open an umbrella with a snap which seems to echo against the machinery shed behind me.
Arture says nothing, watching me warily, so I leave him alone and get my bags out of the trunk. Hoisting them up, I try not to totter on the gravel up to Ellen’s house; walking in heels on gravel is awkward at the best of times, but in the dark it’s a recipe for a broken ankle.
I unload my bags at the door and push it open. Immediately the smell of paint hits me: Arabella making herself at home.
“Hi!” I call out as I shake the umbrella out the front door, listening carefully for an answer.
Nothing.
“Arabella?” I slip off my heels and pad in my pantyhose along the cold kitchen tiles. “Where are you?”
The house remains silent and, worse, still. It felt empty without Ellen, but now it’s really barren, ringing with only background noises of the kitchen grandfather clock ticking and a hiss in the ancient heating pipes.
“Fuckity fucking shit.” I shove my shoes on and stab my umbrella up in the air, thrusting the plastic up like a war pennant as I march back to the lean to.
“Where’s Arabella?” I snap at Arture.
He eyes my umbrella, but he doesn’t move to defend himself from it as I level it at him. “We don’t know. Gara went to look for her.”
“So now two of my friends have disappeared along with two aliens. No, wait, four, because two of the purple ones are missing.” The tip of the umbrella shakes, so I adjust my grip. It’s a shit weapon, but it’s the only one I have. “Explain yourself,now. I’ve got a button that will alert the police so they’ll be here in minutes, and I’m not afraid to use it.” I’m lying about the last part, but he doesn’t know that.
The other purple alien stirs. “No you don’t,” he says, voice a mumble. He massages his temples with a wince before his storm gray eyes lock onto the machinery shed. His eye color tells me he’s the one called Nevare, who always seems like he’s listening to something else. He cocks his head now, as if he’s hearing a sound I can’t.
And then I do. A sharp crack like someone snapped a branch, coming from inside the machine shed.
“What on this green earth are you up to?” I snarl at them, marching straight for the barn. I half-expect one of them to run after me to stop me, but all that follows me is Nevare’s voice.
“He needs you,” is all he says.
I’ll puzzle out whether that was meant for me or Arture later, stomping across the yard with my umbrella thrust out in front of me. Rain drenches me instantly but I don’t feel cold, just pissed.I stumble but right myself before I can slip on the wet gravel, and the automatic sensor lights flare on. Is this throat-clutching sensation terror or anger? Either way, if they’ve got Arabella in there, I’m getting her out.
I throw the shed door open and dart inside, pulling the umbrella back over my shoulder to use like a bat. I manage three steps before I stop.
And stare.
The two purple aliens are in here. One stands a few feet in front of Ellen's tractor, a metal cylinder in his hand. From it drapes a thin blue line that glitters and shimmers with its own light, and it drags to a halt as he stops moving.
It’s an alien whip. I stare at it, then at the scene lit by the pool of light from the floodlights peeking through the missing panels at the top of the shed.
The other big purple alien hangs by his hands from the steel beam across the roof. His legs dangle in the air, a foot from the concrete, his weight dragging him down so his back is stretched taut. His wrists aren't tied that I can see, he’s just got an iron grip on the metal beam. He lifts his head with effort, one purple eye flashing over his shoulder at me, his expression slack as if he’s totally relaxed.
He lets go and drops to the ground, staggering a step to the side before he catches himself. “Oh-Law-rah,” he grates out, as if his voice is hoarse from screaming, and he turns to face me. Sweat stands out in perfect beads on the scales of his bare torso.
