Shades Of Gray--2

Shades Of Gray—3

(We continue with Lieutenant Anderson O’Brien’s story. Sections that are normally in italics I have enclosed with single quotation marks. )

‘The familiar whistle drew Anderson’s attention and he spun around to confront a yelped, "Jesus! Lad! You really had me tonight. What were you on, speed!"

A good-natured grin split Colin’s lips as he threw a mock punch to emphasize his words. "Yah took me by eight points, yah bastard."

"Had the right fuel," Jake Thorn’s dark face shinnied with sweat as his leering glance appraised the skinny Anderson’s pale body wrapped about the waist in a towel. "Cindie Martin rolls her butt, can send a guy . . ."

"Bug off man!" Andy had enough teasing about the girl. Besides nobody dared take liberties with Anderson when Colin was present. Colin Harahan wasn’t big but he was a mean bastard and Anderson O’Brien was his shadow.

Anderson woke with a start. It was here. Oh god . . . not already. He saw a hazy view of the creature moving above the clear cover of his cage. He blinked his eyes. At least he could still do that. He could use his voice for all the good it did him. He could cry. He could scream. In ever other way, he was paralyzed. He stared wide-eyed into a dense fog.

Laughter! It rang loud and ripe…

The pain was gone for a while but the paralysis was worse. The pain allowed Anderson to focus. To consider he might be alive. Without the pain he wasn’t sure. What was the bastard up to now? What caused its laughter this time? Was this pathetic wretch he’d become blubbering like a baby? Had he messed himself? It sucked not ever knowing when you pissed.

For a long time he has believed himself dead—a suffering soul in Purgatory. Horrible nightmares accompanied endless pain. He enjoyed few lucid moments when numbness encompassed him, and his mind sought refuge in thoughts of his daughter, his mother, and his friend.

The son of bitch was staring in at him now. He could barely make out much more than the Alien’s features. The oval eyes, with their missing whites and onyx centers glittered like jewels. The Creature, he had learned but rarely acknowledged, was a Conamar. Anderson preferred his own vile monikers. He didn’t utter them aloud but took a distinct satisfaction in thinking them.

He was uncertain when he began to recognize his tormentor as a Conamar. Perhaps it happened when he attempted to tag a name to the unfettered face that appeared through a strawberry and cream haze that polluted his cage. In those short spans when he was permitted to hear, the Conamar repeated sounds that rose and fell musically from its lips. But Anderson only managed an m-a-a- sound by mimicking a baby crying for its mother. The hissing ns and ss and ds caused his tongue to curl around his teeth until the tip lodged against the roof of his mouth.

Still the Creature attempted communication. Over and over it tried and was soon becoming fairly good at English. The Conamar had started to question him. Did it take this stuff from his mind? Did he scream it out in nightmares?

“--so much diversity on a single world...” Its voice had tapered off into gibberish. Then it resumed with clear crisp tones. “I would learn more of this Earth.”

The time came when Anderson began to worry, what could this monster possible want with this knowledge? Were his uncontrollable thoughts and memories about to bring havoc on his own planet?

One time, the Conamar had played with Colin’s name. “Co...col...colin.” It wore a frown of bewilderment on the almost human mouth. The opaque eyes betrayed nothing as the tangerine tongue and lips moved silently as if attempting to form words. Finally it forced out, “Hair and bones.” It looked at its own long fingers. “I could do nothing.”

Those were rare moments. Always the torture commenced. So it was easier for Anderson to associate a creature, a monster, a fiend at work on his body and the Devil on his soul. He was nothing but a specimen. Why it bothered to learn his language plagued Anderson. He never dared to ask.

The fog was dissipating. Anderson shivered. He knew what that meant. The alien features of the Conamar became clearly visible above the cage. ‘Not again! Jesus not again.’ What the hell more could it do to him? Always the terror filled Anderson’s mind. Always the screams formed in his throat before the long narrow fingers even touched his flesh.

The cover slid back.

Damnit! He wasn’t going to scream. Screw the son-of-btich! This time he wasn’t going to beg. Maybe the bastard got his jollies off on that. If he could just keep it inside. If....