Darkness of Morning

[This story was originally written in 2001 under the name "Dixie Primate" for my friend Becca. Banner is one of her characters. You can also find it in the story section of her site.]

​

"For the record," the man in the grey suit said, turning on his tape recorder, "what is your name?"

 

"Dr. Douglas Petry." I said.

 

"MD?" he asked.

 

"PhD," I said. "Chemistry."

 

"So, what happened here?" the suit asked.

 

"Would you like some background?" I asked.

 

The suit said nothing, so I began, "The alien Nislatrom entered our world following a bungled nuclear test in the mountains of Pakistan. In truth, its world was never more than an atom's width away, but the two worlds were separated by a fold in space-time which the test perforated. The gateway was closed less than a millisecond later, but Nislatrom had arrived."

 

"Who is Nislatrom?" asked the suit.

 

"Nislatrom was an alien," I said. "Perhaps you'd better see the surveillance tape."

 

"Which surveillance tape?" he asked.

 

I handed it to him. "It's from a campus security camera looking at the quad. The time is in the lower right corner. It begins at 10:30 PM on March 14. The subject is Brenda Edmunds, a sophomore in computer science."

 

He popped the tape in the machine and turned it on. I forced myself to watch, again.

*******

Brenda Edmunds was a pretty young blonde in a T-shirt and khaki shorts. She hurried along the sidewalk crossing the quad from northwest to southeast, her arms, her long hair and her knee-length skirt swaying with every quick step.

​

After a moment, Nislatrom's malformed hulk materialized in her path. The alien was huge: at least 7 feet tall and wide enough to completely block the path. It was covered with small tube-like growths which were in constant, apparently random motion. It attached itself to the sidewalk and the surrounding grass with something that looked like a tree root, and it brandished four tentacles near its mid-section. The upper two or three feet of the alien were dotted here and there with gelatinous spots which might have been eyes, and slit-like orifices which might have been ears or mouths. Nisaltrom displayed a sickening mix of colors: fluorescent green, sky blue, deep rust, and more.

​

It appeared suddenly; there was no fading in, smoke or electric discharge to announce its arrival. It was simply there. Brenda appeared confused, and then afraid. She did not know what this hideous being was. She did not know its name. She did not know that it needed to feed. But she did fear the thing, and it loved her fear.

 

The alien pointed a tentacle at Brenda and a bright bolt of energy arced between it and her chest. Brenda shook and twisted, her long hair flying right and left. Her back arched and her limbs shook. She convulsed for an eternity until, finally, mercifully, she fell limp like a broken doll to the sidewalk. She lay there, white and limp and dead, her limbs at sickening angles, her hair on the ground, in her face, in her open mouth, her eyes open but unseeing. Nislatrom had drained Brenda of her life, her blood, her future.

*******

"It can just pop up anywhere?" asked the suit.

 

"Not quite, but I'm sure you don't want to hear the details," I said. "It has to do with the discontinuity of the space-time of its home world and ours."

 

He paused a moment. "How do you know its name?" he asked.

 

"We don't. The name 'Nisaltrom' was Janice's idea," I said. "It's 'mortal sin' spelled backward."

 

"Who is Janice?" he asked.

 

"Who was Janice," I corrected him. "Dr. Janice Timbrel, MD. My colleague, my friend, and Nislatrom's second known victim."

 

"You have another tape?" he asked incredulously.

 

"No," I said. "Nislatrom was not a camera hog. It was just chance that we got the footage of his attack on Brenda."

 

The suit sat silently.

 

"Janice had pinpointed the anomalous energy fields using evidence from terrestrial neutrino detection experiments, gravity wave detectors, and radio telescopes," I explained. "She thought it exciting that the human race might finally come into contact with an alien being. I was caught in her enthusiasm. We rummaged through the lab and borrowed some spare equipment from colleagues. We designed a beacon of sorts, sending out a signal which was very much like some of the readings we got from the portal during its short existence. We hoped to draw the alien to us."

 

"You succeeded," said the suit.

 

"Success is sometimes failure," I said.

 

The suit spoke. "Very deep. Did Dr. Timbrel see the alien's attack on Miss, er,...?"

 

"Edmunds. Brenda Edmunds," I said. "Yes, she did. At least, she saw the video tape. She then turned her enthusiasm to destroying Nisaltrom. Her final attempts succeeded only in drawing Nislatrom to her.

 

"I found Janice. All that was left was the corpse, the pale shell of the mother of three. I found her face down on the laboratory floor with her arms and legs spread, her face and hands white as paper, her eyes open in horror. I had to tell her kids myself." I looked at the suit.

 

"And where does Miss Dearborn come in?" asked the suit.

 

"Becca was Brenda Edmunds's best friend," I said. "Becca and I had known each other since high school. At first, I tried to hide from her what Janice and I had done, but she was much too smart for that, and she knew me too well."

 

"Did she know about Dr. Timbrel's death?" he asked.

 

"Yes," I said. "I told her about it -- cried on her shoulder, if you will. She was always there when you needed her."

 

"And then?" asked the suit.

 

"And then I thought I found a way to defeat Nislatrom," I said. "In my excitement, I told the first person I thought of. Becca. I never thought she would volunteer."

 

"She volunteered?" asked the suit.

 

I nodded. "Maybe this is a good time to watch the video tape of our work," I said, handing him another tape. "You can stop it if you have questions."

 

He popped Brenda's tape from the machine and put the new tape in. "Don't worry," he said. "I will."

*******

Becca entered my office and shook my hand. She even managed a smile, though I could see that she was frightened. She wore a plain white long-sleeve blouse and blue jeans. I had asked her to dress casually. I let her hand go, and she stood there looking at me.

​

"Where do you want me?" she asked.

 

I raised a hand in objection. "Just a minute, Becca. I need to give you one more chance to back out."

 

"Thank you," she said, and there were tears in her eyes. "I can't back out. You know that."

 

I clumsily put my arms around her, and she hugged me back hard. She sobbed onto my jacket lapel for a moment.

 

"You realize that there will be a great deal of pain," I said at last.

 

"Yes," she said, "there already is."

 

"And you know that I cannot guarantee you will survive," I said. "This could be all for nothing."

 

"Oh, no," Becca said, her tears receeding. "It's not for nothing. It's for Brenda."

 

There was a pause.

 

"I watched the tape again before I came over here," she said.

 

We stood still for a moment.

 

The tears and the fears were gone from Becca's face as she spoke tenderly to me. "I know that there will be pain, and I know that there are incredible risks. I also know that even if I do not die in the procedure, I may emerge changed, perhaps with a different personality, perhaps as evil as Nislatrom."

 

She waited a moment, then she repeated, "Where do you want me?"

 

"On the table, Becca," I said. I pointed to a lab table amidst a few million dollars worth of state-of-the-art equipment. "I warmed the metal top before you came so that it will be a bit more comfortable."

 

"Thank you, Doug," she said and walked over. "Should I remove my clothes, Dr. Petry?" She blushed a little at that. She knew that I was not a medical doctor.

 

"That won't be necessary, Becca." I said, coloring a bit as well. "You should be more comfortable, at least initially, if you leave your clothes on. With your permission, though, I, er, will need to remove at least your blouse and jeans before the final phase. I'm not sure what physical transformations may occur."

 

"You, of course have my permission," she said with a smile.

 

I coughed into my hand.

 

"And, Doug?" she said.

 

"Yes," I said.

 

"I am right now freeing you. You may do what you like with me from now on, even if it has nothing to do with defeating that monster. I am completely in your power," Becca blushed a bit again, but she smiled. "Completely in your control."

 

"Well, I..."

 

"No, Doug," said Becca. "I mean it."

*******

The suit paused the tape. "She had that much confidence in you?" he asked.

 

"She believed in me," I said.

 

"She trusted you," he said.

 

"No," I said. "She believed in me. She was willing to go down to failure with me. She was willing to be part of whatever I wanted to do. She was setting me free. She even said as much."

 

"Yes," said the suit, "so she did." He pressed the "play" button.

*******

Becca walked over and climbed onto the table. She pulled off her sandals and dropped them on the floor.

 

"Lay down on your back, Becca." I said, "arms by your sides, legs together. We won't need restraints."

 

She did as she was told. There was fear again in her eyes, but there was resolution there as well. "I admire you, Becca," I said.

*******

I paused the tape.

​

"The transforming agent," I explained, "which I call 'timbrelite' after Janice, had to be administered in stages if there was to be any hope of success. I decided that the initial exposure Becca would receive would be through her respiratory system."

 

The suit nodded and I began the tape again.

*******

I handed Becca a small plastic vial. "As soon as I am clear," I told her, "I want you to open this bottle and take a good whiff of the vapor that will be released. It should smell sweet, like perfume, so please breathe in as much as you can."

 

I stepped a few feet away, and Becca did as she was told. She inhaled the very dilute timbrelite mixture, filling her lungs and expanding her chest against her blouse. She held her breath a moment. Then, she lifted her head and looked at me. "It does smell good," she said with a sigh. "What should I do with the vial?"

 

Before I could answer her, she began coughing. She dropped the vial and grabbed her stomach with both hands. She coughed as if from the very depth of her lungs. She acted like she wanted to say something and sat up.

 

"No, Becca," I said as I rushed over to her, "don't try to sit up!"

 

Just as I reached her, she rolled her eyes back in her head and drooped limply into my arms. Her head fell back and her arms dropped into her lap. I lifted her head and put her parted lips near my cheek. She was still breathing.

 

I gently lowered her back to the table and checked her pulse. I raised her eyelids and saw that her eyes were dilated. I pulled a chair near the table and sat beside her, stroking her hair.

*******

I let the tape continue as I spoke to the suit. "She would have passed out anyway, but I was afraid she'd fall from the table."

 

The suit looked away from the monitor and into my face. "What, exactly, were you doing to her?"

 

"I was transforming her," I said. "I was changing her into what I hoped would be Nisaltrom's downfall."

 

"What do you mean?" he asked.

 

But before I could answer, there was movement on the monitor and he raised a hand, silencing me.

*******

I stopped stroking Becca's hair. She lay limp on the table, her right arm at her side, her left arm resting on her hip, her legs straight and slightly parted, her head turned toward me.

 

I could hear her breathing deepening. She would be awake soon.

​

On a shelf below her was another vial, about the same size as the one now discarded on the floor. On its stopper was a hand-drawn "2". I picked it up and watched Becca's eyes flutter open.

 

Becca giggled. "Hi, Doug!" she said. She giggled again and sat up, dangling her legs off the table.

 

"Hi, Becca," I said. "Do you feel OK?"

 

"I feel grrrreat!" she said and giggled again. "Just grrreat!"

 

She looked down at her chest. "You didn't take off this old blouse," she said, disappointed. "I never liked this blouse," she said and began unbuttoning it. I could see that her bra was crimson.

 

"Becca," I said, pressing the vial into her right hand. "Please breathe this in now." I stepped back

 

"Sure thing, Dr. Doug," she said. She opened the vial and held it to her nose. I saw her chest fill as she breathed in.

 

This time, the effect was instantaneous. She dropped the vial, her eyes rolled up and fluttered closed, and she fell limply onto her side, her head thumping against the table.

 

I lifted her feet onto the table, and turned her onto her back. I finished unbuttoning her blouse and put my ear to her chest. Her breathing was shallow but regular. I put her hands by her sides and her legs together, then I rolled her onto her stomach.

 

I undid the buttons on Becca's sleeves and pulled the blouse off her, placing it on a shelf under the table. I ran my fingers over her back, and felt a slight vibration under my touch. Things were starting to happen.

 

I rolled her back onto her back and kissed her forehead. I then turned and walked over to a nearby table.

*******

The suit pressed "pause" again. "OK, now what's going on?"

 

"She's being transformed," I said. "I'm turning her into poison."

 

"You're torturing her," he said.

 

I said nothing at all, so he pushed "play" again.

*******

At the table, I picked up a white cloth and soaked it with a more stringent timbrelite mixture I squirted from a bottle.

 

Becca moaned softly and began to slowly turn her head back and forth. I walked back over to the table and kissed her forehead again. "Becca?" I almost whispered. I stood above her head.

 

"Doug?" she said quizzically as her eyes opened. There was nothing of the giddiness she had shown a moment before.

 

Quickly, I clamped the cloth over her mouth and nose, and held it there with both hands.

 

Becca fought to get free, trying to turn her head, trying to reach me with her arms, kicking and pumping her legs. Her eyes were wide with surprise and shock. She fought hard, but the earlier exposure to timbrelite had weakened her appreciably.

 

She planted her feet on the table and lifted her hips into the air. She pounded the table with her fists. She struggled to twist her neck left then right then up then down. The struggle continued for nearly a minute before her efforts lessened, her eyes fluttered closed, and she lay once again limp on the table.

 

I lifted the cloth for a moment and looked into her lax features. I ran a finger over her cheek and her head flopped over to the side. I turned it back to face the ceiling, and clamped the cloth over it again.

 

The convulsions began after a moment. She shook as if an electric shock passed through her. Her arms and legs limply flailed about, her chest rocked back and forth chaotically. After a few seconds, it ended and she lay limp as before. I gently removed the cloth and again gazed at her expressionless yet beautiful face. I set the cloth on the table next to her.

*******

The tape kept running because nothing was happening besides me walking around the table, looking at Becca's limp form.

​

The suit spoke, "Why didn't you wear gloves or something? Wouldn't the substance ('timbrelite', right?) affect you as well."

 

"No," I said. "Timbrelite is alien to this world. In all but the weakest concentrations, any organic life form would reject it. It would have no effect at all. Becca was introduced to timbrelite in extremely dilute form, and the concentration increased with each exposure. That's why it affected her, and why I no longer have to fear contact with it."

 

He looked at the screen again. "What are you doing now?" he asked.

 

"Isn't it obvious?" I said. "I'm taking off her pants."

*******

And so I was. I unbuttoned them, unzipped them, and slid them over her hips. She wore crimson panties too, which matched her bra. An interesting choice, I thought, but not without significance. Brenda's favorite color was that same deep, rich red. I pulled the jeans off her legs, folded them roughly, and set them with her discarded blouse.

 

I ran my hands over Becca's bare legs. I could almost feel the muscles hardening and expanding as I went from thigh to knee to shin to ankle.

 

On the table where I got the white cloth was a jar of what looked like skin cream. In fact, it was an oily emulsion of timbrelite. I opened the jar and began to massage the cream into the skin of Becca's bare feet, gently rubbing the toes, the heels, the arches. I then rubbed the cream on her hands, rubbing it into her fingers, her palms, her wrist.

 

I cleaned the oil off my hands with another towel, stepped over to a nearby computer console, and clicked the mouse.

*******

He paused the tape again.

 

"You know," I said. "We'll never get through this at this rate."

 

"What did you do to her hands and feet?" he asked.

 

"Exposed her extremities to the timbrelite in a very concentrated form," I said. "I thought that if it was done in that way, there was a slightly better chance that Becca would come out of this alive."

 

"And what did you do at that computer?" he asked.

 

"I called Nislatrom," I said.

 

"You did what?" he asked.

 

"You heard me," I said, and I punched the "play" button.

*******

Becca shuddered awake. She rolled off the table and stood there, her hand on the surface, steadying her.

"What's happening?" she asked. "Is it working?"

​

"You're doing great," I said. "What's your name?"

 

"Becca," she said. She stood up tall, letting go of the table. "And you're Doug, and this is Saturday." Her voice was strong and a little on edge. "I'm perfectly aware of where I am, Doug. I see you took off my clothes."

 

"Very good," I said. "What's your name?"

 

"Becca," she said, more than a little irritated, her hand on her hip. "And you're..." Her voice trailed off. Her arm dropped from her hip.

 

"What's your name?" I asked again.

 

"Becca, I think." It was almost a whisper. She swayed unsteadily.

 

"What's your name, Becca?" I asked a final time.

 

"It's... unnh," she sighed as she crumpled to the ground.

 

"It's almost over now," I said as I walked over to her twisted, limp form. I knelt beside her and gathered her in my arms, lifting her from beneath her thigh and chest. Her arms fell, her head fell back, and her lovely hair draped down like a curtain. I lay her on the table again, rolling her onto her side. I watched her a moment, and then walked once more to the instrument table.

 

I took a syringe and filled it with nearly pure timbrelite. I returned to Becca, brushed her hair away from her neck, and injected the timbrelite into her neck just below her ear.

 

No sooner had I removed the syringe than Becca moaned and rolled onto her stomach. Her legs were spread apart. Her right arm lay under her. Her left arm lay straight out and above her head, her hand limply dangling over the edge of the table. Her head was turned away from me. She moaned and slowly rocked her hips up and down, up and down, up and down. Then she stiffened for a moment. Finally, she lay limp.

 

I placed a hand on her neck and felt no pulse. I walked around and placed my cheek to her lips and felt no breath. I ran my hands over her body and felt no movement. The computer sounded an urgent and long beep.

 

"It's finished," I said.

*******

"She died?" the suit asked as he hit "pause" yet again.

 

"So it seems," I said.

 

"You killed her," he said.

 

"So it seems," I said.

 

"Where was Nislatrom?" he asked.

 

I punched "play."

 

"There," I said.

*******

And there it was. Becca lay between it and me and I backed away, my eyes large with fear. The bait, the poison, was dead, and I was the only live food around.

 

Yet the alien did not attack me. It turned it's attention to the limp and nearly naked form of Becca on the table. It placed tentacles on her, one on her back and one on her thigh, and lifted her as if by suction. Her head and arms hung down lifelessly.

 

It shook her back and forth a few times and her arms and head swung back and forth with each jolt. In a moment, something which looked like an electric glow rose from the points of contact between the alien and Becca's helpless form. It seemed to be feeding.

 

The tentacles which held Becca slowly slid up Nislatrom's disgusting body until they sprang from near its head, seven feet or more in the air. Becca dangled like a doll from that height.

 

The alien tentacles slowly raised Becca over Nisaltrom's head, and then began to lower her down the other side. Now, her head fell back and her arms dangled out, her right arm touching one of the jelly-like alien eyes. The glow grew brighter and the alien began to shake Becca's form again, back and forth, back and forth.

 

Then, in an instant, things changed. They eye Becca's hand had touched burst, releasing a puff of brown gas. Then another eye burst. And another. In a moment, Nisaltrom's form was shrouded in the gas of it's exploding eyes. Soon, the room was full of the miasma. I closed my eyes, covered my mouth and nose, and held my breath, hoping for the best. The video tape showed nothing but smoky darkness for a while. Then there was an odd, sharp shrieking sound, and in an instant the room was clear of smoke. When my lungs burned for air, I breathed in, and smelled nothing but the clean air of the laboratory.

 

I opened my eyes and uncovered my mouth and saw Becca lying there on her back, arms out, legs bent at the knee, hip turned. And then, she was gone.

*******

"What happened to the body?" asked the suit.

 

"I don't know," I said.

 

"What do you know?" he asked.

 

"It's all in these notebooks and on the tape you saw," I said.

 

"You documented everything?" he asked.

 

"Yes," I said. "I'm funny like that."

 

"Then we won't need you anymore," he said, and he produced a gun from a pocket of the suit.

 

"What?" I said, stunned.

 

He fired.

 

And then they were gone.

 

The gun. The bullet. They were just not there anymore.

 

We were both stunned.

 

And then Becca was there. She stood between us, wearing the same crimson bra and panties she had worn in the tape. Her legs were apart; her hands were on her hips. She was very much alive.

 

"If I were you," she said to the suit, "I'd think twice before trying anything else funny."

 

"Who are you?" he asked, as if he didn't already know.

 

"You can call me Crimson. I'm the worst thing that could have happened to your employer," she said. "You might want to tell him that."

 

Then the suit was gone. His chair was empty. Not even a trace.

 

"Where'd he go?" I asked.

 

"I sent him to Washington," Becca said. "To see someone who will become very frightened about now."

 

"How'd you do that?" I asked.

 

"A little trick I picked up," she said.

 

My mouth hung open.

 

"Look, Doug," she said softly. "I know you have a lot of questions. I don't have all the answers for you, but I have some: For instance, that nuclear explosion in Pakistan was not really an accident. Pakistan, it turns out, is not the only ones to blame."

 

"But..." I said.

 

"I'll tell you what I know in a bit," she said. "But first, could we get me some clothes?"

​

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.