When Chenille Is Not Enough

Susan’s arms reached toward emptiness. She closed her eyes. The last afterimages of the flash faded. The scream that stuck in her throat when Bozidar snatched Cecily filled her mouth and flooded the room.

Louise saw Kyle - mouth open - bracing himself against a wall. “Help me,” she commanded, her voice strong enough to carry over Susan’s shrieks.

They reached Susan as her knees buckled. Kyle took one arm and circled it around his shoulder. With Louise on the other side, they walked Susan to a chair in the classroom. Her screams subsided to sobs.

“Get me some water and a wet washcloth,” Louise said when they eased her into a chair. She crouched beside Susan, holding her shoulders.

“Mom, what just happened? Cecily disappeared, but how?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Get the water.” She hugged Susan.

Kyle stumbled to the back, knocking his elbow against the wooden cabinets. He tripped over two bolts of fabric leaning on one cabinet, and swept a display of decorative trims to the floor as he righted himself.

Susan flinched at the sound of merchandise falling. She rose from the chair, but her knees refused to cooperate. She dropped on the seat, put her fingers over her mouth and inhaled through her nose.

Louise looked her in the eyes. “We’ll get her back.”

“How?” Susan asked. “We don’t even know where she is.” She sobbed again, soaking Louise’s shoulder as she collapsed in her arms.

Louise stroked her hair. “Yes, we do. She’s with Bozidar. Who apparently is an alien.”

Kyle returned with a glass of water and a damp washcloth. His hands trembled as he gave Susan the water.

“An alien,” he repeated as he handed her the washcloth. “You say that like I say my roommate is Brazilian.”

Louise wiped Susan’s forehead and cheeks. When Susan finished the water, Louise took the glass. She stood and put one hand on her son’s shoulders.

“I saw his face change, then he belched green smoke. He said something about ‘the beiges’ and then he snatched Cecily. He’s an alien,” she said. She put her hand under his chin. “Breathe.”

“I am,” Kyle said.

“No, you aren’t,” Louise said.

Susan dropped the washcloth. “I told her he smelled of lavender. I told her not to see him.”

“Who did you tell?” Louise asked.

Struggling to her feet, Susan lurched toward Louise and Kyle. “I told Cecily. When he first showed up, I told her that he smelled of lavender, and she shouldn’t see him again.”

“Kyle, catch her,” Louise said.

“No, I’m fine,” Susan said, straightening her knees. She swayed, then stood steady. “No, I’m not fine, but I can stand up. We need to call . . . someone. The police. No, Scott. And Edna. She needs to know . . . ” Her voice trailed, and she stared at empty air.

“Come on, sweetie,” Louise said, taking Susan by the elbow. “Let’s sit you down again. Kyle, get her some more water.”

When Kyle returned with another glass of water, he said, “Mom, she’s right. We should call someone.”

“Who will believe us? We’ll call Edna and Scott soon, but right now I need you to tell me what Cecily saw in that quilt. The minute she mentioned that quilt, and the patterns she saw, Bozidar panicked. So, what did she see?”

Kyle looked at Susan on her chair, sipping water. “Mom, are you sure?”

Susan glanced at him, then at the glass, then at her knees.

“She’s in shock now,” Louise said, “but it won’t last, and I don’t know what she’ll do next. Talk fast.” She led Kyle out of Susan’s hearing.

“It wasn’t just the quilt,” Kyle said in a whisper. “There were patterns on the computer screen that looked an awful lot like the ones in the quilt. We were joking about it, then Susan came by. Cecily didn’t want her to think we were laughing at her. Except that we were. I mean, about her lack of computer skills.”

Louise tapped the end of her nose. “Computer skills. That’s when this all started.” She walked back to Susan and put her hand on her shoulder. “Susan? Do you remember if Bozidar was in the store when the computer first went down?”

Susan stared at Louise, but made no sound.

“Honey, this is important,” Louise said. “If I’m right, it could mean good news for Cecily. He could have hurt her at any time. Or you. Or any of us. He didn’t, so there’s some other reason he was here. It has to do with the first visit from the aliens, I’m certain of that. Come on, honey, tell me what you remember.”

Kyle joined his mother. “She’s acting the way I feel. Tell me what happened, please.”

“How much did you see?”

He shook his head. “There wasn’t anything I could do with the computer. I was in the hall when I heard Cecily tell that guy about the patterns. When I walked in the showroom you were all by the cutting table. Then there was smoke, and I remember wondering who could have a cigarette. Then you charged that guy with a pillow, and he grabbed Cecily, and suddenly they weren’t there anymore.”

Susan snapped her head in their direction. “The pillow - it was chenille,” she whispered. “But it didn’t stop him. Why did it work against the first aliens we encountered and not him?”

***

Cecily clenched her fist, inhaled, and drove her elbow deep into Bozidar’s midsection. When he stumbled, releasing his grip on her, she spun around, grabbed his arm and sank her teeth into his wrist.

“What are you doing?” he said between gasps.

“What am I doing? You kidnapped me!” she shouted, kicking his knee. As he crumpled to the floor she grabbed his hair and punched him in the nose.

“Stop it!” he cried, rolling into a ball.

Cecily advanced on him, fists at the ready. She took a step, looked at him crouching on the floor and stopped. Her eyes grew wide as they scanned from the floor to the wall, and she held her breath. She raised her head and turned around, pivoting on one foot. “Where are we?” she whispered.

“In my transport pod.” He pressed his hand to his nose. “Why is there fluid leaking out of me?”

“I gave you a bloody nose, idiot. What did you expect?” She held her breath again. Exhaling, she asked, “What do you mean we’re in your transport pod?”

He pushed back on his hands and knees. “It’s where I stay planet-side. I can’t land a space ship without someone noticing.”

“You have a space ship?” Her ankles wobbled as she made a full turn. “Bigger than this, right? Because this is smaller than my dorm room, and that was made for hobbits.”

“What are hobbits?” He edged away from her.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “So where are we? Still on Earth? That’s what you meant by planet-side, right? And how did we get here? There was a flash. Did that transport us? What’s the energy source? And how are you masking it so no one can find you?”

He put his hand against the curved wall and hoisted himself to his feet. “You do understand that you are my prisoner?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Not when I have this.” She showed him the black box, then shoved it back in her pocket.

“How - ”

“You dropped it when I bit you. My grandmother’s husband is a cop. He teaches self-defense.”

Bozidar leaned against the wall. A thin line of red liquid dribbled from his nose. “I do not understand all of those words, and you have my translator.”

“I thought it was a weapon.” She stepped toward him, but stopped when he flinched. “You’re bleeding.” She glanced around the small room. “Do you have a first aid kit? Wait a minute - you’re not human. Why are you bleeding?”

“You gave me a bloody nose. Idiot.” Keeping his backside against the wall, he crept toward a seat. “This was not in the plan. I have medical supplies but they are stored behind you. And I don’t know why I am bleeding. The blues have a monopoly on transformations and they are not known for their intelligence. Not that my clan has behaved brilliantly. I would not be here if they had thought for just five minutes before they tried to invade you.” He settled on the bench and wiped the blood with his hand. “And you are my prisoner. I will not injure you - ”

“Damn straight you won’t,” Cecily said, backing away. She grabbed a metal cylinder the size of a pickle jar from a small shelf. “I have your weapon, and I know it is so don’t try telling me it’s a translator. I also have this . . . thing . . . which is sturdy enough to crack your skull. And I’ve already kicked your ass once so you know I’ll do it again.” She studied him, pale against the lime green walls. “So, why am I your prisoner?”

He took his hand from his nose and grimaced at the sight of the blood smeared there. Wiping his palm on his slacks, he glowered at her. “You are my prisoner because . . . ” He dropped his head and his shoulders began to tremble.

“Since you can’t finish that sentence,” Cecily said, “just point me toward the door and let me go.” She hesitated. “Mr. Cottonwood, are you crying?”

“No,” he said, but his voice quavered and modulated to a plaintive whine. He curled away from her, tucking into a brown-suited ball on the bench.

Cecily sat on a separate bench. “Fine, you’re not crying. Let’s both take a deep breath. I’d really like to know why I’m here. I’d like to know where I am, too, but that can wait.” She watched his shoulders tremble and his brown curls wiggle. “Okay, how about if I ask some yes-no questions. Are you an alien?”

“Yes.” His voice was squeaky, but firmer than before.

“From the same planet as the ones who came last year?”

“Yes.” He shifted on the bench, almost facing her, but kept his head down.

“Okay, good to know.” Cecily scratched her head and whistled tunelessly. “Except for the fact that our last meeting didn’t go well.” She crossed her legs, jiggling her right foot. “And you knew those . . . guys. Creatures. Whatever you are.”

He lifted his face. Blood and tears left a pink tinge around his nose. “We are from the same clan. I was chosen to avenge them.” He wiped his face, dragging the pink tinge toward his chin. “Then I discovered that the humans who killed my cousins are descended from the one who saved my ancestors. Now I have to choose which is the greater obligation - avenge my clan or honor the daughters of She Who Found Us.”

Cecily’s face morphed through conflicting emotions. Images of film festivals, with her in the spotlight, flitted through her mind like an old-fashioned newsreel. The images fractured, she blinked, and her brow smoothed as her jaw softened. “So you were never interested in promoting my film?”

***

“I don’t know why the chenille didn’t stop him,” Louise said. “Maybe he’s a different kind of alien.”

The bell above the front door jangled. Susan fell from the chair, landing on her knees. Louise shuddered from her toes to her shoulders, convulsing in a slow wave. Kyle rose in a half-leap to his toes, and twisted like a barber pole stripe as his head swung toward the showroom while his heels were still finding the floor.

“Anybody home?” Gary called as he shut the door behind him. His dark hair fell limp around his face and over his collar. His olive complexion didn’t hide the circles under his eyes, and his wrinkled blue shirt looked as if it had been hiding in a corner for days. He walked to the cutting table, scanning the store. “Hey, Kyle, what are you doing here?”

Gary approached Kyle, hand outstretched, but stopped in mid-stride when he saw Susan crouched on the floor. He rushed past Kyle and gathered Susan in his arms. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

Louise touched Gary’s shoulder. “They’re back.”

“Who?”

“You don’t know that, Mom,” Kyle said.

“Know what? What’s happening?” Gary said as he helped Susan to stand.

Susan closed her eyes, leaning against Gary’s chest. She smelled the remains of potato chips mixed with freeway exhaust. “No lavender,” she whispered. She put her arms around his waist and squeezed, willing her mind to clear and her daughter to be standing next to her.

“Lavender?” Gary asked. “What are you talking about, honey?”

She opened her eyes. “The man I warned Cecily about took her. But he isn’t a man, he’s one of them. Those aliens. I knew something was wrong. I told her.” She turned from Gary to Louise, her brain still fuzzy and her daughter still absent. “Didn’t I tell her?”

Louise nodded, but addressed Gary. “Get her in the office. If a customer comes, I don’t know what we’ll say.” She prodded Kyle. “Help him. I’ve got to call . . . someone . . . to come work. We’re lucky no else has walked in all this time.”

“It’s been ten minutes, Mom,” Kyle said. “He took her ten minutes ago.”

“Have you called the police?” Gary asked.

Kyle led the way to the office. “The police can’t help,” he said. “Let’s get her to the office, and I’ll tell you everything.”

Susan let her feet fend for themselves. She heard Kyle, knew he was speaking English, but didn’t understand anything he said until he described the flash of light as Cecily and Bozidar disappeared. She found herself sitting in her office, at the desk, watching the patterns on the computer screen. The scrolling lines and melting colors drilled through her thoughts like ice on a sunburn. Her nerves calmed, and her synapses fired in an orderly fashion. She looked at her hands and noted they didn’t tremble. She inhaled, and found her chest was not constricted. She exhaled - her breath and heartbeat felt even and regular. She tilted her head and watched Gary’s reactions to Kyle’s story.

“What are you doing here?” she asked Gary.

He wiped his hand across his stubbly chin. “The shoot went better than expected. We got finished early - well, around one in the morning rather than later this afternoon - so I just got in the car and drove. You sounded pretty down. I thought I’d surprise you.”

“It’s been a morning full of surprises,” she said. The calmness of her reply amused her. She felt her lips twitch. “Am I smiling? It feels like I’m smiling.”

Gary and Kyle exchanged glances, and Kyle edged out of the office. “Let me get you some more water,” he said.

She watched him leave, then turned to Gary. He knelt by her side, and she could see him hesitate to touch her.

“I won’t break,” she said. A change on the computer screen wiggled at the corner of her vision. “You know, I do believe Cecily is right. Those patterns look very much like the embroidery in the quilt. The colors are right, too. I wish we had the whole thing. Quilt, I mean. Mom only has a part of it.” She grabbed Gary’s wrist. “That’s who we have to call. Edna. This is right up her alley. She’ll know what to do. Mothers always know what to do.” She folded Gary’s hand in her own, brought it to her chest, and sobbed.

***

Cecily scanned the pod again, touched the walls, examined the objects on the shelves. “The design of this place is good. Clean lines. No clutter. I’d change the paint job, though.” She sat on the chair at the console. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He shifted on the bench. “You are correct. I adopted the identity of a Czech film promoter to gain your trust, and that of your mother. My assignment was to exact revenge on her.”

“And by that you mean kill her.”

“That was left to my discretion.” He rose to his feet and patted his nose. He crossed the eleven steps between the bench and the console and waved the screens to life. He stared at Cecily. “It would be easier if you moved.”

“Oh, right.” She traded places with him, tucking her feet underneath her as she curled on the bench. “Who are you calling?”

“Marsel.” He tapped glowing screens on the console that changed color with his movements like a spinning kaleidoscope. “He is practically useless, but he can at least ask the clan leaders what I should do now. Nothing has gone according to their plan.”