Marilyn Peake - The Other

I followed, conjuring up images of the man in the orange jumpsuit slamming the door shut, coming back later to harvest our organs or feast on our flesh. Would we be dead at that point, or alive and experiencing every painful assault on our bodies?

Jaxon stepped down into the opening and pulled the door closed. As he did so, light flooded a passageway at the bottom of the steps. Passing us, he waved a hand and said, “Follow me.”

We followed him through a long tunnel.

Childhood memories flashed through my mind, making me feel so claustrophobic, I started to hyperventilate. Once again, I was a small girl crawling on my stomach through a tunnel, practicing escape from the military who would surely come to round us all up. I told myself to calm down, to breathe, to imagine swallowing the Xanax with nice, cool water.

The walls were dirt held in place by wooden frames. I ran my hands along both sides, using tactile sensation to wash away the anxious feeling of unreality coursing through my body.

After walking so long my feet ached, we arrived at a metal door. Jaxon punched numbers into a keypad hidden behind a wooden beam. As the door swung open, he stepped inside. After we followed him, he shut the door and locked it.

We had entered a cold, concrete basement. Light bulbs suspended from the ceiling provided the only light.

As my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I saw cages lining the two longer walls. Concrete cages with thick metal bars, a bed and toilet and sink in each.

My life would end here. Obsessed with fulfilling a grant for field research I found fascinating, I had defied all the red flags popping up and screaming in my brain to get out and go back home. A woman had murdered her two children inside the compound. The police had set up a war zone outside. They must have suspected a larger wave of potential violence inside this place where I now found myself hidden away, buried alive in my own terror down in the basement.

Crossing the room, Jaxon walked over to a set of wooden stairs. We followed. When the man in the astronaut suit opened the door at the top, swung it forward and flooded the basement with light, I felt some relief. We were getting out.

She touched the girl’s lips with the vial of poison, tilted it, telling her to drink. To this day, I hear her voice echoing through time.

I followed Nat up the stairs. We entered a large common room where people were milling about. They were all dressed like Jaxon, even the children.

In a crisp, hurried voice, Jaxon said, “Follow me.”

I noticed that all the spacesuits had the same two patches. In place of NASA’s official insignia patch, they had one that looked very similar. Imitating NASA’s, it was round and blue, had star patterns and lines in white and red. However, the initials were TAP instead of NASA and the white lines scrolled out like a ribbon of light behind a flying saucer. I assumed TAP stood for The Astral Plane. Similar to NASA’s blue rectangular patch featuring a set of wings and the astronaut’s name, these suits had a patch with the same design except that a row of flying saucers replaced the wings.

I found it hard to keep up with Jaxon. He was moving quickly.

When we left the main room, we entered a wide hallway with concrete walls. There were no windows, but it was brightly illuminated by circular lights built into the walls. They reminded me of the round lights—often multi-colored—around the circular rim of UFOs in much of the popular UFO artwork.

The floor was covered in blue carpeting.

When I looked up to inspect the ceiling, I found it had been painted blue and decorated with star patterns. There appeared to be distinct constellations, but I didn’t recognize any of them.

We turned several corners, each new hallway designated by a different color rug.

After walking to the end of the hallway carpeted in white (it was still in pristine condition without any stains) Jaxon opened an ornate wooden door into which had been carved suns, moons, stars and planets.

The door led into a hallway with metal stairs that spiraled upward.

As we climbed the stairs, holding onto an ornate black metal railing, we passed by woven rugs depicting various scenes with aliens and flying saucers or real-life astronomy. One particularly beautiful rug showcased the Milky Way. Another featured the Hubble photo, Pillars of Creation . I’d always loved that image, described by NASA as having a “multi-colored glow of gas clouds” with “wispy tendrils of dark cosmic dust.” The outer space aliens on the rugs were mostly the same: green skin, large heads and enormous black eyes. A few had gray skin. A few were short. The UFOs were also repetitions on a theme—round metal disks with lights in various places: around the rim, along the bottom, or shooting a beam out of the bottom to lift people up. One rug showed a terrified-looking man floating within the beam.

The stairs led to a landing that looked like a waiting room or reading area. Hardwood floor, leather couch, several matching chairs and a coffee table.

Jaxon walked straight across the area and knocked on a door.

A man’s voice inquired, “Yes?”

Jaxon gave his name and said, “Our guests are here to meet you.”

The voice on the other side replied, “Come in. Please.”

Opening the door, Jaxon motioned for us to enter.

A man sat behind a massive wooden desk. At first, I thought he was old. He reminded me of a suntanned Gandalf the Grey. He had long gray hair and a flowing gray beard. His skin was rough and weathered, with deep lines reminiscent of parched gullies. His blue eyes, however, were clear and vibrant and his voice sounded no more than middle-aged.

He asked us to sit. Nat and I chose the cloth-covered couch directly in front of the desk.

He smiled, revealing perfectly straight white teeth. Introducing himself, corroborating what we’d already assumed, he said, “I’m Leader Razkazeel. I know who both of you are. When I heard you wanted to speak with me, my assistants did some research. I don’t meet with just anyone.” Looking at Jaxon who was pacing around the room, he added, “For the safety of myself and everyone else in the compound, you know. There are those who want to harm us.”

He paused and looked once again at Jaxon. Turning his attention back to us, he said, “You’ve seen the militarized police force outside?”

Nat answered, “It would be hard to miss them.”

Knitting his thick gray eyebrows into an expression of deep concern, Razkazeel looked from Nat to me and replied, “Yes. Do you know why they’re here?”

Hoping it wouldn’t enrage this leader of a bizarre cult, I ventured an honest answer. “The news is reporting that one of your members killed her two children inside this compound and the police are responding. I’m assuming they hope she’ll give herself up; but, if not, they’re prepared to force their way inside to arrest her.”

Razkazeel said, “That’s their excuse.”

Suddenly, there were footsteps behind the wall on the opposite side of the room from where we’d entered. For the first time, I noticed another door there.

Nat asked Razkazeel what he meant.

I felt unnerved that the guy we were talking to didn’t seem especially concerned about the murder.

A stabbing pain shot through my head, shearing my conscious mind from the logical progression of conversation.

A lovely woman in a long flowered dress holding a vial of poisonous liquid to the lips of a little girl. My twin. We had a deep psychological connection. We shared one psychic brain. Filling her veins with lethal contaminant, you might as well have sliced through my own corpus callosum. My father grabbing my hand and the hand of my brother. Running. Running. Me screaming for Crystal. Did I really scream for her? Had I even tried?