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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SIX YEARS EARLIER
Someone is watching me.
I've been laying here for ages, curled up on my side, staring at the same view out of the same window that I've stared out of ever since we moved into this house, and yet everything feels different. Strange. Unfamiliar. I keep expecting something to happen. Something that will trigger a memory. A feeling. Anything.
Instead, I just feel numb and confused. Like I'm looking at this view with different eyes.
There's a deep, nagging feeling in my bladder and I know I should get up and go to the bathroom, but I've been saying that to myself for a few hours now and yet it's not that which forces me to move in the end. It's the innate knowledge that someone is watching me. The hair on the back of my neck prickles and I'm compelled to look.
I twist on the bed and he smiles at me from where he's leaning against the doorway, his arms folded casually across his chest.
I blink slowly, trying to focus.
Tom.
'Hey, sleepy head,' he says, softly. Softly. Always soft. Warm. Gentle. Like the ebb and flow of the spring tide. Like soft pastels gliding on the surface of the paper.
'Hey,' I say, because I don't know what else to say back. Everything feels out of reach. I never thought it would feel like this. I never thought I would feel like this.
Tom pads over to the bed and lies down next to me, propping his head up on his hand. His hair is slightly damp and curling on his forehead. He smells of shower-gel and that coconut shampoo of mine he likes so much, even though he swears he doesn't use it, because it's 'not manly enough' for him.
'You went for a run,' I say, even though it's not really a question because I know he went. I heard him creeping about the room, getting ready and trying not to wake me, even though I wasn't even asleep. I just kept my eyes closed until he'd gone and when I'd heard the front door click shut I'd opened them and just stared out the window.
'Yeah, figured I'd go out before it got too warm outside,' he says, picking at a loose thread on the embroidered duvet cover. I should say something because this bedding cost a fortune, one of those rare impulse buys that felt good at the time, but instead I say nothing. It doesn't seem important. 'You don't mind I went without you, right? You were sleeping and I didn't want to disturb you. Especially not after last night.'
Last night.
Right.
It comes back to me fast and hard. So hard that the pain bursts at the base of my skull. A sharp reminder. Memories have a habit of doing that I guess. Just when you think you've forgotten, they hit you with such force that it feels like a splinter of glass just embedded itself deep in your brain.
