Chapter Ten: Dalek

I get into my apartment at twelve minuets past four. I lay the Creature out on the couch, spreading a cut up tarpaulin bag from the Swedish Furniture store underneath him so that the slime won't soak into it. He's heavy; which is surprising. He's fuck ugly, I won't lie. Like I've ever really cared about that. But I'm not a bad person. I don't want to be, I don't believe I am. When the world is so full of shit we can at least be kind. He helped us. I'm not going to leave him to die. He can stay at mine for the night.

After I fill a tumbler with water, ludicrous, I know, and place it by his side, I carefully go and shower. And assess the situation.

Okay.

I have a green, mollusc like alien asleep on my couch. This is the same couch where I watch movies and make out with the boyfriend. Now it's holding some unidentified life form. That can change shape. The gravity of the situation is a little too heavy to fully comprehend.

Glancing at my alarm clock, in my room where I change (putting on pants in addition to the usual t-shirt), I realise the sun will rise in less than an hour.

I'm not tired. I'm too wired to be tired. Probably in shock, still. Still full of adrenalin. I need to be.

I don't know what I'm dealing with. I don't know what this thing is, or what he is capable of, or whether he's badly hurt; and even if he is if anything I do will actually help. I need to check on him. He, it, might not make it through the night.

So I drift back into the living room, see him lying on the couch. He's alive. He's shifted; rolled onto his side. Those goddamn tentacles cascade off the side and onto the floor, curling as they hit the ground. The longest are about four feet in length. Like a giant squid; out of water. One that's been mutilated. Melted. The smell, that acrid, medical stench reeks off him, but it's not as bad as it was in the squad car on the way here. I don't really care. This place is a mess already, so it doesn't matter if it stinks of shit too. I can get a freshener pretty cheap.

I take some iced coffee from the fridge and settle down on the other side of the table, so I can see if he needs anything. But he can't talk. How can he when, by all appearances, he no longer has a mouth?

The Creature has a face so wrinkled that I can barely make out the twitching lid of its single eye, and smaller tentacles, like mandibles, that sprout from its head. The same ones I saw when resembled something more human. It looks like its sagged; sunken and shaped itself as it lies on its side. Like it has no bones. And let's not even start on the brain that bulges out of its head. What the hell.

This body shakes as it breathes in and out, silently, and pulsates with the rhythm of its heartbeat. It doesn't look too comfortable.

How can it change like that, I wonder to myself? What am I dealing with? Nothing can do that, not in the real world. This is insane, some crazy rendition of Frankenstein, or some superhero movie. I feel shaken to the core. I've seen too much tonight.

He's waking up. It's either the warmth, or he's aware of me watching him. Excuse me for staring; who wouldn't? It's like being a kid again; the disgusting things are what you can't pry your eyes from. But he shifts, pulls himself upright with an obscene squelching sound. Then a tired blue eye flickers open.

"Hey there," I say, noting how my voice tremors. I have to say something; I'm being polite, even if it is a fucking alien, I know. But given the hour, and recent trauma, I think my brain is excused from functioning properly for a bit.

"You're up."

The Creature stares at me. It's the same eye, the same look, of the thing that helped me at the docks. He knows me. It tries to make a sound, but all that comes out is a deep, rumbling gurgle. It tries to move and winces.

I protest. "Don't. Stay still, please."

To be honest, now it's awake, it's taking me a superhuman effort not to run away screaming. Anything can happen now. It could shoot poison or something. Strangle me. I could be raped (hell though, I have my taser. And contrary to the content of popular Japanese pornography I fail to see why it would want to).

It's covered in grazes, cuts, big green blotches where it has bruised. Its blood seeps out of gashes. Red blood, like ours. None of them are too deep though. It wasn't hurt too bad. Or maybe this transformation is an injury in itself? Maybe I underestimate the damage?

That big old bloodshot eye has locked onto me. The lid is half closed, as though it's half asleep.

But the way it stares suddenly has me thrown. It's a particular look, the way a wounded animal challenges its foe. The defiance of a prisoner. It's a look that says, I'm not scared. I'm not taking any shit from you. It's a look of hatred.

And once again, I feel a pang of familiarity. Why?

"Look, I don't know what you are. But you helped me and Carlos out back there. I'm helping you now. Just...okay, easy."

As I speak he's shifting still, pulling himself upright. Shit. I've made him angry. Is he going to attack? I brace myself. In my back pocket, heavy against the light cotton, I fumble for my taser.

What I don't expect is for my phone to ring.

The hoot of the 20's car horn punctures the tension like a nail. I look away from the Creature, at my jacket, and the small rectangle of light that shines through it. Filled with caution, I look back at the couch, and see he hasn't moved. He sits, some insane mutant octopus, tentacles draped regally either side of him, watching me with a cold, calculating stare.

He wants me to answer it.

I don't turn my back. Crab-walking, I cross the room, fish it out of the pocket. It's from an unknown caller.

I know better, but I tap the answer icon, shakily lift it to my ear.

And I almost drop it.

"YOU WERE UNWISE TO TAKE ME HERE." Announces the voice of my childhood fear. Because the voice, that the thing on my couch speaks with, through my cell, that grated, mechanised staccato bark, is the voice of the Dalek.

Two monsters, both on the same night. That thing, it wasn't just a machine. It never was. It just housed this stringy, mutilated lump of flesh. Through some kind of connectivity, it is able to access my phone and talk. That can change its form. This is the understanding I will gain later, though right now I'm struggling to comprehend this information.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I lower the phone, screen up, onto the table.

"That's you talking?" I state. It blinks. A sign of confirmation.

"AF-IRMATIVE." The voice grates. It is slow, like its low on power, or connection.

"The Dalek. That black tank...thing in Midtown West?"

"CORRECT."

Then another wave of realisation hits me. Of panic. The Machine that Kills people. That's what Lewis had said. I didn't doubt it when I was little. And I know it's not wise to doubt it now.

I have a killer in my front room.

"I'm sorry." I stammer, all courage leaving me. Coward of the year award. The Slyther, yeah, I could deal with that. But not this. Not him. Not something smart, something that can talk and think and poison my ears with hate.

"I didn't know. I didn't think...what with the, er, the shape shifting and...oh Christ."

I see him, suddenly huge, dominating my vision, green and disdainful and monstrous. And I see him roll his eye.

"IF I HAD WANTED YOU DEAD," Its monotonic voice crackles. "I WOULD HAVE LET THE SLYTHER KILL YOU."

I look at him long and hard. There's something steely in his glare. That ancient visage, as horrific as it may look, is old. It's been through worse shit. It won't bother with me. It won't lie. I sit down, heavily. He has a point.

Silence. The Dalek, yes, because that's what he is, extends two tentacles, and fumbles with the tumbler. It leaves thick films of slime on the glass. I watch, dumbfounded, as it effortlessly lifts the object at draws it towards itself. Its mouth suddenly becomes visible between two of its mandibles, and it takes a draft. Its body dilates as it swallows. Once again, over the fear, that child like awe flows over me. It does it with such ease. Like watching a snail eat lettuce, kind of disgusting, but in a really fascinating way. And I feel my fear ebb, just a little. I sit opposite my childhood fear, a billion questions rattling around in my mind like quantum physics. And the greatest surprise, the relief, is that I'm not dead.

A draft shakes the blinds. It's still cold. The heating doesn't come on until late November at best in this flat. Suffice to say I don't like my landlady too much. I can hear the pattering on the window as the rain hits hard. I took the alien in. I didn't leave it out there to catch pneumonia. And sweet Jesus, there are many out there on the streets who will. I'm alive, here, now. Outside, the world still goes on. And I and my extraterrestrial house guest sit in silence.

The phone vibrates again.

"WHY DID YOU TAKE ME HERE?" The Dalek asks. Suddenly I'm not so sure.

"I...I thought you were hurt." I begin. He replaces the tumbler with a clatter; it's coated in clear goop. "And you helped me out, so I didn't want you to die. And..." What the hell. "I guess I was just...curious."

"YOU ARE FOOLISH." The Alien tells me.

"Yeah. I guess I am."

I admit this. I watch as he shuffles. Lifts those tentacles, curls them. The plastic crackles. He looks bushed. If this was a person, just an ordinary guy; I'd be able to glean two main things. He's very old. He's very tired.

I observe this, trying to disarm myself. And it suddenly isn't so hard. What can he do? I risk a question.

"I've seen you before." I tell him; this is a remark. One that needs confirmation. The Dalek shuts its eye. Sleeping now. Dying maybe.

"THAT IS LIKELY." The phone buzzes. That slow voice has a comfortable tone to it.

"You changed your shape."

"CORRECT."

"Could you always do that?"

"NO."

That shakes up a load more questions. One at a time.

"Right. Does it-"Are you a rapist? No, scratch that. "I guess that hurts a lot, when you do that?"

The Dalek itself burbles. The phone says:

"IT IS OF LITTLE CONSEQUENCE. DALEKS UNDERSTAND PAIN."

"O-kay." Maybe I'm asking the wrongs questions. But this conversation is escalating.

"Do you-"

But the Creature shifts sideways and opens its eye a crack.

"I WOULD APPRECIATE IT IF I COULD SLEEP NOW."

He's going. He seems to sink a little, once again. I guess he'll be fine. I bite my lip, nod. Stand up, creaking on the floorboards.

"Yeah. Sure."

Carefully, I reach over, fumble with the still glowing, but silent phone. "You do that. I don't mind if you...er...want to stay here after I go out. I'll leave the spare keys. Try and lay off the shape-shifting while I'm in if you can."

I make it to my bedroom door. I'll push the desk in front of it; that's pretty heavy, you know. Can't be too careful.

Then it hits me that, probably, I've been a bit rude. Extra-terrestrial life; anything goes. You'd think. looking back in the room, I see him pale and sprawled out, dominating the couch, breathing rhythmically. I imagine that image will stay in my head for a long time.

"Can I ask you one more thing?" I enquire to the air.

"...YOU MAY."

"What do I call you? Do you have a name, or are you just...Dalek?"

The light flickers.

"DALEKS DO NOT HAVE NAMES." The Creature says. The answer barks from the phone in my hand, contemplating slow. "BUT I DO."

That's weird. So he doesn't class himself as a Dalek?

"I AM CALLED SEC."

Sec. Convincingly alien, short and sweet. Punchy. Good to know.

"Well goodnight, Sec."

No answer.

Guessing the conversation has ended, I press the hang up icon.

Switch out the light.

Shut the door.