Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Robbie’s thin wail pierced through Melissa’s skull like a needle. She bounced him gently against her shoulder, pacing the narrow confines of her cell for what felt like the thousandth time.
“Shhh, baby. Shh. Mama’s here.”
He wasn’t buying it. His small fists clenched against her collarbone, and his face scrunched into that particular shade of red that meant he was gearing up for another round. She could feel the tension in his tiny body, the way his breath hitched before each fresh cry.
Please, sweetheart. Please just sleep.
The night had been endless. She’d only just drifted off to sleep when he woke, and he’d never slept properly after that.
Every time she’d managed to get him settled, something would set him off again—a distant noise from the corridor, the hum of the ventilation system, the unfamiliar smell of everything in this godforsaken place.
He’d nursed fitfully, refusing to latch properly, then screaming when she tried to put him down.
Her arms ached from holding him. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep.
And the meal that had been delivered hours ago sat untouched on the small table, its contents long since gone cold.
Robbie’s cry escalated, and she felt tears prick at her own eyes. She was so tired. So impossibly, bone-deep tired that her thoughts had gone fuzzy at the edges, everything filtered through a haze of exhaustion and fear.
“I know,” she murmured against his downy head. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared too.”
He didn’t understand her words, of course.
He was only three months old, still operating on pure instinct and sensation.
She suspected her distress was feeding his, but she couldn’t seem to break the cycle.
She’d always prided herself on her calm and her competence, but right now, she was just another frightened woman trying to keep her baby calm in an impossible situation.
The door hissed.
She spun towards the sound, instinctively curling her body around Robbie.
He must have sensed her sudden spike of terror because his crying intensified, sharp and panicked.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she watched the door slide open, already bracing herself for a guard wanting to drag her away for another examination where they treated her like a specimen rather than a person.
But the figure that stepped through wasn’t one of the usual guards. They generally ran to two types. One was small and grey with four arms and a disdainful attitude. The other was large and furry and cruel.
This alien was… different. Tall—impossibly tall—with broad shoulders and a powerful build that seemed to fill the entire doorway. His skin was green, textured with small raised bumps that caught the harsh overhead light. A thick tail swayed behind him, and his eyes—
Black. Completely black, like pools of ink set deep in a face that was somehow both reptilian and human all at once. When their eyes met, something that felt like a shock of recognition raced through her.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then he spoke, and his voice was low and careful, almost gentle.
“I am Becsul. And you are?”
The fact that he had introduced himself, let alone asked for her name, was so unexpected that she nearly stumbled. Robbie continued to wail against her shoulder, his distress ratcheting higher with each passing second.
“I’m Melissa,” she said reluctantly, her voice hoarse and edged with suspicion. “What do you want?”
He didn’t move any closer, remaining just inside the doorway as if giving her space. “I’ve been assigned to oversee this facility. I came to check on your welfare.”
My welfare. She almost laughed. It would have been hysterical, the kind of laugh that bordered on a sob.
“My welfare,” she repeated instead, the words flat and bitter. “You mean my value as a breeding subject.”
Something shifted in those black eyes. A flicker of… what? Discomfort? Shame? It was hard to read expressions on a face so unlike any she’d known, but something about his stillness suggested she’d struck a nerve.
“I mean your welfare,” he said quietly. “Are you injured? Have you been mistreated?”
“Have I been—” She cut herself off, swallowing the surge of rage that threatened to overwhelm her.
Stay calm. Stay smart. Don’t give them any excuse.
“I was taken from my home planet. I’ve been poked and prodded and examined like livestock.
My son is terrified and won’t stop crying.
And I’m supposed to believe you actually care about my welfare? ”
“I understand you have no reason to trust me.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
Robbie’s crying had reached a fever pitch, his small body rigid with distress. She bounced him automatically, rubbing circles on his back, but nothing was working. She was too tense, too scared, and he was absorbing all of it.
Becsul’s gaze dropped to the baby, and something in his expression softened. It was subtle—just a slight easing around his eyes, a loosening of the hard line of his jaw—but she noticed it anyway.
“How long has he been like this?” he asked.
“What’s it to you?”
“You look exhausted.”
“What a brilliant observation.”
He ignored the sarcasm, his attention still fixed on Robbie. “You haven’t eaten. The tray hasn’t been touched.”
“It’s hard to eat when you can’t put your baby down.” The words came out edged with the desperation she’d been trying so hard to hide. “But I doubt you’d understand anything about—”
She stopped. Don’t show weakness. Don’t give them ammunition.
But he just nodded slowly, as if her hostility was entirely expected and completely reasonable.
“No,” he agreed. “I don’t have children. But I can see that you’re struggling, and I can see that your son is feeding off your distress.”
“He’s not—”
“Your distress is bleeding into him.” His voice remained calm, unhurried. “The more agitated you become, the more upset he gets, which makes you more agitated. It’s a cycle.”
She wanted to snap at him again and tell him he had no right to lecture her about her own child.
But the truth was, he was right. She knew he was right.
She’d counseled enough new mothers to recognize the pattern, and had gently explained this exact dynamic to countless women in her office back home.
It was different when you were the one living it.
“What do you suggest?” The question came out before she could stop it, laced with exhaustion and grudging curiosity. “Do I just stop being afraid? Stop being upset about being kidnapped and imprisoned and—”
“No.” He took a single step forward, then stopped when she flinched. “I’m suggesting you let me help.”
“Help how?”
“Let me hold him.”
She stared at him. The suggestion was so absurd, so utterly insane, that for a moment she couldn’t formulate a response.
“You want me to hand my baby to you.”
“Yes.”
“An alien. A complete stranger. In a facility where I’m being held prisoner.”
“Yes.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“Perhaps.” His tail swayed behind him, a slow, rhythmic movement that should have been threatening but was somehow soothing instead. “But I’m not the one who’s been awake all night. I’m not the one who’s starving. And I’m not the one whose distress is making a difficult situation worse.”
Robbie chose that moment to let out a particularly piercing shriek, his face going purple with the effort. Something inside her cracked a little, just enough to let the desperation seep through.
“He doesn’t know you,” she said, but her voice had lost some of its edge.
“No. But he also doesn’t have any preconceptions about me. He has no reason to fear me.” He took another careful step forward. “Look at him. Is he crying because of me, or because of how you’re reacting to me?”
She didn’t want to admit that this stranger, this alien, might have a point.
But Robbie’s cries had become almost rhythmic, matching the frantic pace of her own heartbeat, and she could feel the way his tiny fingers were clenched in her shirt, holding on as if she were the only solid thing in a universe gone mad.
He’s not crying at the alien. He’s crying because I’m exhausted and terrified.
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t just—”
“You’re not abandoning him,” he said very gently, like he was talking to a spooked animal. “You’re letting someone help you. Just for a few minutes. Just long enough to catch your breath and eat something.”
“Why do you care?”
“Because you’re in my charge now. Your welfare is my responsibility.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“No,” he agreed. “It doesn’t.”
They stood there, locked in a strange standoff. Robbie continued to cry, his voice growing hoarse with the effort. Her arms burned, her head throbbed, and the smell of the untouched food was making her stomach cramp with the hunger she’d been trying to ignore.
This is insane. This is absolutely insane.
But she was so tired. So impossibly, desperately tired.
“If you hurt him—”
“I won’t.”
“If you try to take him—”
“I won’t leave this room.”
“If he gets more upset—”
“Then you take him back immediately.” He extended his arms, palms up, in a gesture of surrender that seemed universal. “I give you my word.”
The word of an alien. The word of a captor.
But something in his eyes… something in the careful way he held himself, the gentleness in his voice, the way he’d stopped every time she flinched…
I’m too tired to fight anymore.
Moving slowly, every instinct screaming at her to stop, she transferred Robbie into his waiting arms.
The effect was immediate.
Robbie’s crying stuttered, hiccupped, and then… stopped. His small body, which had been rigid with tension for hours, suddenly went limp. He blinked up at the alien’s face with those huge dark eyes, and his expression shifted from distress to something that looked like curiosity.
“What—” Her voice shook. “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” He adjusted his hold slightly, cradling Robbie against his broad chest as his tail came up to gently pat Robbie’s back. “I told you. He was reacting to your fear. I’m a stranger, but I’m not afraid. There’s nothing to feed his distress.”
As if to prove the point, Robbie let out a small, contented sigh and turned his face into Becsul’s chest. Within moments, his breathing had evened out, his eyes fluttering closed.
He was asleep.
He was asleep.
She stood frozen, watching her son rest peacefully in the arms of an alien, and something complicated twisted in her chest. Relief, certainly—overwhelming, bone-deep relief that Robbie had finally stopped crying. But also something else. Something that felt dangerously close to gratitude.
“Eat.” His voice was soft, careful not to disturb the sleeping baby. “While he’s settled.”
She should argue. She should demand to know what was really going on and why this particular alien was being so unexpectedly…
kind. But she was already moving towards the food tray, grabbing the strange alien bread and stuffing it into her mouth with an involuntary moan.
There was nothing special about it but after hours of not eating it tasted unexpectedly delicious.
After that she ate mechanically, fueling herself while she had the chance.
And across the room, Becsul stood perfectly still, her son cradled gently in his arms, watching her with those unreadable black eyes.
Who are you? she wondered. And why do I feel like I can trust you?