“Sir,” Noel-Len forced out, struggling to swallow his bile.
“Do you know what happened here?” Mark asked tactfully. When Noel-Len did not find the words, he asked again, “Noel-Len. How did these men die?” It was a battle of determination and shock that shadowed Noel-Len’s features. Mark waited for the younger man to find his words.
Noel-Len hesitated.
“I don’t know exactly. I remember looking at the monitor. I saw detainees. They were scared.” His eyes drifted over the blood on the ground slithering towards the drains, a reminder of the most recent trauma. “Then there was blood everywhere, but this prisoner was unaffected. Phillip entered the cell to restrain him, and the man wouldn’t comply. Then, according to protocol, Philip shot him, but that man didn’t stay dead.” Noel-Len and Mark regarded the body on the ground, “I turned away to pass on the message, and when I looked back, the man’s hand had pierced Philip. I shot him. Then. . .”
“. . . Then, we showed up.” Mark finished; his dark, conflicted gaze drifted over the cameras in the corners of the prison. His jaw was tight, and his lips pressed together. “We need to get this to Major Crimes.”
“Do you think they’ll know what happened? Will anyone be charged?” Noel-Len inquired.
Mark accepted the emotion Noel-Len refused to show—utter fear—and with that, Mark offered strained a smile.
“Go home. I think you’ve had enough drama for one night.”
With a brief nod, Noel-Len turned his heel and collected his things before heading home, but not without repeatedly replaying the events of that night in his head.
Later that evening, Noel-Len returned to a dark, silent house. The reality of recent events appeared as an illusion, making him unsteady. What surprised him most was how his recently adopted puppy was not there to greet him. “Mike,” Noel-Len whispered into the dusk of the oncoming evening.
Flicking on a few lights, Noel-Len searched the house for the dog, only to freeze in his bedroom doorway.
His dog sat patiently and obediently in the shadows of the room, but not for him. Instead, at a stranger’s feet, his tail happily wagging. The woman’s slender hand gently and affectionately stroked the canine’s head. Her eyes scrutinised the framed photo clasped in her opposite hand.
Noel-Len recognised the photo she held. It was a photo of him when he was eight. His mother held him under the rays of the sun on the day they went for a picnic beside the courthouse—courtesy of his mother’s best friend, Julia. He remembered his mother’s jet-black hair, black eyes, and brown skin framing him in the photo.
Cautiously, he noted the stranger, taking in her equally black hair that hauntingly fell along her back in smooth waves.
She eyed him shrewdly over her shoulder, now conscious of his presence. Regardless of her calm composure, Noel-Len felt danger swell in the air between them.
He held her unwavering gaze, even if his heavy limbs rooted him in place just like they had in the prison.
The menace in her eyes shadowed her antagonising smile.
“Who are you?” Noel-Len discreetly glanced at the crystals on his bedside table. “Also, get out of my house.”
As she turned to fully face him, his body tensed. His feet parted in a wider stance, bracing himself even as she set the cherished photo on his bedside table where he left it, as if it had never been touched.
“Why would you need to ask? You should already know: a stranger. And, I am not going anywhere until I get what I came for. Then again, this world loosely asks ‘Who are you’ before understanding the dangers. A terrible habit you’ve been taught. That fear in your eyes tells me everything, child.”
Noel-Len regarded the black singlet, jeans, and boots she wore.
“What are you talking about?” he questioned, wondering if he had heard her properly, “Get out!” Her black eyes searched his, as if she were peering through him, unbothered by his raised voice.
She’s enjoying this, he thought, and his stomach dropped at the curl of her lips.
“You know the people of this world, the Human Race. Odd, you seem to have forgotten about prior years’ events. I do not know whether to feel sorry for your kind who work to forget that invasion. Or, if I should be satisfied that you creatures are as incompetent as ever.”
“Get out of my house.” he demanded, once more but not as forcefully as he had. The fear of her presence constricted his throat. There was a brief flicker of annoyance in her calculating gaze, one engulfed by anger and impatience.
Within an instant, the woman disappeared and reappeared in front of him. She moved faster than he had ever thought possible. Within a single bat of his lashes, Noel-Len felt her firm grip around his throat.
The impact of his body cracked the cement wall behind him and winded him, almost paralysing him before his nails clawed at her strong hands, desperate to break the connection.
“You don’t need to be so disrespectful.”
Noel-Len desperately strained to breathe.
“What . . . are you?”
“That is a question I’m not obliged to answer.” she remarked. Lifting her free hand, she curled her fingers into a fist. A long sharp blade glided from above her wrist and stopped centimetres from his eye. A weapon he had not seen, fashioned on her bare wrist.
Noel-Len knew that, if she wanted to, she could release that blade quicker than he could make an escape. She was taunting him. She knew he understood his position, as the blade inched closer to him. As it crawled to his exposed left eye, then she demanded in a threatening tone, “Now, tell me where Natalia Ignatius hid it.”
“How do you know my mother?” Noel-Len asked, through arduous breaths. “And what are you talking about?” Each word strained his lungs. His muscles burned beneath the pressure of her grip. His concentration faded and distorted, regardless of how hard he fought to stay conscious. The burden of her hand constricted, then relaxed at his words. Her intention to kill—sporadic.
He felt her dithering choice as she regarded him carefully, ignoring Mike’s persistent barking at her feet. Noel-Len was surprised the dog had not attacked her yet.
Blood rushed to Noel-Len’s ears, Mike’s yelps hummed in the background. With a raised brow she questioned uncertainly, “You’re her . . . progeny?”
He held her gaze, and she studied him, searching for deceit. She recognised Natalia’s features, and released him.
Swiftly, the woman’s attention shot to the back door at the sound of the Xzandian Trackers in the backyard. Their boots trod over the freshly cut mowed lawn, she could smell. Before Noel-Len had a chance to catch his breath, she vanished.
Mike licked his owner’s face as he crumpled on the ground, gasping for air. Mike whined when Noel-Len crawled to his feet and gently pushed the dog aside.
“I’m alright, boy,” he whispered, through hefty breaths of air, rubbing his throat.
Decisively, he moved to the kitchen and yanked out a knife he had secured beneath the table and inspected his house for the stranger but was met with empty rooms and silence.
It was not until he heard a thump from the backyard. Mike ran to the door, growling. At that, Noel-Len’s hope to find her blossomed.
Noel-Len leaned against the backdoor frame, predicting her next move, before opening the door.
To his surprise, the backyard was empty, and the woman—his attacker—was nowhere to be seen.
A knock sounded at the front door, pulling his attention from his backyard, aware his shed was the perfect hiding place. Discouraged, Noel-Len closed the door and locked it, aware it would not stop her, not even slow her down.
Her odd visit, the man at the prison, Phillip’s preventable death, and images of the prisoner stumbling towards Noel-Len lit up a new sense of fear, one he had not felt in years. A fear he had not experienced since the first invasion. He forced his fear to subside, and his mind to think of other topics, but no matter how hard he tried, it weighed on him.
It was a dangerous feeling, something he could not understand.
It’s the fear of the unknown that frightens me, he thought as he stared at where the inhuman woman was last seen. Pulling out his phone, he contemplated letting the others know of the assault, only to place his phone back in his pocket. No one would believe me, he reminded himself, before moving to the front door where an unexpected guest awaited him.
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