Writesville

This story went through a lot of permutations and submissions before it finally arrived in it’s final form. It had numerous near misses before finally being accepted into the Nueromancer Unbound anthology.

My take on humans hostong aliens….

Words: 4,400
Reading Time: 20 – 25 minutes

This is Jimmy Dale
by David L. Felts

There are those who make things happen, and there are those who let things happen.

This is Jimmy Dale….

#

She’s so close he can see the blankness in her eyes and he knows she’s a Host. No way to fake that no-one-home shine; it marks the aliens as surely as a brand.

He lets his gaze linger. She’s cute, in a severe way. Spiky black hair, a lean shapely figure under loose jeans and a white button shirt. He wonders what she’ll do with the money once it’s over.

It sounds like a pretty good deal–despite rumors about Hosts disappearing, or being different people after. Rumors most likely started by people trying to better their chances of being selected. Everyone knows how it works: let an alien energy creature–Energizers the public has dubbed them–use your body for two years and get paid a cool two million New. For the privilege of wearing human flesh, the aliens share their advanced technology. Winners all around.

There’s a year wait just to get tested, though no one can say what the volunteers are tested for. Jimmy’s heard the selection rate is about one in half a million. He’s never bothered to get on the list. His luck is so bad he couldn’t get hit by a train if he stood on the tracks.

Volunteer, the ads say. Make life better for everyone.

Jimmy snorts. As if his life is any better since the aliens arrived.

He turns away from the Host and pulls a hit of Bliss from his pocket, washes the translucent pink pill down with a swig of Tsing-Tao. The Chinese might not be able to make a car, but they can brew a beer. A glance at the blue neon clock over the bar shows ten-fifteen. Dee-Dee is supposed to meet him at ten. She’s always late–to her, ten means sometime before eleven.

An itchy feeling between his shoulder blades makes him turn. The Host. His gaze locks with hers and ice water fills his head, washes over him like a spray of water. He can’t feel his body, can’t move, can’t look away. His heart pounds, but it’s a distant thing, like a drum heard from far away. He realizes in a detached way that he is very scared.

The music and noise fades, his awareness narrows to a pinprick of black. The cold is replaced by warmth, thin fingers of it that slip into his mind and coil around his thoughts, squeezing until they burst. Memories flicker in his mind’s eye like a stop motion video.

It ends so abruptly it leaves him stumbling with vertigo. The Bliss is kicking in, pulsing in his blood, giving the music a hard edge; it makes the shadows churn with muted colors. The odors of stale beer and tobacco smoke threaten to choke him. He thrusts his way toward the door, bouncing off people, focusing on the glowing red letters of the EXIT sign until he finally staggers outside.

The cool air slaps him like a hand. He leans against the dirty brick wall, drawing deep breaths. Thoughts slide though his mind like metal on ice, too slippery to grasp.

A touch on his arm. An electric tingle shivering across his skin. The Host, vacant eyes glowing like black opals. She’s still inside him, taking all his jumbled emotions, all his fear and doubt, gathering it all and changing it into something good.

When she feeds it back, it hits like one big high. The rush of pleasure makes him moan.

When she takes his hands, he follows without protest, more a puppet than a person, but not minding in the least.

#

Jimmy doesn’t know were he is when he wakes. Head throbbing, mouth feeling stuffed with cotton, he focuses his eyes with an effort. A poster on the ceiling–a naked, muscular woman with silver cybernetic legs is stretched out on the hood of a black sports car. Something in his brain makes an almost audible click and suddenly it’s familiar. He’s in his room, in his bed. Pale light filters in through the yellowed shade over the window. His clock shows 6:20 in glowing red numbers. It’s early, but with his headache he knows he won’t be able to get back to sleep.

He stands, fights a wave of dizziness, jumbled memories tumbling through his brain–the club, the music, the hit of Bliss. But after…? A woman? He’s not sure. Bliss isn’t hard-core. He wonders why it affected him so strongly.

The harsh light from the bare bulb over the medicine cabinet makes him squint. His reflection is barely recognizable: eyes red and puffy, long brown hair tangled, a crusted trace of dried saliva around the edges of his lips.

“Jesus.” His hands shake when he reaches into the shower stall to turn on the water.

He swallows two aspirin then showers, brushing his teeth as the warm water washes over him. When he’s done, he feels as though he might live. He pulls on jeans before heading to the kitchen of his tiny one-bedroom place, with its cheap plastic furniture and dingy block walls. Not much, but all he can afford while working part time and going to school. Although it’s been three weeks since he attended classes. Or is it four?

The refrigerator holds two pieces of day-old pizza and half a carton of orange juice. He chugs the orange juice–it tastes terrible on top of the mint toothpaste.

A piece of cold pizza in each hand, he heads for the living room. He rounds the corner and stops in surprise. Someone sits on his couch, browsing through a stack of his music discs. Black hair, slim fingers with shiny pointed nails. A slice of pale cheek.

She turns and looks at him.

Jimmy drops the pizza and backs away, panic coiling in his gut. He’s against the wall, looking anywhere but at her empty eyes.

She stands, smiling. “This one’s name is Yaoming,” she says. There’s no inflection in her voice.

One of his white T-shirts hangs to her knees. Her face is pale and smooth. She approaches, stands close. He smells musk and sweat. She puts the palm of her hand against the bare skin of his chest. Pleasure ripples though his body and he moans. As abruptly as if someone had thrown a switch, it stops, leaving him shuddering.

“That was what we made.” Yaoming say in her strange flat voice as she strokes his damp hair.

The fading pleasure buzzes through his nerves like an electric shock. Yaoming stands on her tip-toes and presses her lips to his forehead, then runs the tip of her tongue across his lips. He tastes peppermint. His need swells, throbbing in his groin, in his head, timed to the beating of his heart.

She leads him back to the bedroom. They tumble onto the bed, Jimmy frantically stripping off his jeans. She is in his head, amplifying, feeding everything back in an endless increasing loop until he doesn’t know who he is, where he is, what he is.

Pleasure and sensation build, cresting into a wave that breaks and washes away everything.

#

Jimmy is on his back, body tense, spine arched so taunt it feels as though it might snap. Yaoming rides him, gleaming pointed nails scratching his chest. Her eyes are vacant, the pupils black and dull as carbon. Jimmy groans and Yaoming echoes it.

A sound like a brick dropped on concrete. She goes limp, sliding sideways, off Jimmy, off the bed, landing on the floor with a soft thump.

Jimmy groans again, blinking. Someone standing over him. He tries to speak, can’t find his mouth.

“You son of a bitch!”

Dee-Dee?

“I knew you’d be fucking her. I knew when I saw you together on the street! I knew it!”

Jimmy’s vision swims into focus: Dee-Dee’s flushed face, contorted with rage, a strand of brown hair plastered across her cheek. She holds the lamp from his nightstand, the shade bent. He sees with unusual clarity the black hairs and bit of pale skin stuck to the edge of the heavy ceramic base.

She swings at his head.

He lurches sideways, body two steps behind his thoughts. The base brushes his hair and slams into the bed.

“You son of a bitch!”

She swings again, catching him a glancing blow to his shoulder. He hisses as the muscle knots. He grabs the lamp before she can pull it away, although she almost wrenches it from his weak grip.

“Wait.” A croak. His thoughts flutter, batting against the inside of his skull like moths at a light. He holds the lamp grimly as Dee-Dee tugs.

“Wait.” Clearer this time.

“You bastard.” Dee-Dee’s voice is low, almost sobbing. She lets go of the lamp and backs away, hands fisted at her sides. “I hate you. I hate you!”

“Wait…”

Her voice cracks, her eyes glisten wetly. “I never want to see you again.”

She backs away and her foot bumps against Yaoming. She looks down, hands going to her mouth, eyes widening in disbelief. She whirls and runs from the room.

Jimmy sits up, dizzy, shaking with reaction. Yaoming is on the floor. Blood flows from a large, ragged gash in her scalp. A dark pool next to her head slowly spreads like a glistening Japanese fan. He smells it; rich, coppery, sweet.

He drops the lamp on the floor and slides off the bed, legs muscles quivering, kneeling next to her. Her pulse is fast, light and irregular, her eyes half-open.

He stumbles to the phone in the living room and punches the emergency button, turning off the video feed. The computerized image of a woman appears on the small screen.

“Nature of the emergency?”

“A woman’s been hurt. She… fell. She fell and hit her head.”

“An emergency vehicle has been dispatched.” They had his address as soon as he made the connection. “Please leave the line open. There are some things you can do to aid the victim. What condition is the victim in now?”

Jimmy ignores the voice and returns to the bedroom. Yaoming still breathes. Blood continues to ooze from the gash in her scalp. He shudders, the echo of what she could do still inside him. Even now he wants it. He dresses and then sits on the bed, still weak, filled with a growing sense of alarm. He doesn’t want to be here when the emergency team arrives.

What happens to someone who hurts an alien? He’s never heard of it happening, though surely it must. He can stay and tell the truth, but he doesn’t want to get Dee-Dee in trouble. He doesn’t want to take the blame himself either. Running won’t accomplish anything in the end, but it might buy him time. He needs to think, to sort it all out.

He grabs his wallet from the dresser and a jacket from the closet on the way out. The computer continues to ask him about the victim.

He leaves the door open for the emergency team and takes the stairs to the street.

#

It’s late afternoon and Jimmy stands on the corner, eyeing the apartment building apprehensively. Will Dee-Dee even talk to him? It isn’t his fault; Yaoming was an alien. She’d been using him. Dee-Dee will understand, if he can get her to give him the chance to explain.

He runs his fingers through his hair, trying to straighten it, knowing he needs a shower and a change of clothes. After leaving his apartment yesterday, he emptied his bank account. Not even enough to get a cheap motel room. He spent last night huddled under a concrete overpass that shuddered and rained dust every time a transhauler drove across. He doesn’t dare go back to his apartment.

Did Yaoming die? The real Yaoming? He feels a twinge of guilt. Does the Host even know what happens when an alien is in control?

He shrugs his jacket tighter and crosses the street when the light changes. The elevator is still broken. He’s winded by the time he reaches the fifth floor. He tries to quell his queasy stomach, wondering if it’s from the acidic cup of coffee that passed for a meal an hour before, or anxiety over seeing Dee-Dee. They’ve been dating almost two years. He’d been thinking of asking her to live together. Before this. Of all the things he has in his life, she is the best. She has to understand. It isn’t his fault.

He stops at her door, eyeing the faded blue paint uneasily, hearing music from within and knowing she’s home. She’ll to talk to him. She has to.

Hesitantly, he knocks. When there is no answer, he knocks louder. The music fades. He senses someone standing at the door, looking through the peephole. The locks rattle and the door opens, stopped at a few inches by the cable lock. Dee-Dee peers through the crack.

Jimmy tries a smile. “Hi.”

“What do you want, Jimmy?”

He’s surprised. He expects her to still be mad, even furious, but she sounds tired more than anything. Resigned. Maybe sad as well, or is that wishful thinking?

“We need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Please, Dee-Dee. It’s not my fault. She–”

“She was a Host, I know.”

“You know?”

“There were men here. Government, police, I don’t know what. They’re looking for you.”

A knot of fear congeals in his guts. “What’d you tell them?”

“I’m sorry.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Jimmy, I–”

Jimmy hits the door. The cable snaps tight and she flinches.

“You told them it was me, didn’t you?”

Dee-Dee licks her lips, then nods. “I told them I’d caught you two together and had run out.”

“Shit.”

“I didn’t want to get in trouble, Jimmy!” Her expression is anguished. “When I saw you on the bed–” She bites her lip. “I lost it, Jimmy. I lost it. I wanted to kill you both.”

“Forget it,” he says, surprised at how flat he feels, how numb. What difference did it make? “My life’s screwed up enough already, a little more won’t hurt.”

“I’m sorry, Jimmy. I really am. I should have told them the truth, but I was afraid. Mad, too, I guess. Two years–”

“You don’t understand, Dee-Dee. I couldn’t help it.”

A hardness creeps into her eyes, her voice. “I don’t know what she did to you. Maybe you couldn’t help it and maybe you could, but the point is I bet you didn’t even try. I know you, Jimmy. Better, I think, than you know yourself. You just wanted to feel good. That’s all that mattered. You were only thinking of yourself.”

Jimmy feels a flicker of anger. “Who were you thinking of when you lied to the men looking for me?” He takes satisfaction in her stricken expression. “And what’s wrong with wanting to feel good? The world’s a crappy place. Ever since Dad–” his voice breaks.

Dee-Dee shakes her head. “I know you were close, I know you miss him, but feeling good needs to come from inside. Not from a pill, or a powder, or a bottle. Or anything else.

“When we first met, you had your art, you went to school. You wanted to be a media designer, remember? You used to laugh.” She scrubs angrily at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I set myself up for this. I should have broken it off. I kept thinking you’d stop. I thought if you loved me….”

Jimmy leans close. “I do love you, Dee-Dee. We can work it out. I don’t want to lose you too.”

“It’s over. It’s been over a while, but we both hung on, refusing to let go. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go, Dee-Dee.”

“I’m sorry, Jimmy. I really am. I wish I could help you, but I can’t. Only you can.” She closes the door.

Jimmy slumps against it, staring at his shaking hands. As much as he wants Dee-Dee, at that moment he wants a hit of Bliss even more. Anything to take away the pain.

He takes a few steps then hears the door open. He turns back, brightening. She changed her mind. There’s still a chance. His smile fades when he sees the door is only open a few inches.

“Here,” Dee-Dee says, holding out a folded wad of New Dollars, the blue bills gray in the dim fluorescent light. “It’s not much, but it’s some.”

Jimmy stares at the money.

“Go on, take it.” When he doesn’t, she drops it to the tattered tan carpet. She looks as if she wants to say more, then closes the door.

Jimmy gathers the money and jams it into his pocket before hurrying away, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat.

#

When he steps out of the building, two men in expensive gray suits are waiting, standing next to a black four-door sedan with tinted windows. They look as alike as brothers.

Jimmy turns away and begins to half-run, half-walk, glancing worriedly over his shoulder. One man follows while the other goes to the car. Jimmy picks up his pace, realizing how futile it is. Still, he keeps going, almost running. Another quick glance shows the man still behind him. The black car accelerates past and turns with a squeal of tires, bouncing up onto the sidewalk to block his way, so close it almost hits him.

The other man is there, catching him by the arm in a strong grip.

“Get in, please.” The man smiles, as though he is discussing the weather. The other man gets out and watches over the roof of the car. People stop to stare. No one makes any move to help.

Jimmy looks around, knowing it’s hopeless. The few people who meet his gaze look hastily away.

“Listen,” he says, seeing his own frightened face reflected in the car’s tinted widow, “I didn’t–” he stops. He won’t turn in Dee-Dee. He decides, then and there, no matter what, he’ll keep Dee-Dee out of it. “What do you want?”

“Get in,” the man says again.

“I don’t–”

The man shoves him against the front door of the car, then bends to open the back door. Jimmy knows it hopeless and climbs in. The door closes with a solid thunk. The interior smells like new leather. The doors have no handles on the inside, the windows are tinted so dark Jimmy can’t see out. A shield separates the front seat from the back, also tinted. The only light is a tiny overhead bulb, glowing dimly in a white plastic dome.

He settles back, filled with an equal measure of resignation and curiosity, and, surprisingly, not much fear. In a way, it’s almost a relief.

The ride probably isn’t as long as it seems. Maybe an hour or a bit more. When the car finally stops, one of the men opens the door. Jimmy gets out and finds himself in a large, brightly-lit parking garage, with a dozen other cars like his parked neatly in a row. Neither of the men says anything.

They lead him to an elevator. A panel over the doors ticks off the floors in red block numbers, stopping at fifteen with a ping. Off the elevator, down a long hall. Short pile beige carpet, white walls devoid of decoration. White doors, all closed, with chrome handles instead of knobs. No other people. They finally stop. One of the men opens a door. Jimmy steps into a small room with a tan tile floor, white drop ceiling, and ivory-colored walls. A square table and two office chairs occupy the center of the room. A bright halogen bulb in a black ceramic ceiling fixture makes him squint. They shut the door and lock it.

Jimmy sits, tapping his fingers on the table. The room smells of floor wax. The silence is very loud.

#

He waits for what feels like a long time. He needs to take a leak and is getting very hungry. He’s trying to remember the last time he ate when the door opens and a tall woman in a white doctor’s coat enters–brunette hair cut short, brown eyes, fake smile. She has a hard look, like someone used to people doing what she says. She sits across the table in the other chair.

“I’m Doctor Joanne Zeller.” Her voice is brisk and business-like. She holds out her hand. Jimmy stares. She pulls her hand back.

“Why am I here?” The wait has made him angry and indignant.

“You know why you’re here.”

Jimmy looks away from her gaze. “I’m sorry about what happened. It was an… accident.”

“You put us in a predicament. The Host is dying.”

“I’m sorry for her, whoever she is.” He means it.

Zeller dismisses his words with a casual wave. “That doesn’t solve my problem. I need another Host.”

“You’ve got people lined up. Go get one.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

She shrugs, a small movement. “We’re not sure what the aliens are looking for. They do the testing, not us. We think it’s something to do with brain chemistry, or latent psychic abilities. An addictive personality seems to play a role as well. Only about half the hosts come from volunteers.” Her eyes narrow as she stares at him. “The rest are identified by aliens already occupying Hosts as they interact with us.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think it was doing with you? Besides having a bit of fun.”

“Fun?”

“They’re energy creatures, Jimmy. Energizers, right? They crave sensation, physical sensation. That’s what they want us for. Some get it by eating, others by sky-diving or skiing, others from drugs.” She smirks. “I guess you know how your alien liked to get its kicks, don’t you?”

She looks up as the door opens and the two men who’d picked him up outside Dee-Dee’s enter, pushing a portable med station and a gurney. Yaoming is on it, head swathed in bandages. Tubes and wires connect her to the med station.

Dr. Zeller leans forward, face and voice intent. “Two years, Jimmy, and you come out with two million New.”

He is stunned. He thinks he’s going to be in big trouble and here they are offering him a chance most people would do anything for.

“Easy money, Jimmy.”

He strums his fingers on the table. When he notices he is doing it, he stops, moving his hands to his lap. Two million.

Dr. Zeller’s voice is low. “Come on, Jimmy. It’s not like you have anything else going on. Once the alien takes control, all your worries will be over. Two years later, you’re rich. That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?”

Jimmy ran his fingers through his hair. “Nice if someone doesn’t whack me in the head with a lamp,” he says, but there’s no fire in it. Two years isn’t long. Not long at all.

Zeller seems to read his mind. “Two short years to be set for the rest of your life. That’s not much, is it?”

Jimmy licks his lips. She’s right, it isn’t. Where is he now? Dumped by his girlfriend, dropped out of school, probably lost his job. What does he have to lose? He thinks about what Dee-Dee said. She is right. As much as he hates to admit it, it’s all his fault. He’s letting things happen, instead of making them happen. It’s up to him to change. But two million…. He can make a lot of changes with that.

“What happens to me while the alien occupies my body? I’ve heard–”

She raises her hand to cut him off. “It’s like going to sleep. The rumors were started by people trying to better their odds so other wouldn’t sign up. Urban legends, Jimmy, you’ve heard of those right? A story gets started and a month later it’s fact. But the truth of it is you go to sleep and wake up with all that money.”

He cracks his knuckles. “I’m still not sure….”

“When will you ever get a chance like this again?”

His mouth is dry. He wants a drink, a pill. He wants time to think.

Two million….

“All right.” His voice firms. “I’ll do it.”

Dr. Zeller sits back, still smiling. “You’ll be glad you did.” She stands and motions for him to stand as well. He does, surprised at how weak his knees feel.

“Come over here,” Zeller says, leading the way over to the gurney.

Jimmy follows. Yaoming’s pale face is peaceful, the top half of her head hidden by white bandages.

“You almost killed it,” Zeller says. “It happens. If the Host is injured suddenly, it can’t disengage. This one’s so weak it can barely keep its Host alive. Normally, they don’t need physical contact to enable the transfer, but in this case….”

She looks at him, pierces him with her gaze. The med unit beeps softly, a soft red light pulses in time with the sound.

He leans closer, bringing his arm up and reaching out, hand hovering over Yaoming’s face. Yaoming’s eyes flick open, startling him. Tears well, spilling out to trace their way down her pale cheeks. He hesitates, staring into her dark, dark eyes, seeing fear and pain and something else, something that frightens the shit out of him though he doesn’t know what it is. He looks to Zeller. “What about her? The real her.”

Zeller shakes head. “It’s too late. She doesn’t have long left even with the alien keeping her going.”

Jimmy looks back at Yaoming, seeing her faint pulse make the artery in her neck throb. Her eyes are closed again.

“She’s in pain,” Zeller says. “Not even the alien can help with that. Let her go.”

Jimmy takes a deep breath, try to loosen the knot in his stomach. Two years, two million. Two years, two million. He repeats the thought like a mantra. He closes his eyes, leans forward until his fingertips brush Yaoming’s skin–

A tidal wave roars into his mind–

He’s a pebble sliding down a slick black slope…

…dropping into a bottomless ocean.

He tries to scream, but can’t find his mouth. He’s formless, a pinprick of consciousness. Drifting. Helpless.

But totally, awfully, aware.

“It’s nice,” Jimmy hears himself say. “Young, strong. It feels good.”

Through the window of his eyes, he sees Zeller smile. “It’s only for two years, Jimmy. Relax, don’t fight it, and you might still be you when it’s all over. Not everyone goes insane.”

Jimmy screams again.

He feels his lips move as the alien smiles.