When Earth is conquered by the sinister Greys and the alien who killed Evie's husband returns seeking her help, she must find a way to enact her revenge and fight the growing feelings for the creature who is an exact replica of the man she loved.
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ONE YEAR AND EIGHT MONTHS EARLIER
Something is screaming at me.
A constant ringing shriek that just keeps on and on and on. I want it to stop. I'm not sure how much more I can take, but I can barely lift my head without feeling the pain stabbing at my skull and wanting to throw up and so it just keeps screaming.
I should never have sunk that second bottle of wine.
I've never been very good with wine, although to be fair, I've never been a great drinker anyway and the older I've got, the worse the hangovers have become until half the time, drinking doesn't even feel worth it.
At least, that's how it used to be. Before Tom died.
Now, with four months spent in darkness already, drinking seems like the best way to blot it all out.
After a loss, people often say the nights are the worst, and that's what Monica keeps telling me. 'The nights will be hard without him, but you'll get through it. Take a sleeping pill and try to get some rest. In time and in the morning, things will seem better, you'll see.'
But I don't see, and it's not better.
Each day just drags into night, and then all over again. This never-ending circle of wishing I wasn't here. Wishing it had been me and not him. Wishing I hadn't insisted on searching for the source of that noise.
'Fuck's sake,' I hear Monica hiss, as I groan into the sofa cushion.
I turn my head ever so slightly to see her staring at my mobile phone on the coffee table, as if it's a snake ready to bite or spit venom in her eye if she gets too close to it.
It might as well be a snake to be fair, because the person calling would wish the same on me if it was at all possible.
Tania, Tom's sister hasn't stopped calling. She hasn't stopped with her relentless campaign against me since this whole thing began. In fact, she was the one who started it all. She thinks I did it. She thinks I was the one who killed Tom and with no body to be found and no evidence that can possibly link me to his death, she's been virulent and vicious in her mission to see me punished. The graze and growing bruise on my temple are just the latest in a long line of attacks against me, but we've levelled up now from verbal to physical.
She's grieving. Upset. Devastated. I get that. I get it so fucking much. But I didn't kill him.
Yet, why do I feel so guilty?
It's eating away at me every day and every night. There's no let-up. No sign of it fading any time soon. Just this awful, gnawing ache in the pit of my stomach and a constant pain that stretches across my chest as if something is threatening to burst out of my rib cage.
