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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The bed creaked and dipped a little, the motion jolting me awake.
Since Tom had died, I'd learned to be a light sleeper. It never did you any good to go too deep in the New World we'd found ourselves in. You needed to stay alert. Be aware of every little sound, every small movement, because each one could be the very thing that transformed your dreams into real-life nightmares.
I sat up with a sharp exhale, to find Tom sitting on the edge of the bed. Moonlight rippled through the crack in the drapes, and for a second, I forgot everything and then remembered it all again instantly.
Not Tom.
And yet so like him.
'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I didn't mean to wake you.'
'Is everything okay?' I said, my heart picking up a tempo. 'What's happening?'
'Nothing, everything's fine,' he reassured. 'You were... dreaming, I think. Restless.'
'Was I?' I rubbed at my eyes. Had I been dreaming? I felt like I remembered something. Some shadow lurking in the back of my mind that I struggled to bring into focus. 'I think...' My fingers crept to my temples, and I massaged there in small circular motions. 'I think I was dreaming about when my Dad died. Do you remember?'
Tom's eyes met mine. 'Yeah, I remember.'
'Odd,' I said. 'I haven't thought about it in ages. Do you remember that woman from the care home kept calling and calling, asking me to go pick up Dad's things and in the end she got a bit narky about it and said she'd have to dispose of them if I didn't go? She was so off with me when I got there. I still remember the way she looked at me, like I was the worst daughter ever just because I didn't go straight away to collect his stuff. I mean, crazy really, what was I going to do with it other than put it on the shelf in the garage just to gather dust.' I snorted and ran my fingers through my hair, tugging on a tangle and attempting to unknot it.
When I looked up, Tom was still staring at me, his lips slightly parted as if he was trying to work out what to say.
'You don't remember... about the box?' he said.
'What about it?' I replied, sensing his disquiet and starting to feel a little of my own, creeping along my shoulder blades like the delicate movements of a spider crawling over my skin.
'You threw the box away,' he said, his eyes not leaving mine. 'You threw it in the canal.'
'The canal...' I repeated, numbly. Tom and I had loved the canal, we used to run there or take walks at the weekend, sometimes finding a pub along the way and stopping for a drink. I hadn't thought about the canal any more over the past couple of years than I had about the time when Dad had died. 'You're right,' I said, 'how is it that you remembered but I didn't?'
