To Catch an Alien

Snow cascaded from the clouds onto the parking lot, muffling the sounds of the sirens rushing to the supercenter. Red and blue lights illuminated the parking lot. Ambulances and police vehicles blocked both entrances to the supercenter. The police chief talked to the press as everyone within the store evacuated. Chaos, it seemed, followed Agent Filmore wherever she went. As she stepped out of her black SUV, the press swarmed her, demanding answers. She was not unprepared; she simply fired back to the press she could not discuss an open case. The heavyset police chief welcomed her with an exasperated sigh and a small smile. His face was red from the cold and snow. “Glad you’re here, Agent Filmore. I thought they’d never stop asking questions.” His voice was lighthearted, despite the gruesome scene which laid ahead.

Filmore chuckled. “They never do stop, Chief Miller.” He guided her under the yellow police tape, showing her FBI badge, and led her to the crime scene. “What’s the situation?”

“Well, to be honest, I’m not really sure.” They walked through the entrance together as they spoke. “We evacuated everyone and kept the witnesses outside. No one knows the story, but there were a lot who found the body lying on the floor. No shouts, no arguing, nothing. We have no idea what happened.”

Filmore smirked and sneered, “That’s why you called us, I’m assuming.”

“No need to get cocky,” Miller growled, his voice lowering. “This is something I have never seen before in my twenty years. Maybe you can figure it out.”

They arrived at the scene where a man in his mid-twenties was sprawled on the floor in front of the junior’s section on top of a “Happy to Help” decal. Coagulated blood was spread around him. His lifeless eyes were open, his skin pale with a tint of blue. Filmore crouched down beside him as she observed his body. A hole the size of a golf ball entered and exited his chest, which then left a trail of blood and gore from his body twenty yards near the pharmacy section. The hole inside appeared to have cauterized the wound. “Do we have an ID?”

With sweaty hands, Miller handed her a case file. “Name’s Blaise Kennedy. Lives in the projects. Witnesses said he was standing in this section for a while before they heard a blast. I’m assuming he was waiting for someone.” He shrugged. “I assumed it was a drug deal gone wrong. I thought it was maybe a shotgun blast, but the wound is something I’ve never seen before. Whatever shot him literally burned right through him.”

“What kind of tech is this? This is too advanced for even our government.”

“No idea, ma’am.”

Fillmore rolled her eyes. “I prefer you call me ‘Agent’. ‘Ma’am’ ages me.”

“Well, Agent,” Miller retorted, “I’ve seen some alien movies where they have these weird blasters. Very futuristic. Haven't you ever seen the Marvel movies? They have a bunch of different aliens in there. Especially Thanos, who wipes out humanity with one snap of--”

“I get it, Chief Miller,” Filmore snarled. She turned to face him. “Or do I need to arrest you for obstructing an investigation?”

“No, I prefer you didn’t.”

“Then shut it and let me think.” Miller was correct in the fact that there were no human weapons made like this, not that she was aware of anyway. She made a mental note to make a few phone calls to see about the wound and the type of weapon this had to be. She glanced over the body and noticed his fist was closed, as if he held something before he was shot. “What was in his fist?”

“Nothing, Agent. No one grabbed anything from his hand.”

She nodded. The assailant must have grabbed what was in his hand post mortem and fled the scene. She looked closer and noticed some ripped up paper, which, upon closer inspection, was from a notebook. “Whatever he had, it was obviously important enough to the murderer to grab before he left. I want to take a look inside this guy’s house. See what I can find.” She stood and looked over to Chief Miller. “Have forensics finish up here and call me if there is anything out of the ordinary you found.” She left the crime scene, only to be bombarded with the press yet again. She gave the same speech about not disclosing the details of the ongoing investigation. She peeled away in her SUV and headed over to Blaise’s apartment.

Agent Filmore showed her badge to the local police force and was guided into the apartment. The smell of old alcohol spillage and cigarette smoke permeated through the entire apartment. Expired food lay out on the counter, assaulting the moses of each person in the room. The small studio apartment was messy: dirty laundry littered the apartment and trash was scattered everywhere. Clean clothes were on the bed, on top of a comforter with stains and burn holes on it. As Filmore looked around, she noticed each bit of the apartment was worse than the last. Fillmore grunted in disgust as she scoured the area, searching for clues. She grasped an orange bottle filled with a prescription that was only half full. She gestured for one of the forensics guys to take a look at the bottle. One look at the prescription and his grey eyes widened in surprise. “Agent Filmore, this is for schizophrenia.”

Filmore’s eyes widened. “That’s unusual. And he has no record?”

The specialist shook his head. “No. He has been job-hopping, though. Never stays in one place for more than three months.”

“Question his superiors and see what they have to say about him.”

“Yes, Agent Filmore.”

Filmore glanced around the room to discover one of the drawers to his dresser cracked open. She pulled on the door to find a small black notebook, which she presumed to be a journal. She sat on the floor and began to read through his journal, her hazel eyes devouring each page as she read. The journal entries were loaded with drawings of an alien species, which at first she assumed was a hallucination he had conjured to cope with his reality. The more she read, the more convinced she was that this alien character, named Alexander which she thought was odd, was actually a living, breathing being. She sympathized with Blaise as she read his backstory of his schizophrenia affecting the relationship he had with his parents and his feelings of mistrust with the world. He was dealt a cruel hand, and his murder was the outcome of misplacing his trust in the hands of an alien species. They had met at the supercenter at 3 AM, and their adventures were only around that time and lasted several hours. She made a mental note to look at the cameras in the store to examine their adventures and what this alien creature actually looked like to normal humans.

She finished reading the journal and opened up a plastic bag. As she held the journal, an envelope slipped out with only one name written in black ink: Alexander. She opened the envelope and saw a stash of 100 bills inside. Her heart jumped, followed with confusion as to why Blaise would even have this kind of money, first of all, and secondly why he would give this money away to an alien who possibly had no inclination of what the concept of money would be. “Blaise, what were you doing?” she whispered and stuffed the envelope inside the evidence-labeled bag.

Filmore whipped out her cell phone and dialed one of her superiors, Agent Kolson. “We need to call off the investigation for this Blaise Kennedy character. We’re not looking for a human.”

A man’s voice answered the phone. “And what’s the purpose, Agent Filmore?” She relayed all the information with him, including the large wad of cash she found with the journal. When she finished, there was no reaction except for, “You’re sure about this?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Inform me on anything else you have.You’re the lead on this investigation now.” He hung up the phone.

She put her phone back in her pocket and left the apartment. As she walked out to her SUV, Chief Miller approached her. “Did you find anything?”

“I’m calling off the investigation of humans.”

Chief Miller’s jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

A look of determination flashed across her face. “If you want to help, hop in.” She climbed into her SUV.

“Where are we going?”

“To catch an alien.”