Below the Belt (An Ancient Alien Fiction Novel)

Below The Belt

By: Alexis Donkin

Copyright 2013, Alexis Donkin

All rights reserved.

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Chapter 1: Serious

Ever since I was a young girl I can remember looking up. From my family's backyard on a summer night of a new moon, my father and I would sit drinking lemonade. We would ignore the fireflies and the constant hum of crickets. No citronella would protect our skin from whining mosquitoes hoping to feast on us. The lights of the house would be off. Leaning back in my chair, I would look up and see them shining, glorious, and perfect, above me.

Ali, see that row of three stars?

Uh huh.

And there above to the right? It looks like it could be a drawn bow?

Yeah.

That's the Hunter – Orion.

I know Dad.

I knew the world was right when they stood out, beautiful as they were, in the night sky – those three stars in Orion's belt. Each and every significant thing that happened in my life came back to those stars – that constellation. Whenever I was worried or scared, I looked up and felt better when they were there.

I still remember the first time I learned about the stars in the planetarium school field trip. Then at the fall hayride with my family's church, I remember one adult showing us the constellations. But I could only remember one that mattered. I didn't care for the dippers or the strange zodiac inspired shapes. There was always, only the Hunter - Orion.

As I got older, I looked for that constellation. If it wasn't present, if I couldn't see it, something was left unfinished. Well, that's what I told myself. That's what I came to believe. And so far, it has always been true. Orion was my beacon – and it stayed true up until graduate school, until now.

I had been lucky enough to get a scholarship from an obscure institution to go to my top choice anthropology program. I had grown up in New England and hadn't wanted to be far from home. Based on my own abilities, my love for football, and small places, it seemed State College was an ideal location – not to mention the university had an amazing program. I had somehow lucked out with graduate student housing and a teaching assistantship in my first semester. Through some twist of fate I had been gifted with extra funds. It was unexpected good fortune. And then of course, I got to meet the rest of the department.

One of the best kept secrets about the social sciences is that degrees are primarily about bullshitting. Bullshitting, drinking, and name-dropping are the name of the game. This is especially true in the more gray social sciences. There was certainly some of that at the 'orientation,' which seemed to me like just an excuse to throw a party where professors could blatantly hit on their new graduate students. But that didn't bother me. I'd been an undergrad where there'd been similar soirées.

As I walked into the professor's house, I was overwhelmed by the number of people holding long stemmed glasses, high balls, all while dropping five syllable words. My fingers nervously pulled at the hem of my shirt. Didn't I dress correctly? I looked down at my plain shirt, peach colored cotton scarf, jeans, and beaded sandals. The patchwork cotton bag I had purchased from a head shop on South Street just a few weeks earlier wasn't completely out of place, but I didn't feel quite like I belonged either. More of the students present looked like J. Crew catalog models than not. I bit my lip. Get a grip! This is anthro! Not poli-sci! I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

First semester? came the warm baritone. My eyes flashed open to look at the voice's source. A shaggy haired, lanky brunette grinned widely at me. He was wearing a pair of old jeans, Chuck Taylors, and a tee shirt that said Think Green. I smiled nervously at him. More my speed.

Yeah, it is. Just got here.

I noticed. He grinned more widely causing me to blush, I'm Chad. Third year. He extended his hand to me. As I looked down at the hair covered limb, I noticed his hand seemed too large for his thin arm. I carefully took it. His fingertips felt rough against my skin. I wondered.

Ali. First term! I laughed nervously as I let his hand go.

Here, I'll introduce you to different people.

Thanks! That'd be great! With that we made our rounds through the party. He introduced me to a sea of people, all from various years in the terminal masters and doctoral programs. For each of them, he whispered anecdotes about their quirks and idiosyncrasies, but all I could remember were things like, asshole, nose-picker, and international.

So what about you? I pried as we made our way to the drink station through the crowd.

What about me? Born and raised in PA. Did my undergrad at Northwestern. I like fishing, the Steelers, and Johnny Cash. Chad wiggled his brows at me as he gently but firmly pushed a body out of the way. And you?

Eh, there's not much to say. Grew up near Boston. Went to a little liberal arts school in Philly. Liked Pennsylvania. Now I'm here. I shrugged as we finally pressed ourselves against the counter of the small drink station's bar. My brows raised as I noticed someone was actually tending.

What can I get you?

A lager and...? Chad turned to me expectantly.

Can I just get a diet cola? I winced at my own request. Except it was hot, and this house was far from my own tiny abode. I didn't feel like getting stopped by a cop on my long walk home. Chad only grinned at me.

Not a big drinker, huh? His brown eyes sparkled. When they shifted I thought I saw a raised ring around the iris betraying contacts.

No. I drink! I protested as I took my diet cola. Then I added softly, I just don't want to look like a total jerk in front of the entire department before classes start. I flushed slightly and he laughed.

That's reasonable. We sipped our drinks as we turned to look out at the sea of people.

Is it always so crowded? I asked, overwhelmed by the attending masses. There was no way I could keep track of all the people present.

We're not that big of a department, but we do have a lot of associated programs. Chad shrugged and took another sip of his beer.

I see. I cringed. I wasn't a social butterfly, not really. In Philly I had made a good group of friends, of both sexes, which was impressive considering I had gone to a snooty all-girls college. The number of men present on the patio and in the house was more than I was subconsciously expecting.

Don't worry. You'll meet your cohort and it'll be fine. You'll have a set of friends for at least five years. Maybe even seven! He wagged his brows raffishly. I shook my head and let out a nervous laugh. I turned from Chad to look out once more at the sea of people. It was the briefest of moments. My ears buzzed and the world seemed to slow around me. He was a stranger – tall, and dark. His eyes were a stormy gray and his gaze pierced through me like a saber. I shuddered under the weight of his look, incapable of speaking as my blood froze in my veins, my heart failing to pump. And then, the stranger turned his head, muttering to someone near him and everything sped up again.

We're not that big of a department, but we do have a lot of associated programs. Chad shrugged and took another sip of his beer. I frowned at Chad.

You just said that. My eyes narrowed at him. He frowned.

No I didn't.

I swear you did, and then I said 'I see,' and you said I'd make friends for seven years, and I looked out over there, I gestured adamantly at the crowd, and I saw this guy – he's right... I trailed off as I searched the mass frantically. I frowned as I scanned.

Huh? Chad was giving me a funny look, like I had seven arms.

I swear! I whispered.

"Okay, maybe you should stick to soda." He smiled playfully, but there was a tinge of concern in his look.

I know what happened. I pressed my lips together as I looked out, trying to find that stranger. What had he looked like? I couldn't remember – except his eyes. Storm gray. It was a strange color. I shuddered at the memory – the sense of frostbite from the inside caused by his gaze. I wanted to ask Chad what man in the department had storm gray eyes, but I doubted very much that a male doctoral student would be aware of each and every department member's eye color. My brother couldn't remember my eye color. I thought wistfully of vacation over the summer with my family on the Cape. Suddenly I longed for the familiar. I sighed in exasperation.

Hey, so do you have your schedule? Chad asked, changing the subject.

Yeah, got it at the general orientation. All morning classes. I smiled at him.

Blech! he grimaced in disgust.

What?! I love mornings! I protested playfully. I really was a morning person. It seemed wrong to sleep away the day when there was so much beauty just after dawn. I inherited it from my mother.

Well, then I guess 9 am is the time for you! He drank some more of his beer as I gaped at him.

Seriously? That late?! I shook my head and laughed.

Yeah well. Anyway, I better get going. Need to make the rounds. But it was nice meeting you. I'm sure I'll see you. He grinned and winked at me. When he left, I stood there, watching the people chat happily about their research and their classes. Uninterested in trying to chat with anyone at that point, I downed the rest of my soda and walked home.

The next day was my first class. Our professor gave us an introduction to cultural anthropology, went over the syllabus, and promptly began lecturing. The room was small, used primarily for discussions, and felt remarkably sterile. There were only about fifteen of us in the room, slowly being lulled to sleep by his monotone. This was only increased when he switched off the lights and began using an old slide projector to show slides he had personally taken over the course of his tenure as an anthropologist.

I have three hours of this?! Suddenly the lights switched back on and he called a recess. I ran to the small coffee cart outside only to get stuck in a long line of like-minded students.

Oh my god! I hope all the classes aren't like this one! said a girl behind me in a short sleeved polka-dot shirt and cuffed jeans. Her hair was black, short, and wavy. Her exposed arms were completely covered in intricate tattoos to the wrists.

I heard tomorrow is supposed to be pretty cool, offered another classmate. He was about as average looking as he could be, with a backwards baseball cap, zip-up, and skater sneakers. His blond hair and blue eyes fit with the tan skin. I wondered how they could be friends. Anthropology. Then they looked at me.

I don't think we met yesterday. I'm Donna, said the tattoo girl with a bright white grin. This is Matt.

Nice to meet you. I'm Ali. I smiled bashfully. The line at the coffee cart moved, placing me at the counter. Uh, one triple shot of espresso, whipped cream? Thanks! I smiled at my classmates, whose brows shot up at my order.

You need to stay awake more than me, Donna chuckled. Matt grinned.

Yeah, I'm an addict. What can I say? I smiled at them, paid the barista and took my drink. My first inclination was to walk immediately back to the classroom while I inhaled my strong coffee. I started to make my way back but was stopped almost immediately.

Hey! called Donna. I smiled to myself. This is better. She raced over to me with her own, extra large coffee. Matt quickly followed. So what area are you interested in?

A little bit of everything. I can't really decide. I just knew this place had a good department, and pretty much a professor for every aspect of the discipline... I shrugged grudgingly. Donna nodded knowingly.

Yeah. I'm mostly into gender and development, Donna nodded, and opened her mouth to speak, but Matt interjected.

I'm into the digs. At my undergrad program, we went on digs over winter break and in the summer. It was awesome. I'm all about figuring out that stuff. He smiled serenely. Donna and I looked at each other and shrugged. Getting dirty wasn't my idea of fun, but I could see the appeal.

Let's get back to class. I don't want to miss one second of the snooze fest. I said as I noticed the time on the clock tower. Donna snorted and Matt grinned as we walked into the room.

The professor promptly began where he left off and most of us zoned out. About forty-five minutes in, the door of the room creaked open, startling a few students awake. At least one person snorted loudly, inhaling their spit. A loud coughing fit ensued from the back of the room bringing me to full alertness. The professor continued to drone on, even after the interruption continued with the door clicking closed. A tall dark figure hung in the shadows by the entrance. Most of my classmates barely noticed the change in the room, and continued in their stupors. By some stroke of perversion, I decided to study the dark figure. The lecture wasn't anything that I couldn't read in the books I had purchased for hundreds of dollars. This was much more interesting than any slides, which I could likely find online at a later time. Still in the dark classroom it was hard to make out anything about the figure except height. Then, I felt it – a flash of cold in my gut as a spark of reflected light turned towards me for a second. The eyes turned back to the professor, just as the old man took a breath. He paused and looked over at the door.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a treat, said the professor, his voice finally modulating into an emotional display. His old face cracked into a heavily wrinkled smile, Please, come here! he said softly to the figure at the door, beckoning for the stranger to come to the front of the class. One row of lights in the front flicked on dimly. Confident footfalls echoed throughout the room, the time between declaring a long stride. As the figure emerged from shadow, I gaped, my attention arrested. Dark perfect waves seemed to shine, reflecting back all the light in the dim room. His face was carved sharply, almost harshly, the angles striking and frightening all at once. And there, settled under the bold brow, were sharp, storming eyes. This is Corwin Pierce. He's the youngest post-doc we've ever had! He's brilliant, and he'll probably be teaching some of your classes.

Dr. Davenport, please! said the hawk-like man softly with a frown. Then he turned to us, taking us all in, Don't believe what he says about me. All his other stories, however, are true. His voice was just as arresting – a bold rich baritone at odds with his sharp appearance. I blinked frantically, bracing for the cold sensation I worried would come, but when he scanned the room, his mouth curved minimally. There was no ice. There was no feeling whatsoever. It was smooth as glass. Actually, I don't think I'm teaching any of your classes this term. But you may see me in spring. His mouth curved a fraction more, as his eyes rested briefly on me, before turning back to the professor. They exchanged a few brief words, and papers, and then the sharp man with his clacking shoes was gone.

It was only when he had left and Dr. Davenport had regained his monotonous stride that I realized I hadn't been breathing. Gasping for air, as quietly as possible, I clutched my desk. He had to have been the owner of the eyes from the party. There was too much resemblance. The rest of the lecture went by in a fog as I tried to understand why this strange man should unsettle me so completely.

You okay? Donna asked as we made our way to the afternoon sunlight.

Yeah, of course. I smiled and nodded even as my arms trembled under the slight weight of my notebook. Donna glanced at my arms.

Right. Well do you wanna get some lunch and get that reading done?

Huh? She shook her head and yanked my arm.

Let's go. There's this cafe nearby that's supposed to have great sandwiches.

Oh. Alright. I followed stiffly, while Matt kept an easy loping pace beside us.

As we munched on our sandwiches and attempted to decipher the obscure texts we had been assigned, I couldn't help but be a million miles away. I wasn't paying attention to my club sandwich. I wasn't listening to the funny asides coming from Donna or Matt's wholesome observations. All I saw was stormy eyes. All I felt was bitter cold, penetrating my being from the inside out. I shivered.

Are you sick? Donna frowned as she looked at me.

Huh? I shook myself to the present.

You're shivering. It's almost eighty out with like ninety percent humidity. There's nothing cold about late August in Pennsylvania. One of Donna's black brows quirked. I bit my lip.

It's just that guy. I winced at my words.

You mean the predator? grinned Matt. We both rounded on him. He shrugged, Dr. Corwin Pierce, right? Well, he looks like he's going to cut off your arm or something. He's super intense. Matt's face wrinkled in concern. I cocked my head at him.

Yeah. He just gives me the creeps. Something about him. I shivered again. Donna laughed nervously. We looked at each other for a moment, still and quiet. Suddenly, Donna jumped in her chair.

I've got an idea! her face lit up, Let's do a stalk search! Matt grinned and nodded.

Huh? I looked at her dumbly.

You know, look him up on the web. She pulled over her tiny laptop. In seconds her fingers flew across the keys. This place has Wi-fi, so it should only take me a sec. She grinned mischievously as she hit enter. Matt and I crowded beside her in an attempt to see the screen. For a few seconds the screen blanked while it loaded and then...

I don't believe it! I just don't believe it! Donna frowned. I looked confusedly at the screen. Flashing at the top was the phrase 3027 results found. The only entry on the first page for the exact phrase Corwin Pierce, was a short bio on the university's anthropology website. After that, there were several pages that had both names, but not together. Certainly they had nothing to do with the sharp icy man who visited our class earlier that day.

Go to the next page, I said quietly. For some reason, it was essential that I find out about this strange man.

I don't believe it!

Just go to the next page already! I snapped and she clicked the mouse with a glare. But the second page was the same. And the one after that was just as irrelevant. Over and over, each page of results was just as fruitless, until we got to page twelve. Wait! I cried before Donna hit her mouse. Sticking my condiment covered finger against the screen I pointed to a link in the middle of the page. Go there! Obediently, Donna opened the link. Slowly, a very posh, very code heavy site opened.

What is this? muttered Donna. Finally several images loaded, including something that looked like a crest, and a slide show of pristine mountain views.

Looks like a boarding school, mumbled Matt disinterestedly. Sure enough, Montgomery Preparatory School for Boys scrawled across the top in elegant script. Several links to admissions, alumni, events, and other activities lined the side. In the center however, was another bio page. This included a picture of a softer version of the stormy character. What happened to make him so frightening looking?! We leaned in to better read the thing. It was much longer than the lousy few sentences posted on the anthropology page, and therefore, or we hoped, more juicy. Eagerly, we devoured every word.

Corwin Pierce came to decorate the halls of Montgomery from the age of twelve. Not only did he excel in his studies, achieving a perfect 4.0 his entire tenure, but he also engaged in many activities. From glee club and debate, to lacrosse and hockey, Mr. Pierce helped to carry our great school to the top of our region, and participated in several nationally ranked teams. He was named prefect as a sophomore, captain of the hockey team as a junior, and was student body president as a senior. He was voted most likely to own a Fortune 500 company before the age of forty and biggest know-it-all. He went on to attend Oberlin for his bachelors, and received his doctorate from Harvard in anthropology. He currently researches and teaches at...

In exasperation I pulled away from the screen. It was completely useless. There's nothing!

Wait! Donna pointed to a section further down the page. I leaned in again.

Mr. Pierce continues to support our scholarship fund, as well as several other scholarship programs for study in anthropology. During breaks he also volunteers at various charities throughout the Baltimore area, where his family resides.

I swallowed.

What? Matt looked over at me.

I wonder if he gives to the foundation that gave me a scholarship. Anxiously I bit my lip. Suddenly the cursor was blinking in the search field, and Donna's fingers were poised above the keys. I sighed.

It's called the Sirius Foundation – spelled like the dog star. I folded my arms as the computer loaded the search. Donna clicked on the top link, clearly the