Touched by an Alien

didn’t know how to send an emotional message to keep this guy monologing.
    Martini nodded. “I suppose.”
    “Is that why you don’t want to convert Jeff and Christopher to the fugly lifestyle?”
    Yates gave me a withering look. Apparently glaring ran strong in this family. “I want them dead because they are not worthy to carry on our race.”
    Oh, I’d heard this one before. Everyone alive on Earth had, after all. “Racial purity. It’s never been a great idea, Yatesey, and it’s still stupid from both a genetics and evolutionary standpoint. Not to mention God probably knows what He’s doing—if you can mate true and create something the same or better than you were, then said mating’s in God’s overall plan.”
    “There is no God!”
    “Oh, sure there is. Your little alter ego’s proof of that. I mean, I know he believes. What do you believe, Yatesey?”
    “Stop calling me that! My name is Mr. Yates!”
    “Yeah, yeah, they call me MIZ Tibbs. Not impressing anyone over here; we’ve seen the movie, too, Yatesey.”
    He was turning a nasty shade of purple. The A-C gang really had a thing about formality in their naming conventions. Paul’s mother must have had to fight hard to get a single-syllable name assigned to her child.
    Martini moved, and he was in front of me again. “Stay away from her.”
    “Yeah, bring back the Supreme Fugly. I like him better than you. He just stinks. You smell like old person, and I mean that in the worst way possible.”
    Yates was snarling. It was interesting to watch, but I would have preferred to be doing so from a much larger distance than about ten feet. “I will not grace you with eternity.”
    “Can’t grace yourself with it, why should I feel like I’m missing out? Fugly International can’t claim eternity, either. In case you’ve forgotten, we took out all your buddies the other day.”
    Martini had hold of my hand, and he was tensed to move, but we had nowhere to go. Yates was fast enough to stop us, and we didn’t want him loose in the complex anyway. I found myself wishing Christopher were empathic. A thought occurred. Two, actually. But both could be dealt with at the same time. “Yatesey, you seem like the skills aren’t working up to standard.”
    His eyes narrowed. Direct hit. “Everything I need is functioning perfectly.”
    “Really? Jeff, baby, please put up a block.” I focused all the hatred I had, all the anger, right at Yates.
    He grinned. “Thank you.”
    Aha, he could feel them, the negative emotions. And he liked them, which wasn’t a surprise considering how twisted this man was. But what did the positive ones do to him? “You can take the block down.”
    “Make up your mind,” Martini muttered.
    I focused again on how much I loved him. And not just him—everyone in the complex who I knew and at least liked. I concentrated on the feelings of love, friendship, loyalty.
    Yates glared at me. “It doesn’t affect me. Nice try.”
    “It should have,” Martini said slowly. “I could feel it through my blocks, both kinds,” he added to me. “You’re losing your empathic abilities.”
    “Hardly,” Yates said dismissively. “Your inamorata just has no idea of how to send an effective emotional attack.” His eyes narrowed, and I could tell he was attacking Martini.
    I wrapped my arms around his waist. “Hang on, Jeff.”
    Martini started to laugh. “Not a problem, baby.” He moved me to his side, keeping his arm around my shoulders. “He’s got nothing left. Beverly was hell on Earth, but Granddad here’s shooting blanks.”
    “You have no right to claim me as your blood,” Yates hissed.
    Martini snorted. “Like we want to? Come on, Gramps, we hate your guts.”
    “Why is Mephistopheles allowing you this little grandstand?”
    “He is not in control!”
    “Um, yeah, actually, I think he is . He’s not the one dying.” I actually knew why the grandstand was taking place. It seemed both cruel and showing my hand to say why, however. Especially since my purse was up in my room.
    I knew Mephistopheles was going to manifest soon. I also didn’t want this room destroyed—it meant too much to Martini. And I liked it here, too. After all, we’d made love on the couch and had the most normal hour of our admittedly short lives together here. It was ours, ours and Terry’s, and I didn’t want it to be ruined.
    “Tell you what, Ronny. We’re just gonna walk out, and you can follow us. I mean, that’s what