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Marge the Cleaning Lady tells the others what she saw.
(Part of the Light a Candle 'verse)
It was too crowded, too noisy, and too smoky for his taste. He couldn’t even remember why he agreed to this in the first place, especially since there were more pressing matters on his mind at the moment. Oh, right, band obligations and all that. The ever-present fans. Granted, it is not nearly as crazy as it was back in the heyday, but still, the ever-pressing crush of the devoted was enough to wear thin on the patience of even the most unflappable. Sometimes he would like to just be able to walk into a bar and order a pint and be able to enjoy it in peace. ‘Yeah right,’ he thought to himself, ‘those days are long gone.’
Scanning the room as he raised the glass to his lips, he only half listened to the conversation droning on around him. There. There she was. She pushed a long strand of chestnut hair behind her ear as she leaned in to better hear the conversation of the person with her. Whatever they were talking about must have been amusing for a smile lit up her features. Taking another drink, he continued to watch the woman.
Emma had the distinct feeling of being watched, even in the crowded room. She finished up her conversation with the keyboard player and moved off. She could still feel his eyes on her as she made her way to the bar. She leaned back against the bar, sipping on the glass of wine she had ordered. He was still watching her. His dark brown eyes never left her face even as he raised his glass to his lips. The ring on his finger caught her attention and a wicked smile broke across her face.
Roger had just raised his glass to his lips when the woman across the room said something to him.
“I’m not wearing any underclothes,” silently she mouthed to him from across the room.
Emma knew actually what she was doing. She knew that years behind the drum kit had allowed him to read her lips and to ‘hear’ her as if she was standing next to him. She raised an eyebrow and waited for his response.
Roger choked on the drink he just took.
“Hey, man! You alright?” John asked as he pounded Roger on the back in an attempt to help his friend.
“I’d be better if you would stop beating on me,” he replied. “Excuse me. I have something to attend to.”
“Yeah, sure man. Whatever.” The words were said to Roger’s retreating back. John just shook his head and turned back to the conversation at hand.
He met her halfway across the room.
“You are a very naughty girl.”
“Do you really care?” She asked as she leaned in, her lips against his ear. “How long do you think it would be before they noticed we were missing?” She whispered before he felt the pointed tip of her tongue delicately tracing the outline of his ear.
Roger pulled back and searched her face. He was surprised at this turn of events for Emma was not one really big on public displays.
“Well, how long?” She asked again.
He looked at her, a smile crossing his face.
“Long enough,” he replied, taking her hand and leading her from the bar. He didn’t even acknowledge Simon when the other man tried to gain their attention.
“Wonder where they are in a rush to.”
“Simon leave them be. They are still newlywed. You remember what that was like, don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah baby,” Simon answered his wife, his eyes glazing over at the thought.
**~~**
The taxi ride back to the hotel was the longest one in Roger’s life. It was all he could do to keep from throwing her down on the seat and having his way with her. ‘Be a hell of a show for the cab driver,’ he thought as his hand slowly inched its way up her leg. He was determined to see if what she had said at the bar was true or not. He leaned in and she felt his feathery kisses along her collarbone.
“Stop,” she moaned as his calloused fingers blazed a trail toward her center. “Roger, stop.” She gasped as she felt his warm tongue on her neck.
“Why?”
“We do have an audience,” she said breathlessly, motioning towards the cab driver.
“What?”
“Cab driver.”
Roger’s head popped up from where he had been tracing his initials on the soft skin of her neck. “Damn, forgot about him for a moment.”
Roger caught the gaze of the cabbie in the rearview mirror. It was clear by the smirk on the driver’s face that he had not missed much of what had been going on in the back seat of his ride.
The couple was saved from any further embarrassment as they finally reached their destination. Roger thrust a handful of bills at the cabbie, not caring that he had just paid the man what equaled to several fares. The driver counted the money as the couple raced up the steps to the hotel and shook his head as they disappeared through the revolving doors.
“Ah, to be in love,” he said as he put the yellow car into drive and merged back into the oncoming traffic.
**~~**
Marge had worked for the hotel for well over forty years and had thought she had seen it all. That was until she rounded the corner on the sixteenth floor. There, against the doorway to one of the rooms was a couple so tightly pressed together that one could not tell who was who. The man looked old enough to know better and the woman looked young enough not to care. As she cleared her throat, the man dropped the woman’s leg he had been holding against him. The woman only squeaked out “Roger!” as she hid her flaming face against the lapel of the man’s jacket, and he had the audacity to grin at Marge as he reached around his companion and unlocked the door. The door shut with a quiet click, blocking the two lovers from further prying eyes.
“Why, I’ve never seen such,” the housekeeper recounted to her friends around the break room table. “And to top it off…as I passed that room, there was a thump against the door and I could hear giggles coming from the other side of that door. Shameless, I tell you.”
Marge’s co-workers could only gossip over their coffee and cigarettes. At least this job was never boring…
Is a series of Duran Duran fics I started like 500 years ago. It starts with the end of the story and the rest fill in bits and pieces of what came before.
In the end, what would be your choice? The summer tour of 2005 does not go as planned.
Hey, it's the end of the as we know it and I feel fine.
Part Two
When does a dream become reality?
Or, when does reality become a dream?
Could you decide what would be that one defining moment in time?
I know I cannot.
There were just too many of them.
I still, to this day, cannot decide when this all became ‘real’. Was it when we first caught sight of the invaders? Those that had claimed to have been abducted had it all wrong for what had stepped out into the clearing on that warm summer night was nothing that one would think a space alien to be. Nowhere to be seen was the classic space creature, with its large eyes, short, gray-skinned bodies, and three-fingered hands. These creatures were something different altogether. Tall, human in appearance with eyes the color of a storm-tossed sea; their orangish-green skin shimmered faintly in the pale moonlight, casting an iridescent glow about them.
Beautiful.
Ethereal.
Dangerous.
Deadly.
Murderous.
Conquerors.
Destroyers.
I could continue like this forever, but they are just details that everyone should be familiar with by now. If not, lucky you.
Still, that was not the ‘real’ moment for me. Nor was the moment when our small group was sent arse over elbow trying to get out of the way of their idea of crowd control. There had been thirteen of us that had set off from that highway looking for help. Five Durans and Shelly, a young nursing student from the Midwest, were all that entered their ship. Watching the person next to you be vaporized, as in nothing left, not even the clothes they were wearing vaporized, is enough to make one think about how much they want to live. I know I still did at that point. Odd how time changes all things, is it not?
I won’t waste time telling of the journey to our new “home”. It was uneventful, and we spent the better part of it huddled in holding cells with several hundred other miserable souls. Voices in the dark whispered…wondering…questioning...praying.
“Airplanes falling out of the damn sky…”
“The Lord is my Shepard…”
“Have you seen Saul, my husband?”
“Where are they taking us?”
“…he leadeth me beside the still waters…”
“Did you hear what happened to the cities?”
“Who are they? Where did they come from?”
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”
“…the Armies have been destroyed.”
“…no one left…”
“I will fear no evil: for thou art with me…”
“No food or water for two days. For two days!”
“I want my mommy!”
“…space aliens!”
“…I will dwell in the house of the…”
“Wiped clean off the damn map…”
“Fuck, I need a smoke.”
From time to time, I have wondered what had happened to Shelly. She was separated from us not long after our arrival to the place that we would acrimoniously learn to call home and hearth.
Where were we? By the best guess of persons far smarter than I, it was decided that we had been relocated somewhere along the Pacific coast, probably close to the Canadian border. There were thousands of people in this camp. The invaders must have cleared out every small town and city they came across. Lord only knows how many more of these camps there are, or rather were. I fear that what has been happening here is only a reflection of what is happening elsewhere. Even as I sit here, writing, I can hear the screams and heavy rifle fire echo throughout the camp. And the whispered pleas for a savior. Strange, is it not, how people put their beliefs in a higher power? Stranger still, is the fact that these people go to their deaths, believing their prayers do not fall upon deaf ears. God did not help us when they came and I sure in the Hell don’t think he’ll help us now. This is one path I refuse, even now, to go down. I lost whatever faith I had a long time ago.
I figure by either tomorrow or later this evening they will be at my part of the camp, and that will be that. So sorry if this is a little rushed but Death is riding on the wind, and I think he is coming for me. Before I stick my spoon in the wall and roll over, I must tell what happened to my brothers. Brothers of my heart, even if not by blood. They lived, they had a life, and they deserve to have their deaths told, however poorly I might recount it.
~~
Nick. Nick was the first of us to go and we lost him almost right from the beginning. Of all things, he died from an allergic reaction to whatever they used to ink the barcodes. The process itself was not that bad. You held your arm out, they ran a scanner over it, a slight tingling feeling, and before you can say ‘Bob’s your uncle’, you are the proud owner of a new tattoo. In less than 24 hours after receiving his, Nick was dead. It started with an irresistible urge to scratch. We nearly went crazy trying to prevent him from digging his arm off. Soon, two large red streaks had snaked up his arm and across his chest and neck. John spent all night by his side, mopping Nick’s feverish brow. When the seizures started, we knew that the end must be near. In the early pre-dawn hours, Nick drew his last ragged breath and without a word, was gone. He was not the only one. There were hundreds upon hundreds who died in this camp from the allergic reaction. I don’t think our captors really gave a flyin’ fuck about it either.
Out of all of us, Nick’s death hit John the hardest. Beautiful, fragile John. During the early years it was still easy to procure things of, let’s say, of a questionable nature. Almost six months to a day after Nick’s death we found John overdosed on whatever it was he took. I guess Rehab didn’t cover a hostile invasion by space aliens, did it Johnny? The bastard. He took the easy way out. I never have gotten around to forgiving him for that.
It was not too long after that, that Andy found a small girl wandering through our part of the camp; she couldn’t have been more than three, if not younger. All Andy was able to get out of her was her name and that she couldn’t find her parents. Andy searched and searched for the girl’s parents, but they were nowhere to be found and no one would step up to care for her. He took little Laura as his and decided that he would care for her. When pressed for an answer as to why, all he would say was, “I can only hope that someone would look to my children if the need be. You have children of your own. Wouldn’t you want someone to look after them?”
I never would answer that question. I only hope my children did not have to live through this.
Time passed, seasons changed and each year the winters were getting harder and harder to survive. Lack of food, proper clothing, and poor living conditions was getting to everyone. Each winter, little Laura would come down sick, and each year it became harder and harder for her to shake it. And she was not the only one.
Andy and several other parents formed a committee and took it upon themselves to visit the camp Commander to request aid for the children. Surprisingly enough, they were thanked for their trouble and told that the Commander would investigate it and were sent on their way. By noon the next day, there was not any child under the age of fourteen left in the camp. The younger children were killed outright, while the older ones were transported from the camp. I don’t know where they were taken. Some say they were sent to other camps and still, others think they were taken off the planet altogether. Laura was only seven when they killed her. Perhaps it was for the best.
The committee members lived long enough to see the havoc they wreaked. Their heads, along with Andy’s, adorned pikes, lined the road to the Commander’s office for a very long time. I think that day was the day that the fight to continue living fled this place. So many families were destroyed on that dark day. So many hopes for the future were crushed.
That was four years ago, scary how time flies when you are being repressed.
Simon? I don’t know where he has gone off to. Despite the dangers of the camp purge, he went for a walk yesterday and has yet to return. I fear he may have been caught in the cleansing. Or he may be holed up somewhere, safe for the time being. Who knows?
~~
There. That is their story. Not much, is it? But it is all I have for you.
Why do I write this? I don’t really know. I have a sinking feeling there will not be anyone left to read this after I am gone. Maybe I write these words to prove that I was. That I existed. That I was here. My only regret, well two regrets, is the fact that I could not see my children and family one last time. And Emma, my beautiful dark-eyed girl, that I had taken for my wife only a few months before it all went to Hell. I really should stop rambling. Damn. Old age must be sitting in early. I have things to do before my time is up.
One last thing before I go:
I had once read that you can either light a candle or curse the darkness.
My candle burned out a long time ago.
I am not going without a fight.
I have made my decision.
I will curse the darkness with my last breath.
I am meeting with others from this block, and we are going to fight.
I don’t know what good it will do… But I am willing to find out.
I wrote this like 500 years ago.
Part One
In the end, what would be your choice? The summer tour of 2005 does not go as planned.
Warnings: This is not Porn. It is probably not Crack. Hell, it is not even close to an over-the-counter, off brand Ibuprofen. And it ain’t all sunshine and kittens. Oh, yeah, language.
Disclaimer: This is so far out in the AU field that you can’t see it with a telescope. I have never met any member of Duran Duran and I don’t speak English. Well, that would be English English. So, if it seems a little Americanized that is why.
~~*~~
June 21st.
A Day that will never be forgotten.
In less than twenty-four hours life on Earth, as it was known, forever was changed. They had come, without warning, from the far reaches of space. I know, it sounds like a cheesy opening line from a bad Sci-Fi novel or something from Star Trek or one of those movies that the kids had liked to watch. Oh, how I wish it had been a Star Trek episode. Or even one of those Hollywood movies where the hero always saves the day before the total annihilation of the planet. Maybe then Captain Kirk and his merry band could have saved the day. Hell, I would have even settled for Will Smith. But, tragically, no one came to our rescue. The sheer power and technology of these creatures ended whatever defensive measures the nations might have used before there was even a chance. In an instant, every single major city in the world was wiped from the map. Rome. New York. Los Angles. Paris. Moscow. Washington. Beijing. Tokyo. London. All of them. There were no negotiations, no chance of surrender. Millions of souls gone in seconds.
Sometimes I think they were the lucky ones.
Don’t get me wrong, it took several weeks for them to completely dominate the planet, and there was a resistance movement. But in the end, nothing that was done to repel the invaders worked.
June 21st.
The day I and, others ceased to be. Ceased to be individuals. Ceased to be free. That day was the day that whoever had survived their initial attack would forever be known by only a barcode and a number. Me? My number was 7609. Ironic, is it not?
You want to run but there’s no space at all… La la la late bar…
Not some of the most brilliant of our lyrics but still…
Ah, my mind wanders. If I am going to tell this tale, then let me attempt to start somewhere near the beginning…
~~**~~
The first day of summer was spent like so many others, touring. You see, we were in a band, musicians, and we were on a crazy schedule of two months on and two months off. This just happened to be our time on the road and for once we were all traveling together. Everyone’s families and significant others had returned several days before to wherever it was, they had called home, and the feeling of nostalgia had hit us hard. And hard hit was we: someone had the brilliant idea of traveling to the next city, like in the old days, by bus. A tour bus, for God’s sake. A damn tour bus. I don’t know if I should feel thankful about that or not. If we had traveled by airplane, as was the norm, we…I…would most likely not be here now.
Maybe if we had been in an airplane when they had come, we would have escaped the Hell that was to follow. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. That is all there seems to be now days. That, and ‘what if’?
I don’t even really remember where we were when it happened. I think Andy had called it, ‘Somewhere in the Middle of Bloody Fuckin’ Nowhere.’ Andy. He always had a mouth on him. I can’t even begin to remember how many times when we were younger that mouth of his almost got us into trouble or almost cost us a gig. Right now, I would give anything to hear one of the many flamboyant curses that had always seemed to slip so effortlessly from between his lips.
Almost everyone had been sleeping when the bus suddenly stopped. I am pretty sure that several people hit the floor at the sudden stop. Bumps and bruises all around. Later we had learned that they had used what was basically a short-termed EMP pulse in the opening salvo of the attack. Not too terribly high tech for them, but still effective.
I won’t bore you with the details that followed. Won’t bore you with how we saw to any injuries we might have had after we picked ourselves up from the floor of that damned bus. I won’t tell you of the confusion that was present on so many of the faces of the other stranded travelers. I won’t tell you how we decided to leave the interstate. The details of how we wandered the countryside with some of the others from the road, lost, looking for help, are not so important now. I will not tell of how we wandered for a few days before being picked up by them. Okay, so we got lost. We were a pop group not a bunch of bloody Boy Scouts.
Why do you ask that I bore you with such details? Time. Plain and simple, time. I seem to have run out of it; something is happening. They have been moving troops and equipment off the planet; all the while, methodically clearing the barracks, block by block. Guess whose is next.
There are other things that need to be told in this telling.
Jesus.
Where do I start?
I would tell you their name if I could spell it, hell, I can’t even pronounce it. Even after all this time.
Like a nightmare come true, they came from the sky. Imagine our surprise. No one thought to run, so dumbstruck we were. There really was nowhere to run to. We stood there with our mouths open, as we caught the first sight of proof that we were not alone in the universe.