Alien Upstairs (17 page)

"Please sit down,” Raf said. Sarah sat on a mat. Gerard glanced suspiciously at Raf before seating himself. Mr. Epstein lowered himself slowly, while rubbing at a shoulder. “I think I see the source of our difficulties,” Raf went on. “I need companionship, but you have little incentive to provide it."

"You're right about that,” Gerard said bitterly.

"Which means, of course, that I must give you an incentive to stay. I think I shall. I've watched you long enough. You're not the most promising material I've seen, but you might have potential."

He backed toward the door, then stepped through it. Gerard was rising quickly to his feet. The door closed. Gerard ran to it and pushed against it. “We're locked in.” He beat against it with his fists, then kicked it hard. He staggered.

Sarah hurried to him. “Are you all right?"

"I think I hurt my foot.” He tried to stand on both feet, and swayed. She held on to him. Then she heard the hiss.

White smoke was seeping into the room under the walls. She watched it, unable to move.

"Son of a bitch,” Gerard said. “He's going to kill us."

"No.” She raised her hands to her face. “He can't.” Mr. Epstein was standing now; white wisps obscured his feet. “Raf!” Sarah screamed. “Let us out."

The air was growing very cold. Slowly, the old man fell to the floor. She released Gerard and hit the door. The smoke was making her sleepy; she coughed and struggled to stay awake. She leaned against Gerard. The wall seemed to turn. She was on the floor. She tried to sit up. “Gerry.” Her head fell back. She was falling. The darkness caught her.

 

She moved. She stretched out her right arm and wiggled her fingers, then waited. After a moment, she realized she was breathing. She was afraid to open her eyes. She stretched out her legs and then tentatively moved her eyelids.

The ceiling glowed overhead. She began to cough. “Gerry,” she said, and coughed some more. She cleared her throat and managed to sit up.

Gerard was near her. He moaned and rolled over, then pulled himself into a sitting position, resting on his arms. “Jesus,” he said. “We're not dead."

"No.” Sarah began to shake. She pulled up her legs and wrapped her arms around them. There was no way to tell how long they had been unconscious; Raf might have kept them there for months. Years. Gerard moved toward her and they sat together in silence.

She remembered Mr. Epstein. She turned her head. The old man was sitting up also, his face hidden in his hands. He looked up at her. Shaking his head, he climbed to his feet. He stretched out his arms, then began to make circles with them. He stood on his toes and pranced, lifting his knees.

He came over to them, then sat down easily, folding his legs. “Did you see that?” he asked.

"See what?"

"How I did that.” The old man looked at her, and Sarah noticed that there was a little more color in his face; his cheeks were flushed. “My arthritis is gone."

"It must be because we've had a rest, a long rest,” Sarah murmured, wondering how long a rest it had been.

"Have we?” the old man asked.

"It seems that way."

Mr. Epstein flexed his arms. “It wouldn't go away just from rest, certainly not from an involuntary rest on the floor.” He raised his arms over his head, then let them fall. “Don't you feel different?"

Sarah moved her limbs. “I don't think so. What about you, Gerry?"

"Didn't I hurt my foot before? I can't remember. I'm sure I did. It seems all right now.” He got up and hopped on his right foot. “I did hurt it; I remember now. I guess it wasn't hurt as much as I thought it was."

"Perhaps,” the old man said, “but arthritis doesn't vanish like that. Once you have it, you're cursed."

Gerard stared at his foot. “Maybe it's the air here. Maybe it isn't as humid."

"Then why didn't I notice that when I first arrived?"

Sarah got up slowly, took a breath, and turned around. “Strange."

"What's strange?” Gerard asked.

"I feel healthy. I don't feel tired, and there aren't any of those little aches. You know what I mean—a backache, or a crick in the neck, or a slight headache, those sorts of things. They aren't there. Maybe it is the rest.” She reached for Gerard's hand. “I wonder how long we've been here.” His blue eyes found hers, and she knew he was thinking the same thing.

She released his hand and strode toward the door. It opened as she pressed the wall. She said, “We have to find Raf."

Both men approached the door. “How?” Gerard said. “We're out of bread crumbs,” he added, trying to smile.

"I think I know where he might be. We should be able to find our way."

She entered the hallway and turned to her left. Crumbs were still scattered along the floor; she followed them to the narrow corridor, then went along the route leading to the Pathway chamber. She heard the footsteps of the men behind her. As she felt the wall, the door slid open.

Raf was seated in front of the disks. “Is that you, Sarah?” he asked, without turning his head.

"Yes. We're all here.” Her heels clattered across the room, followed by Gerard's thumps and the old man's pats. She stood over Raf. “How long were we out?"

"I beg your pardon.” He glanced up at her; his olive skin looked sallow.

"How long were we asleep?"

"My, my. I really don't know."

She ground her teeth, wanting to kick him. “How long? A year? A century?"

"My goodness.” He tilted his head. “Perhaps a few hours, at most."

"What did you do to us?"

"Oh, not very much.” Raf rose in one swift movement and faced them. “I've given you that incentive to remain. I did the same thing to you that was done to me so long ago. I believe I was as frightened as you were. More frightened, perhaps.” He smiled.

"Damn it, what did you do?"

"Why, I gave you something of great value, something every human being craves. Do you understand? I've made you the way I am, I've made you long-lived.” He paused. “If you can keep away from fires, bullets, knives, slippery bathtubs, or various natural disasters, you will be immortal. Isn't that a nice surprise?"

Sarah could not speak. She heard Gerard sigh.

"I like my guests to stay awhile. You see what I'm driving at. You'll be safer here than you will anywhere else. You now have a compelling reason for remaining.” He turned and walked toward the door.

"I don't believe you,” Sarah cried.

"It's true. Don't be obstinate. Welcome your good fortune.” Raf disappeared behind the closing door.

 

 

 

 

Fifteen

 

 

"It hasn't registered yet,” Sarah said.

They were seated on cushions, eating dinner in their room. “Assuming it's true,” she added. She shook her head.

Mr. Epstein flexed his fingers. “Whatever he's done, I have my health,” he said. “And this chicken cacciatore should be giving me indigestion, but it isn't.” He drank some wine. “You're too young to feel it. You probably won't accept it until you're forty or so and notice that you look and feel the same. That's the only way we'll know for sure.” He helped himself to more food.

She glanced at the old man. His face was flushed with a healthy glow, and his skin seemed tighter; his hair was not quite as white and had taken on a silvery tone, but that might be the light. Gerard looked rested, but he had never been unhealthy.

The events of the past weeks seemed undifferentiated in her mind; they had become a blur of frantic movement. She tried to sort out her thoughts. Life without dying. There was a catch, of course. Even if it were true, she could still be killed; she was still vulnerable. She thought of the advancing glaciers, and the drought in the west. She could freeze to death; she could starve.

She suddenly realized that Raf might not have to struggle to bend them to his will; they might remain of their own accord, safe and cared for inside Phobos. It must have been easy for all the others to stay at first, before they saw what Raf had become, easy for them to hide from the uncertainties, dangers, and disappointments of home. It must become harder with time, not easier, she thought, to die.

She looked at Gerard. He was carefully stacking the dishes. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing, and tried to imagine what he would be like in years to come. I wonder what he'll be, how he'll look at me. Her muscles stiffened at the thought. Maybe I won't care. Lovers say forever, but they don't really mean it. She felt as though she was losing herself.

"Don't look so unhappy, Sarah,” Mr. Epstein said. “Consider how much we could learn here. Margaret, poor girl, was alone with him, but we aren't."

"Maybe he's joking,” Sarah said. “Maybe it's one of those cruel jokes of his. He'll keep us here, and one day we'll realize we're growing older after all. How can we believe him? He's lied before, plenty of times."

She scrambled to her feet and went to the door. “Raf!” she cried as it slid open. “Raf!” She entered the hall. “Raf!"

He came out of a room down the corridor and walked quickly toward her. She waited for him, tapping her foot. “You needn't assault my ears, Sarah,” he said as he came to her side. “I must teach you how to use the communications system."

She drew away. “You're playing with us again. You haven't made us immortal at all."

"But I have. Credit me with some kindness."

"It's a trick."

"You're afraid, aren't you. When you live a very long time, you find out what you really are. Did you know that? Every side of your character has time to develop, and you discover what you lack as well. You won't have any excuse for your failures. You're frightened of that."

"You're lying."

His face changed as he watched her. He seemed to be breathing more rapidly; his eyes narrowed.

The slap caught her on the cheek. Her head struck the wall. He hit her again, and she felt a sharp pain in her ribs. She gasped, and the pain grew worse. His hand chopped her right arm, and she heard the bone crack. She slid to the floor.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Gerard rushing at Raf. The taller man spun around and sent Gerard flying against the opposite wall. Gerard fell, crumpling to the floor.

She struggled to breathe. There was blood in her mouth; she could taste it. She spat. Raf was standing over her, long legs apart.

"You can't survive a fire,” he said, “because your body can't heal that quickly. You can't survive a few good stabs in the right places, because you'll bleed to death before you can heal. Bullets aimed at your head will destroy your brain, and being buried by a landslide would certainly cause your demise. But a few minor injuries are nothing.” He put his foot on her leg, below the knee, and bore down. “Gerard has a concussion, and possibly a slight skull fracture, but he'll be up and around in no time. So will you.” He pressed harder on her leg. “An hour or two at most, that's all. Broken bones are no worse than bruises. This is the only way I could prove it to you, outside of letting the passage of time prove it."

"No.” She struggled to speak. “You enjoyed it. You like to hurt people. You told Margaret you'd punish us."

He lifted his foot. Cringing, she closed her eyes, afraid that he would kick her. “I'm sorry,” he said. She squinted as she looked up. His chest rose and fell. Then he stepped back and was gone.

 

The pain filled her. She breathed cautiously, in small inhalations, waiting for the pain she knew would come with each breath. She postponed each gasp as long as possible, but that did not work; she gulped more deeply if she waited too long, and then the pain was much worse.

He could hurt her again when she healed, could hurt her over and oven. She would not question him any more, would not stand up to him. He could do what he wanted. She gasped and moaned.

"Sarah.” Mr. Epstein was kneeling near her. “Are you all right?"

"He said I'd heal.” It was hard for her to speak. She took a breath. “I think he broke my arm.” She breathed again. “And a rib. Maybe two."

"I'll check Gerry. I'll be back. Try to hold on."

"Okay."

He rose. His feet retreated. She tried to ignore the pain, but could not. As she gave in to it, the pain seemed to expand, filling up her mind; she could think of nothing else. She began to count her breaths.

When she reached two hundred and forty-seven, she noticed a pair of booted feet beside her head.

"Sarah.” Gerard knelt next to her. He put out a hand, then withdrew it. “I could kill him for this. I could kill him."

"Don't try."

His hands became fists. “I should have stopped him. I couldn't even do that.” He shook a fist helplessly.

She took a breath. The pain was easing a bit. Gerard sat with her; the old man was standing behind him.

"Are you all right?” she whispered.

"I'm fine."

"He said you had a concussion."

"I'm all right. Just a slight headache. It's going away."

She thought of how Raf had looked as he struck her. How often had he beaten Margaret? No wonder she had tried to escape. But even Margaret had turned to him before she left, asking him to follow her. He must have shown her some kindness. You find out what you really are, he had said. You find out when you live long enough. I don't want to know.

She tried to imagine Raf as he might have been before he was taken from Earth. Perhaps he had been hunting, quietly stalking a beast through thick forests, learning its habits. He had not changed; he still made his forays, then returned to his home.

She was like him; so was everyone else. Thousands of years had made little difference; only the surface had altered, not what was underneath. If Raf, with his long life and his knowledge, could not change, how could Earth? A pain in her side made her moan; she bit her lip.

Margaret had gone from here; so had others. They had, unlike Raf, managed to overcome their fear. But they too, in their own way, had fled from humankind. She thought of the beings Margaret was seeking. They must once have had only one world, yet they had escaped it; they had changed. Were they like Raf, despairing of others? Or were they only waiting until human beings were able to accept what they could offer? Did they still hope?