Chapter 8: Some water in a cafe
The door clanked shut behind Peter, a slight hissing noise as the seal reconnected.
Peter also emitted a slight hissing noise as he tried to make sense of the room in front of him. The first sensation was a cold jolt and the realisation that he had stepped out through the door in a flimsy set of pyjamas and a pair of slippers. Moving the focus from his inadequate attire he looked up and around what seemed to be some kind of primitive laboratory. It was a large, stark, white room. Tables circled the perimeter, each with various equipment or tools resting upon. But there was something else that circled the perimeter of the room.
People.
Eyes stared at him, the odd gasp uttered. One or two people actually took a step back in surprise at his entrance into their domain. Peter tilted his head in puzzlement. The frowns of alarm in front of him deepened. As if they are unsure of what to do next. To a person they were wearing white coats, some with face masks, others silicon gloves, interrupted from their business with the scientific equipment that litters their simple tables.
"Er, hello?"Peter ventured, unsure of them as they were of him.
Silence, aside from a nervous cough at the far end of the room. Peter ran a hand through his unkempt hair, nervous habit at large. Sweat, beading on his forehead. What now? Make a run for it? Or maybe try to return through the metal door that separates the uncertainty of the present from the cosy comfort of his new flat?
"Mr Ivenson, how nice to make your acquaintance" the voice startled Peter from his reflection, an echo in the large room adds an element of the theatrical to the simple statement made by the new man in the room. Peter’s focus darted up to the source of the sound. About half way down the room was a suspended platform, linked to the ground floor by a steel staircase, on which a late middle-aged man was hurrying down towards Peter.
"Er, hello" Peter repeated his earlier greeting, but this time even less certain. The man approached, the tails of his white coat flapping behind his brisk stride.
An outstretched hand, a stance Peter nervously reciprocated, sweaty palm lankly grasping his wide fingered grip. The man’s vigorous shake rattlig Peter’s clenched teeth.
"What a delight it is to see you. And to think, I had told Egbert that you were my least promising subject!" A manic grin flashes, steel blue eyes glinting under the fluorescent lighting.
"Subject?" Peter ventured, the word feeling awkward as he uttered it.
"Yes. Your resistance to them is remarkable. Just 19 hours it took you to leave the accommodation"
"19 hours? It….it was just a lazy Saturday in my flat. And who is them?"
The other man paused, eyes narrowing for a second, then realisation dawned across his face. He barked out a shrill laugh, as if from a man unused to humour.
"Of course, of course, of course" he sighed, looked down, then straight back up and at Peter. "You are unaware of the situation. I forget. Not often we get straight-brains these days"
"Straight-brains?"
The strange man began to pace across the room. His shoes chimed off the ceramic floor, echoing across the room.
"I am going to be level with you Mr Ivenson. My colleagues insist that I should be gentle with the new subjects, but I feel that we don't have time for that. Plus I can't stand elongated exposition." He paused, the pacing halted as he turned back to peer at Peter.
"Er, ok"
"17 years ago we were invaded" another pause.
"Invaded? By who? The Chinese?" Peter was never that up on current affairs, too boring, but he did remember one or two things about the rise of the East. People on social media getting bent out of shape about it.
The man laughed that uneasy laugh again. "You are thinking too small"
"Small?"
"The invasion came from further away"
"Russia?" Peter suggested, geography was never one of his strong points.
"No. Further. Kepler-438b to be precise" he recommenced his pacing.
"That some place in North Korea?" it didn't sound Korean, but Peter was prone to talk too much when uncertain.
He ignored Peter and continued "They didn't need ray guns or death stars, rather they just sealed off London as if it was nothing and told its human occupants to bow before them. And bow we did"
"You've lost me"
"Cortex manipulation" uttered as if it explained everything
"Still lost"
"They are advanced enough to stride across galaxies like you stride across the kitchen to fetch another beer" he looked at Peter disdainfully. Suddenly the last 19 hours using the ample supplies of the fridge in his flat-based confinement felt a bit less fun.
He continued "They are also advanced enough to alter our synapse connections" he looked at Peter, taking in his ongoing bafflement. "To control our brains Mr Ivenson"
This time it was Peter that sniggered. "Brain controlling aliens?" he asked incredulously. Looking around the room for others to share with his cynicism Peter was again greeted by blank stares. The snigger died away.
"I don't ask you to take my word for it, Mr Ivenson" he arched an eyebrow "having proved your lack of susceptibility to their instructions I will permit you to see them for yourself"
"My, er, lack of susceptibility? All I did was walk through a door"
"A door that told you not to walk through it" he replied.
"That stupid note?"
"Stupid to you. To the rest of humanity their instructions bind"
"I don't follow"
"You don't need to follow my explanation yet. Just follow this one instruction. Walk through the door"
"Er, but I've already walked through the door?"
"You walked through a door Mr Ivenson. Now it is time to walk through THE door. To the outside. To see for yourself"
Peter gulped nervously, "ok" he said meekly.
The next door of Peter’s increasingly bizarre day thumped shut behind him, another hiss of an airtight seal being formed. A gruff looking lady had thrust a pair of boots and some overalls into his arms back in the laboratory, Peter now grateful for the additional warmth as the wind whistled down the alleyway he had emerged into.
While the alley was cold, it was oddly normal looking. Peter had imagined an alien invasion to do more damage, leave more blackened craters, maybe some post apocalyptic nuclear winter with derelict buildings and overturned cars. However, this short alley ran between two non-descript buildings. A commercial waste dumpster and associated detritus blocked his view to the right, but to the left the alley opened up onto a street. Cars and vans zoomed by, a lady with a small child walked slowly down the opposite pavement.
Peter frowned, back in his flat it had been close to bedtime, but out here it looked more like mid-morning. He stepped forward, the borrowed boots maybe half a size too big, rubbing against his heels as he took tentative steps towards the street. Emerging from the shadows of the alley he blinked in the sunlight. With eyes adjusted Peter looked up and down the street. It was a part of London he was unfamiliar with, but the shops and eateries that dotted both sides were mostly familiar chains.
He scratched the side of his head, debating the next move. Maybe go and find the police, tell them that he’d been abducted by some cult or something. But had he been abducted? He thought he had woken up in his own flat, but actually now that he thought about it, something wasn’t right. For starters his actual new flat didn’t have a spare bedroom for him to mistakenly wander into. As if he could afford that inside London. And why would he ever have had Peppa Pig plasters in his medicine cabinet? He didn’t have any kids, not even close friends or relations with them. So maybe his abductors had set up a false flat to imprison him in? But then the door hadn’t even been locked. Plus those people in the laboratory seemed more wary of Peter than he of them. There was no rush to throw him back in the prison-flat. Then the older man that spoke had practically insisted that Peter leave to witness evidence of the crazy story he peddled.
So if it wasn’t an abduction, what the hell was it? Memories prior to waking up at the flat were still hazy. Maybe he should get the police to see if I’d been drugged? But why use drugs only to set him free? Some kind of experiment? Would fit with the lab. But testing what? Peter shook his head, this was all too confusing. He needed to get his thoughts together. Maybe grab a drink or something. Along with the borrowed boots, one of the guys at the lab had thrust some cash into a pocket of the overalls. Wasn’t a lot, but more than enough for a coffee and a bite to eat. A little way up the street was an Ed’s Diner, the faux American tourist trap like the one across the road from his office.
His office.
Yes, memories, an office over on St James street. This is progress. Peter’s pace quickened to cross the road to the coffee shop. He could almost taste the coffee that he was sure would bring back the rest of his memories, sort himself out and come up with a plan.
The bell on the door jingled as Peter entered the Diner. The lighting was dim in comparison to the bright sunshine on the street so he stood in the doorway for a few seconds getting used to the gloom. Another patron harrumphed behind him, squeezing past as he blocked the entrance. Peter muttered an apology, before returning to survey the shop’s internals.
It wasn’t busy, so he quickly spotted an empty booth opposite the main counter and slid onto the squeaky fake leather that adorned the seats. The menu propped between the sugar and ketchup bottles was grease-spattered and dog-eared, but he wasn’t after fine dining.
“You want a coffee?” the voice startled him from an internal debate on the great pancake versus apple pie dilemma. Peter looked up at the pretty young waitress, mousy blond hair spilling down from a grubby white baseball cap with “Ed’s” emblazoned across the front.
“Sure” he replied, prompting her to sidle back to the counter and grab the pot. She returned a couple of seconds later. depositing a mug on the table and then pouring the coffee into it.
Except it wasn’t coffee.
“Er, I think you forgot something” Peter couldn’t help but smirk. The server was just pouring warm water, she’d probably been on a long shift and forgot to brew the pot.
“What do you mean sir?” she stopped and looked at Peter uncertainly.
“The coffee” he nodded at her pot “Don’t you think it looks a bit on the weak side?”
She looked down at the pot, water sloshing inside as she moved to survey it. “Looks ok to me sir, but I can get a fresh pot if you’d like?”
“You do that” Peter replied a little curtly, irritated by her refusal to admit an error. She disappeared back to the counter, while he returned to the menu.
“Here we go” she came back a few minutes later, a new pot in her hand, this one fuller and steaming more that the last. But still full of water.
“I just want a coffee. Stop messing me around” Peter said irritably.
“But I’ve got you a coffee, sir, right here” her voice had taken on a pleading tone, she looked close to tears.
“There a problem here?” the new voice had a deep, south London twang. It wasn’t immediately clear where it came from, but then emerged next to my booth a large, barrel-chested, gentleman in his 50’s or 60’s. He looked between Peter and the server.
“Mr Jacobs, sir. This gentleman doesn’t seem to like my coffee” the server almost curtsied her acquiescence to the older man, “but I made it fresh. Honest”
“I know you did, Janine. You make the best dang coffee in all of London. Why’d you go upsetting this poor girl for fella?” this latter sentence directed at Peter with a scowl.
Peter shook his head in exasperation “This some kind of joke?”
“Ain’t no one here laughing, mate”
“Look. I’ve had a bad, few, days and I just want a coffee. Please”
“You have a coffee in front of you”
“I have some warm water, look” Peter picked up the mug and proffered it to the older man, a drop sloshed down onto the Formica table, splashing droplets onto the man’s pale jeans. He angrily sneered.
“You think you’re funny, son?” he said through near gritted teeth, one hand brushing at his trousers, the other raised to point a finger at Peter’s face. “Maybe this is what passes for humour up in the city, but here it likely to get you inta more than a spot o’trouble”
“I don’t want trouble” Peter squirmed.
“Then drink the darned coffee and keep your idea of humour to yourself” and with that he turned and strode away.
Janine still stood by Peter’s table “You want something to eat with that?” she asked meekly.
“What? Er, oh yes, yes please. The, er, pancakes, er, please” he stumbled over his words, trying to make sense of what the hell was going on. Janine turned and practically ran away, disappearing into the kitchen.
Peter sipped warm water and brooded.
The brooding was eventually ended by Janine’s return. She nervously put a plate in front of Peter, then nervously backed away. “That be all?” she tentatively asked.
Peter looked at the plate, then rested his head in his hands, sighed, and said “These are your pancakes?”
“Yes sir. The batter made fresh this morning”
“Ok. That’ll be all then” he prodded at the so called pancakes as Janine scuttled away. On the plate lay a small mound of lumpy grey mush. Bringing a small forkful to his nose Peter sniffed the substance. It was foul. He dropped the fork back onto the plate and pushed it away. Either this was the worse fricking cafe on the planet, or someone was trying to make a fool out of him.
Maybe that was it. Some kind of hidden camera show? Probably a set up by his friends, Brian involved no doubt. Stick it up on youtube and try and make a few quid off his misfortune. Mind you, it was quite the elaborate ruse. All those extras they’d need to hire. And how they know that he’d go to this diner, rather than any other? Not like they could plant actors at every shop on the high street, was it? Weird.
Seeings though Peter wasn’t going to get any coffee here to clear his racing mind, perhaps fresh air might work. He threw a ten pound note onto the table and headed towards the door. Blinking back into the sunlight he had another look round, try and work out the best way out of this part of town, maybe try and find a park or something. There wasn’t an immediately obvious direction to head. Just the same hustle and bustle as before.
Well, that and the giant alien hell beast striding up the road.
Peter was transfixed. The beast approached, but he was stuck motionless, jaw hanging slack. An actual alien, here, on the street. Heading his way. Should he make a run for it? Or perhaps just try and hide? Indecision costs vital seconds, but he can’t help but stare. It is like some twisted individual decided to combine a spider and an elephant. Easily two stories high, the alien staggered along on eight, or is it ten, slim legs, wobbling slightly like an amateur stilt walker. About 50 metres away from Peter it paused, absorbed by a parked car. It moved over to the vehicle, then four shorter limbs from the front of the beast extend out, down and toward the car. It picked it up.
Instinctively Peter ducked, trying to make himself as small a target as possible if the alien decides to hurl the car at him. But it doesn’t throw the car, instead turning it carefully in its slender manipulator limbs. As if looking for a makers mark on the bottom of the car, the alien inspects it closely. Then, just as gently as it picked it up, it lowered the car back down to the ground where it found it.
Something isn’t right.
Peter frowned, then slowly rose from his defensive crouch. Something isn’t right, even taking account of the giant alien in the middle of the road. But what? Then he realised; the other people in the street. Those on the pavements continue their business unimpressed by the sight in front of them. Cars stop to let the alien pass, but then continue on their way once the obstruction passed. No horns, no revved engines, no sign of anyone finding anything untoward in having their route blocked by a giant alien elephant-spider.
Peter ran a hand through his hair, nerves once again fraying. The alien starts to move towards him once again. Muscles tense, ready to run. Fight or flight, and Peter was certainly not going to try fighting the thing.
The bell of the diner chimed once again behind as the door opened behind him. A voice in his ear.
“Walk with me”
To start with Peter ignored it, figuring it meant for some other stunned onlooker, but then he sensed that the stranger remained at his side, foot impatiently tapping on the concrete.
“Er, me?” he ventured.
“Of course you. Stop staring at it and walk with me”
“It? So you see it too?” Peter looked round, then down. A small woman stood to his side, look of impatience writ large across her slim face.
“It’ll be worse if it sees you, now walk” she thrust an arm around his and gave a tug. Peter tried to resist at first, then realised that a plan of heading away from the hell beast didn’t actually seem that bad an idea. He followed her lead. “What is it?” as he tried to look behind at the beast, but she jerked him back round with another impatient tug of his arm.
“What the frick do you think it is? Aunt Mable come round for afternoon tea?” the sarcasm of her tone bit deep and Peter lapsed into silence as she half dragged him down the street away from the alien.
She led the way down a side road, then into a small convenience store, grabbing a shopping basket and pacing off down an aisle. For the first time since outside the diner she let go of Peter’s arm. He spends a minute or two just trying to make any sense of the situation. That didn’t work, so he trailed off after his recent companion, finding her next to the cleaning products, eyeing a bottle of bleach suspiciously.
“So are you going to give me any idea what the heck is going on here?” Peter asked exasperated.
“We need some supplies. What does this smell like to you?” she twisted off the cap of the bleach then sticks it under his nose.
“Er, not really like anything. Lavender maybe?”
“But not bleach?”
“No”
“Damn it” she puts the bottle back on the shelf. We’re running low.
“Of bleach?”
“Of everything”
“I don’t follow?”
“No, you’re not the quickest” this with a slight sneer and a sideways glance. Peter bristled at the slight, but given a lack of other options tried to humour her “Then how about you explain it all to me in nice simple language?”
“Tell me this first. How’d you like your coffee and pancakes back at the diner?”
“Have you been following me?”
“Well of course. We’re hardly likely to let our best subject go wandering off alone, are we?” another sneer, the word “subject” emphasised.
“You’re from the laboratory?”
She feigns to clap “Bravo. Seems like you’re catching up” she turned away and continued her search of the cleaning products.
“And it seems like you’re a massive bitch” Peter turned and walked away from her. It took a special talent to make facing off with the alien more appealing than talking to this woman.
“Wait” her instruction sounds tired, Peter turned back to find her staring at the floor “sorry” she mutters “It’s been a tough few days”
“Are you trying for some kind of award in understatement?”
“It’s….it’s just that you are our….our best hope. But it seems that you’re just….well…”
“Well what?”
“Normal” she sighs
They lapsed into silence for a while. She returning back to her search of the cleaning products, while Peter just stared at her for a while. She’s short, almost a foot less than Peter who was not exactly tall. She wears a small woollen hat over greasy lank brown hair that spills out from underneath it and down across an oversized rain coat that is fastened up to her neck. Baggy cargo pants are tucked into near knee height biker boots.
“So normal is bad now?” Peter ventured after a while, the uncomfortable silence bothering him.
“You came in to us at about the same time we got a three members of the police firearms team”
“Came in to you? Makes me sound like a slab of meat”
“That is not too bad an analogy” she looked up at him, faint smile playing at the corner of her lips. He frowned again, and she continued. “We put you all in the facility, the accommodation that you wake up in”
“There’s more than one?”
“Indeed, we can test up to 12 of you at once”
“Test?”
“Uh-huh, for your susceptibility to them” she nodded outside, in the general direction that they had left the alien.
“And the test is to do with that note on the door?” Peter recalled what the man in the lab had said.
“Yeah, the note telling you to stay”
“That I ignored. And the police?”
“Still in the test houses far as I know” she shrugged.
“So how’d I end up in your test to start with?” plenty of her story made absolutely no sense.
“What’s your last memory?” she peered up at him, making eye contact for the first time.
“I, er, I’m not sure. Was hoping the coffee would loosen up my memory”
“Try harder to think” she replied
He looked at the floor, squinted, trying to recall. After a few seconds “A park”
“A park?” she echoed as a question
“Yeah, it was hot. I’d forgot my sunscreen” the memories were coming back
“Go on” she urged
“Football. We were playing football, office picnic, Sven had done a runner on me”
“Then what?”
Peter frowned “Then that dick Brian nailed me”
“Nailed you?” she arched an eyebrow questioningly
“Was only supposed to be a kick about, but he properly went for me, full force”
“Then?”
“Then, well, nothing” that was it, memories fading.
“You hit your head” it was a statement rather than question.
“I guess”
“No guessing, that’s how it works. Your head gets knocked a certain way, it frees you from them for a while”
“Frees me how?”
She scrunched her face briefly, as if working over a complex maths problem. “You know about wifi?” she asked after a second or two.
“A bit”
“It’s a frequency right? One you can’t see, but allows your phone or computer or whatever to connect to the rest of the world”
“Uh-huh”
“Well they can connect to us in a similar way. We can’t see them doing it, but they’re there. Instructing our behaviour”
“Thats crazy”
“This coming from the man that not 15 minutes ago watched a fricking alien stride down the street?”
She had me at that. “Ok, so I get a concussion, it breaks the signal and that’s how I was able to ignore the note on the door?” Peter desperately tried to make sense of what she was saying.
“Not quite. Most people, almost all in fact, a while after they come back around they become susceptible again. The aliens get back in control. We’re not sure if it’s the type of concussion they suffer, or the type of person they are”
“But me?”
“You stayed out of their grip, a genuine wonder of the world, a straight-brain”
“Not sure I like that term”
“Well I’m not sure you get to choose what we call it” she shrugged.
“So are you a, er, straight-brain to?”
“Nope”
“Then how comes you are out here, won’t they get you?”
“If I’m outside the shielding of the lab for long enough, sure” she grabbed a bottle of detergent and shoved it in her basket “but we get a short window of immunity to their control. Varies person by person, but we keep it short to play it safe”
“So you come out, get your supplies and head back?”
She nodded slowly “Seems like you might be quicker than I gave you credit for”. At the counter she put a few coins down in front of the disinterested looking shopkeeper, then headed back for the door.
Peter remained in the aisle.
“You coming?” she paused with the door open
“If I say no? You can’t stay out here with me, after all”
“Then there is nothing I can do about it” she smiled, which seemed at odds with her statement
“Weren’t you supposed to keep your special subject safe?”
“Yup”
“But you’re now happy to leave me here?”
“Yup”
“How come?”
“Cos I know you will follow me”
“Really? Why?”
“Cos I know that the only place with proper coffee in a ten mile radius is back at the lab” her smile lit up her eyes
Peter paused for a few seconds, then said, “Are there also pancakes?”
She nodded.
Peter followed.
Peter also emitted a slight hissing noise as he tried to make sense of the room in front of him. The first sensation was a cold jolt and the realisation that he had stepped out through the door in a flimsy set of pyjamas and a pair of slippers. Moving the focus from his inadequate attire he looked up and around what seemed to be some kind of primitive laboratory. It was a large, stark, white room. Tables circled the perimeter, each with various equipment or tools resting upon. But there was something else that circled the perimeter of the room.
People.
Eyes stared at him, the odd gasp uttered. One or two people actually took a step back in surprise at his entrance into their domain. Peter tilted his head in puzzlement. The frowns of alarm in front of him deepened. As if they are unsure of what to do next. To a person they were wearing white coats, some with face masks, others silicon gloves, interrupted from their business with the scientific equipment that litters their simple tables.
"Er, hello?"Peter ventured, unsure of them as they were of him.
Silence, aside from a nervous cough at the far end of the room. Peter ran a hand through his unkempt hair, nervous habit at large. Sweat, beading on his forehead. What now? Make a run for it? Or maybe try to return through the metal door that separates the uncertainty of the present from the cosy comfort of his new flat?
"Mr Ivenson, how nice to make your acquaintance" the voice startled Peter from his reflection, an echo in the large room adds an element of the theatrical to the simple statement made by the new man in the room. Peter’s focus darted up to the source of the sound. About half way down the room was a suspended platform, linked to the ground floor by a steel staircase, on which a late middle-aged man was hurrying down towards Peter.
"Er, hello" Peter repeated his earlier greeting, but this time even less certain. The man approached, the tails of his white coat flapping behind his brisk stride.
An outstretched hand, a stance Peter nervously reciprocated, sweaty palm lankly grasping his wide fingered grip. The man’s vigorous shake rattlig Peter’s clenched teeth.
"What a delight it is to see you. And to think, I had told Egbert that you were my least promising subject!" A manic grin flashes, steel blue eyes glinting under the fluorescent lighting.
"Subject?" Peter ventured, the word feeling awkward as he uttered it.
"Yes. Your resistance to them is remarkable. Just 19 hours it took you to leave the accommodation"
"19 hours? It….it was just a lazy Saturday in my flat. And who is them?"
The other man paused, eyes narrowing for a second, then realisation dawned across his face. He barked out a shrill laugh, as if from a man unused to humour.
"Of course, of course, of course" he sighed, looked down, then straight back up and at Peter. "You are unaware of the situation. I forget. Not often we get straight-brains these days"
"Straight-brains?"
The strange man began to pace across the room. His shoes chimed off the ceramic floor, echoing across the room.
"I am going to be level with you Mr Ivenson. My colleagues insist that I should be gentle with the new subjects, but I feel that we don't have time for that. Plus I can't stand elongated exposition." He paused, the pacing halted as he turned back to peer at Peter.
"Er, ok"
"17 years ago we were invaded" another pause.
"Invaded? By who? The Chinese?" Peter was never that up on current affairs, too boring, but he did remember one or two things about the rise of the East. People on social media getting bent out of shape about it.
The man laughed that uneasy laugh again. "You are thinking too small"
"Small?"
"The invasion came from further away"
"Russia?" Peter suggested, geography was never one of his strong points.
"No. Further. Kepler-438b to be precise" he recommenced his pacing.
"That some place in North Korea?" it didn't sound Korean, but Peter was prone to talk too much when uncertain.
He ignored Peter and continued "They didn't need ray guns or death stars, rather they just sealed off London as if it was nothing and told its human occupants to bow before them. And bow we did"
"You've lost me"
"Cortex manipulation" uttered as if it explained everything
"Still lost"
"They are advanced enough to stride across galaxies like you stride across the kitchen to fetch another beer" he looked at Peter disdainfully. Suddenly the last 19 hours using the ample supplies of the fridge in his flat-based confinement felt a bit less fun.
He continued "They are also advanced enough to alter our synapse connections" he looked at Peter, taking in his ongoing bafflement. "To control our brains Mr Ivenson"
This time it was Peter that sniggered. "Brain controlling aliens?" he asked incredulously. Looking around the room for others to share with his cynicism Peter was again greeted by blank stares. The snigger died away.
"I don't ask you to take my word for it, Mr Ivenson" he arched an eyebrow "having proved your lack of susceptibility to their instructions I will permit you to see them for yourself"
"My, er, lack of susceptibility? All I did was walk through a door"
"A door that told you not to walk through it" he replied.
"That stupid note?"
"Stupid to you. To the rest of humanity their instructions bind"
"I don't follow"
"You don't need to follow my explanation yet. Just follow this one instruction. Walk through the door"
"Er, but I've already walked through the door?"
"You walked through a door Mr Ivenson. Now it is time to walk through THE door. To the outside. To see for yourself"
Peter gulped nervously, "ok" he said meekly.
The next door of Peter’s increasingly bizarre day thumped shut behind him, another hiss of an airtight seal being formed. A gruff looking lady had thrust a pair of boots and some overalls into his arms back in the laboratory, Peter now grateful for the additional warmth as the wind whistled down the alleyway he had emerged into.
While the alley was cold, it was oddly normal looking. Peter had imagined an alien invasion to do more damage, leave more blackened craters, maybe some post apocalyptic nuclear winter with derelict buildings and overturned cars. However, this short alley ran between two non-descript buildings. A commercial waste dumpster and associated detritus blocked his view to the right, but to the left the alley opened up onto a street. Cars and vans zoomed by, a lady with a small child walked slowly down the opposite pavement.
Peter frowned, back in his flat it had been close to bedtime, but out here it looked more like mid-morning. He stepped forward, the borrowed boots maybe half a size too big, rubbing against his heels as he took tentative steps towards the street. Emerging from the shadows of the alley he blinked in the sunlight. With eyes adjusted Peter looked up and down the street. It was a part of London he was unfamiliar with, but the shops and eateries that dotted both sides were mostly familiar chains.
He scratched the side of his head, debating the next move. Maybe go and find the police, tell them that he’d been abducted by some cult or something. But had he been abducted? He thought he had woken up in his own flat, but actually now that he thought about it, something wasn’t right. For starters his actual new flat didn’t have a spare bedroom for him to mistakenly wander into. As if he could afford that inside London. And why would he ever have had Peppa Pig plasters in his medicine cabinet? He didn’t have any kids, not even close friends or relations with them. So maybe his abductors had set up a false flat to imprison him in? But then the door hadn’t even been locked. Plus those people in the laboratory seemed more wary of Peter than he of them. There was no rush to throw him back in the prison-flat. Then the older man that spoke had practically insisted that Peter leave to witness evidence of the crazy story he peddled.
So if it wasn’t an abduction, what the hell was it? Memories prior to waking up at the flat were still hazy. Maybe he should get the police to see if I’d been drugged? But why use drugs only to set him free? Some kind of experiment? Would fit with the lab. But testing what? Peter shook his head, this was all too confusing. He needed to get his thoughts together. Maybe grab a drink or something. Along with the borrowed boots, one of the guys at the lab had thrust some cash into a pocket of the overalls. Wasn’t a lot, but more than enough for a coffee and a bite to eat. A little way up the street was an Ed’s Diner, the faux American tourist trap like the one across the road from his office.
His office.
Yes, memories, an office over on St James street. This is progress. Peter’s pace quickened to cross the road to the coffee shop. He could almost taste the coffee that he was sure would bring back the rest of his memories, sort himself out and come up with a plan.
The bell on the door jingled as Peter entered the Diner. The lighting was dim in comparison to the bright sunshine on the street so he stood in the doorway for a few seconds getting used to the gloom. Another patron harrumphed behind him, squeezing past as he blocked the entrance. Peter muttered an apology, before returning to survey the shop’s internals.
It wasn’t busy, so he quickly spotted an empty booth opposite the main counter and slid onto the squeaky fake leather that adorned the seats. The menu propped between the sugar and ketchup bottles was grease-spattered and dog-eared, but he wasn’t after fine dining.
“You want a coffee?” the voice startled him from an internal debate on the great pancake versus apple pie dilemma. Peter looked up at the pretty young waitress, mousy blond hair spilling down from a grubby white baseball cap with “Ed’s” emblazoned across the front.
“Sure” he replied, prompting her to sidle back to the counter and grab the pot. She returned a couple of seconds later. depositing a mug on the table and then pouring the coffee into it.
Except it wasn’t coffee.
“Er, I think you forgot something” Peter couldn’t help but smirk. The server was just pouring warm water, she’d probably been on a long shift and forgot to brew the pot.
“What do you mean sir?” she stopped and looked at Peter uncertainly.
“The coffee” he nodded at her pot “Don’t you think it looks a bit on the weak side?”
She looked down at the pot, water sloshing inside as she moved to survey it. “Looks ok to me sir, but I can get a fresh pot if you’d like?”
“You do that” Peter replied a little curtly, irritated by her refusal to admit an error. She disappeared back to the counter, while he returned to the menu.
“Here we go” she came back a few minutes later, a new pot in her hand, this one fuller and steaming more that the last. But still full of water.
“I just want a coffee. Stop messing me around” Peter said irritably.
“But I’ve got you a coffee, sir, right here” her voice had taken on a pleading tone, she looked close to tears.
“There a problem here?” the new voice had a deep, south London twang. It wasn’t immediately clear where it came from, but then emerged next to my booth a large, barrel-chested, gentleman in his 50’s or 60’s. He looked between Peter and the server.
“Mr Jacobs, sir. This gentleman doesn’t seem to like my coffee” the server almost curtsied her acquiescence to the older man, “but I made it fresh. Honest”
“I know you did, Janine. You make the best dang coffee in all of London. Why’d you go upsetting this poor girl for fella?” this latter sentence directed at Peter with a scowl.
Peter shook his head in exasperation “This some kind of joke?”
“Ain’t no one here laughing, mate”
“Look. I’ve had a bad, few, days and I just want a coffee. Please”
“You have a coffee in front of you”
“I have some warm water, look” Peter picked up the mug and proffered it to the older man, a drop sloshed down onto the Formica table, splashing droplets onto the man’s pale jeans. He angrily sneered.
“You think you’re funny, son?” he said through near gritted teeth, one hand brushing at his trousers, the other raised to point a finger at Peter’s face. “Maybe this is what passes for humour up in the city, but here it likely to get you inta more than a spot o’trouble”
“I don’t want trouble” Peter squirmed.
“Then drink the darned coffee and keep your idea of humour to yourself” and with that he turned and strode away.
Janine still stood by Peter’s table “You want something to eat with that?” she asked meekly.
“What? Er, oh yes, yes please. The, er, pancakes, er, please” he stumbled over his words, trying to make sense of what the hell was going on. Janine turned and practically ran away, disappearing into the kitchen.
Peter sipped warm water and brooded.
The brooding was eventually ended by Janine’s return. She nervously put a plate in front of Peter, then nervously backed away. “That be all?” she tentatively asked.
Peter looked at the plate, then rested his head in his hands, sighed, and said “These are your pancakes?”
“Yes sir. The batter made fresh this morning”
“Ok. That’ll be all then” he prodded at the so called pancakes as Janine scuttled away. On the plate lay a small mound of lumpy grey mush. Bringing a small forkful to his nose Peter sniffed the substance. It was foul. He dropped the fork back onto the plate and pushed it away. Either this was the worse fricking cafe on the planet, or someone was trying to make a fool out of him.
Maybe that was it. Some kind of hidden camera show? Probably a set up by his friends, Brian involved no doubt. Stick it up on youtube and try and make a few quid off his misfortune. Mind you, it was quite the elaborate ruse. All those extras they’d need to hire. And how they know that he’d go to this diner, rather than any other? Not like they could plant actors at every shop on the high street, was it? Weird.
Seeings though Peter wasn’t going to get any coffee here to clear his racing mind, perhaps fresh air might work. He threw a ten pound note onto the table and headed towards the door. Blinking back into the sunlight he had another look round, try and work out the best way out of this part of town, maybe try and find a park or something. There wasn’t an immediately obvious direction to head. Just the same hustle and bustle as before.
Well, that and the giant alien hell beast striding up the road.
Peter was transfixed. The beast approached, but he was stuck motionless, jaw hanging slack. An actual alien, here, on the street. Heading his way. Should he make a run for it? Or perhaps just try and hide? Indecision costs vital seconds, but he can’t help but stare. It is like some twisted individual decided to combine a spider and an elephant. Easily two stories high, the alien staggered along on eight, or is it ten, slim legs, wobbling slightly like an amateur stilt walker. About 50 metres away from Peter it paused, absorbed by a parked car. It moved over to the vehicle, then four shorter limbs from the front of the beast extend out, down and toward the car. It picked it up.
Instinctively Peter ducked, trying to make himself as small a target as possible if the alien decides to hurl the car at him. But it doesn’t throw the car, instead turning it carefully in its slender manipulator limbs. As if looking for a makers mark on the bottom of the car, the alien inspects it closely. Then, just as gently as it picked it up, it lowered the car back down to the ground where it found it.
Something isn’t right.
Peter frowned, then slowly rose from his defensive crouch. Something isn’t right, even taking account of the giant alien in the middle of the road. But what? Then he realised; the other people in the street. Those on the pavements continue their business unimpressed by the sight in front of them. Cars stop to let the alien pass, but then continue on their way once the obstruction passed. No horns, no revved engines, no sign of anyone finding anything untoward in having their route blocked by a giant alien elephant-spider.
Peter ran a hand through his hair, nerves once again fraying. The alien starts to move towards him once again. Muscles tense, ready to run. Fight or flight, and Peter was certainly not going to try fighting the thing.
The bell of the diner chimed once again behind as the door opened behind him. A voice in his ear.
“Walk with me”
To start with Peter ignored it, figuring it meant for some other stunned onlooker, but then he sensed that the stranger remained at his side, foot impatiently tapping on the concrete.
“Er, me?” he ventured.
“Of course you. Stop staring at it and walk with me”
“It? So you see it too?” Peter looked round, then down. A small woman stood to his side, look of impatience writ large across her slim face.
“It’ll be worse if it sees you, now walk” she thrust an arm around his and gave a tug. Peter tried to resist at first, then realised that a plan of heading away from the hell beast didn’t actually seem that bad an idea. He followed her lead. “What is it?” as he tried to look behind at the beast, but she jerked him back round with another impatient tug of his arm.
“What the frick do you think it is? Aunt Mable come round for afternoon tea?” the sarcasm of her tone bit deep and Peter lapsed into silence as she half dragged him down the street away from the alien.
She led the way down a side road, then into a small convenience store, grabbing a shopping basket and pacing off down an aisle. For the first time since outside the diner she let go of Peter’s arm. He spends a minute or two just trying to make any sense of the situation. That didn’t work, so he trailed off after his recent companion, finding her next to the cleaning products, eyeing a bottle of bleach suspiciously.
“So are you going to give me any idea what the heck is going on here?” Peter asked exasperated.
“We need some supplies. What does this smell like to you?” she twisted off the cap of the bleach then sticks it under his nose.
“Er, not really like anything. Lavender maybe?”
“But not bleach?”
“No”
“Damn it” she puts the bottle back on the shelf. We’re running low.
“Of bleach?”
“Of everything”
“I don’t follow?”
“No, you’re not the quickest” this with a slight sneer and a sideways glance. Peter bristled at the slight, but given a lack of other options tried to humour her “Then how about you explain it all to me in nice simple language?”
“Tell me this first. How’d you like your coffee and pancakes back at the diner?”
“Have you been following me?”
“Well of course. We’re hardly likely to let our best subject go wandering off alone, are we?” another sneer, the word “subject” emphasised.
“You’re from the laboratory?”
She feigns to clap “Bravo. Seems like you’re catching up” she turned away and continued her search of the cleaning products.
“And it seems like you’re a massive bitch” Peter turned and walked away from her. It took a special talent to make facing off with the alien more appealing than talking to this woman.
“Wait” her instruction sounds tired, Peter turned back to find her staring at the floor “sorry” she mutters “It’s been a tough few days”
“Are you trying for some kind of award in understatement?”
“It’s….it’s just that you are our….our best hope. But it seems that you’re just….well…”
“Well what?”
“Normal” she sighs
They lapsed into silence for a while. She returning back to her search of the cleaning products, while Peter just stared at her for a while. She’s short, almost a foot less than Peter who was not exactly tall. She wears a small woollen hat over greasy lank brown hair that spills out from underneath it and down across an oversized rain coat that is fastened up to her neck. Baggy cargo pants are tucked into near knee height biker boots.
“So normal is bad now?” Peter ventured after a while, the uncomfortable silence bothering him.
“You came in to us at about the same time we got a three members of the police firearms team”
“Came in to you? Makes me sound like a slab of meat”
“That is not too bad an analogy” she looked up at him, faint smile playing at the corner of her lips. He frowned again, and she continued. “We put you all in the facility, the accommodation that you wake up in”
“There’s more than one?”
“Indeed, we can test up to 12 of you at once”
“Test?”
“Uh-huh, for your susceptibility to them” she nodded outside, in the general direction that they had left the alien.
“And the test is to do with that note on the door?” Peter recalled what the man in the lab had said.
“Yeah, the note telling you to stay”
“That I ignored. And the police?”
“Still in the test houses far as I know” she shrugged.
“So how’d I end up in your test to start with?” plenty of her story made absolutely no sense.
“What’s your last memory?” she peered up at him, making eye contact for the first time.
“I, er, I’m not sure. Was hoping the coffee would loosen up my memory”
“Try harder to think” she replied
He looked at the floor, squinted, trying to recall. After a few seconds “A park”
“A park?” she echoed as a question
“Yeah, it was hot. I’d forgot my sunscreen” the memories were coming back
“Go on” she urged
“Football. We were playing football, office picnic, Sven had done a runner on me”
“Then what?”
Peter frowned “Then that dick Brian nailed me”
“Nailed you?” she arched an eyebrow questioningly
“Was only supposed to be a kick about, but he properly went for me, full force”
“Then?”
“Then, well, nothing” that was it, memories fading.
“You hit your head” it was a statement rather than question.
“I guess”
“No guessing, that’s how it works. Your head gets knocked a certain way, it frees you from them for a while”
“Frees me how?”
She scrunched her face briefly, as if working over a complex maths problem. “You know about wifi?” she asked after a second or two.
“A bit”
“It’s a frequency right? One you can’t see, but allows your phone or computer or whatever to connect to the rest of the world”
“Uh-huh”
“Well they can connect to us in a similar way. We can’t see them doing it, but they’re there. Instructing our behaviour”
“Thats crazy”
“This coming from the man that not 15 minutes ago watched a fricking alien stride down the street?”
She had me at that. “Ok, so I get a concussion, it breaks the signal and that’s how I was able to ignore the note on the door?” Peter desperately tried to make sense of what she was saying.
“Not quite. Most people, almost all in fact, a while after they come back around they become susceptible again. The aliens get back in control. We’re not sure if it’s the type of concussion they suffer, or the type of person they are”
“But me?”
“You stayed out of their grip, a genuine wonder of the world, a straight-brain”
“Not sure I like that term”
“Well I’m not sure you get to choose what we call it” she shrugged.
“So are you a, er, straight-brain to?”
“Nope”
“Then how comes you are out here, won’t they get you?”
“If I’m outside the shielding of the lab for long enough, sure” she grabbed a bottle of detergent and shoved it in her basket “but we get a short window of immunity to their control. Varies person by person, but we keep it short to play it safe”
“So you come out, get your supplies and head back?”
She nodded slowly “Seems like you might be quicker than I gave you credit for”. At the counter she put a few coins down in front of the disinterested looking shopkeeper, then headed back for the door.
Peter remained in the aisle.
“You coming?” she paused with the door open
“If I say no? You can’t stay out here with me, after all”
“Then there is nothing I can do about it” she smiled, which seemed at odds with her statement
“Weren’t you supposed to keep your special subject safe?”
“Yup”
“But you’re now happy to leave me here?”
“Yup”
“How come?”
“Cos I know you will follow me”
“Really? Why?”
“Cos I know that the only place with proper coffee in a ten mile radius is back at the lab” her smile lit up her eyes
Peter paused for a few seconds, then said, “Are there also pancakes?”
She nodded.
Peter followed.
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