Sia Martinez and the Moonlit Beginning of Everything

by Raquel Vasquez Gilliland

  I guess I should’ve expected this level of enthusiasm. “Where’s Imani?” I ask, glancing around.

  “Oh, she’s mad at me. Joke’s on her, though, because shit got real this time. I mean, it’s been real, but, fuck, a real abductee, turns out to be your mom?” He lowers his voice. “She doesn’t have green scales, does she? Did you check yet?”

  “Sia,” Mom says, walking into the room. “Who is this?”

  Omar jumps to shake her hand. “Omar Rana. We’re gonna get your story all over the map, madam. God, even the Illuminati truthers will have absolutely nothing on this!” He pauses. “Unless you come from the Illuminati, Mrs. Martinez?”

  “Do not accuse my mother of taking part in your bullshit, Omar,” I say.

  “Sia. Dejalo,” Mom says. She looks absolutely delighted, for some reason. Is it Omar’s winning personality?

  “Right, right, I mean no disrespect.” He sits across from Mom in the living area. “So what’s your objective, Mrs. Martinez? I have about a hundred and sixty questions, but—”

  Mom nods, sitting straight. “I want as many people as you can get to see this. To see my story.” She glances at me, her eyes dark in the shadows. “I can’t think of another way to stop them.”

  111

  “AFTER WALKING FOR SO MANY days and nights I stopped counting them, I fell asleep under this huge moon. I was exhausted. Sunburned, chapped, dry, and thirsty.” Mom looks so beautiful, her hair long and silky and swept to one side, the afternoon light through the sheer curtain on her like liquid gold. “And early morning, when it was still dark, I awoke to this blast of light in my face. I thought something had happened to the moon, like a piece of it was falling on me. But it was something else. Round, levitating. Pulsing like it had a heart.”

  “A spacecraft?” Omar asks. “One of the triangles again? Or, ooh, was it a saucer? Or—”

  “Dude,” I say. “Let her talk.”

  “Yes, a craft.” Mom takes a breath. “It was round and small. Metallic. Not from space, though.”

  112

  “WAIT A MINUTE,” OMAR SAYS. “You’re saying there’s a branch of government, underground in the desert, that exists solely to perform experiments on immigrants?”

  “Yes.” Mom nods. “They do it to people no one gives a shit about.”

  Omar rounds his hand to a fist. “I knew it! I called it three weeks ago.” He turns to Noah. “Didn’t I write about—”

  “Omar. This isn’t anywhere close to alien babies in Denver. Stop.” Christ, I am ready to punch this asshole.

  “It’s okay,” Mom says. When I give her a look, she half-smiles. “It’s kind of nice to meet someone with… energy about this.” She waves her hand.

  “What kind of experiments were they?” Noah asks. He’s holding his phone, live-streaming on social media or something.

  Mom bites her lip and glances down. She lifts her head, determined. “I’ll show you.”

  113

  “JESUS CHRIST ON A STICK,” Omar gasps. “Do that again.”

  Mom’s sitting in the wooden folding chair, and she points to a blue coffee mug in the kitchen. “The cup.”

  Then there’s a fast wind that flies at us, throwing my sideswept bangs in my face. It lasts two seconds, this blur. I mean, I just blink and Mom’s back in the chair, the cup in her palms, facing the camera. When she frowns, I can see where her wrinkles have deepened.

  “Did you get that?” Noah asks Omar, whose eyes are about to pop out of his head. “Play it back. In slow motion.”

  Everyone but Mom crowds around the camera screen. As he slows it down, we see Mom, stepping up, taking careful steps to the kitchen. When she returns to the frame, she’s got the coffee mug in her hands. I can even read the script on it. It says, All I need today is a little bit of coffee and a whole lot of JESUS.

  She sits slowly, deliberately, as though she were just a regular woman in Starbucks, getting her afternoon kick.

  114

  “SUPER SPEED,” OMAR SAYS. “BARELY detectable with the human eye.” He and Noah are jotting down notes as fast as they can. I scoff. Nerds.

  “I can go faster than that,” Mom says. “But I wanted you to sense it some.”

  Omar blinks slowly, then snaps back into paranoid theorist–mode. “Is there anything else? Flight? Oh, what about laser beams that shoot out of your eyes? Or, ooh, ooh, do you have any new birthmarks in the shape of crop circles? Or—” I give him one menacing look and the words sort of fall away from his open mouth.

  Mom hesitates and Noah speaks. “Fast healing. Sia and I saw it, after the crash.”

  And now I’m glaring at Noah. Why does he keep jumping in like that? Noah catches my eye and shrinks just a touch. Enough for me to feel the beginnings of guilt. Great.

  Omar looks to Mom for confirmation, who nods. “That, too.”

  “How are these experiments done? I mean—”

  “They have scientists that manipulate our genes,” Mom says. “I mean, that’s what I heard.”

  “Heard from who?”

  “Other people, there. Trapped. Like me.”

  “And this is all still underground in the desert, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “How would they have heard that information? About the genetic surgery? The other trapped people, I mean?”

  Mom sighs. “There was one man who worked there. He was on our side. Or at least acted like it when no one was looking. He told us some things.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “I acted like I did. I think he was telling the truth. He’s the one who helped me escape.”

  “Why did he do that? Didn’t he risk, you know, his own life?”

  Mom glances down. “He did it because he believed in doing the right thing.”

  Omar nods. “I bet he had a kick-ass code name.”

  Mom shrugs, smiling. “I don’t know anyone’s real names. But he was called River.”

  “Yes. Definitely a kick-ass code name. Maybe not as cool as Sabertooth, but, River, yeah, can’t complain.” He scribbles it in his notebook. “What else did River tell you?”

  Mom looks directly into Omar’s eyes. “He told us that they spliced our DNA with that of extraterrestrial origins.” She moves her eyes away, to the noon light that’s now orange. “And I was the only one who survived the experiment. So far.”

  Then she glances at me.

  115

  OMAR’S MAKING A SQUEAKING NOISE. He sounds like a mockingbird inside the jaws of a cat. “Did you just say extraterrestrial? She did, didn’t she? She said it!”

  “Were they the Greys?” Noah asks, his eyes wide.

  “No, no,” Omar says. “This isn’t their style at all, man. I mean, secret experiments on DNA and shit? This is straight from the Reptilian agenda.”

  “But I thought the government already experimented on the Greys, dude,” Noah responds, hitting Omar lightly on the arm. “After Roswell? Right? And their race has been getting revenge on humans ever since!”

  “No, no, that was before the Greys went to war with the Rept—”

  “Enough!” I say. “We’re wasting time.”

  “Of course. Sorry, Sia,” Noah says. I just give him a death glare. I’m sorry, he mouths, and I know he’s not just talking about his and Omar’s gift for running off tangent. I’m sorry. This time, he puts a hand on his heart. My mom looks at us with curiosity. Meanwhile, Omar doesn’t notice at all.

  “No disrespect, Sia,” Omar says. “We’re just trying to get the story out there.”

  I drag my eyes away from Noah’s. “Talk to my mother, then. Or I’m gonna smash your camera there into little pieces.”

  “It’s fine, Sia,” Mom says, laughing. She’s totally amused by them and I still don’t get it.

  Omar flips another page open in his notebook. “Okay, next question.” He looks up. “Tell me every detail you know about the experiments. Whether you saw it yourself, or someone just told you, or, ah, they actually did it to
you.”

  Mom nods and sighs. “I don’t know much, I’m sorry. I do know they started by harvesting eggs.”

  “Eggs,” Noah repeats.

  “Eggs. From women. Girls.” Mom is looking off into the distance now, her eyes glistening like she can’t bear to say it, but she has to. “They started by trying to make embryos. But instead, and I never saw this myself, I just heard, but instead, they made monsters.”

  “Holy shit,” I say.

  “Holy shit,” both Noah and Omar parrot.

  “And when that didn’t work, they decided, as a sort of last resort, to just inject the healthiest of us with the blood directly. Just to see. I don’t think they were expecting it to work. At all. And it didn’t. It mostly didn’t.”

  “Except with you,” Omar says.

  Mom nods, and then a tear finally escapes her eyes.

  “Let’s change the subject,” I say. “We can talk more about this later.”

  116

  “OKAY, MS. LENA.” OMAR’S TURNED THE page in his notebook again. “So you just happened to crash in front of Sia’s Jeep? ’Cause I thought that was coincidental.”

  “No, no. I knew she was there.”

  “How?”

  Mom shrugs. “Superpowers.”

  Omar, predictably, asks about three hundred more questions. After an hour, I have to pace in the kitchen as they talk. My legs need to do something other than sit.

  “Who are the they you speak of?” Omar asks. “Who’s the Big Bad Wolf, Mrs. Martinez?”

  “Ultimately? The US government.”

  “Predictable,” I mutter. “What?” I say when Noah gives me a questioning look. “Groups in power have been performing unethical experiments on subjugated peoples since forever. It was the first thing we learned in world history.” I huff. “I mean, this whole setup, it’s kind of their MO.”

  “Of course.” Noah nods. “So, how long have they been doing the experiments?”

  Mom shrugs. “A while. Since the fifties, I heard, but I don’t know for sure.”

  Noah jots it down. “So, like, why have they been experimenting? What’s their end goal?”

  Mom shrugs again. “Immortality?”

  “No,” Omar says, and we all turn to him. “What? I just don’t think that’s it.”

  “Omar, you don’t know more than my mom.” I cross my arms. “Considering she’s the one who’s been abducted and cut up.”

  “Look, I’m not saying I know from experience. But this, these powers?” He points to Mom. “This is everything the military would want. Think about it.” He jumps up, his hands waving in emphasis. “What political power wouldn’t want an army of soldiers that move so fast, you can’t even see them? Who heal so fast, you can barely hurt them?”

  “It just seems, I don’t know…,” Noah says. “It seems like a huge investment in something that hardly sounds possible.”

  Omar gives a big laugh. “Hardly sounds possible? Come on, man. She’s right there.” Mom gives him a tight smile.

  “Theoretically, though. Before they knew they could do it. Superpowers? For something as serious as the military to invest in?” I ask. “Noah’s got a point.”

  “I’ve got three words for you,” Omar says, holding a fist up to count. “Project. Center. Lane.”

  We stare blankly.

  “What?” He throws up his hands. “You mean you never heard—”

  “Just explain it, man,” I say.

  He sighs. “Fine. Back in the eighties, the army conducted experiments in human astral projection. Psychic research. No, no, listen to me. This isn’t a conspiracy. There are actual records and shit. They wanted to know if we could astrally spy on our enemies.”

  Noah holds up his phone. “I mean, he’s right. There are loads of articles from legitimate sites on it.”

  I roll my eyes. “Okay, so what? What’s that got to do with Mom?”

  “I’m just saying that anything that’s gonna give the military more power? They will pour their money into it. This country is obsessed with war and shit. I mean, think about that jet they’ve been working on for the last couple of years. The F-35 Project? The most expensive military project in history? It’s considered a failure, and they’re still throwing dimes at it.”

  “I hadn’t thought of soldiers,” Mom says. “But it makes sense, Sia. From the talk I heard offhand, here and there. Wanting to militarize the police. Keep the ‘illegals’ out. Things like that.”

  I groan at Omar’s triumphant smile. “Okay, whatever, Omar. This one thing might make sense. But theorizing isn’t gonna help us right now. Stay on task, people.”

  We find out Mom, while maneuvering the craft, shot down a couple satellites to prevent them from finding her right when she landed. That she didn’t mean to crash, but something malfunctioned in the engine. She mentions weird mechanical-sounding words that get Omar and Noah really excited, taking notes and looking stuff up on their phones.

  Then Omar asks, “Why did you escape? After two years, why now?”

  Mom looks at me again.

  Then the door bursts open and Dad walks in.

  All of a sudden, no one exists but him. And though Noah and Omar are eager for more information, they can tell my parents need some privacy. Even the Joshua trees outside could probably feel that blast of lightning between them, lit with arms and tears.

  117

  DR. VEGA’S NOT FAR BEHIND DAD. Omar films some of the checkup. “I can’t motherfucking believe this,” he keeps muttering. And yeah, I guess this does feel straight out of The X-Files, doesn’t it? When the doc gets some samples of Mom’s blood, Mom says, “I want Omar and his cousin to be emailed a copy of the results.” She looks at Omar as she gestures to the vials. “Maybe that will be all the proof you need.”

  “That sounds amazing, Mrs. Martinez.” Omar glances at his phone, which has been buzzing for the last half hour. “God, my mom’s gonna kill me. Shit. I think I have to go.” He begins packing his camera equipment. “But even if those test results prove something? We still need to connect it to the government, you know?”

  Mom frowns. “I was afraid of that.”

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Martinez!” He touches her shoulder. “I’m sending this straight to my cousin, and she’s an intern for the Sentinel. She’s gonna help me get everything out there.” He doesn’t mention that she tends to just blog about kittens and cupcakes, but whatever. I’m not gonna burst bubbles. Not again, anyway.

  “This is the only way,” Mom tells us. “This is the only way to stop them. If this isn’t taken seriously, if they’re not stopped…” She pauses and sighs. “They’ll find a way to take me back.”

  The room feels very cold as Omar leaves.

  118

  WHEN THINGS ARE QUIET, WE realize we missed lunch. Dad orders some takeout.

  “What are you still doing here?” he barks at Noah as he gets off the phone. Noah’s face reddens and he begins to stammer, backing away.

  “Dejalo, Luis,” Mom says gently. “Él es el hijo de Ama DuPont.”

  “Ama DuPont,” Dad repeats, eyeing Noah. “So that mean your padre es…”

  No one answers. No one needs to. Finally, I speak. “How do you know his mom?”

  “We helped her get away from Tim. What was it, Luis? Ten years ago?”

  Noah doesn’t look surprised. He and Mom must’ve gone over this.

  Dad shakes his head. “Almost thirteen years, Magdalena.” He looks at Noah. “How’s your mamá doing now?”

  Noah lowers his eyes. “Not that great, sir.”

  “Come on, kid,” Dad says after a pause. “Come with me to get the food.”

  Noah gives me a helpless look, but I dismiss him with a hand. When the door closes, Mom gestures for me to sit by her on the sofa.

  She wraps her arms around me and we lean back. She holds me like I’m little again.

  “What’s going on with you and Noah?”

  I sigh. “Mom, can we please talk about anything els
e?”

  “Not yet.”

  I sigh and she puts her warm palm on mine. Christ. I still can’t believe she’s here.

  “He’s not his dad, you know.”

  I close my eyes for a long time. “Mom, he lied to me about how he was related to them.”

  “I know.”

  I blink and stare at her. “How?”

  “Noah. He told me. When I woke up, I didn’t know where I was. He brought me water and toast. And then just started talking.” Mom laughs. “That boy loves to talk, huh?” She tightens her arms around me. “You know, once upon a time, I used to think only bad guys did bad things. But then…” She sighs. “I met two people. Good people. And they did some bad, bad things. Because they thought it would save their families. Their people.”

  “What happened to them?” I whisper.

  “They’re both still around,” Mom says. “But they’re both trying to do the right thing, you know? But in really different ways.”

  “Way to be cryptic, Mom.”

  Mom laughs. “What Noah did, it was because he didn’t want to hurt you. He thought it was the right thing to do at the time.”

  “But it wasn’t.”

  “No. But we all make mistakes, Sia. We have to remember that we aren’t our mistakes. We aren’t what people have forced us to do, to be.” Her voice is so low, it’s almost at a whisper. “No one is all good and no one is all bad. Remember this when the anger feels like it’s burning everything inside you. Remember that most of us are just doing what we think is right at the time.”

  I bite at my lip. “Noah really brought you toast?”

  “Mm-hmm. With butter and prickly pear jam.”

  We’re silent for a moment. And I can’t help but go back to all the times Noah made me feel really good about myself. You’re fucking gorgeous, he said, after we first kissed. And how when we got naked in my bed and he didn’t expect anything from me at all, how he held me when I cried, and how he spent weeks finding the most perfect poem to give me. The way he attacked Jeremy after Jeremy called me spic bitch. The way he sometimes stares at me and forgets what he’s saying, like just the sight of me makes him light-headed or something.