by Stanley Gray
“Tell me about this girl.” Dale prodded.
Alan looked around, as if he were trying to escape. A bead of sweat began to form on his upper lip. He reached around and under his desk, opening the mini fridge hidden there, and pulled out a Diet Coke. He offered one to Dale, who declined, shaking his head in contempt.
“So, her name is Sharon Stone.” Alan said.
“Wait, what?!” Dale said, eyes bulging. “THE Sharon Stone?” Dale exclaimed.
“No, no. Not THE Sharon Stone, silly. No.” Alan said, smiling. He paused to wonder about her. Their time together seemed so far-away, distant. He briefly indulged the masochistic desire to wander into the bitter world of wondering what could have been. What would he have done, had she not been such an asshole on their departure? Would he have wanted to resist Xenobia more?
Anyway, so…this girl, technically, she’s my stalker.”
Dale smiled a tense, uncomfortable smile and nodded vigorously. He looked at Alan with pity. “I figured. Yep. I figured.” he said.
Alan looked sharply at the other man. “What? What do you mean, you figured?” he asked.
“Well, no offense, but…it does seem kind of fitting that…an unorthodox woman would kind of…you know…gravitate your way?” Dale said. He made faces and hunched his shoulders up as he talked, as if he trying to hide in his shell.
“Yeah. Thanks. Well, you look like…a fuckin’ turtle now.” Alan retorted, which only served to make Dale laugh. Of course, Dale’s mirth only exacerbated the embarrassment Alan felt, which created a new round of peals from the beefy man.
Dale wiped at his eyes. “Man, you are too much. So, what is it about this stalker you love?”
Alan wagged a finger. “I never used the word love. Nope. Not it. Did not, in fact, use the word love, or any of its derivatives.” Alan said.
Dale just smirked. “I’m all laughed-out, buddy. Whatever she is to ya, she’s got you in knots, so, why don’t you just tell me about ‘er. You know, we’re practically bffs, if I can understand my daughter.” he said. Dale had a fifteen-year-old daughter, and he shared joint custody of her with her mother. Mercury, his daughter, had been staying with him since they’d moved. Apparently, a quiet little town is just what she wanted and needed at the moment. She played great basketball, was into fencing, and also did digital art.
Alan liked the girl, though he’d only met her a few times. Most of what he knew about her came from her proud dad.
“Bffs isn’t even a trendy word, anymore.” Alan said.
“Screw the small talk. You’re trying to avoid talking about this Sharon Stone. Fine. Want me to go look her up?” Dale said. He put his arms on the chair as he if were about to get up.
“Damn it, Dale.” Alan said, holding out a hand to motion for the man to stop what he was doing.
“This gal, she’s…she came all the way from Nebraska, and…she’s just a huge fan that’s been yearning to meet me for years. And, she hatched this elaborate plot to seduce me. And…well, it worked.” Alan said.
Dale smiled. The laughter he wanted to unleash showed itself only in his eyes. He nodded and remained silent.
Alan knew then that his subordinate was not going to let him get off easy. He guessed he’d not really noticed how bizarre and different he’d been acting. He made a mental note to try to be more cautious.
“It’s weird, you know? I’ve got these feelings for this girl, but I don’t really know why. And…she’s a stalker.” Alan said. He shivered.
“Think of it as a groupie, and the dynamics completely change.” Dale suggested.
Alan clucked his tongue. “Huh.” he said. He began to pace the room. “So, there is that. But,..” Alan looked directly at Dale. “Look at me. I’m not lying to you. Am I? Look, this whole crash thing is really bothering me. Even Harris did an about-face. Now, why in the hell would this man, who’s been gunning for us since he found out we were coming here, why would he suddenly just give us the green light and free pass? He could probably have ended us.” Alan said.
“Boss,”
Alan held up a hand, interrupting the man. “You can’t apologize this way. Or wish it away, Dale. Weren’t you the one who sat, I think in this very office, and complained because your only remaining eyewitness suddenly ended up in three barrels? Is it a weird coincidence that all of the surveillance video was lost…just for that specific day or whatever?” Alan said, raising his voice.
Dale held out two hands, palms out. He kept his voice calm and low. “Boss, Alan, I understand all of what you’re saying. But, what are we supposed to do?” he asked.
Alan shook his head. He paced quicker and looked at the floor. His hands knotted themselves into fists. “That’s the problem. Doesn’t it bother you? Because, it bothers me. Someone, thousands of someones, they know this happened. It led some of the national network hews headlines. People heard about it. They know. Whoever it is that thinks they can keep this under wraps forever is asinine and possibly insane. It will only fuel conspiracy theories, not dilute them.” he said.
“Boss, I agree with you. But, maybe that’s what they want.” Dale said.
Alan stopped mid-stride and twisted his neck like a ravenous velociraptor. He locked onto his interlocutor’s face. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Dale shrunk under the weight of that gaze. He looked away, and appeared uncomfortable. Whatever the Special Agent-in-Charge had said, or however he had said it, it certainly struck a chord with the obese guy. “I mean, maybe someone like the C.I.A. wants conspiracy theorists. Why wouldn’t they? All of a sudden, the government is trying to cover up this horrible mystical secret in the rural Oregon, and people flock to it because it’s sensational and…everyone wants in on exposing how corrupt the fuckin’ man is, right? Meanwhile, as everyone chases aliens in the Oregon forests, they’re assassinating world leaders or sellin’ truckloads o’ uranium to our enemies. Right?” Dale said.
Alan had to admit, this theory made a strange sort of sense. “Yeah. I guess you could be right.” he said. He rubbed his chin. “But, even so, I want…I want to catch them. I want to find out what crashed here, and I want to find out why our own government is trying so hard to conceal that information.” he said.
Dale appeared to ponder that for some time. Then, suddenly, he shrugged. “And, we’re back to square one. What are we going to do about it?” he asked.
Alan laughed. He sank down into his chair and sighed. He began rubbing his temples. “I could call MUFON. We could try to find some of the journalists with leverage and access, work with them. I mean, if Harris is giving us the pass, he has enemies, right? Someone probably would want to know where the weasel is getting all his funny money from? Typical politician, borrowing from the trough in every way he can. All it takes is one little slip-up.” Alan said.
“MUFON? Do you think they could get access to some of the personal videos?” Dale asked. He straightened up a bit, and seemed a little more alert. He was beginning to buy into the idea that hope really might just be lurking around the corner.
Alan looked away, biting his lower lip. He didn’t want to think about this. But, he had to. It was his job.
“I…” Alan sighed. That gesture might have been the most honest thing he’d done in at least a few days. “I don’t really know. Maybe. I guess we could get super weird and talk about hackers. Maybe we could threaten to subpoena someone, a cell provider or something.” Alan said out loud.
Dale looked at the ceiling, his mind working. “I doubt Apple or Google would care.” he said after several moments of deliberation.
“Have you tried anything else?” Alan asked. He got up and began pacing again, nervously glancing at Dale every few moments. His palms felt sweaty. He tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Are you thirsty?” Alan asked.
Dale looked at him, his eyes bland and unwavering. “No.” he said.
Alan knelt and reached into the mini-fridge under his desk, retrieving a Diet Coke. He popped the can, hearing
the satisfying hiss. He waited a second before tipping the aluminum can for a sip of the sweet nectar stored inside. He resumed pacing. “What else do we have?” Alan snapped his fingers, pivoting to face Dale.
The man blinked in response. He smiled. “You are always full of surprises.” Dale said.
Alan raised an eyebrow, jutting a hip out unconsciously as he stared at Dale. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice a little high-pitched.
Dale chuckled. “You are.” He shook his head. “I was just a little surprised you could move so quickly.” he said.
Alan moved his lips as he stared vacantly at his subordinate. He tried to figure it out, but couldn’t quite understand what Dale referred to. After a moment, he went huh, shrugged his shoulders, and retreated back into the motions of pacing. He found that walking back and forth calmed him. Even as he walked and tried to battle dozens of conflicting ideas, Alan couldn’t help but follow the stray tangential thought: I wonder why pacing is comforting.
Alan snapped his fingers again. He turned, grin as big as a Times Square billboard. “Prineville. I remembered.” he said. The last sentence came out almost as self-congratulatory.
“What about it?” Dale asked.
“Did we figure it out? That was the chemtrails, right?” Alan asked.
“We haven’t really had much time, to investigate things like that. I mean, do you think we could risk expensing it, anyway?” Dale asked.
Alan paused. He nodded as if to himself. “Yeah. He does have a point.”
“You know, I am still here. In the room.” Dale said.
Alan chuckled. “You know, Google has a big, fancy data center there, right?” he asked.
“Boss, ummm…why do I care?” Dale asked.
Alan sat down and appraised his colleague. “Is it my turn to ask you what’s going on?” he asked.
The other man remained silent, though he refused to make eye contact with Alan.
Alan slammed one fist down onto his desk and stood. He leaned over the desk and glared into the pale face of the large man. “No! It’s NOT time to ask you what the fuck is going on. Because I KNOW!” Alan rushed around the desk, and he raised an eyebrow when he saw Dale tense.
Alan extended his hands, palms outwards, in the universal gesture of surrender. “This case is stressful. Isn’t it?” he asked.
Dale moved in his seat. But, he remained quiet.
“Isn’t it?” Alan asked, his voice lowered.
Dale nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
“Okay, then.” Alan returned to his seat. “Look, I’ll get to my point in a second. But, it might be worth noting again that, at least for the time being, I’m the Special Agent-in-Charge here. I won’t have you questioning my personal life again. Okay?”
Dale looked up at that. His eyes only held deep reservoirs of concern.
That bothered Alan.
“So, here’s what I am thinking. I kind of just had an epiphany…finally. So, you know how you pointed out Google probably wouldn’t care if we threatened to subpoena them?” Alan asked, smirking.
Dale nodded.
“Well, you’re right, as usual. They wouldn’t care.” Alan clapped his hands. The sound reverberated off of the walls. It wasn’t a big room, and Dale jumped.
“Shit, boss.” Dale said under his breath.
“Stop crying. Anyway, so, do you think they might care if we tried to subpoena their data center?” Alan asked.
When Dale looked up and finally met Alan’s eyes for more than a brief second, he displayed the old affection he held for the kooky Dartmouth grad. They hugged. They locked arms and danced around the desk in a haphazard fashion.
“Boy, boss, you can be clever sometimes.”
Chapter 11
Alan woke up. Sweat cascaded down his shoulders. The thin, mint-colored sheets underneath felt moist. He looked around, trying to decipher foes amongst the shadows.
[It’s okay, Alan.]
Alan jumped. He turned and looked at Xenobia, and shrank back. He squealed. He rushed out of bed, tripping on the fuzzy slippers resting on the floor, and retreated into the bathroom, where he reached with trembling fingers to turn the faucet on. He cupped his hands and splashed water over his face. He groaned.
Looking in the mirror, he smiled. His eyes appeared bloodshot. Dark purple bags settled under his eyes. His skin looked…gray. His heart decelerated, and he began to breathe. He squatted, reaching out to flip down the toilet lid, and sat. Fear barricaded itself in his brain, and refused any attempts to extract it.
Alan leaned back against the toilet bowl, closing his eyes. He began to count. One, two, three… He heard the curtains flutter, and felt a breeze come in for a visit. He tried to focus on that solitary whisper of wind.
What had he been dreaming about? What forced him to flee his own bedroom, to seek the sanctity and safety of the small bathroom?
Gradually, as a relative sense of calm returned, he realized he didn’t care, not all that much. He’d learned to block things out. Sometimes his subconscious remembered those things for him.
He returned to bed, trying not to glare at the lump on the other side of the large mattress, resting there under the thick gray blanket. Laying down on his back, he tried to slip back into sleep. After an interminable period of futile fighting, Alan turned onto his left side and opened one eye for a peek at the clock. 4:03. He sighed.
Resigning himself to the reality that he would not be getting any more sleep, he snuck out of bed, grabbing his black laptop case and carrying it with him into the living room. Clicking on the tall standing lamp, he sat down in his recliner. He looked at the television mounted on the wall by the fireplace. He moved his lips as he thought about turning it on. It’d been a while since he’d watched the news.
He smiled. The news.
The reason he hadn’t watched the news for a while was because he hadn’t made the news for a while. He usually didn’t like it; he felt much of the headlines were both misleading and negative. But, nonetheless, as he debated whether to turn on the t.v. or get some work done, the idea of mindless entertainment slowly began to win him over. He pointed the remote and waited.
When he saw the attractive CNN reporter, he almost snorted. She was a girl he’d went to college with. Sunny Cloud. How could one forget someone with a name like that? He thought she’d had some work done, because she appeared much different than what he’d remembered. He smiled. It felt good to see the woman’s success.
“And, in other news, dozens of self-proclaimed experts are gathering today in Klamath Falls, Oregon to demand an inquiry into what they say was a suspicious crash near the city not long ago. One of these experts is none other than CNN’s own Aki Noro, who is a senior science and technology contributor here at the network. Hi, Aki.”
Alan tried to gulp, but couldn’t summon the saliva. His eyes remained glued to the screen.
“Hi, Sunny. Great to be with you.”
“So, Aki, besides science and technology, you’ve written a few…unorthodox books? Tell us about those.”
“Yeah. So, my newest one is called Gods and Aliens, and I think it’s available now. It’s about how alien theories often display significant overlaps with religious ideas.” Aki said.
Sunny nodded. She displayed even, gleaming white teeth when she smiled. “That sounds interesting. I’ll have to pick up a copy. So, tell me, Aki, why are you there, in Klamath Falls, Oregon?” she asked.
Aki nodded. He sipped from a plastic bottle of water. “That’s a great question, Sunny. So, about a week ago, a number of people seemed to have reported an explosion or earthquake. A number of local businesses filed various damage claims around the same time, and most things certainly pointed to something…unusual occurring. But,” Aki held up a finger. “when we tried to follow up and report, no one remembered anything.”
“Is that unusual?” Sunny asked.
“I can’t really say if it’s unusual, but it does seem odd. Perhaps it’s signif
icant. Sunny, I received over 30 calls personally, and still have a number of voice mails telling me about this crash near the Shady Pines area, which is a sort of suburb of Klamath Falls. One high-ranking law enforcement official who requested anonymity has told me he believes a meth lab may have exploded in the area. Regardless, I’m here with a group of alien enthusiasts trying to investigate the incident.” Aki said.
Alan stared at the screen. His mouth hung open. When one arm started going numb, he realized he’d been gripping the arms of the chair as he leaned forward. He sat back and tried to process the information. As a commercial came on, he muted the screen, then thought better of it and shut the damned thing off. Then, almost as quickly, he hurried to turn it back on. Maybe they might offer more coverage on his new home.
Xenobia waddled into the room. Her stumpy little legs appeared comical.
“How do you do so much, with…how short you are?” Alan asked.
[I make do. What are you doing?] Xenobia asked.
Alan wanted to laugh. The fact that he was now holding telepathic communications with his extraterrestrial domestic companion seemed…surreal. The only reason he didn’t laugh was because it was real.
“Something…interesting just showed up on the news. I’m hoping to see if they talk about it anymore.” Alan said.
[What was it?]
Alan measured his words. “It’s about the crash.” He said, finally. A dozen questions formed in his mind, clamoring for release. They bounced around in his tired brain like kids strapped into the backseat for a long car ride. But, he restrained them. He turned the volume up when Sunny returned to the screen, but frowned when she moved on to discussing some celebrity’s tweet and another celebrity’s new reality show about her mansion in French Polynesia.
He turned off the television.
[You’re not sleeping.]
Alan snorted. “Yes. You are right. I’m not sleeping.” he said.
[Alan…]
Alan turned and looked at the little blue alien. She seemed distressed. Something about the way she titled her head, or the way she wrinkled the skin around her nose. It could be hard to tell exactly why he thought she felt a certain way, since she communicated telepathically and didn’t really have that similar of a face.