The Three Piece Set Presents…

Little Black Boxes

By John M. Foradori

Started February 1, 1998

 

 

 1- March 15, 2006    

“Tell me what you are feeling right now, John.”

            John squirmed in his chair; he never really liked this part of it. But in every session since his return, he was always asked that.  His answers were filled with dread of that question, and they didn’t reveal anything, or at least anything that the doctor wanted to get from him.  So the question still came to him.  “For some reason, Doc, I knew you were gonna ask me that question.”

            “It isn’t a question, more of a request.  Try to put every single bit of emotion that you are feeling right now into words and images.”

            “Before I start, I have a question for you, Doc.” 

            “Go right ahead, John, ask me.”  The Doc was good with John.  He always let John ask anything; he would never get short with him, never tell him that he was wrong in any way, or even hinder him at all.  John was a special case, a very special case.  Sure, there were theories that several of the best doctors in the United States had come up with, but no case study was the real thing. 

            “What do you want to get out of this?”  For the last four months, John had wondered if the doc had something more staked in his treatment than just helping him.

            “Out of what?”  The doc answered quickly, but there was no doubt that he knew what John was getting at.

            “Out of me.”

            “Are you saying that I have another agenda or something to that effect?”  John maintained eye contact, trying to ascertain doc's honesty with his reactions.

            “Everyone has an agenda, I just want to see if you would tell me yours.”

            “I’m a doctor, John, I swore an oath to help people, and that’s what I want to do with you. I want to help you.”  An honest answer, although a vague answer.  John suspected that the doc was working for someone other than himself, or a hospital.  John didn't mind at all, he just didn't like being kept out of the loop, considering he was the loop.

            “What’s my problem, then?”

            “Considering what you have gone through in the last ten years or so, I would imagine that you would have a lot of problems.”

            John raised an eyebrow.  An interesting statement.  For what he has been through, John felt good about himself.  There were some things, some issues that he had to deal with, but nothing out of the ordinary. “What kind of problems?”

            “Depression, for one.  Being torn away like that has got to be very depressing.  I can’t even begin to think of the loneliness, the torture that you had to endure.  I will tell you this, I wanted this case, because it would give me the opportunity to talk to someone face to face who has possibly had an encounter with creatures from another planet.   This is a chance of a lifetime for me. I thought that dealing with that person on a more intimate setting for myself, and for him, would be something of a fix it for things that I have unresolved in my life, and things that you have unresolved in your life.  I really want to get to know you, John, and figure out what happened.”

            “It seems, Doc, that you have more riding in this that I do. To tell you the truth, I don’t have a lot of feelings concerning what occurred the last ten years or so.  I just know that something happened, and now, I have to get on with the rest of my life.  Is that so hard for you and your degree?”  John didn't know the if that was the truth, though.  Deep down, he knew that he would never have a normal life again.  There will always be something hanging over him, a dark shadow that would follow him throughout his ventures. 

            “Actually, it is. I have consulted a few doctors from around the country to help me with this case. They have all come to the conclusion that at the least, I am dealing with someone who has suffered at least the same sort of pain and crisis as someone who has been raped or held a hostage.  The government doesn't have that many people on their payroll that have been abducted by extra-terrestrials, John. Those who have never have been abducted for more than a night, or maybe a day or two.  You’ve been gone for almost ten years, John.  Ten years of your life have been spent on the operating table of some unknown and from what it looks like, some pretty damn hostile race.  You have to have a feeling about that.”

            “Maybe I don’t, Doc.  Maybe I don’t have any feelings about it one way or another.”  That was a lie, but now, John was playing a hand that he was interested in seeing how far it would fly.

            “As a professional psychologist, I find it hard to believe.”

            “Well, Doc, I’ll tell you what. I don’t think that I am ready to talk about it yet.  That’s probably a reason or something like that.  Check out your textbooks, I’m sure it is in one of those.  I am just not ready.”  He was surprised that it came out so harsh, as if John had a bad attitude or something like that.  John didn't think that he had a bad attitude, and he honestly liked the doc, although he didn't know his name. 

            “I understand your apprehension.  It is very common to feel that way.”  The doc felt the tension in the room increasing, and he wanted to try and disarm it a bit. 

            “How the hell would you know, Doc?  Were you taken away for ten years, filled with ten years of memories, and then returned only to find out that those ten years of memories were totally false?”

            “No, I wasn’t.”  The doc retained his composure; it was his job to.  John was impressed, deep down, but honest to God feelings were beginning to surface, and they were starting to scare John a bit.

            “You can not begin to understand my apprehension, or my feelings about this particular subject.  One third of my life was spent with them, with those fucking bastards, and there is so little of it that I remember.”  John had folded his arms now; he was finally opening up a bit, for the first time with the doc, some feelings were beginning to seep out.

            “You are right, I can never know what you went through.  But I am here to learn what you went through.  I’m here to help you understand what you went through.  We need to work together, or else we won’t win.  You want us to win, don’t you?”

            “What do you mean by that?”  Win?  Could John actually win this?  Was this a situation that he could even think of competing in, let alone win?  He wasn't sure. Hell, he didn't even know what the situation was.

            “We can conquer this, John.  Me and you, together we can beat this.”

            “I don’t know about beating this one, Doc.  There is more to it than you or I could ever know.”  That was one thing that he did know, when the winds died down, and when the truth was known, even though John had no idea what that truth would be, everything would be different, everything in the entire world would be different.

            “And that is why we are here, John, to try and know as much as we can.”           

            John knew that, too.  It was hard, though.  Hard for him to come to terms with the fact that he had been gone for so long.  He couldn’t comprehend the things that had been done to him, although he knew that they did in fact happen.  But there is more, so much more, to the entire incident than the bits and pieces that he remembered.  The worst part of it was that everything was so unknown to him, his life, his past, and his future.  And now, trying to find all the pieces and put them back together was just as terrifying as being taken away by aliens from some distant planet.  He didn’t want to do that; he just wanted to fade away into obscurity.  That won’t happen, he thought to himself.

            “So John, are you going to tell me what you are feeling?”

            “I thought I just did.”

            “That isn’t exactly what I am looking for, though.  I want you to put into words the feelings you have about your abduction.”

            “I don’t really want to, Doc.”  That was the last thing that John wanted to do.  He didn't want to remember being taken.  He didn't want to remember where he was.  Not now, and probably not ever.  He was scared.

            “Why not?”

            “Because I’m scared.  I’m scared that if I start to talk about what happened to me, I’ll start remembering what happened for those ten years.  I don’t want to remember anything of those last ten years.  I don’t want to try and remember anything.”

            “You have to, John.”

            “Why do I have to, Doc?  Why do I have to do something that is going to hurt so much?”  John knew he was losing this particular battle with the doc. 

            “Because if you don’t it’ll hurt more than you can ever imagine. You have inner demons, and it is, in my opinion, in your best interest to face those demons, and bring them into the light.”

            “I agree with you, Doc, I really do.  It does make sense, all of it.  But I have to tell you, it is so damn hard, so damn hard, to do that.  It doesn’t seem worth it, not at all.”

            “But you have to, it’s the only way you can beat them.”

            “I feel like I have already lost.”

            “John, you haven’t lost, not yet.  You’ll lose if you allow this incident to dominate your life and your well being. If you face them, it will be extremely difficult for you, I cannot deny that. But you will find that the pain will go away, and be replaced with something much more constructive, much more worth while.”

            “Right now, though, it doesn’t look like such a good prospect.”

            “I’m sure it doesn’t.  Hell, if I were you, I don’t know if I would want to either.  But we are going to face them, together.”

            “Don’t get me wrong, I know that this is for the best, and I know that there are a lot of people that want this information that is somewhere in my head.  The thing, though, is that I am terrified about what I’m going to find.  I’m the one that has to live with it, I’m the one it’s affecting.”

            “As your doctor, and hopefully as your friend, I know that the only way that you can fully recover, or at least begin the recovery process is to examine what happened, come to terms with it, whatever it takes.  Don’t let it fester, don’t let it grow inside of you.  Fight it, and then you can beat it.”

            “I’ll try, doc, I’ll try.”  John felt exhausted, just from this conversation.  It was hard to talk about things like this; John never really understood how hard it would be. 

            “Good, that’s a start.  First off, how long have you been back here now?”

            “Something like four months now, doc.”

            “Four months, and what have you been doing for those four months?”

            “I’ve been here, in this facility, trying to get my bearings back.  A lot of things have changed since I have been gone.  It’s interesting to see how everything has developed.” 

            “I’m sure it is a lot to take in, kind of overwhelming.”

            “Actually, no, it isn’t overwhelming, because I’ve been to a place that makes this place look like the cave men era.”           

            “Do you have any memories of where you were?”

            John shook his head.  “No, not really.  It’s all shadowy figures, more feelings and things of that nature.  I never get a good look at anything that is going on during them; I'm just walking around in this fog thing.  The fear is there, it's always there.  But never any faces to go along with it."

            "What do you think that these dreams are?"

            "What do you mean, doc?"

            "What I mean is what are these dreams about?  Are they about the place that you were, or are they about something else?"

            "Are you asking me if I know that for sure?"

            "I guess so."

            "Then I'll have to tell you that I don't know for sure what it is. If I had to take a guess, it's my subconscious using some of that symbolism to express the last ten years of my life, or at least the 'real' memories that I was told that I no longer have."

            "To tell you the truth, John, that would be my guess, too.  These dreams of yours, do they happen every night?"      

            "Yes, doc, they sure do."  John was beginning to look uncomfortable.  The dreams, although they were the only things that could remotely be connected as evidence of his experience, were terrifying to John.  He had to live through them at night, now he had to relive them during the day.  He didn't like that.

            "How about you walk me through one of them."

            "Well, I can walk you through all of them, because they are all the same."  John took a deep breath, and continued  "It starts, they all start, with some kind of loud noise.  I'm in bed, and I am startled awake.  I'm in a room, a room that is very unfamiliar to me."

            "Describe it."

            "It's very plain, too plain.  The walls are a neutral color, but I am can't tell what it is.  There is nothing on the walks, they are completely bare.  There are no windows, and only a door.  The bed is in there, but nor a dresser, or a night table, or anything like that, just the bed."  John was doing a good job of keeping his composure. 

            "Okay, go on." The doc had taken out a tape recorder, although John was sure that someone was already recording these sessions for further use.  So far, though, John hadn't given anyone any useful information yet.

            "So, I'm awake in the bed, wondering what that loud noise was.  Outside the door, I can hear whispering.  I can't tell what they are saying, but I do know that there is at least one person out there talking quietly.  I get up to investigate.  The voices, I am sure that there are more than one, grow louder and louder.  I poke my head out of the door, and into a hallway.  There is nothing out there, nothing at all.  I step out into the hallway, and it's cold, very cold.  Slowly, a fog starts to rise from the floor, giving it a very surreal affect.  I start walking towards one end, towards the voices.  They are louder, but still, I don't see anybody.  I'm starting to get very scared, now.  The voices, I am beginning to make out a little bit of what they are saying.  They are saying my name; they are saying 'John, John.'  It's very scary.

            "I continue walking, you know, because it's a dream, and people do stupid things in dreams.  There doesn't seem to be an end to the hallway, though, it keeps going and going.  There are no doors on the hallway, either.  It's disturbing as hell.  It's more like a tube than a hallway.  The fog on the floor is getting higher and higher, and the room itself is getting darker and darker.  Then, the feelings start to begin.  A feeling of being watched overwhelms me.  I look around, but there is nothing there.  The feeling is still there, though.  Then, I feel as if there is someone coming up besides me, but as the feeling builds to a climax, I turn, and there is nothing there.  The air becomes very stale, very chilled.  Now, it seems like there are things coming at me from all sides, blowing past me, coming up from along side or behind me.  I feel like I am going crazy in there, like I am being tortured by invisible ghosts of something like that.  And the voices keep calling my name, over and over.  Then I turn forward and right in front of me is a-" John shudders in his chair, but then quickly calms down.  "And then, doc, I usually wake up."

            "Interesting.  Have you ever seen what that was in front of you?"  The doc has stopped writing already, and just listened to John describe his dream.

            "No, I never have.  I always wake up before that.  It's strange, though, because the dreams are terrifying, but somehow, they all seem very, very familiar.  Really Twilight Zone-like familiar."

            "I bet they do.  It seems to me that you are definitely suffering from some kind of posttraumatic stress syndrome of some kind.  What you went through must have been terribly stressful for you."  A logical conclusion, although they had no idea what his reaction to the situation was.

            "I have been thinking about that one, too, doc.  Aren't there a lot of physical symptoms associated with stress?"

            "Sure, there are.  There is high blood pressure, sleep loss, rapid weight gain or loss, hypertension, dizziness, just to name a few."

            "And how many of those do I have?"  He was trying to prove a point, what that point was, he wasn't sure.

            "Well, besides the nightmares, none of them."

            "There ya go, doc.  I don't have any signs of ever being over-stressed.  I'm not ill, not in the least.  I'm in pretty good shape, I'm thin, I'm strong, I have all the required levels of chemicals in my body.  I sleep well at night; I get about eight hours, more than that, usually.  Well, except for that pesky nightmare deal, which sometimes cuts in my sleep.  There is nothing there that would suggest that anything out of the ordinary had happened to me, right, doc?"

            "It certainly doesn't appear that way.  But something big did happen to you.  You have been gone for ten years, and now, only four months after getting back here, I'll tell you that I'm surprised that you are in such good of shape mentally, as well as physically."

            "This is kind of a stretch, doc, but what if I told you something that really does scare me right now?" 

            "Sure, John, that's what I am here for, you can tell me anything that you want to."  This was something, he thought to himself.  Whatever John was going to tell him, it had to be important.

            "With all these stressors nowhere to be found, I was thinking.  Maybe what happened to me wasn't so bad.  Maybe I liked it there.  Maybe I'm really from there.  If there wasn't that much stress on me, why does it have to be such a bad experience for me?"  An interesting point of view, John thought.  He had just come up with it, actually, following the line of thought in the conversation.

            "From my point of view, John, it would seem almost evil to be ripped from my life, taken against my will for ten years, and then returned with all of my memories altered so there would be some kind of fake life that I led up to that point.  I would find it disgusting."  John had thought of that, too.  But those feelings weren't there.  It was hard for him to explain, but any feelings of regret, fear, or anger concerning his abduction just were no in his head.

            "Normally, I would too. The mere thought of something like that happening in sick.  But it did happen, and look at me now.  I'm ten years older, yes.  I missed out on a life that I could have had, yes, but I have begun to look at it from a point of view that I think makes a hell of a lot of sense."  John felt that he should tell him.  "And doc, I don't feel like it was evil, what happened to me.  I am of the idea that everything happens for some kind of reason.  It's almost as we have a destiny, a preset path that everyone has to follow.  With this belief, I can only say that there was a reason for what happened to me.  There is a reason that I was returned.  Now, all I have to do is find out what that reason is, and I can do it.  With your help, of course, doc."

            "I'll be the first to congratulate you if you can make any sense out of this."

            "I was in school to be an engineer, so, I have a pretty good background in math, science, and all that other thinking and logic kind of stuff.  I've applied a little bit of logic to it.  I was gone for ten years, that's a fact.  The memories that I have of those ten years are missing, that is a fact.  There are ten years of false memories I their place, that is another fact. I've asked myself many questions over the last three or so months.  One of them is, why was I taken, and not somebody else."

            "Have you come up with an answer to that question?"

            "I think that I have some kind of an answer to it." John shifted in his seat.  He has been thinking these thoughts for the last three months, and now, he was going to try his logic on someone else.  Hopefully, this guy would see John's logic, and agree with him.  It certainly would help him out a great deal.  "I was taken for a reason.  I don't think that there is some random way that they would do their business. If they can do what they did to me, then they have the ability to pick and chose who they want, and when they want them."

            "But why you, John?"

            "That's the thing, why me?  I was pretty smart in high school; I was pretty much at the top of my class.  I played a few sports, had a girlfriend, the whole nine yards.  I did go to a good school.  Maybe they wanted a Wolverine or something like that?"  John laughed, and so did the doc.  "I was a midshipman, but so where about three thousand kids that year.  I wasn't near the top of my class at all.  There wasn't anything too special about me.  Except-" John got a strange look on his face, and seemed as if he started to go somewhere else, at least in thought.

            "What is it, John?  What was different about you?"

            "I believed in them.  I believed in aliens, and UFO's.  It was a big hobby of mine, I read up on all the books, watched all the TV shows, went to all the movies.  It was almost a passion, a very strange passion.  Not too many other people out there liked that kind of stuff."

            "That was a time before aliens and UFO's really became a fad.  In the summer of that year, there was a huge movie called Independence Day.  It told about an alien invasion that almost wiped out the entire world.  It was a lot of fun to watch, I'll tell you that. Then, there was a huge boom in alien merchandise like hat's, shirts, posters, books, all sorts of thing.  It became the fad of the 1990's."

            "Yeah, thinking back, I could see it coming.  In fact, I knew it was coming.  I wanted to be known as someone who would be the first on that bandwagon, one of the drivers.  The strangest part of it, though, was that it was definitely very personal for me.  There was something about it that was near and dear to me, no matter what my mom or dad said, or what my friends said.  There was always something about it that was very personal."

            "That may be something that we should look into. If you were so much into that topic, and then bam! Off you go for a ten year vacation, it would suggest that it should be looked at, at least."  Doc finished writing something down.  "What else did you ask yourself?"
            "Another question was why was I gone so long?  That was a tough one, but with a little bit of logic, I think that I have come close to the answer to that one, too.  Listen to this."  John took a sip from his glass.  This always happened, it seemed.  John would take some time getting started, but when he got rolling, there was nothing that could be done to stop him. He put the cup down and continued. "Why take someone for a specific period of time.  I remember my old UFO books.  People who claimed to be abducted by aliens would be taken from their home for a few hours, maybe an entire evening or a day or two.  I heard of a few cases where people where gone for four days or so, before they were returned.  But why ten years?  What could have been going on in those ten years that would prevent them from depositing me back in my life right off the bat?  Were they doing tests on me, like the genetic and reproductive tests that people have always talked about?  No, I don't think so.  Well, come to think about it, maybe they did. A ten-year test, though?  No, there had to be more."  John took another sip.

            "Why only ten years, why not fifteen, or twenty?  It didn't seem to make any sense to me until I thought back to my four years at Michigan.  I was being trained there, I went to school to learn a craft."  John smiled and started to nod.  He did it a little more rapidly when he saw that the doc wasn't really following it.  "Don't you get it, doc?"

            "Are you saying that they brought you there to take you to school?"

            John smiled.  "Something like that.  It makes sense.  If they wanted to teach me something, and it took ten years, then when that then years was up, and they taught me everything that I was needed to know, they could send me back, for whatever reason that they wanted to do that.  So, I figure that there is something in my head, something that is pretty damn important, that will be let out when it is needed.  You follow so far?"

            "I think so.  So you are saying that now, you think that you have a history with whatever took you, and two, that they taught you something very important."

            "Yeah, that's it, you are catching on.  Then there is the method that I was returned.  Where was I returned?"

            "You were found on the roof of the Pentagon."

            "Right, the roof of the Pentagon.  And do you know who is located in the Pentagon?"

            "I do, John, I sure do."

            "That's right, the Pentagon is the headquarters for the most powerful military machine on the planet.  Oh yeah, by the way, are we still the most powerful military on the planet?"

            "We are, John."

            "Okay, fine.  The most powerful military power on the planet gets a little present from a bunch of extra-terrestrials.  They are handed the one person who was abducted by them for ten years, and who is returned out of the blue.  It's almost like giving computer to a baby, and telling the baby 'as soon as you learn how to use this, it will become such an advantage for you.'"  John was smiling and shaking his head again.  He was really excited, way too excited."

            "So, John, lets recap.  Aliens abduct a person who has been infatuated with aliens for years before that, and then for ten years, they teach him something.  When they are through with him, they hand him over to the most powerful military force on this planet, although they have absolutely no idea what to do with him. Is that right so far?"

            "There is only one other thing to fit into the puzzle."

            "And what is that, John."

            "The false memories."

            "The false memories.  What do you have to say about that, John?"

            "I thought you'd never ask.  I think that the false memories are a mask for the true memories.  They are covering up, not replacing, the memories that I actually accumulated.  The one thing that seemed so odd about my false memories is that I cannot recall a single new person in them at all, except for one.  Everyone that I remember is someone that I had already met and gotten to know before my abduction.  What I think happened was that they raided my memories, and molded them into a possible future, based on the data that was already in there.  And they used these generated memories as a shield against my real memories.  But the memories are there, waiting for me to have them jump out and scream 'Here I am!'"

            "So, you are saying that they will come to the surface once they are needed."

            "That is exactly what I am saying.  They took me for a reason, they held me for a reason, and they gave me back for a reason.  They mind-fucked me for a reason, too.  And I think that all in good time, whatever it was that they did to me, it will rear its ugly head and make itself know.  And for whatever reason that happens, it has to be something pretty damn important."

            "So, you think you were chosen to carry some kind of knowledge around inside your head for use at a later time?"

            "That's what I am thinking."

            "Well, that shoots my idea out the window.  I thought that maybe you were randomly chosen, and just taken away to be worked on however they seemed hit.  What you have said has given me something to think about.  I have to think, though, that you may be closer to the truth than I am about this one."

            "I hope not, because that means that I am important in the bigger picture, whatever that is."

            "Do you think that there is a bigger picture to all of this?"
            "I'll tell you what, that's the only reason that something like this has happened, and I bet that I'm not the only one out there that this has happened to."

            "You are the only one that we have, I can tell you that.  You are more valuable than gold, than plutonium, than anything that I can think of."

            "My mom always told me that I'd be worth something some day."

            "Well, here you go."

            "What time do you have, doc?"

            "It's a little after eleven.  Why do you ask?"

            "I was sort of wondering when we would be done here, because you know, it's a Saturday, and I'm in the mood to watch some TV.  Hopefully, there will be a hockey game on that is worth a damn."  John scratched at his chin, he also realized that he needed a shave.  "Tell me, who are the good teams this year."

            "I'm not that big of a hockey fan, John, but my roommate it.  I have heard talk about the Toronto Maple Leafs being pretty good, though, my roommate likes them, I think.

            "How about the Red Wings, have they won the Cup?"

            "What cup would that be?"

            "You know, the best trophy in sports ever.  Lord Stanley's Cup, the winner of the NHL gets to carry it for a year.  That cup!"

            "Oh yes, the Red Wings won in 1997, I think it was, and then again in 1998.  They certainly were a remarkable team.  But now, they aren't doing so hot."

            "Dammit, it figures that I would get taken away, and they would win the damn Cup.  Those bastards."  He didn't mean it; he would always be a die-hard fan.  He lived through the frustrations of his fellow Red Wings fans, and didn't get the sweet reward of sipping from the Cup.  Maybe, just maybe, he could get lucky now.

            "It could be worse, you could be a Cubs fan."

            "Still no World Series?"

            "No World Series, and Harry Carey died back in 1998.  Not the best way to start a millenium."

            John laughed.  He never liked any Chicago teams, primarily because he was originally from the Detroit area.  Those loyalties would never change.  "Good."

            "Yeah, yeah, whatever.  We've been at it for a while, and I think that it's time that we give it a break for today.  What do you say?"

            "You have to write up a report for the shady people who are actually running this compound?"

            "John, I'm here to help you, I don't have a hidden agenda."

            "Everyone has a hidden agenda.  It's just when the time comes, will the agenda be worth it?"

            "Whatever is going on here, John, I don't know if it is worth it, I don't even know if it is real.  Whatever it is, it's one heck of a story.  I want to find out if it is real, and what it all means.  I'm here for that reason, and that reason alone."

            "I thought you were here for me, doc.  I'm devastated."

            "John, you are what I am trying to figure out, to decipher.  Whatever you have in your head, whatever issues that you have within you, they could be the most important pieces of information ever to be stumbled upon by us lowly humans.  Think of it, John, contact with an alien species.  It would be remarkable."

            "Listen to me, doc, you wouldn't want it if you could avoid it. Haven't you heard anything I said today, or yesterday, or the day before?"

            "I know, John, I know, but the whole idea of it, it's almost romantic in nature.  It's something that I have always dreamed of."

            "Well, take it from me, you should hope that it stays in your dreams, because sometimes, reality really sucks."

            "You seem so negative right now about the whole thing.  Just a few moments ago, you seemed almost at peace with the entire situation."

            "I understand, at least to the best of my knowledge, what happened, and probably why it did happen.  Am I totally happy about that?  You have to be fucking kidding me.  I had ten years of my life ripped away from me, doc.  Right now, I have absolutely nothing.  Nothing financially, spiritually, emotionally.  My life as I thought it was is now over.  Fuck that, doc.  I would never want that on my worst enemy.  I never asked for it, and I never wanted it."

            "I see your point, and it's good that you are at least opening up your emotions a bit.  Think about that tonight; write about it, if you want to.  Tomorrow, we will explore those feelings." The doc got up from his chair, and outstretched his hand.  "You did great today, John, just great.  Progress was made, a lot of progress.  You've opened my eyes a bit."

            "Make sure you get all that into your report, doc."

            "Don't worry, John, I will.  My reports are always thorough.  Besides, they usually watch us, so it doesn't really matter."

            "Yeah, I figured as much."

            "Remember, John, they aren't the enemy.  They are here to help."

            "Somewhere, I've heard that before.  I don't know where, but somewhere."  John looked out the window, into the large courtyard that was in the middle of the several buildings what comprised the compound that he was staying in.  "I will think of what you asked me to, doc.  And trust me, I know that they aren't the enemy.  Nothing that they could do to be could compare to what I have already been through, no matter what it is."

            "Until tomorrow, then, eh John?"

            "That's right, doc, until tomorrow."

            The doc was gathering his things.  He wanted to tell John what he had learned over the last week, when his security clearances were finally granted.  He really did want to tell him.  Would it help the situation, though?  Would slamming the door shut on a possible explanation, albeit the farthest fetched solution to this situation?  He was a doctor, though, and he was in it for John's wellbeing, as much as he was in it for other reasons.  But then again, would he newly found security clearance be taken away, after it took him so long to actually to procure.  He was in it for John, though. 

            Then he remembered.  He remembered everything, and for the first time in his life, everything made sense.  Like a blinding flash, all the lies, all the stories, and all the perceptions melted away, and there was only one thing, the truth.  He couldn't tell John anything.  It wasn't supposed to be that way.  He couldn't tell them that the United States Government had never had any contact with extraterrestrials, nor did it have any proof of their existence.  He couldn't tell them that the government had absolutely no idea what had happened to John, and was terrified that his reappearance had marked the beginning of a new age where the United States had no power or influence in affairs.  All he could do was to pack his things and leave, without exposing anything to John. 

            He finished packing his things, and then stood up.  "Until tomorrow?" he mumbled.

            "Doc, are you okay?"  John noticed that something strange had happened to the doc.  Like a light switch, the expression on his face had changed to one of someone that had just tasted a grapefruit early in the morning. 

            "Yes, yes, I'm fine.  I just got a headache, all of a sudden."

            "Are you sure, doc?"

            "I'll be fine.  I'll get some aspirin when I get home.  I'll be okay."

            "If you say so.  See you tomorrow, doc."

            "Tomorrow.  Yes, I'll see you tomorrow."  The doctor left the room, and John walked towards the window.  There were about twenty or so in the courtyard that was at least two hundred yards in width.  It was filled with bushes and trees, as well as a few flower gardens.  It was totally comprised of grass, no cement or brick to be seen.  It was beautiful, but for some reason, John saw it more as a prison.  He couldn't leave; at least he felt he couldn't leave. Where would he go?  He had no money, no transportation.  Hell, he didn't know where he was.  He had a nice room, though, and meals three times a week.  It was a start, a fresh start. 

            He stared at the people.  They all seemed to be the staff of the compound; he recognized a few of them.  He hadn't gotten to know any of them in his three-month stay here.  He didn't want to get to know anyone.  Deep inside, he thought that if he grew attached, he would just hurt them, just like he hurt everyone else in his life.  He didn't want to draw anyone else into whatever was going on, either. The more he brought into the game, the more he stood to lose.  He didn't want to lose anything that he couldn't afford to lose.  He couldn't afford other people's lives.

            He turned from the window, and sat back down at the table.  He stared at the wall in front of him, and wiped away the tears that had begun to fill in his eyes.  He so desperately wanted a life, he wanted friends, and he wanted his family again.  He just wanted to be normal.  He knew, though, that he was probably the farthest thing from normal, and there was absolutely no chance that he would be normal ever again.  All he could do was sit in his room, or in the courtyard, and wait for the next event, or the next interview.  It was getting old, and he was feeling like a tool.    

            He got up from the table, and walked out of the room.  The hallway was empty, just as it should be for a Saturday morning.  He knew which way he had to go to get out of the building, and into the courtyard.  He turned left and walked slowly down the hall.  It was so empty.  "Just like me," he whispered to himself.

            He came to the exit, and opened the door.  He stepped out into the sun; it was surprisingly warm for this time of year.  John suspected that he hadn't left the Washington DC area, and it would be beginning to get chilly now.  That was okay, he had thick blood.  Michigan always had a cold winter.  He put his hands into his pocket, and headed towards his room.  His building was the farthest from the main building.  As far as he could see, there were five dormitory style buildings like the one that he stayed in, and a main complex that had the offices and cafeteria in it. 

            He didn't look at any of the people in the courtyard, but he could tell they were looking at him.  He was sure that he had a reputation already.  The quiet, loner guy that never talked to anyone.  All he was doing was seeing shrinks and top level investigators.  He never heard anyone whisper something about him as he passed, or as he ate alone in the cafeteria, but he could tell that they were all staring at him, if not directly, then at least subconsciously.  They knew when he entered the room, and they knew when he left.  Did they know why he was there?  Did they have an idea about what his story was? Did they even care who he was?  John was pretty sure that they didn't.  On the flip side, though. John didn't care too much, either.    Wouldn't it be interesting to see their reaction if they knew the truth?

            That was something that John could not deal with, though.  He didn't have time to be worried about such trivial things like how others perceived him.  He needed to find out what had happened to the past then years of his life.  John spotted the door that lead into his room, and made a straight line for it.  He could feel all the stares, as if they were sharp knives piercing into him.  He kept moving on, fighting back the urge to return their stares.  Before he knew it, he was at the door leading into that hallway.  He would be in the safety of his own little room, his own little world.  He fumbled with the key, it seemed as though his mechanical ability had suffered a bit in the last ten years.  Finally, he managed to slip it in, and turned the lock.  The click of the locking mechanism resonated through the empty hallway like thunder, but that sound triggered something in John; it made him calm again.  Soon, the only worries that he would have would be what he was going to read next.  He had a pile of magazines that he was given, to help him catch up a bit.  Actually, the magazines were all out of date, so they were for a more entertaining purpose, something to pass the time away.  John hated that, he had no clue as to what was going on in the world, or what had already happened. 

            He swung the door open and looked inside.  He left the bed lamp on, its soft yellow glow lit of the far corner of the glorified studio apartment.  He had one room, enough space to put a full-sized bed, a couch, a table, and a desk.  The kitchen was against the far wall, and was very, very simple.  He had a microwave oven, a refrigerator, and a countertop range. He didn't have an oven, but he did have dishes for the range.  He didn't have any food, or money to buy food. He could cook it, though, if he had it, and wanted to.

(not finished with part one)

2 The Debate over John

NOT DONE, NOT DONE, NOT DONE

 

3

John sat on the corner of his bed, staring out the window.  For March, it was unusually warm, or at least he thought it was.  Maybe there was something to that global warming thing that had been the talk of the town before he "left." He wasn't sure, though.  That was something that he would have to take up with the doc.

            Today was a free day.  Well, it really wasn't free, he couldn't leave the compound, and he had explored every inch of it.  He had it all in his memory; he knew the compound as well as he knew anything in his life.  That was the one thing that he had noticed that since he had come back, his memory had improved tremendously.  It was almost like some sort of computer, whatever he read, saw, experienced, he was able to file it away, and retrieve it whenever he wanted to.  It was a step beyond a photographic memory, he surmised.

            At his feet where almost a hundred magazines.  They were old, from the late 90's. Well, most of them.  He was given them, so he could catch up on the past a bit, before he was given the future. There would be time enough for the future.

            He had read them all, took in all the news, views, slants, and ideas that were included in them.  In fact, he knew the material better than the writers knew themselves.  There was nothing left for him in those pages, and he desperately wanted to learn about the world that he was living in.  He would request for doc in his session today.  He would ask to leave the compound, and to get onto the Internet.  It was the only way that he could get anything resembling a life back, and he thought that they owed him that much, at least.

            What would he do with himself today?  It was a free day, but there was only so much that he could do with himself.  He got up off the corner of his bed, and walked outside.  He looked around, trying to find something that he hadn't done, but there was nothing.  He walked back into his room, and turned off all the lights.  He closed the shades, sat on his bed, and began to sob.  Only tears at first, but then, aloud.

            He cried himself to sleep.  It was early in the afternoon, but he was asleep nonetheless.  He didn't dream.  It was a restful sleep, something that hadn't happened to him in years. (Not done, either, he gets the first black box here, in this segment, waking up in a dream like state)

4

"John, I have some good news for you."

            "What is it doc, am I finally free from this place?"

            "Yes you are, John.  You are finally going to get to go home."

            "No shit?"

            "No shit."

            "Why did I have to stay here this long, doc?"

            "The way that you arrived here, the powers that be had to be sure that it was completely safe, that whatever happened to you was, um, how can I say this, explainable."

            "They wanted to make sure that I wasn't abducted by aliens, or anything like that, isn't that right?"

            "Well, that is the general consensus.  They wanted to make sure that you were real, that you were not in any danger, and that there wasn't a risk to national security.  They now believe that there is a small risk, but that risk is manageable, with the right precautions."

            "What does that mean, doc?"

            "There is one condition to your release from this facility.  You will be assigned a permanent escort, to maintain your safety, and keep an eye out for the country.  This agent has already been chosen, and will be here shortly."

            "You've got to be fucking kidding me, I need a friggen bodyguard?"
            "Not a bodyguard, John, a-"

            "A babysitter, then?"

            "No, John.  It isn't like that.  Your case is so strange, that no one knows exactly what to do.  No one knows where you were, who took you, if anyone did in fact take you, how you came back, or why your memories are so far gone from the reality of the last ten years.  We believe that it is in your best interest, and ours, that someone is around you in case something happens to you that may require assistance."

            "So it's like a live in nurse."

            "More than you know," the doc said under his breath.  He knew who was assigned to the case.

            "What was that, doc?"

            "Oh, nothing, just mumbling to myself.  Trust me, John, we don't want to do this, but its necessary, at least for the time being.  Plus, she can help you get accustomed to the current culture."

            "She?"

            "Uh, yeah, she.  Her name is Jenna, Jenna Dimonte.  She's with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. She's a few years younger than you are, but she knows her stuff, she knows it really good.  She can help you get adjusted, as well as look out for you."

            "I'm not accustomed to having people constantly watch me."

            "John, you were gone for ten years.  There isn't too much that you are accustomed to.  Will you trust me in this one?"

            "What if I say no?"

            "Then you don't get to leave."

            "Will I ever get the chance to be on my own?"

            "You will, John, as soon as we have more assurances that whatever happened to you won't happen again.  And if it does, you are entitled to some kind of protection.  It's the least that we can do."

            "That's it?"

            "That's just about it.  I mean, we have our own little agenda, too.  We want to know what happened to you before anyone else does.  We know that that information will be very valuable.  But you have to agree that if anyone should get that information, it would be he United States."

            "Well, I guess so.  I am still fairly patriotic, by the way."

            "We understand the position you are in, but I hope you can see the position that we are in. One of our citizens disappears for then years, then is deposited on the Pentagon, telling a story about aliens and alien abduction.  Kind of important stuff."

            "I do understand what you are saying, and in your position, I would probably do the same thing.  I just want to get back to normal, I want a real, honest to God life, that's all."

            "I understand, John, really I do.  But those are our terms, take em or leave em."

            It didn't take John too long to decide.  He wanted to get out of the compound, and this did seem like the best bet.  "Okay, doc, I'll do it."

            "Great.  This is for the best, John.  Agent Dimonte has a background in psychology, as well as a few other fields.  She can help you with any problems that you may have."  He stood up, and offered a hand.  "It's been a pleasure working with you, John, you are a remarkable person."

            John stood up, and took his hand.  "So, this is it?"

            "Yeah, I am being reassigned, and this was my last official meeting with you."  He took out a business card.  "I hope you stay in touch, I will be curious to see how your recovery progresses from here.  You can call me anytime, from anywhere.  My phone numbers are on the card."

            John took the card, and put it in his pocket.  "I will stay in touch.  You've been great, doc, you've helped me through a tough time, and I will always remember you for that.  Thanks."

            "There is one last thing."  The doc reached in his briefcase, and pulled out a wrapped box.  "I think you will find this to be a pretty nice present."

            John smiled, and opened it.  There were two items in the box.  A wallet, and a watch.  The watch was a Rolex, with the stainless steel band.  He looked at it; it wasn't running.  He turned to doc.

            "It's a kinetic energy watch.  You have to move around, and it will power itself."

            "Cool."  John started waving it around, and sure enough, it began to work. He took out the wallet, which was made of black leather.  It felt full, so he opened it.  Inside was a government identification card, a driver's license, a VISA-ATM card, a Sears credit card, and a few others.  Inside the billfold, there were five one hundred dollar bills.  He looked at doc, curious as to the reason that he was getting so much money.  "What's all this, doc?"

            "We took the liberty of setting you up, financially.  Since you don't have any real skills that can be applied to the workforce, as of now, you are on government payroll. You are now a member of the National Security Agency.  You are being paid the equivalent amount that you would have been getting if you had stayed in the Navy and progressed normally through the ranks.  You just made Lieutenant Commander!"

"Oh, joy."

            "You have an account that is currently filled with compensation pay, a lump sum of $250,000.  Your pay will be directly deposited to your account on the first and fifteenth of the month, which comes out to about two thousand dollars every two weeks.  Not too bad."

            "Wow, I really appreciate this.  This is great."

            "I thought you would like it.  Your credit cards are issued by the State Department.  You have an enormous spending limit, so you don't have to worry about that.  And, it all comes out of a fund set up for special circumstances like this, so you don't have to pay a dime of it."

            "That's pretty cool."

            "Yep, it sure is.  You have no worries financially, John.  You can do what you want, when you want.  It's a great deal, you should feel lucky."

            "I don't know if you can call it luck.  Bad luck, maybe."

            "Maybe so, but it's the least we can do.  We know that you probably will never be able to get yourself a normal, nine to five job out there, so why not work for the government?  Besides, you have health care, insurance, dental care, all the perks about working for the federal government."

            "It's a start, that's for sure."

            Doc looked at his watch.  "I have to be going soon, my plane leaves in an hour and a half."

            "What's your next assignment?"

            "I don't know, John.  They are flying me out to San Diego today, which is all I know.  I'll find out when I get there."

            "Oh, I see.  Super secret stuff, eh?"

            "Something like that.  What are you going to do with yourself, John?"

            "First, I really want to see my family.  I think that they deserve to know that I am back, and that I am fine."

            "That's a good start.  As you know, we haven't contacted them."

            "Yeah, I know.  You've left that decision up to me.  Well, I made up my mind, I want to see them again."

            "Good for you.  I'm sure that will help you out tremendously.  Oh yeah, they want you to meet back here, in this room, at five o'clock, to meet Agent Dimonte."

            "Sure thing, doc.  Hey, what time is it now?"

            "It's five after twelve."

            "Great."  John immediately went to the task of setting his watch.

Doc closed his briefcase, and looked John dead in the eyes.  "I have to go, John.  Good luck, I mean that."

            John smiled at him.  "I know, doc, I know.  Thank you again."  They shook hands, and then the doc was out the door.  John took the business card out of his pocket and put it in his wallet.  He took out the driver's license.  It was a Michigan driver's license, the state that he lived in before all of this happened.  He remembered taking the pictures; he was told that they were for his passport.  He hadn't gotten that, yet.  Maybe he would later in the afternoon, when he met Agent Jenna Dimonte.  Wild thoughts of exotic beauties ran through John's head, but he quickly dismissed them.  "You know your luck," he whispered to himself.

 

5

            Finding something to do was the hard part.  Almost five hours of anticipation until he met the person that he knew he would be spending a lot of time with.  He hoped that she was nice.  That's all, really.  She didn't have to be beautiful or even good looking.  All he wanted was someone that he could talk to.

            He went back to his room, and found a suitcase.  Someone was really thinking ahead.  John had planned to leave as fast as he could, and this saved him the trouble of looking around the compound for someone that would give him some luggage.  He didn't have that many things, just a few pairs of jeans, some T-shirts, a couple of sweaters and sweatshirts, and some toiletries.  He was really carrying light; but then again, he was gone for ten years.  He realized that you could, in fact, live on just a few items, just enough to get you by, get you from day to day.  He was forced too, and he did so easily. 

            He packed, that took all of ten minutes.  He sat down, and turned on the television.  Something was odd.  The television was actually picking up honest to God stations, this time.  Lots of them, too. As he flipped through the available channels, all one hundred thirty of them, he found so many things that he wanted to watch.  Near the end of the channels, though, he found something that caught his eye.  The smile on his face was enormous.  He sat on his bed, and relaxed in the joy that was hockey.  His favorite team, the Detroit Red Wings, were facing their archenemies, the Colorado Avalanche.  At least they were archenemies ten years earlier.  Within five minutes of John finding the game, though, there was a huge fight.  Some things change, while others stay the same.  It was good to see the rivalry still in tact.  As the game progressed, though, John found his bed more and more comfortable, and by the end of the second period, John was sound asleep.

            The ringing of his phone jolted him awake.  He checked his new watch; he had no idea what time it was.  It was only four thirty; he hadn't missed his appointment yet.  He answered the phone, and recognized the voice on the other end.  It was the doc.

            "Hey, I thought you'd be long gone by now."

            "The flight was delayed.  Agent Dimonte is here, in the compound.  If you want, we can move up the meeting.  Just show up when you can, and we can get started.  Just come on into the office when you get here."

            "Sure thing, doc.  I'll be there in five."  John hung up the phone, and went into the bathroom to freshen up.  He had to get the sleep look off his face.  When he saw his hair, though, he realized that it would take longer than five minutes to fix that.  He had never seen a worse case of bed head.  Thank God he had a baseball hat that he could throw on.  He washed his face, got the sleep out of his eyes, and wetted his hair down.  He tried to comb it, but the water and the comb had no effect.  He just organized the chaos a bit more.  The hat went on, it was the best he could do.

            He put on his jacket, and grabbed his suitcase.  This was it; he would never be back in this room again.   He turned off the lights, and locked the door.  He walked through the courtyard towards the main building.  It was a fast walk, or maybe he was just walking faster than normal.  He couldn't tell, but before he knew it, he was in the building.  He could remember nothing about the walk there, just that it was a necessity.  He went straight into the office that the doc was using.  There she was.

            She was sitting in front of the doc, who was behind the desk.  She had long, dark hair. He wasn't sure if it was a dark brown or black.  It was straight, and went down well past he shoulder blades. He could tell that she was going to be almost his height, and that she was in outstanding shape.  She was wearing a suit, or at least something that looked like a suit.  It was dark, also, matching her hair.  He could see the white collar of the shirt she was wearing under the suit jacket.  He stood at the doorway, waiting to be asked in.

            Doc saw him.  "Come in, come in."  He waved him in. 

            "I think I under dressed for this, doc."  John was in jeans and a sweatshirt, nothing like the expensive suit that the doc was wearing, and the suit that Agent Dimonte was wearing.

            "Don't be silly, John, this isn't a formal occasion.  Please, sit down."

            John noticed that Agent Dimonte never turned to look at him.  Odd, he thought.  John sat in the chair next to him, and looked at the doc quizzically.  "John, I would like to introduce you to Agent Jenna Dimonte."  John turned to her, and she turned towards him.  She was beautiful.  The first feature that John noticed was her eyes. They were dark, mysterious, and very powerful. They seemed to gaze into John's soul, and sized him up right off the bat.  She looked Mediterranean, John thought to himself.  Obviously a strong Italian line in her family, maybe a touch of Greek.  Whatever her ancestral roots were, she was stunning.  It caught John off guard. "Uh, hi."

            "Hello, John.  It's good to meet you."  She smiled at him.  A wave of something overcame John.  He couldn't tell what it was, but it was definitely something.

            "Uh, yeah, its good to, uh, meet you, too."  That was great, John thought to himself.  Now she thinks that I'm an idiot.

            The doc chuckled a bit.  He knew what was going on.  John tried to regain his composure.  He turned away from her quickly, which made the doc laugh a bit more.  He even thought that he heard her laugh a bit, too.  This was just going great.

            "Now that you two have met, I have to catch my new flight.  I hope you two hit it off."  What was that supposed to mean.

            The doc hurried towards the door.  "Remember John, if there is anything that you need, just give me a call."

            "Uh, yeah, doc, sure thing."  That was the best that John could do. Then, he was alone with her. He didn't have a clue what to say.  Good think she said something.

            "I understand that you haven't been out of the compound in four months."

            "Uh, yeah."

            "What do you think about going out and getting some dinner?"

            Whoa, a date.  She was working fast.  John quickly brushed those thoughts aside.  It wasn't even close to being a date, it was professional.  "That sounds great."

            "Good."  She saw the suitcase. "You planning on going somewhere?"

            "I kind of wanted to get out of here.  You know, just leave this place behind."

            She smiled.  Damn, John thought, she has a beautiful smile. "I don't blame you," she said.  "I couldn't stand to be in here one second more than I'd have to be.   I'm sure that we can find something for you."

            "Great."  There was a pause.  It was one of those odd pauses that seem to go on forever. "So, when do we go?"

            "How about right now?"

            "Sounds good to me."  John grabbed his suitcase, but realized he had no idea where he was going.  "Um, you're gonna have to point the way."

            "Okay, follow me."  He followed her out towards the parking lot.  The got into a big sedan, John had no idea what make it was.  The designs had changed a lot since he was last in the market.  She started the car, and they were off.  "Do you like Italian food, John?"

            "I would have to say yes."

            "Good.  My parents own a restaurant around the corner here.  We can eat there, they have the best Chicken Parmesan."

            "Sounds good.  I haven't had a good meal in, hell, in ten years, at least one that I could remember."

            "Well you are going to get one tonight."

            "I can't wait."  John was beginning to get over the initial puppy love syndrome that he was suffering from.  He had to look at her in a professional light, and not just as someone who was incredibly good looking.  He needed to get over that.

            "Good."

            "Agent Dimonte, how long have-"

            "Call me Jenna, John, please."

            "Okay, Jenna, how long have you been assigned to my case?"

            "About a week.  I had to learn the background, first, before coming in and meeting you.  But I have been involved for a week."

            "Okay."  John was pretty lame at making up small talk.  He just sat there, not knowing what next to say.  It was terrible, the feeling that he had.  He couldn't interact with her, at least not yet.

            "After a couple of drinks, I'm sure we'll be able to talk to one another, John.  Don't worry about that."  Whoa, what was that, John thought.  It was as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.  She got it right, though.  John needed to loosen up a bit, that was sure.  He was already having more fun than he had ever had in the last four months, hell, the last ten years. It could only get better.

            They arrived in front of the restaurant in no time.  She pulled in the parking lot, and parked in a spot that said "Employees Only."  "The perks of being the daughter of the owners," she said.  They got out of the car, and made their way into the restaurant.  The hostess smiled immediately. 

            "Jenna," she exclaimed.  "It's been such a long time."

            "Hello, Marita, how's it going?"  They exchanged hugs.

            "Oh, things are well, very well."  Marita was a woman near her forties, with a thick accent.  She still looked good, though, John pointed out.  She looked over at John, and then back to Jenna.  "Is this a new boyfriend?"

            John started to blush, and so did Jenna.  "No, no, he's a colleague of mine.  We work together."

            "IS that what they are calling it now?"  Marita's accent made it fun to listen to her talk.  It was Italian; this whole place was very Italian.  "And what is your name, young man?"

            "I'm John.  It's nice to meet you."

            "It is always a pleasure to meet someone that Jenna takes out to dinner."

            John smiled, and tried to hold back the blushing.  "It's a pleasure to be taken out to dinner by Jenna." 

            Marita laughed.  "A good sense of humor, eh?  That's the best quality of a person."

            Jenna was laughing, too.  "Do you have something for two?  You look kind of busy tonight."  Jenna was right, the place was packed.  There were at least four groups waiting to be seated, too.

            "You know that we always leave a table open for family."

            "I know, but today is a Sunday."

            "We always have a table for family.  Come this way." Jenna and John followed Marita as she led them to their table.  It was a very nice restaurant.  The lights were low, dimmed for the proper effect.  It was the kind of restaurant that you didn't have to dress up to go to, but it did help if you did.

            "Is mom or dad working today?"

            "No, they took the day off.  They wanted to watch something on television together, or something like that."  John looked around the restaurant; he hadn't been around this many people at one time in a long time.   The place was very relaxed, and John liked that.  He didn't want to have to sit around and be uptight for his first dinner away from the compound.   He was hoping that this kind of place would trigger some kind of memory, something that would give him the feeling that nothing that strange had happened to him in the ten years that he didn't remember.  He desperately wished for that.

            "You don't say, they're spending some quality time together?"

            "They are indeed."

            "Well, it'll be good for them to do something like that."  Marita picked up two menus, and motioned for the two to follow her.

            "I'll take you to the family table, now.  You both look like you are hungry."

            "That would be great, Marita."

            John followed a few steps behind, taking in the journey from the hostess area to their table.  He saw numerous couples enjoying each other's company. They were laughing, talking, smiling, and some were even kissing.  John felt something well up inside of him, he was sure he was jealous.  They all have a life, he thought to himself.  They all have a future.  What do I have?  I have a black hole for a brain and a future of nothing but-

            A future of what, another voice inside his head said.  What could the future possibly hold for someone who had gone through what he had?  Did it really matter?  John shook the thoughts out of his head.  Today was a day to celebrate.  He was free, or at least the closest thing to being free that he could possibly expect.  It was time to start living again, and being as normal as he could.

            "I'm not normal, though," he whispered to himself.

            Just snapped his attention back to reality.  He had arrived at the table, and Jenna had already seated herself down.  John thought that he must have looked like a fool talking to himself.  He smiled sheepishly, trying to play it off as best as he could.  HE sat down, and opened the menu.  "Sorry about that."

            "It's okay," Jenna reassured.  She gave him a very warm smile, something that John really appreciated.  With the doc out of the picture, she was the closest thing that he'd have to a friend, and it was early enough in their "relationship" that he could really screw things up.  He didn't want to do that, not with her.  "What were you thinking of?"

            John took in a deep breath, and started to answer.  "I was looking around, looking at all the couples in here.  It struck a nerve, or something like that.  I wondered if I would ever be in that position again, if I would ever truly have a normal life again."

            "Did you answer your question?"

            "Well, I have a working solution right now."

            "What is it?"

            "I'm not normal.  I couldn't possibly have a normal life."

            Jenna took a sip from her water glass, just enough to wet her lips.  They glistened in the shadowy light, as if they attracted every beam from inside the restaurant.  A small bead of water began to form on her bottom lip, and she used her tongue to wipe it away.  John had to do something to change the images that were forming in his head.  No gentleman should think what he was thinking, at least this early in the dinner.

            "Uh, so what did you do before you got assigned to me?"  It was a neutral question, a get to know you type.  Hopefully, it would diffuse the current state of affairs.

            Jenna glanced down at her menu, and then up at John.  "Where to start?  I went to college, then I got this idea in my head that I wanted to join the FBI."  She looked at her menu, and then obviously made her choice.  She looked up again.  "There used to be a show on television that had a very strong female character, and she worked with the FBI.  It looked interesting, and at first, with all the new things going on in my life, it was.  After a while, it got boring, translating hours of wire taps, real lame things like that.  I got stuck working up at headquarters in here in Washington doing all sorts of computer jobs.  I guess they think that computers are a specialty of mine.  I've done some programming, as well as some other things."

            "Hacking?"

            "Not hacking, God no. Lets just say that I logged into a few computers out there from the back door.  I was the best they had at it, so they left me there.  I was a full time computer nerd."

            "You certainly don't look like a computer nerd."

            "You'd be surprised."

            "I'm sure I would."

            "So, that's about it.  I was a computer nerd for the bureau. I got sick and tired of it one day and I went into my supervisor's office, and demanded the weirdest, strangest case that they had.  I needed a change, and I felt like I was going crazy.  So, they gave me you."

            John laughed a bit.  "I guess I know where I stand out there."

            "Don't take it personal, John.  There were a lot of agents that wanted to get in on this one. 'The Case of the Millenium' they were calling it."

            "And it was just a career change for you?"

            "Like I said, John, don't take it personally."

            "No, no, I get it.  I don't blame you. That other stuff sounds like it sucks pretty hard."

            "It did.  It definitely wasn't any fun, that's for sure."

            "Then I am happy that I can be of help to you and your career." 

            "Thank you, I guess."  She didn't know how to take what John was saying. He was having fun, though; a little bit of playful banter never hurt anyone. 

            "Where did you go to college?"

            Jenna smiled.  "You know you are going to find this rather weird."  She took a sip of her water.  "I went to the University of Michigan."

            John smiled.  "No shit?"

            "No shit."

            "What a small world."

            "That's what I was thinking when I read your file.  Then I remember that there was a few things that went on when I was there that was related to your abduction.  All sorts of new security procedures were put into place, and there were a lot more self-help classes.  It was interesting to see the University buckle down like it did.  They never mentioned a name, though, they only said that a student disappeared a while back, and there were no leads.  They kept it as quiet as they could, I guess, so no one would get the wrong idea."

            "Smart move on their part, I guess."

            "Yeah, I think it was. I got a black belt while I was there."

            "I guess I know who I am going to ask for help, then."

            "Very funny.  Besides, I'm a lover, not a fighter."

            John started to blush at that statement, although it was as harmless as anything could be.  Still, there was something in the air about her.  Something indeed.  John thanked God that the place was dark enough that she probably couldn't see.  At least she hoped he couldn't see. He tried to play it off, though."

            "So, you decided to become an FBI agent straight out of college?"

            "Pretty much, yes. There wasn't too much else that I could do with myself.  I liked my major enough, but I didn't want to make it a career.  Oh yeah, before you ask, it was mechanical engineering."

            John held up his hands.  "I wasn't going to ask."

            "Yeah, yeah, whatever.  Where was I?"  She twirled some hair in her fingers.  John really liked that.  "Oh yeah.  I didn't want to go work in the field, as they say, and I knew someone who had applied to the academy.  So, I decided to give it a shot.  I got accepted, and then the rest is history."  Just as she finished, a waitress walked over.  She took out her pad, and asked Jenna what she would like to order.

            "I'll have the chicken parmigiana," she replied.  She handed the menu to the young girl.

            "Hey!" John exclaimed almost immediately.  "That's what I was going to order!"

            "You still can.  Besides, that's all that I ever get here.  It's the best that I have ever tasted, even if my parents own the restaurant."

            "That's no excuse, though."

            "You can still order it."

            "And I shall."  He turned his attention to the waitress.  "I'll take the same thing, thank you very much."

            "Great, will you be having anything to drink?"

            Jenna looked at John, who shrugged his shoulders.  She shook her head, then said, "We'll have the house wine."

            "The house wine it is."  The waitress collected the menus.  "If you have any questions, just give a yell.  My name is Michelle, and I'll be here all night."  She tugged at her nametag as she delivered the standard line. She turned, and went to the kitchen.

            "My parents make the wine themselves.  It's really good."

            "I'm sure it is," he replied.  Then there was silence.

            It lasted for what seemed like at least an hour, but in reality, it was no more than two minutes.  John didn't know what to say, his selection of small talk had run out on him.  He could only imagine what she was thinking.  Probably something about him being a freak.  Maybe not that exactly, but John thought it was close.  Finally, she broke the silence.

            "This is tough, John.  They don't train you for this sort of thing."  John was surprised.  Jenna seemed to be at a loss for words, at a loss for something.  John didn't expect that, she seemed to be pretty locked on.

            "What's tough."

            "Well, um-"

            "Oh, I know.  Me. I'm tough."

            "It's this whole situation. I don't know how to approach anything.  I don't know what you are sensitive about, I don't know if you want to talk about anything. I don't know what to ask."

            "I totally understand you.  I wouldn't know what to do, either."

            "But I should."

            "I'm pretty sure that this doesn't happen too much, and it isn't in any manual anywhere.  Let me tell you, you are the first real person that I've talked to in four months.  Sure, the doc was there, but he was a psychologist."

            "Yeah."

            "Here, let me make it easy for you.  There is no forbidden subject with me.  Ask me anything you want, anytime, anywhere, and I will do my best to answer whatever question you have.  Does that help?"

            "Kind of, but it doesn’t make it any easier."

            "Yeah, I guess not. Just ask away."

            "Okay, I guess so."  She took one of the breadsticks that the waitress had just brought to them  "You should try these, they are a homemade recipe, packed with a butter and garlic sauce in the center.  Good stuff."

            "Sounds good." John reached over and grabbed one.  He bit into one; the butter-garlic sauce lit his mouth afire with taste.  They were so soft and chewy, truly one of the best breadstick that he had had in a long time.  "Mmm, they are good."

            "Told you."  Jenna took another bite, and washed it down with her water.  "Okay, I might as well get the most obvious question out of the way.  What happened to you?"

            "To tell the absolute truth, I don't know.  All I know was that I remember the last ten years in my life a totally different way than the last ten years unfolded."

            "You aren't joking about that, then?"

            "No, I'm not.  I have ten years full of memories, from me being in the Navy, to my job with the government afterwards.  I had a tremendous fight with my family during the time, too, a fight that separated us.  It was terrible."

            "What else happened?"

            "Isn't it in the file?"

            "Actually, no.  Your file, for the most part, is classified.  The part of it that isn't classified actually has very little information in it.  It says that you were abducted from the U of M campus approximately ten years ago, and then you just showed up again.  That's really all I know.  There were a lot of rumors floating around, though.  Most were of the bullshit variety, stuff like alien abduction and the whatnot."    Jenna looked at the expression on his face when she mentioned the alien abduction.  "You don't honestly believe that, do you?"

            "I'll tell you what I know, which isn't too much more than what was in my file, I guess.  According to records, I disappeared ten years ago, like you already know.  Then, right around four months ago, I showed up back on the roof of the Pentagon, buck naked, and filled with ten years of false memories."

            "What do you mean by false memories, exactly?"

            John took another bite from his breadstick, and continued without completely finishing.  "Well, like I said, I remember graduating from Michigan, and I remember being commissioned in the Navy.  I went to SWOS in Newport, then some more training, and then I went to my first ship, the USS Oldendorf, a Spruance-Class destroyer.  Then I went to my next ship, the USS Tarawa, a helicopter and amphibious warfare ship.  Both were out of San Diego, California.  Then, after my original four-year commitment, I went to work for the government, here in Washington, working for the FBI, strangely enough.  I handled all sorts of different cases, or at least I remember doing many different cases.  Then, a real interesting case fell into my lap.

            "I was asked, or more correctly, I was volunteered to go back to my hometown and investigate a series of UFO sightings.  The government had claimed to never have any type of contact with extra terrestrials at all, and according to my memories, they never had.  But that was besides the point."  John tried to read Jenna's face, to see what she was thinking, to try to understand what she was all about.  There was nothing that he could gather from just looking at her.  It was only the first night.

            "So the government has never had any contact with an alien race?"

            "I don’t know, I haven't had access to that kind of information."  He noticed the waitress coming with the food.  "Fast service," he said with a smile.  She smiled back.

            "We aim to please."

            "I bet you do."  The wine must have been kicking in, because John was feeling much more at ease with himself.  There wasn't too much to being out in public amongst the living.  It only took a few hours to get back on your feet, and start to feel the groove again.  He could handle it.

            With a nice warm smile, Michelle placed John and Jenna's entrees in front of them, and opened another bottle of wine.  John was all for that, he was starting to feel the buzz, as well as a general lessening of his inhibitions.  It had been a while since he had drank any alcohol, in any form, and there was no better time than now to refresh his memory.  Plus, it made telling this story easier than ever before.

            "Thank you, Michelle," John said to her as she finished.

            "Is there anything else you two would like?"

            Jenna shook her head, and smiled at John's sudden change in character.  She must have known why, because she started laughing when John took a nice big gulp from his glass.  "No, that will do it for now."  John had to watch himself; he needed to get some food in him, before he drank too much.  He cut a piece of the chicken, dipped in the marinara sauce, and tasted it.  It was the best he had ever remembered tasting.  "You are right, this is unbelievable."

            "Told you."

            "You sure did."

            "Yes I did. Please keep going."

            John finished another bite.  "Okay, okay."  He washed it down with some more wine, then continued.  "Like I said, I don't know the level of contact, if any, the government had with alien races.  And to be perfectly honest, I don't really give a shit about it.  It doesn't matter, not to me." 

            "Why doesn't it matter to you?"

            "Well, it's like this.  I was taken, or better yet, I was gone for ten years.  That's a long time.  If I was gone for a reason, then that's all fine and good. It doesn't matter to me if the government has known about aliens, or if the government has had contact with aliens.  Hell, I want to think that I made up a story about where I was for the last ten years.  I don't know what happened, and I don't know that I will ever know what happened to me.  I have to start living again.  I have to regain my life, and start over.  I don't have time to sit around and wait for men from outer space to come down and tell me what I need or need not do.  Fuck em!  That's what I say.  Fuck em!"

            "I think I understand you."

            "It's not that I don't care what happened to me, I care a whole hell of a lot.  I just don't see the need to dwell on it any longer, now that I am free of that place, and I have a chance to live my life again."

            "And you don't believe the extra-terrestrial angle that has been spun along side your story."

            "Believe it?  To be honest, I believe it. I bet its part of some big agenda, or something like that.  Well, fuck their agenda, I have a life to live."

            "Amen to that, John.  I know some sorry people that can use that bit of advice."

            "So do I.  Here's hoping that I actually follow my own!"  He raised his glass, and she followed.

            "Here's to your new life."

6

            "Sir, we found this letter posted on your door."

            "Bring it to me."

            With the letter on his desk, the man waved his secretary out of his office.  He looked at it, and then put it on his desk.  He picked up his phone, and pressed one of the pre-programmed numbers.  He listened to the voice mail memo, and then began to speak.  "This is your father.  I think that we need to step up our end of the operation.  He was released today, and he's going to go home, he's leaving tomorrow.  You know what you have to do, son.  Be discrete, and be safe."  He hung up the phone, and looked at the letter again:

 

Dear Senator Chalmers:

           

7

            "Well, we're here."  John opened his eyes; he had fallen asleep soon after they had left the restaurant.  "Time to wake up."

            "I'm up, I'm up."  He couldn't believe that he had fallen asleep.  He must have needed it. 

            "Good.  I didn't want to have to carry you into the house."

            "Don't worry about that, I'll make it."  John watched as she pulled into what looked like the woods that he remembered playing in when he was a kid.  There was a road, no, it was more like a path, that cut through the woods.  "How long was I out?"

            "About a half hour.  I didn't have the heart to wake you up."

            "Thanks, I think."

            "Don't worry about it, that wine seemed to really kick your ass."  There was one thing that he already liked about Jenna, her full use of the English language.  He found it comforting.  He felt at ease with her, something that he hadn't felt since he'd been back.  (not done.  Need to have them have a talk, and then he sleeps, but wakes up, following something in the house that stays in the shadows, and he's led outside, and witnesses a meteor shower light show, and one of the meteors comes right at him.)

 

8

            He woke on the floor in the hallway, not knowing where he was, or how he got there.  The world was spinning, and he couldn't do anything to stop it.  The pain that he was feeling in his head, it felt as if suns were exploding.  He felt something in his nose, running out of it.  He touched his nose, he felt something warm.  He looked at it; it was his own blood.  He tried to sit up, but he couldn't, his muscles wouldn't respond at all.  It was almost as if his body had tripped off line or something. 

            He could feel his body shaking, but he couldn't do anything about it.  He knew he was breathing, and he tried to speak, he tried to make any kind of noise, but he couldn't.  He laid there, waiting for something to happen.  Anything to snap him out of whatever was happening to him. 

            He heard a ringing.  He didn't know where it was coming from.  He couldn't do anything about it.  The ringing intensified the pain in his head, but he was helpless to do anything about it.   Finally, it stopped.  He was grateful.

            He heard a voice in the distance, a female voice.  Then it stopped.  Everything stopped.  The spinning stopped, the pain stopped, and he could tell that the bleeding stopped.  He sat up, got his bearings.  He was in the hallway, and he saw an enormous puddle of blood where he was laying.  It must have come from my nose, he thought to himself. He felt his face, and he could feel the dried blood caked on.  He just sat there, taking it all in. Then he heard footsteps.  "Oh my God," the voice from before.  He remembered it.  Jenna.  "Are you alright?"  She knelt beside him, looking him over.

            "I…I don't know.  I woke up here."

            "You're bleeding, are you hurt?"

            "I have a headache, but nothing else.  I think it's coming from my nose."  He sniffed up, but she shook her head at that.  She left him there, and ran to the bathroom.  He looked down the hallway.  Someone was there, standing about twenty feet from him, staring at him.  She ran back, and when she knelt beside him again, this time with a damp towel, the figure dissolved before his eyes.  It was smiling at him as it went.

            She caught his stare, and looked in that direction.  She didn't see anything.  She turned her attention to cleaning him up.  "John, what happened to you?"

            John tried to relax.  He felt secure in her arms, unafraid of what he just saw, unafraid of what had happened to him the night before.  Since he didn't remember what happened, there was nothing to be scared about.  "I don't remember.  I woke up here, in the hallway, and I couldn't move.  Then, I could move, after the phone rang."

            "Yeah, that was my boss.  They want you and me down at the J. Edgar immediately."

            "Something's happened, hasn't it?"

            She shook her head.  "I think so.  They sounded rather tense over there."

            "Do you think that they'll give me a gun?"

            "Shut up, John.  Let's get you cleaned up and into some nice clothes and get over there."

            "Yes, ma'am."

            She looked at him strangely, as if he had something growing out of his forehead.  Then she smiled.  "You call me that again, I'll kick your ass."

            "Sure thing, ma'am."  She helped him up, thinking that he'd be weak from the blood loss.  He wasn't, though, he seemed to be at full strength. 

            "John," she started, "how do you feel right now?"

            John stopped, thought about it a second, and answered.  "I feel fine, good as new, actually."    "You lost too much blood to be feeling fine.  You should be light-headed, at least."

            "I'm not, though.  I feel really good, actually."

            "Good, good.  Well, wash up and get dressed.  We have a meeting to go to."

(<> <>)

            Agent Dimonte and her shabbily dressed ward walked into the briefing room which was already filled with people.  There were two open chairs, and they took them.  She recognized about half of the people in the room.  The others seemed to be rather stuffy; too stuffy to be FBI agents, but definitely feds.  Soon, her boss, Assistant Director Erik Wlazlo walked in.  He nodded towards Dimonte, how smiled back at him.  He sat down, and another man walked to the front of the room, and pulled down a movie screen.  HE had a remote control in his hand, and he pointed it at the back wall, where the video equipment was.  The screen illuminated with the seal of the FBI.

            "I’m Special Agent Douglas Wright, I'm the Bureau's liaison to the intelligence community.  Last night, there was an incident in upstate Michigan, just south of Traverse City."  He clicked the remote control, and on the screen came a satellite photograph of the Lower Peninsula of Michigan.  Sure enough, it was easy to see what they were talking about.  There was a small black circle south of Traverse City, which stood out against the green of the state.  Something had happened, something big.

            "We don't know exactly what it was, but we are thinking that it was an explosion.  The damage is extensive, although no major cities were hit.  There are deaths, probably thousands of them.  We haven't been able to get any teams up there at all to investigate."

            Jenna looked in horror, but John was actually very calm about it, as if he wasn't surprised.   Jenna couldn't stop staring at the screen.  John leaned over and whispered in her ear.  "This is only the beginning."

            She diverted her stare to him.  "What are you talking about?"

            "I don't know, I have this feeling that this is nothing, just the beginning of something."  She stared at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.  Special Agent Wright looked in their direction.  John saw him, and sat back in his chair.  He continued.

            "We were tipped off last night that this was going to happen.  It tip was anonymous.  Frankly, we didn't believe it, but when I called a friend at the NSA and told him about it, he checked some satellite photos and found this.  We don't have any photographic evidence of how it happened.  As far as we can tell, there isn't any radiation or other effects that would have been caused by a nuclear blast, and the damaged area is too large to be anything else.  Frankly, we are at a loss for an explanation."

            John sat back and watched the agent finish up.  He wondered to himself why he was there.  His answer would be given shortly.  Jenna's boss, Assistant Director Wlazlo stood up and walked to the front of the room.  "There is something else.  Before you start groaning on me here, listen to everything I have to say.  There were some unexplained disturbances in that area last night.  There were numerous reports of strange lights in the Traverse City area.  Are these related?  We are not sure.  All avenues of investigation must be pursued."

            "I guess that's why we are here," John smirked.

            "The planes are leaving in an hour, so pack some things, because you all are going to Michigan."

            John and Jenna stood up, and started out the room.  "Not so fast, you two," Wlazlo called.  "I need to talk to the both of you."  They stood around, and waited for the room to clear.  "I take it you are John Ford, right?"

            "Good guess, Chief."  Wlazlo looked somewhat put off at that comment. 

            "Fine.  You two, I want you to look into anything to do with those lights."  He looked towards John with very inquisitive eyes.  "I've read your file, Mr. Ford, and I don't know how you fooled into thinking all that.   I'll tell you this, I don't buy into it at all."

            "I gather as much."

            "I don't want you screwing up this investigation.  This is something big; there is loss of life, probably a couple hundred, worst case, a thousand or so.  The media is out of the picture for right now, and I don't want any wind of you or your little story leaking out."

            "Trust me, chief, if anything gets leaked out, it isn't because of me.  I'm still officially dead."

            He looked at John long and hard.  "Don't mess this up, Mr. Ford."

            "I'm the real deal, Chief.  Trust me."

            "Get out of here, and get to Michigan."  The two of them got up, and left him sitting in the room.  Jenna looked over at John.

            "I think he likes you."

            "I love to see an open mind like that in power.  It makes me all warm and tingly."

            She laughed at him.  "You ready to go home?"

            "Traverse City is at least a few hundred miles from Detroit.  I can handle it, though."

            They made their way to the airport, and waited for the charter plane to take off for Detroit Metro Airport, then a connecting flight up to Traverse City.  They sat in the airport silently.  "You know, Jenna, there is something strange about this."

            "What do you mean?"

            "Do you ever get de ja vu?" 

            "Sometimes, yeah."

            "Well, I just got some major heebie jeebies here.  It's almost like we've been here before."  Everything about this scene seemed familiar to him, from the gate they were sitting at, to the hall that was just behind him.  He had been there before, he knew it, and he felt it.  He knew that he was here with her, too.  He had to be, it was the only explanation.

            "But I didn't know you until yesterday."

            "I know, but still, I am really feeling something strange here."

            "I think you are just nervous."

            John turned in his seat, and saw a small bar down the hall.  It seemed too familiar too be just nerves.  He had been here before, he just wasn't sure when.  "I've been here before, with you.  I swear it."

            She gave him a look that made him feel like, well, like he was a freak.  She was probably thinking that, anyway.  "Hey," he said.  "I'm just telling it like I'm feeling it."

            "Look, they're waving us on, let's go."  She got up, picked up her briefcase, and headed toward the door to the tarmac.  John followed.

            "I thought that I was supposed to let you know when some weird stuff was happening to me."

            "You are, but you don't have to freak me out when you are doing it."

            John smiled.  "Sorry, I didn't check it out on the freak-out-o-meter.  I'll consult it next time."  She turned towards him, and brought her face to within an inch of John's, their eyes locked together. 

            "I felt it too, John.  Let's not discuss this anymore in front of these guys, okay?"
            John was astounded.  "What, yeah, uh, sure." 

            "I don't want them to get the wrong ideas at all."

            John shook his head.  This whole situation was messed up, right from the beginning.  He followed her on the plane, and sat in his seat.  It was a nice plane, instead of regular seats, inside it were desks and couches, with televisions scattered throughout.  Most were tuned to CNN, but John would fix that.  He stowed his bag in the overhead compartment, and looked at Jenna. "I'm going to take that TV back there and find a movie or something.  I'll let you people do your thing, and stay out of your way."

            "Okay, but if we need you for something, then believe me, the movie is getting turned off."

            John nodded, and went towards the back of the plane.  He took command of the back most television, and started flipping through the stations.  He was sure it was a satellite feed, because it seemed like he got all of the stations.  He couldn't find anything worthwhile on the movie channels, so he tried ESPN.  Sure enough, it was another hockey game.  As luck would have it, it was the Red Wings again, this time they were in their away red jerseys against the San Jose Sharks.  He smiled, and sat in the couch, ready to enjoy the game for the duration of the flight.

            He had a view of the rest of the plane, and he watched Jenna as she set up herself on one of the desks.  Her movements were poetic, smooth and with a style that he would have never guessed a person could have.  There was something more about her, more familiar than he could ever know.  To him, she was safety, she was comfort, she was reality. 

            He watched her interact with the other agents, exchanging notes, ideas, and whatnot.  Every once in a while, they would look back in John's direction, and never with a favorable look on their face.  What were they thinking about? John wondered to himself.  They're making fun of me, I can just tell.  They're saying, "Why does that freak show back there have to come along with us.  Why do we have to baby-sit a freaking alien abductee?  Why do we have to be put out in order to satisfy his whims?"  He knew they were, he could tell just by the looks on their face.  He was nothing but a tabloid story, nothing real or genuine.  He was definitely a stranger in a strange land now, especially on this plane.  Maybe he would understand, maybe one day everyone would understand. 

            He felt so alone right there, as if he didn't have anyone in the world.  Not even Jenna.  She was egging them on, she must be.  John slumped down in the couch, grabbed a throw pillow, and hugged it tightly.  The worst part about the last four months is that his emotions were on a constant roller coaster ride.  He couldn't do anything about it, except flow with them.  He didn't want to break down in front of all these big, tough FBI agents, but it was hard to hold it in.  Jenna must have seen this, because she came back to him.  She sat down next to him in the couch.

            "What's the matter?" she asked soothingly.

            "I don't know," he lied.  "I just feel so alone right now."

            "Alone?"

            "I feel like I don't have anyone at all in the world, no one who believes me, no one who will stick up for me, no one who loves me.  I'm nothing here, nothing at all."

            "That's bullshit, John.  Believe it or not, I care.  And I do believe you.  You'll be fine, John, and as long as I'm around, you won't be alone.  Believe me."

            He smiled at her, and she seemed satisfied with her job there.  She got up, and walked back towards the desk in the front of the plane.  Not before planting a kiss on his forehead.  John noticed that the other agents saw that, and looked more pissed off than ever.  He still felt alone, still felt like no one cared in the world, but at least he had her, someone who had to care.  He turned his attention to the game, the first period was just about to start. 

(<> <>)

            The first period was exciting.  The Red Wings dominated, just like John remembered they used to.  He heard all sorts of familiar names, like Darren McCarty, Kris Draper, Sergie Federov, and Martin Lapointe.  It was nice to see that the Wings still had a lot of their talent still on the team.  Detroit out shot San Jose 12 to three, and had a two goal lead.  There were a couple of fights, and lots of good, fast action.  That was what was important, in the long run.

            He did scream out the first time that the Red Wings scored, much to the chagrin of the agents in the plane.  They looked at him worse than before, but all he did was say, "one nothing, Wings."  It felt so good to be watching a game again, it made him feel normal.  At least something did.

            The hum of the turbine engines made it difficult to hear the game, without turning it up to a high level.  He wouldn't do that, so he had to bear with only watching the game.  He was on the edge of his seat, as the play developed.  It was exciting, it was fun.  It was about the best time that he has had since he was back.  It was about time.

            He didn't even notice that Jenna had walked up to him.  She stood there, until he noticed him.  He looked at her, and she smiled.  "Do you mind if I sit down?"

            "Sure, go ahead."  She looked tapped right now.  "What's up?  Your FBI buddies not that much fun that you have to sit with the side show?"

            "Don't feel sorry for yourself, John, its very unbecoming."

            "It's hard sometimes."

            "Well, don't.  Those guys, though, they're being a bunch of dicks."
            John was surprised to hear that come from a woman.  That's fine, though, he thought, it makes talking fun.  "What me to take them outside and kick the shit out of them?"

            She laughed.  "That would be nice, I would love to do it myself."

            "Wow."

            "I am a black belt in Aikido, didn't you know that?"

            "Um, no, that wasn't listed in your file."

            "Well, I am, so don't give me any shit."

            "Aye, aye, ma'am!" He popped a salute and a smile.

            "At ease, at ease.  I just wanted to talk a bit."

            "Those guys look like they tore you up a bit."

            "Like I said, they were being dicks.  They kept calling me Scully."

            "Who's Scully?"

            She shifted a bit in her seat.  "Remember when I told you that I was kind inspired to join the FBI, based on a television character?"

            "Yeah."

            "Well, the television show was called The X-Files.  It was about a FBI agent named Fox Mulder, whose sister was abducted by aliens. That sent him on a personal crusade to find out what happened to her.  In his searches, he found the X-Files, a group of unexplained and unsolved cases that the FBI has filed away.  Well, when the show started, there was an agent assigned to him to debunk him.  She was a scientist, a doctor, and her name was Dana Scully.  She was the voice of reason throughout the show, even with all the strange shit that happened to the two of them.  It was a great show, one of the best written on television."  She looked at the agents in the front of the plane.  "Those assholes started calling me Scully when you first came back here, and haven't stopped yet. At first, I was like 'Hey, that's fine, that's cool.'  Now, I want to rip their hearts out."

            "So I'm this Fox Mulder guy?"

            "Something like that.  You may not be an agent, but the same type of character."

            "So this is like a story or something, a play we are acting out?"

            "Some seem to think so."

            "Do you think so?"

            "With that much land scorched in Michigan, it doesn't seem like a play to me."

            "Damn.  Sorry about this."

            "It's not your fault, just the fault of a few narrow minded pricks, that's all."

            "Like I said, I'll kick their ass for you!"

            "My hero.  I thought this would be a good chance to talk some more, anyway."

            "What do you want to talk about?"
            "You.  I want to know about you, John."

            "What do you want to know?"

            "Well, what kind of music did you listen to?"

            John thought for a second.  He hadn't listened to music in a while.  "Let's see.  I used to listen to all sorts of music.  I grew up listening to Led Zeppelin, Queen, The Beatles, CCR, and bands like that.  I grew up in the Mtv generation, so whatever was on that station, I was listening to.  In high school, I got into rap, and hip-hop. In my senior year, I started hanging out with those who listened to metal, and in college, I pretty much stayed that course. The bands that I really liked were Metallica, Megadeth, Anthrax, Guns N Roses, bands like that.  I haven't really listened to music recently, though, since I've been back."

            "Okay, that’s good."

            "What kind did you listen to?"

            "I wasn't too picky, I just listened to whatever was on the radio at the time.  If it was good, if I liked it, then it was fine with me."

            "Yeah, that sounds like a pretty good philosophy."

            "It made it easy to go out, I could go anywhere, it didn't matter."

            "I can see where that would be an advantage."

            "Okay, so now I know what you listened to, now, did you read?"

            "Yeah, I read.  But in college, I couldn't read too much more than what I was told to read.  I'm sure you understand."

            "Yeah.  Did you like any of the stuff they made you read at all?"

            "Some of it.  I liked the Scarlet Letter, there was a short story by Hawthorne, too, that I really enjoyed, called something like Good Man Brown, or something like that.  It was about a man who goes into the forest at night, in Salem, and runs into a bunch of witches and stuff.   I also liked Brave New World, too, very much."

            "I've read those, too.  I didn't like them as much as you did, but they were good."

            "I read the other classics, too, but I didn't like them as much as the ones I already mentioned."

            "Okay, now something a bit more serious."

            "Okay, shoot."

            "Was there anyone special back in your life when you left?"

            John thought for a second.  He hadn't thought of that, not anyone outside of his family.  He didn't feel like he missed anyone, not like that.  "No, there wasn't anyone in my life at the time."  He then remembered Michelle.  "I did have a serious girlfriend for a few years, but we broke up before my senior year.  I wasn't involved with anyone."

            Jenna nodded.  "That's good, since no one had to go through all the pain and torture."

            "Only my family."

            "Yeah, only your family."

            "I hope they'll be happy I'm back, and alive."

            "I'm sure they will be.  I would be if the same thing happened to me."

            "Hopefully, I'll get to see them."

            "I promise, you will.  After this investigation."

            "Good."  He turned to the game, it was still in the intermission.  "Anything else you want to ask me?"

            "Yes, actually.  What happened last night?"

            "What do you mean?"

            "Why did you wake up in my hallway, in a puddle of blood?"

            John stared at her.  "That's something that I would like to know, too.  If I knew, I would tell you.  Last night was a blur, I don't remember specific details.  I did have a dream, though, that I was chasing someone, but that was about it.  Just a dream, just foggy memories."

            "Okay, if you remember anything else, you have to let me know, okay?"

            "Sure, I promise."  She stood up, and looked back at the FBI agents, some of which were glancing back at the two of them every once in a while. 

            "It's time to get back to work, I guess."

            "Yeah, and besides, the second period is about to start."  She reached out her hand, and John took it.

            "Don't worry, John, it'll be okay."

            John looked at the others in the front of the plane.  "They should be worried. Me?  I think that I was meant for this."

 

9

            The plane touched down outside of Traverse City.  There were cars waiting for them.  Everyone piled in, and they were off to the site. 

            It had made the news, but the story was contained nicely.  It was described as a fire, probably brought on from lightning, and a very dry winter.  In fact, it hadn't rained or snowed in that area for almost a month, with unseasonably high temperatures.  A decent cover story, although they didn't know what they were covering.  It very well could be lightning, but the fact that it was a perfect circle all but rules that explanation out.  An explosion was the working hypothesis.

            John and Jenna had to share a care with two other agents, Special Agent Mark Walls and Darrin Mack.  They were in the front seat, John and Jenna were in the back.  "When I was a kid," John started, "I used to come up near here and camp with my family.  There was a small water park in Traverse City, we would go there.  It was a great time."  John was fixated by the scenery, he was happy to be back in familiar surroundings. "We'd go cherry picking, water sky in the bay, have a lot of fun.  Those were good memories."

            "They sound like it."

            "My sister's friend's family had a cabin up here, and we would go up and visit them on Memorial Day, Labor Day.  We even went up there for Thanksgiving.  That was a great time.  It was already snowing, and the trees where bare, it was remarkable.  It almost made me want to live up here, all the time."

            "I can see why.  This area is beautiful."

            "Plus, the biggest city is Traverse City, and Cadillac, and they aren't that big at all.  It's a great area to be in."

            The car continued on its way.  In less than an hour, there were there.  There were roadblocks set up, keeping unauthorized people out of the area.  There were media there, and a bunch of spectators, probably they all had some type of connection to the area.  The agents filed out of the cars, and flashed their credentials.  They moved past the roadblocks.  John held back a bit, though.

            "What's wrong, John?"

            John started walking around the perimeter that had been set up by the police.  He motioned for her to follow him.  She did, without hesitation.  He continued walking, not sure for what he was looking for, but would know it when he saw it. 

            The perimeter itself was made by the DO NOT CROSS police tape, but the same force responsible for the entire thing created the true perimeter.  The area affected was part of a forest, and now, there was a thirty-mile diameter circle cut from it.  Perfectly.  The roped off section was about a hundred feet back from the edge of the area, so no one could actually see the affected area.  It was a nice, natural protection against the wrong ideas getting out.  The authorities especially didn't want the wrong ideas getting out.  They probably wouldn't want the real reasons getting out, either.

            John kept tracing the outside perimeter, looking carefully, and waiting for it to jump out at him.  "John, what the hell are you doing?"

            "I'm looking for clues, Jenna."

            "There is an access point to the area we should go through.  It's safe, it's controlled."

            "But it isn't right.  Your FBI people aren't going to be able to figure out anything about this place."

            "Why not?"

            "Because it wasn't meant for them to understand any of it."

            "Are you saying that this was done for you."

            John stopped what he was doing, and walked up to her.  "Yeah, that's exactly what I am saying." He walked past her, and headed back to the car.  "It's going to be dark soon, and we'll need some tools."  He continued, and she ran to catch up.

            "What's going on here, John?"

            He didn't stop, he was like a man possessed.  "It's hard to describe, but its just something that I know.  It's like a feeling, and I can tell when that feeling is right, or wrong.  Right now, that feeling is telling me that I have to get some flashlights, and go in over there."

            "Why?"

            "I don't know why, Jenna, I just know.  Maybe there will be some answers in there.  Maybe more questions.  Who knows?  I do know that I have to go in there.  You can come if you want to."

            "Trust me, I'm in this with you."

            "Good."  He walked to the car, and pressed the trunk release button in the front seat. He went back, and found what he was looking for.  He handed a flashlight to Jenna.  "Is there any way that I could get a gun?"

            Jenna looked at him surprised.  "I thought you said this was something that you had to do, that it felt right?"

            "I never said that they'd be nice."

            Jenna stopped for a second to process that.  They?  "They?  What do you mean, they?"

            "You don't really think that we caused this to happen, do you?  Or nature?''

            "What are you saying, John?"

            "They're here!"  Jenna's face went white.  She stopped dead in her tracks.

            "Who'd they?"

            "Aliens, Jenna, honest to God extra-terrestrials!  And I want to lodge a complaint with them."  Jenna found her carry on bag, and reached in.  She took out a case, a small case.  She opened it.  Inside was a nice .9 mm Beretta.  She handed it to John.

            "You can use this."

            "You got one?"

            She patted her side.  "Sure do."

            "Well, my destiny awaits."  He turned back in the direction of his opening.  He began his trek into the heart of darkness.

            He took off ahead of her, and at a good pace.  She ran to keep up with him, and finally, she caught up with him.  "They aren't looking in the right place," he said to her without breaking stride or even turning towards him.  "I know where we have to look."  He kept going, a man with a mission, finally.

            They passed the area that they had previously stopped at, but John didn't stop there.  He kept going and going, never slowing.  Jenna stayed right on his tail, glad that she hadn't given up jogging at all.  "Where are you going?"

            "I don't know, but I'll know it when-"

            "Yeah, when you get there.  I head that one already."  She was starting to lose her breath, but John didn't seem to be tiring.  He never looked back.  "We should have driven."

            "No, this is the way it has to be.  We can't drive into the center of this."

            "Actually, no one has been able to get in there yet, the ground is really loose, almost like quicksand or something."

            "You know why?"

            "Because no one but you is supposed to be going in there?"

            "You got it."

            The sun was setting, and a beautiful sunset was beginning to develop.  If they had stopped to look, they would have seen the shooting star that crossed in front of the orange and red sun, although it wasn't a shooting star at all.  They kept going, oblivious to craft that had just entered the atmosphere, making its way to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.  They had more things to worry about.

            Finally John stopped, and stared at a series of three trees, almost identical to each other.  He studied it for a second, and took a few steps backwards.  He squinted, and knelt down, as if he was preparing a putt for birdie.  He stood up, took the Beretta from his jacket pocket, and jammed in a clip.  He turned to Jenna, who was surprised at the stern look on his face.  He was different than he was the entire time that she had known him, which as only a day so far.  In that time, he seemed vulnerable, emotional, almost like a victim.  This morning, when he was on the floor of her hallway, he was like a young, hurt child.  Now she was almost afraid of the person that was in front of her, holding the gun as if he meant to use it.  "This is the place."

            "Are you okay, John?" she asked.

            "You better arm yourself, I don't know what's going to happen in there."  He started for the three trees.

            She took out her piece, and made sure it was loaded.  She walked after him, looking around, not sure what she was looking for.  It comforted her that they were alone.  She didn't want to imagine what they might find in there.

(<> <>)

For some reason, he stopped before the trees, and took a deep breath.  He was furious; furious at the position he was in right now, that he was the one that had to go through with this insanity.  Whatever it was that was drawing him there, it had better be damn important, because if it wasn't, there would, one way or another, be hell to pay.

            He looked down at the gun.  It gave him some security, not a whole lot, but some.  He figured that he ran for at least a half-hour, which would place them at least two miles away from the rest of the investigators, four or five if he were lucky.  That was enough to keep everything quiet, or at least out of the eyes of the authorities.  He was still with an agent of the FBI, and technically, he was working for the government, but he knew that she was with him, he could tell that, and this was way over the jurisdiction of the United States Government, any branch of it.

            He took a step into the trees, not knowing what to find.  He looked around, but couldn't see anything.  It was dusk, and the lighting was playing tricks on his eyes.  He couldn't be sure what he was seeing.  It was only a hundred feet or so to the edge of it, and he could barely make it out.  He started straight for it, for it was his destination, not this little thicket of trees and bushes.  His eyes tried to focus on the area, and he could tell that by just looking at it, that it was huge.  Finally, without incident, he was at the edge.

            His eyes grew big, and his mouth opened.  It was amazing.  Everything in front of him was black, almost like an asphalt parking lot.  There were very few things left standing, and they appeared to be just mounds of black. He knelt down, and touched it.  It was soft, very light.  It reminded him or graphite, the kind that he used to put on the wheels of the pinewood derby cars that he made when he was in the boy scouts.   He rubbed it between his fingers, and it left them black. 

            He heard Jenna arrive besides him, and heard her swear.  "Holy shit, John, what could have done this."

            He started shaking his head.  "I don't know."

            She looked at what he was doing.  "What is it?"

            "I think its carbon, or graphite, or something along those lines.  Whatever it is, it’s all that's left of this entire area."

            She scanned the area, and he was right.  Besides the mounds, it was all the black powerdy substance.  It was almost perfect, too, as if no one had ever disturbed it.  "It seems so perfect."

            "Yeah, too perfect.  You can tell your friends that whatever did this is a direct threat to the national security of the human race."

            "I can't believe that something like this could just appear here, with no one seeing a thing."

            "Everyone that would have seen it are dead, somewhere in there."  He pointed into the vastness, now almost too dark to see. 

            Jenna shuddered.  The FBI's preliminary briefing stated that over five thousand people lived in the effected area, and no one has been in contact with any of them at all.  It certainly looked like they were part of the ocean of blackness.  "Do you think this stuff is ash?"

            "It could be, it's been a while since I've had any contact with stuff like this.  It certainly could be, though."

            "This formed in a little less than ten hours, though, the satellite photos confirmed this."

            "This could have happened in a blink of an eye, too.  We can't be sure, not at all."

            "What I'm saying, though, is that it's too quick to be a fire, at least any fire that we know how to make."

            "It's definitely alien, whatever did this."

            "Maybe they're alive in there, somewhere."  John flashed her a look, one that she agreed with.  There was nothing living about this area of land.  Not now, and never again.  "You can always have hope, though."

            "Sure you can."

            "You don't sound too hopeful."

            "No, I'm not.  I was meant to come here.  Whoever wanted me here left a calling card in the form of the deaths of five thousand people.  There isn't a whole lot of hope in a body count that high."

            "I guess not."  She looked around again.  "It is awesome, though."

            "Yeah, it is."  He stood up, and looked around again.  The trees around the edge had been damaged, but in a way that was unlike anything that John had ever seen before.  He expected them to be burned, but not cut.  At the edge, if a tree was straddling the edge, it was sliced up the trunk.  It was cut all the way to the top, creating a smooth surface at the edge of the phenomenon.  The area seemed like a bowl, with the trees marking the far walls of it.  As far as he could see in either direction, it was the same along its edges.  He shook his head.  What kind of power could do this so perfectly?  It boggled his mind to try to find an answer.  The only chance he had to find one was on the inside. 

            "The agents said that they couldn't get more than five feet in without sinking into the black stuff," Jenna reminded him. 

            "I know, but I have a feeling that I'll be able to get in there."  He started walking. He put his first foot down, and felt it sink into the soft black dust.  Then it stopped about two inches down.  "See, only a few inches.  I'll be okay."

            "I'm coming with you, John," she said, and started walking in.

            "No!" he shouted, louder than he anticipated.  When he did, a blinding flash of light erupted all around.  She tried to walk into the area, but something stopped her dead in her tracks.  Whatever it was, it was invisible, but it definitely wouldn't let her in.  John stood on the other side of it, looking at her.  "This is something that I have to do by myself.  You can't come."

            She looked at him, helpless.  This wasn't right, nothing about it was right, and she couldn't do anything about it.  John started walking backwards from her, and flashed her a smile.  She knew then that it was worse than she thought it was. 

            As John took his steps backwards, he noticed that the ground wasn't soft like it was before.  It was hard, almost like concrete.  He smiled at Jenna, then looked down.  It looked the same, it looked like the black dust that was there before, but now, it was solid.  He shrugged his shoulders, and started in the other direction towards the interior of the area.

(<> <>)

No one had ever seen anything like it before.  With the flash of light, lightning, they thought, three agents who were still in the inside of the phenomenon disappeared.  The others were thrown back from the edge almost fifty feet.  They approached the edge, but they couldn't get within ten feet of it without throwing up.  It was the strangest thing that anyone had seen.

(<> <>)

John Ford walked straight ahead.  He didn't know where to go exactly, he figured that the mound ahead of him would be a good place to start. 

            He kept his flashlight off; his vision was adapting nicely to the dark.  He could see fine, not in great detail, but he could see, and that was all that really counted.   He walked towards the first mound, hoping that it was his destination.  He couldn't hear a thing inside the area.  He saw the trees moving with the wind, but he didn't hear that.  It was quiet.  It made him nervous. 

            The mound wasn't more than a hundred feet in front of him.  He never seemed to get close to it, though.  It must be my mind, he said to himself.   He stopped, and took a deep breath.  He noticed that he was trembling.  His flashlight was unsteady in front of him.  He thought for a moment, but then was overwhelmed by waves of terror so intense, he couldn't more.  He darted in a circle, shining his flashlight in as many places as he could.  He was being watched, he could feel it.  With every ounce of his being, he knew that he was being watched, and from every direction.  He couldn't see them, but he knew they were there.  He could feel them. 

            He started to panic, he couldn't think rationally.  He didn't know what to do. He wanted to run, he wanted to hide.  There was no place to hide in this immense emptiness.  He was alone, no place to run, no place to hide, and he knew it.  He was meant to go forward, not to succumb to the throes of panic and fear.  He was above that, he was beyond that.  He would rise, he would make it forward, and he would survive.  They all would.

            It didn't work, though.  He tried to tell himself all of that, but he didn't believe himself, not at all.  But it was true, he tried to explain to himself. At least, it has to be true, if I'm to get out of this.

            He turned to look back at Jenna, to maybe gain some strength from her.  There was nothing there, though.  "What the fuck?" he asked himself.  He looked down at his watch, but that wouldn't help him at all.  It was running backwards.   He could make out the line of trees that made the natural barrier between this wasteland and the real world.  It was at least four miles away, though.  He hadn't been walking that long, had he?  He turned towards the mound again, and it was only a hundred feet or so in front of him.  With an unsteady hand, he raised his flashlight towards the mound.

            "John," he heard in the darkness.  He looked around, but there was nothing there.  He started walking towards the mound again, not thinking about the fear he felt.  It didn't matter, not at all. 

            "John."

            It was a quiet voice, almost a whisper.  He couldn't tell where it was coming from; it was almost as though it was coming from all around him.  "John," it said again, louder this time.  His pace picked up as he closed the mound.  The voice, no, voices, became louder.

            He started running.  The voices became intense, almost painful.  His name, over, and over.  Finally, he made it to the mound.  There was nothing there, nothing at all.   "God dammit," he swore.  He turned around, his fear now replaced with anger.  "What the fuck is wrong with you people?  What the fuck are you doing to me?"  The voices were silent. 

            He purged the remaining fear from his body.  There was no room for it, not with this new flood of anger.  He sat on the mound, and looked up at the sky.  He raised his middle finger to it.  "You stupid son of a bitches had better have a goddamn good explanation about this."  Then he heard the voice again.  This time, it was strong, it was powerful, it wasn't a whisper, and it was right behind him.

            He turned with the flashlight, but the light extinguished.  John could make a shape out of the darkness, a silhouette of a human-shaped being, robed.  It stood at least six feet tall, probably a lot more.  That's all he could see, though.  "It's good to see you again, John."  The voice was familiar, very familiar.  It calmed John's fires of rage, too.  He knew that he knew this person.

            "Forgive me if I don't remember you."  There was an edge to his words; the fires were not out completely. 

            "That's understandable, John.  That's the way that it should be."

            "Why this?  Why did so many people have to die?"

            "The people in this area aren't dead.  You'll find that out soon enough."

            "Did you take them, too?"

            "We transplanted them.  We took them out of harms way."

            "What do you mean by 'harm's way?'"

            "We didn't make this, John."

            "Who did?"

            "The others did.  You'll remember soon enough."

            "I don't know if I want to remember."

            "You told me that that was how you might feel about this, when the time came."

            "Well, I guess I know me pretty well."

            "You have to, though.  When it all comes out again, you'll understand why."

            "Why are you here, anyway?  Something doesn’t feel right about this."

            "You are correct, this isn't right.  We didn't expect it to start so soon, we thought there was at least six or seven years before it would begin."

            "Before what would begin?"

            "Once again, John, You'll see soon enough.  You have to find it out for yourself, that was part of the bargain."

            "What do you mean, part of the bargain?"

            "When you agreed to this, you gave a condition.  Since we lacked totally convincing proof for you, you asked us to let you find the truth on your own, to decide if we were right or not.  Once you discovered that we were, everything would happen according to the plan.  You agreed to that, and this is your first step in realizing the truth of everything."

            John kicked at the mound, but none of it gave.  "For the last few months, I've been trying to make sense of it all.  I've been almost obsessed about it.  I had to know the truth, I had to know why all this has happened to me."

            "That's part of your nature, part of your soul.  That's why you were chosen.  Not many have the drive that you do."

            "All the drive in the world can't help the inevitable, though."

            "But you can, John.  You can stop it all."

            "Why don't you do it, though?  You guys seem to have a handle on the advanced technology."

            "It isn't that simple.  I can tell you this much, but the others, they think that they killed us.  They think that they exterminated us."

            "Obviously, they didn't."

            "No, they didn't.  We are small in numbers, and if we expose ourselves, we will surely die.  You, though, with the right direction, can stop them.  They'll never know that it's coming.

            "I risk exposure just by coming here, but I had to give you something.  I knew that you'd be drawn here, since it was so unnatural a phenomenon.  We added some feeling to it, too, to help you along.  I came here to give you this."  He handed a pouch over to John.  "Don't open it in here, though.  This place is marked, forever park of their territory.  Don't ever come here again."

            "Trust me, this place pretty much sucks.  I'll stay away."

            "When you get far away from here, open this, and you will remember.  Not all of it, but some of it."

            "I guess that's better than nothing at all."

            "It is, and I wish it didn't have to be this way."

            "So do I."

            "Before I go, I have something else to tell you.  Watch yourself, John."

            "I'm beginning to get that idea."

            "Believe me on this, they are here already. You won't be able to distinguish them from anyone else, but they are here.  They are arriving, too, as we speak, and they'll be coming for you.  They know of you, and they think that you are part of the old regime.  They don't know that we are involved, and they are arriving.  The pieces are being moved into position, and before long…"

            His voice trailed on as he started to disappear into the darkness.  Before John knew it, he was alone, in the emptiness again.  It was different this time, though.  He wasn't scared, and he wasn't angry.  He was calm, collected, and fully aware of his place.  He didn't remember, but he understood.  He knew it would happen like this, he knew that there would be more, too.  He turned back for the entrance.  He couldn't be sure what direction it was, but he trusted his instincts. 

(<> <>)

            It was almost morning when Jenna finally saw John walking slowly back towards her, with a bag of some kind in his hand.  He looked tired, worn out.  He was barely walking; actually, it was more like almost falling.  Each step looked forced, as if he didn't want to even take it.  He still made his way to the edge.

            She forced a smile, hiding the anxiety she felt about his situation.  She stood there, waiting to catch him, because she knew that he would fall as soon as he got to her.  They had only been together for a few days, but John was easy to predict.  Besides, there was something about him, something strange about him, a feeling of some kind, something like a bond.  She felt it as soon as she saw him, there was something between the two of them. 

            He didn't even see her, which worried her even more.  Maybe he did, but he didn't show it.  He looked like a zombie.

            "John," she called out to him.  He linked, and looked at her.  Tears started to fall from his eyes.  She couldn't understand why he was crying.  "Are you all right?"  She heard the rumble of approaching cars, and turned to see the FBI's cars arriving in the area.  They started to pile out of the cars, and headed for her.  John saw them, and wiped the tears from his eyes.  He had to be strong. 

            "Agent Dimonte, what's going on?" asked the first agent on the scene, Agent Winters.  He was one of those who were constantly teasing her and John on the flight.

            "What do you mean?" She responded, looking at him straight in the eye.

            "We lost three agents when this thing shut itself down. What the hell is he doing in there?"

            "I haven't had a chance to find that out.  He's been in there since just before it shut itself down, as you say."

            He looked at the zombie walking towards him.  "Then how the hell did he manage to survive it?"  John was at the edge of the area.  He walked through the barrier, with no effects whatsoever.   He looked at Agent Winters.

            "They aren't dead."

            "What?"

            "None of them are.  They are alive."

            Winters peered at him quizzically.  "Shut up, freak.  I don't want to hear anything from you."

            John looked at him and laughed.  "Don't fear the unusual, Agent Winters."

            "I don't fear it, I just don't like you."

            "It doesn't matter what you like, Winters.  It never has, it never will."

            "Shut up, will you?  I'm trying to do my job."

            "Can it, Winters," Jenna interfered.  She was strong, and she was on John's side.  That was refreshing to know.

            "Oh, you go, Scully.  Take your basket case, and go off after your little green men."

            John looked at him.  "You don't understand what happened here, do you?  Your pea sized hamster brain can't figure it out, right?"

            "And you are going to educate me?"

            "I'm not going to waste my breath.  But look at what happened to your agents, Winters.  Look at what happened to the damn land.  We can't do this, not in a hundred years."

            "That doesn’t mean that it's some alien force at work."

            "Just because you don't believe, doesn't mean you can blind yourself from the facts."

            "The facts I see are that my three agents disappeared when you went into the area, which means that you had something to do with their deaths."

            Jenna's expression turned sour.  "You can't possibly believe that."

            John put up a hand towards her.  I've got this, it told her.  "I am, in fact, the reason they were taken from that place," he motioned towards the area.

            "What the fuck for?"

            "For this."  He held up the bag.

            "What's in there?"

            "I don't know, I haven't looked yet."

            "Well, it's evidence, so you will have to turn it over to me, since I am the senior agent present."

            "Go fuck yourself, Agent Winters.  You'll never get this from me. It wasn't meant for you."

            Winters pulled his gun.  "You are impeding a federal investigation, Mr. Ford.  Surrender the bag, or I will be forced to take it from you."

            "I seriously doubt that you can, Agent Winters.  I'm leaving. I'm going to get something to eat.  I've been walking all night, and I'm damn tired."  He reached out a hand towards Jenna, and she took it.  She was quiet for most of the situation, watching it as if it was on television.  She was definitely in John's corner, though, that much was for sure.  "If you really want to get it from me, you'll have to shoot me."

            "You are under arrest, Mr. Ford.  Stay where you are, and drop the bag."

            "No."  He turned towards the car and towards the other agents who were just watching the goings on.  He never turned back. 

            "Halt, or I will fire."  He kept of walking.  Winters pulled the trigger, and shot him in the back.  The bullet hit something before it hit John.  Actually, it never got to John.  Something blocked its path, something black.  John stopped, and turned around.

            "I told you that you couldn't do it."

            Winters' mouth was open.  He had never seen that or anything remotely like it at all.  "How did you do that?" he asked, flabbergasted.

            "Protection from on high," he replied, and pointed to the sky.  "And I'm not talking about God."

            Winters' arm dropped to his side.  John walked with Jenna continued towards the car.  When they were safely in and away from the others, she looked at him.  "What happened in there, John?"

            He looked at her.  "I'm still trying to figure that one out."

            "Where did you get the bag?"

            "There was someone in the middle, by that first mound, someone there waiting for me."

            "What mound?  I didn't see a mound."

            "It was there, inside the area."  He looked at her.  "How far did I walk into it?"

            "Until you disappeared, which wasn't too far.  It was extremely dark last night.  I bet I couldn't see more than a few hundred yards in at all."

            "Damn.  I thought I only walked a few hundred yards in at the most."

            "No, you were gone for almost, hell, eight hours."

            "No shit.  Well, I got what I was supposed to get from this."  He patted the bag sitting in his lap.

            "What is that?" she asked.  "What's in the bag?"

            John shook his head.  "I don't know, I didn't look."

            "Why not?"

            "Well, because I wasn't allowed to.  You see, as far as I can tell, there are two factions out there, and to reveal any technology from one would alert the other, and that can't happen, at least not yet."

            "So it's alien?"

            "I think so.  The person I met wasn't human, I don't think.  Like you said, it was dark, I couldn't see him that well.  He looked human enough, though, his silhouette, at least."

            Jenna tried to keep her composure while she drove.  "So, this thing, whatever it is, is alien."   

            "Yes, whatever is in the bag is alien."

            "That's not what I mean, John."  She turned left onto a small, dirt road, and pulled the car over to the side of the road.  She got out of the car, John followed her.

            "What's wrong?"

            She turned to him, and started laughing.  "What's wrong?"  She walked closer to him.  "What the fuck have you gotten me into, John?"

            "I didn't do this, Jenna."

            "Oh, bullshit.  Just tell me, John, is this real?"

            "As real as it gets."

            She threw her head back, and laughed.  She was furious, and she had an interesting way of showing it.  "I want out of this little partnership, you got that?  I don't want to be part of a conspiracy, an invasion, a first contact scenario, a boy meets alien encounter, or a fucking tribble tossing contest.  I don't want anything to do with this, or with you."  She looked at him, at this pitiful man, who looked like he was about to cry in front of her. 

            He tried to hold himself back, but he wasn't in a great state of mind right now.  He was beginning to remember bits and pieces or what had happened to him, but nothing about what happened to him within the last ten years.  It was strange, but he was remembering things from his childhood, his teenage years.  All sorts of muddled memories piled upon each other filled his mind.  Most were feelings, feelings of love, of family, or togetherness.  Feelings that he didn't have within himself anymore.  He could have made it back to her earlier in the night, but he wanted to sort out the feelings.  There were too many, though, he couldn't do it. 

            He looked at her, at the fury that had erupted in her.  Just a few minutes ago, he thought she and he were a team, that she would always be there, to protect him, to help him, to love him.  That's what he felt from her, that's what she radiated.  But something wasn't right, not at all.  Her mood switched faster than anything that he could imagine.  Maybe she did feel like that, until the reality sank in, that this was bigger than anything that she could imagine.  He knew one could be blinded by fear, anger, or hate.  Or love, for that matter.  He could respect her anger, and he assumed that her words and feelings were a result of that, not because of him. 

            He stared at her, though, as she screamed at him.  He could sense her confusion, her rage, her fear.  She had no idea what was going on, none whatsoever.  The unknown scared her, it always had.  Even back in the playground.   What? John asked himself.  A memory was coming back, a memory from when he was a child, a very powerful memory.  He felt as if he was going to break down and cry again. 

            "Are you going to start crying again, John?  Like you did in that fucking parking lot back there?"  Her anger was powerful, John thought to himself.  After this, I don't ever want it directed at me again. 

            "I was just thinking," he replied evenly.

            "You little shit.  I'm screaming my fucking lungs at you, and all you can do is think and cry?"

            "If you only knew what I was thinking, you wouldn't be so angry."  He started smiling.  "My God, I never would have guessed it was real." He looked at her again, this time, with a huge smile.

            "Wipe that shit-eating grin off your mother fucking face, John."  He couldn't.  He was finally filled with happiness and satisfaction.  He shook his head.  "Are you going to tell me what the fuck you are happy about?"

            "I was thinking that I might.  Do you mind answering a few questions?" He sat on the hood of the car, and she looked at him with eyes that would seer through steel.

            "Ask."

            "What do think love is?"

            She looked at him with confusion.  She hadn't expected that, and it knocked her off balance.  "I don't know," was all she could muster.  "Love is something that I'm not feeling right now."

            "Well, I'm going to tell you what I think about love."

            "I'm sure you are."

            "Be patient, please."  He swallowed, he was a bit nervous.  She nodded, and he continued.  "I was in love once," he started.  "Her name was Michelle.  I was in high school, and I never thought that I would ever have a girlfriend.  I was on the swim team, and so was she.  When her season was over, she would work with the men's team.  We were close, the two teams, which was great.  Well, one day, I got a letter from a mutual friend that Michelle liked me.  I hadn't really took notice of her, I mean we knew each other, and we were friends.  I had never thought of anything else. 

            "Well, when I found out, I looked into it further.  Sure enough, there was interest there.  Me and her started dating, but I didn't know what I was doing at all.  I hadn't had a girlfriend before, not like this.  I screwed everything up.  But in the two and a half months that we dated, we began to know each other more and more.  It was really nice.

            "So, that summer, between my junior and senior year in high school, I was working at McDonald's, and she got a job there.   Throughout the summer, hints were dropped, and all that.  I knew that she wanted to get back together with me.  And for our senior year, we did go out.  We were inseparable.  She knew me better than anyone else has ever known me.  It was comforting that I had someone in the world that understood me, knew what I was feeling, and loved me.  It was the best feeling in the world."

            Jenna glared at him.  "I don't give a shit about your past, John."

            John glared back, which shocked Jenna a little bit.  "Listen, Jenna, okay?"  She nodded again.  "We broke up the day we graduated.  She was scared, because I was going to school, and eventually into the Navy.  At least that's what she said.  However, before I left, she showed up again, back into my life.  We started going out again, but it didn't last.  The distance tore us apart.

            "It ended, for what I thought was the last time.  It was nasty, almost hateful.  I was shocked about what had happened.  But then, on my midshipman cruise, between my sophomore and junior year, I went to Greece.  I was sitting looking out over the Mediterranean Sea, talking with a friend of mine.  He was talking about his girlfriend, and how he was planning o marry her.  I told her about my trials with Michelle, but he could tell that I was hung up on her.  And I was.  I saw a star, and made a wish.  'Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight.  I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight.'  Then I thought of her.  I wrote her a letter on a cocktail napkin and sent it to my brother, how hand delivered it. When I got home, I called her, and took her to dinner.  We started dating again, for a year. That year was the most magical year of my life.  Every waking moment, I knew that there was someone out there in the world that loved me, who thought of me, who understood me.  I felt safe, I felt secure.  I haven't felt that since.

            "You know what love is?  Love is a drug.  It attacks a person's soul, and after that first taste, the addiction begins.  But when the hunger isn't being fed, the hole it leaves behind isn't filled, it's left empty.  And it grows, oh does it grow. It twists and turns a person's heart to the breaking point, to where that's all they can think of.  The hole can only be filled by love, and isn't satisfied until it is filled. 

            "I've got a hole in my soul, a few of them.  I don't have love anymore.  I don't have family anymore, I don't have anything anymore.  All I have is a feeling that I'm meant to do something, something extremely good.  I was chosen for what I am supposed to do, and I have to do it. 

            "I'm not going to do it for that reason, though.  I'm going to do it for the holes that I have in my soul, I'm going to do it for love, I'm going to do it for my family.  Even though I don't have a chance of seeing them now, as things have started before their time, I am doing it for them."  John sat there, staring into the fields that surrounded them.

            He hadn't noticed that Jenna had calmed down a lot.  "What about Michelle?" she asked.  "Are you doing this for her, too?"

            John shook his head.  "Of course I am," he replied.  "She's still a part of me."

            "You still love her?"  Was there a touch of trembling in her words?

            "No, I don't.  But I miss her terribly, I miss what she gave me most of all."

            "You miss love?"

            "I miss the love, and she gave me a purpose.  But now, I think that has been given back to me."

            She looked at him, he could sense that there was still some hostility there, but she was in control of it.  "I've never really been in love."

            "It's wonderful, when you finally realize it."

            She smiled.  "I bet it is.  I thought I was, when I was a little girl."

            John looked at her.  "Oh yeah?"

            "It was someone that I made up in my head, and I got so attached to him. He was my friend, my best friend.  I didn't have too many of them."

            "That's hard to believe."

            "Honestly.  I was a bookworm, I liked learning too much, I never gave myself the time for that kind of stuff."

            "You missed out, Jenna, you missed out."

            "I'm only twenty-six, I haven't missed anything yet."

            John smiled.  "You're right."  He jumped down off the hood.  "I am not trying to convince you to stay with me, to help me.  I want you to know why I am doing this."  She looked at him and smiled.

            "I know."

            John walked back towards the car, but turned around before he got in.  "Oh yeah, one more thing."

            "What's that?"

            "I've started to remember some things."

            Jenna looked startled.  "Was it because of last night?"

            He nodded.  "I think so.  It isn't much, but it's a memory.  When I remembered it, I, um, remembered it from way, way back.  It was such a good memory."

            "What was it."

            "I was a kid, about ten years old.  It was almost like a dream, maybe it was.  I was walking around in a chamber, and it was dark.  Not black, but gray, almost charcoal.   I heard voices all around me, but I couldn't tell what they were saying.  Suddenly, the door opened, and a figure in a hooded robe called to me to follow him.  He took me to another room.  When I walked in, he pointed at someone.  He put his hand on my shoulder and said, 'Love her, John, love her forever.'  I walked up to her, and told her my name, and she said 'Hi there Mikey.'  She always called me Mikey, although that was only my middle name.  I reached out to shake her hand, and when I touched it, well, words don't give the feeling or ecstasy that I felt justice."  John smiled to himself.  He knew who the little girl was, she was only ten feet from him.  He looked at the ground for a few seconds, then looked at her.

            Her hands were covering her mouth, and tears were running down her face.  She couldn't talk, she was just staring at him.  "You're Mikey?"

            John looked at her, and shook his head.  "Yeah.  It was the first thing that they let me remember.  They let me remember you."  She ran to him, and they embraced.

 

10

            "So what are we going to do now?" John asked as they drove towards Traverse City.

            She looked at him, the hostility gone from her.  "Well, for one thing, I'm not leaving.  Second, I think that we can take you home.  You said you had a few holes that needed plugging, and we should go see your family."

            John smiled.  "That sounds like a very good plan." 

            "I'll tell the FBI that was are following a lead, and that we'll be gone for a few days.  That should be enough time, don't you think?" 

            John shook his head.  "It will have to do.  Hopefully, I'll have a couple of days to spare."

            "Before what?"

            "Before the next big thing happens.  It will happen, too."

            Jenna continued driving.  A certain strength emanated from the two of them.  A common bond, a common goal.  Together, they were whole.  Jenna took out her cell phone, and dialed Agent Winters' number.  "This is Dimonte," she said matter-of-factly into the telephone.  There was a pause.  "Mr. Ford and myself will be unavailable for a few days."  There was another pause.  "Why?  Because we are following something that you don't have, and that's a lead."  Another pause.  "We are not even really involved in the case, officially.  We came mostly as observers.  We're going.  You have my number, you can call me if you need answers."  She hung up, then looked at John.  "He wasn't thrilled about it."

            "I guess not."

            "We can drop this car off, and catch a puddle jumper down to Detroit.  Be there in a couple of hours."

            "That sounds good.  Can we get something to eat first, I'm hungry."

            "So am I.  First chance, I'll stop." 

            The first place they saw was a small diner as they pulled into the outskirts of Traverse City.  It was nice, and small.  They went in, and sat down.  John looked at the menu, but knew what he wanted immediately.  So did Jenna. 

            "I'll take two orders of French Toast," John said when the waitress came over.  "And a Coke."

            Jenna looked at him, and smiled.  "I'll have the French Toast, but only one order.  And an Orange Juice."  The waitress smiled, and took their menus.  She returned with the drinks almost immediately. 

            "First thing I have to do," John said, "is get me some weapons."

            "Oh yeah," Jenna broke in, "do still have the gun I gave you?"  John shook his head. 

            "No, I don't."  He checked all over himself, but he could find it.  "Damn, that's odd, I don't know what happened to it.  I must have dropped it, or something."

            She shrugged.  "Well, it was my issued piece, so that's a good thing.  I guess I can get another one."

            "Damn, I don't know where it went."  He shrugged. 

            "So, John, what did happen out there last night?"

            John shifted in his seat.  "It was terrifying.  I was so scared, I didn't know what to do.  I saw the mound, and I walked for it, figuring that it was the place that I had to go, because it stood out so much from the flatness everywhere else.  When I got there, I got all pissed off, and then, I started hearing my voice being called."  He drank from his Coke.  "Actually, come to think of it, the voices started softly earlier, and built up as I made it to the mound.  Yeah, that was it.  Anyway, when I got there, he was waiting for me.  We talked, and he gave me the bag, told me not to open it until we were far away from the area as possible, that the area was marked, and would be able to pick up on the technology, or something like that."

            "What else did he tell you?"

            "Bits and pieces, mainly, that I will remember when the time is right, but as per our agreement, I have to find the truth myself.  Only then, will my memories come back to me in full.  He said, though, that I will start remembering things.  The first thing was about you."

            "I can't believe it, John, I really can't believe it."

            "It is way out there."

            "Mikey, or you, rather, have always been in my memories.  I've always tried to find someone just like him, just like you.  No one has ever matched up too good."

            John chuckled.  "I bet I'm a bit of a disappointment, eh?"

            "What do you mean?"

            "Well, look at me.  I'm an emotional wreck, I'm on some damn-fool mission concerning aliens, and I seem to cry a lot."

            "That doesn't concern me.  You talked about love being a drug, but love is more than that.  Love can make you see things that others don't."

            "Oh, so it's closer to LSD, then?"

            "Ha ha, John.  No, what I mean is that love like that makes a person translucent.  You can see everything about that person, the good, the bad, everything.  You say that no one knows you anymore, John Ford.  I know you, I've always known you."

            "It's nice to know." They stared at each other until the food arrived.  They ate in silence, only taking their eyes off each other to cut their food.

(<> <>)

            They were in Detroit early that afternoon.  They flew into City Airport, which was only a few miles from where he grew up.  They rented a car.  John made her drive around the city for a while, taking in the sites that had changed drastically in the last ten years.  He saw the new Tiger Stadium and the Motordome, built in the Fox Theater District.  More strikingly, he saw the rejuvenation that the city had undergone.  Everything was cleaner, newer, better.  The streets were bustling; people were walking around everywhere.  It was good to see.

            They passed by Joe Louis Arena, and he saw a line of people there.  They stopped, and John when to see what it was about. 

            The Red Wings were playing a home game that evening.  They were playing the St. Louis Blues, one of their division rivals.  It was sold out, but luck was on their side.  John bumped into a man walking away from the arena, obviously upset.  John accidentally knocked his briefcase out from the man's hand.  He picked it up, and offered any assistance.  The man started to complain that he bought the tickets for the game, but his wife had other plans for him, and he was trying to unload them.  John offered to take them off his hands, for double the price of the tickets.  The man was thrilled, and sold them to him with a smile.  John walked back to the car.  Jenna had stayed in, since they were illegally parked.  "Guess what we are doing tonight."

            "What's that?"

            "We're going to a hockey game."

            "What about your family."

            "I've been gone for ten years, one more night won't kill them."  Jenna looked at him peculiarly.  "There's another hole in my soul, and that's for the hockey game."

            "We're going to have to get a hotel then, and get you some clothes."

            "There are a few down here, the Ponchetrain and the Westin.  We can get a room at the Westin and walk to the game."  He pointed to the Renascence Center.  "See the middle tower, that's the hotel."

            "Okay, okay.  Remember, I used to go to school just forty minutes that way."  She pointed west.  "I used to come down here every once in a while."

            "Oh yeah, I forgot about that."

They hit a few stores, buying John some new clothes.  He wasn't a formal person, he loved his jeans and tee shirts.  He fell in love with a long, flowing black trench coat, an extravagant one.  He bought it.

They finally made their way to the hotel, and got a room.  They went up, there was still five hours until game time.  Jenna went in to freshen up in the bathroom, while John fell asleep on the bed. 

            She wasn't there when he woke up.  He was disorientated, he didn't remember where he was.  That only lasted a few seconds.  He looked at his watch, it was six o'clock.  The game was starting in an hour.   He jumped into the shower.  He noticed that he hadn't shaved in almost a week, he had a nice growth of beard on his face.  He took the complementary razor and shaving cream, and prepared to go to work.  He decided, though, at the last minute, to give himself a goatee.  He did a good job with it, it actually came out looking good. 

            He was dressed and ready to go when Jenna returned.  She held a box in her hand.  "I decided to order a Pizza so we could eat before we got to the game."

            "Smart thinking.  It smells good."

            "It is good.  I got it from this place called Niki's, over in Greektown."

            "Niki's?  I used to love Niki's!"  John was excited.  This was good, being back in the city that he grew up in.  It was helping with his memory as much as any alien could.  He bit into the first slice he took.  Pepperoni and onions, his favorite.  It was like eating a slice of Heaven.  "You're the best," he said.

            "Thanks, John."  They ate their pizza, and then began their trek to the Joe to watch the Red Wings.

            The seats were great; center ice, about fifteen rows up.  They could see all the action, which was a plus.  These were the season ticket seats; most of the people here were regulars.  They didn't take notice to John or Jenna, probably because they sat in a corporation's season tickets, which were always given away to employees and customers.  John and Jenna sat down, with only a few minutes until the puck was dropped. 

            "You want something, like a beer?" John asked.  She nodded.

            "Yeah, that sounds great."

            "Okay, I'll be right back.  Any particular?"

            "Molson."

            "Molson it is."  John got up, and walked up the stairs to the main concourse.  There was a beer shop, where you could pour your own beer.  John filled two thirty two ounce cups with Molson Canadian, paid, and turned to go back.  He was shocked to recognize someone in the mass of people in the crowd.  "Holy shit," he breathed to himself.  He followed her, and watched her go down the stairs in his section.  She stopped at row fifteen, and took the empty seat right next to Jenna.  "This is too weird."  He walked down the isle, and took his seat.  He had been dead for almost ten years, what were the chances. 

            "Thanks, John," she said as she started drinking from it.  John sat down quietly, averting his eyes from the woman's direction.  Jenna noticed immediately.  "What's up, John."

            He leaned in close to her.  "You see the person sitting next to you?"  Jenna shook her head.  "Remember that story I told you this morning."  Jenna shook her head, then started to laugh. 

            "You're kidding, aren't you?"  This was great, she thought, funny as hell.

            "No, I'm serious.  She looked a hell of a lot like her."

            "Well, you don't have a chance, she's wearing a wedding ring."

            "Damn," he said sarcastically.  "What are the odds, though?"

            "I'm beginning not to look at the odds with you anymore." 

            "That's probably a good thing."  John sat back, and started on his beer.  The players were on the ice, the national anthem had already played, and it was time to get it on. 

            The first period action was hard and heavy, a lot of checking, a lot of bad blood.  Both teams were fighting for the division lead; St. Louis had a one point lead.  Detroit came out hungry, though, and scored the first two goals. 

            About halfway through the first intermission, Jenna stood up.  "John, I'm heading back to the hotel.  I'm just too tired."  John frowned. He started to get up.  "No, no no.  You've already slept today, you're staying.  I wouldn't want you to miss this on account of me." 

            "Okay, I'll stay."  Jenna looked at him.  Then she turned towards Michelle. 

            "Talk to her, at least some small talk.  It will be good for you."

            "You think so?"

            "It's not like you are married to anyone is it?"

            John shook his head.  "No, I'm not.  I guess you may be right."

            "I know I'm right.  I'll talk to you later, or tomorrow, when you finally introduce me to your family."

            "Okay.  Be safe."  She smiled at him, and then left up the stares.  John was alone for the first time in the outside world, the first time since he left the compound where he had stayed for almost four months.  He wasn't nervous, it wasn't like he was in any danger.  He needed another beer, though.  He definitely needed another beer. 

            When he returned, Michelle was just getting up herself.  They met, face to face in the isle.  John played the gentleman, getting out of her way as best he could.  Their eyes locked up, and for a brief second, a glimmer of recognition showed.  John knew he saw it.  He looked over at Michelle's neighbors in the row; they were all women, all about the same age.  I guess it's girl's night out, he thought to himself.  He didn't recognize any of them.  He just minded his own beer, and waited for the second period to start. 

            After about ten minutes, Michelle came back, carrying four drinks.  When she came to John, she accidentally spilled one on him after stepping on his foot.  It was cold, very cold.

            "Oh my God, I'm so sorry," she said.  Yeah, it was Michelle.  It was the same voice, he remembered it well. 

            "It's no problem, I have a few more pairs back in the hotel."  He dabbed at it with some napkins that someone behind him had handed him.  "Let me buy you another one of the," he touched his pants, and then tasted it, "fuzzy navels, okay?"

            "But I spilled it on you."

            "But it was my foot you stepped on, so it's my fault.  Just let me, okay?"

            She smiled.  "Sure, go ahead."  John grabbed the nearest concession worker, gave him a fifty-dollar bill, and made his order.  Michelle looked at him, then pointed out her ring.  "Before you try and impress me with anything, I have to warn you, I'm married."

            "Don't worry, I won't try to impress you," he said as evenly as he could. She was married, but it wouldn't hurt to talk to her.

            She looked him over.  "What's your name?" she asked him.

            "John," he replied.  "What's yours?"

            "Michelle."

            "I used to date a Michelle," he said.  She looked at him funny.  "Is there something wrong?"

            Michelle sat down next to him, and passed the drinks over to the girls.  "No, no, nothing wrong.  You just look familiar.  Really, really familiar."

            John started to blush.  "I get that a lot."

            "No way, are you famous or something?"

            He shook his head.  "No, I guess I have a memorable face."

            Michelle's eyes lit up.  "Now I remember who you remind me of."

            John looked at her hard.  "And who would that be?"

            "I knew someone a long time ago, an old boyfriend.  He died nine years ago though.  You are a ringer for him, though.  You even have his name."

            "I knew it was a good name."

            She smiled.  "I should be getting back to my friends.  It was nice meeting you, John."

            "Same here, Michelle."

            "Sorry about the drink."

            "I'll live," he said.  The second period started, and he watched the action.

(<> <>)

            The second intermission came quickly; the Blues had scored a goal to cut it to two to one.  It was a tough game, very edgy.  John got up to get another beer.  He was having considerable more luck with alcohol tonight than he was a few nights earlier.  He turned to Michelle and her friends.  "I'm heading for the concession stands, would you ladies like anything while I'm up?"

            They smiled and said no.  "I'll take a Diet Pepsi," Michelle replied.  John always remembered that she drank regular Pepsi.  He decided to pull a mind game on her.

            "A Pepsi it is."  He started to leave. 

            "No, no, I want a diet Pepsi, not a regular Pepsi.  I don't drink regular Pepsi any more."

            John smiled.  "My mistake.  I'll be right back with your Diet Pepsi."  He walked up the stairs, he heard the ladies start talking immediately after he left.

            He returned in minutes, and handed Michelle her drink.  "I hope you enjoy it."

            "What do I owe you, John?"

            "Nothing at all."

            "No, I insist that I pay for it."

            "If you insist, I guess there is nothing I can do about it.  I think it was two fifty."  Michelle got out the money, and handed it over to him. 

            "John, could you settle a bet for us?" She asked after John took the money.

            "I can try."

            "My friends seem to think that you come from old money, like you inherited some of it, or something."

            "You don't?"

            "No, I think it was a recent thing."

            "So, you think that I am recently rich?"

            "Yeah, you can say that."

            "Why do you say that?"

            "Well, you gave the concession worker a fifty to pay for a five dollar drink.  You've already offered to buy us all drinks, and you are wearing new clothes, new expensive clothes."

            "These jeans weren't that expensive."

            "No, but those boots you have on are, and that black trench coat, it's obviously new, because you still have the inspector tag still on it." She pulled off the tag, and gave it to him. He smiled at that, slightly embarrassed.  "So, that leads me to believe you just came into money, and now you are one a shopping spree."

            John drank some of his beer.  "I have to say, that you are right, Michelle.  I just came into a lot of money, in the last couple of days, actually.  These clothes are new, about two days new.  I'm throwing around money because since I have it, why not share it with other people. I mean, there is no sense in me holding on to it forever."

            "So I was right?"

            "Yeah, but I have to tell you, I'm not rich.  I just have a few hundred thousand dollars, no more than that.  I bet nowadays, that can't buy a whole lot of shit."

            She still looked him strangely.  "Man, I just can't get over the resemblance you share with John.  It's almost scary."

            "Why scary?"

            "Well, because he's dead.  People aren't supposed to look that much like dead people.  It's scary."

            "I'm sorry if I'm scaring you."

            "No, it's not that.  It's just weird.  I haven't thought of him in a while, and, well you look so much like him."

            "Well, if I told you a secret, could you keep it, at least for a couple of days?"

            Michelle looked intrigued.  "What kind of secret?"

            John looked around, made sure no one was listening.  "First, ask me something about your dead John, okay?  I'm sort of a psychic, let's see how things work out."

            Michelle looked at him as if he was some kind of freak.  "Um, okay," she said.  "Where did he go to college?"

            "Hmm, that's a tough one.  I see a lot of blue, but he didn't leave the state.  I bet he went to U of M."

            Michelle was surprised.  "Wow, that's amazing."

            "So I was right."

            "Ask me something more personal than that.  Guessing that was easy."

            "Okay, what did he get for me for Christmas, his junior year in college?"

            "He bought you a Mickey Mouse doll, with a gold necklace around it, and a charm that said 'I Love You" on it."

            Michelle looked at him almost in terror.  "How did you know that?"

            "No it's time for the big secret," he said.  He motioned for her to lean closer to him, so he could whisper it to her. 

            "What's the big secret?" she asked softly.

            "My last name is the big secret."

            "What is it?"

            "Ford."  Immediately, she backed away from him, staring at him with terror.  Yeah, he was sure it was terror. 

            "You sick son of a bitch.  What's your game?"

            "Michelle, my name is John Michael Ford, I used to live on Ohmer, in Warren.  You remember."

            "But you're dead."

            "Do I look dead?"

            "No."  She seemed scared, and mad.  "But you can't be him."

            "Why not?"

            "You just can't.  He's dead."

            "Our song was November Rain, by Guns and Roses."

            "No, don't do this to me." She was getting upset.  By John didn't stop.

            "When we got together for the last time, it was because of a note I sent to you. I wrote on a cocktail napkin, and my brother delivered it to you. It said 'The stars over the Mediterranean tell me that I have to ask you to dinner when I get back.'  Is that enough for you?"

            She stared at him.  "Oh my God." 

            "How's it been, Michelle?"

            She bent over and gave him a big hug.  "I can't believe that you are alive."

            "Yeah, neither can I." 

            "Have you told you family yet?"

            "No, I haven't had a chance to yet.  I just made it back in town today, and I'm going to see them tomorrow.  Actually, I am going to make an appointment to see my Dad tomorrow for lunch, I'm gonna claim I'm a big player in the company, so he'll have to meet me.  I've got a plan."

            "I'm sure you do."  She drank from her Diet Pepsi.  "Did you follow me here, or something."

            "No, I bought tickets from a guy on the street, and this is where I ended up.  Imagine the odds."

            "Almost too weird."

            "Sometimes, I think someone is playing a game with my like that.  But then, again, who knows."

            She looked him in the eyes.  "Fate has a tendency to do that too you."

            "Ah yes, fate.  Me and fate are pretty intimate these days."

            "What do you mean?"

            "I don't know if I have time to tell you, I don't even know if I can tell you.  But I do know this, fate has me by the short-ones right now."  The second period started, but they didn't notice.

            Michelle looked back at her friends.  "I think that I should go back to them, for a bit.  They may get suspicious."

            "Sure, whatever you have to do."

            "Are you going to stay for the whole game?  I saw that the person you came with left."

            John nodded.  "I haven't seen a game live in a long, long time."

            "Good, because me and my friends were going to Greektown after the game, to have a drink or two. You are welcome to join us."

            "That would be lovely."       

            The Red Wings won the game, 4-3.

(<> <>)

            "So, Johnny Ford, what have you been doing with yourself for the last ten years?"  She sat across from him at the round table that they had in the bar section of the Pegasus.  He hair was shorter than John remembered, it was just below her ears.  He had to admit to himself.   He was right; her hair did look good short. 

            He knew that he should avoid the question, and he tried.  "Oh, a little of this, a little of that."

            Michelle's friends, Shannon, Liz, and Amy all watched as the two of them talked.  They had been rather quiet the entire evening, keeping to themselves as John and Michelle talked during the game.  Amy was the first speak up.  "John Ford, I sort of remember that name."

            John raised his eyebrows.  "The report of my death was extremely exaggerated."

            "What?" she asked.  She didn't get it.  Michelle set her straight, though.

            "He was a big story ten years ago, all over the news."

            "Oh yeah, there was a John Ford who disappeared from U-M, wasn't there?"  Liz understood. 

            "Yeah," Amy remembered.  "Now I remember.  The huge search, all over the state, and in Ohio and Indiana.  That was big news, wasn't it."

            "If I remember correctly, they pronounced him dead about a year later, didn't they?"

            John shook his head.  "Yeah, they did."

            "I even went to the funeral," Michelle said.  "And do you know why?"

            "Why?" Shannon asked.

            "Because I dated that John Ford for four years, off and on, in high school and college."

            "You never told us this."

            "It wasn't something that I wanted to broadcast.  We had broken up about a year earlier, and we hadn't really talked all that much.  Still, I was close to him, and his death rocked me a bit."

            "I bet."

            John sipped his Long Island Iced Tea.  "Who said no one returns from the dead."

            "Are you saying that you are that John Ford?"

            "The one and only."

            "Bullshit," said Shannon.  "There would have been a story or something like that in the paper."

            "If anyone knew that I was alive, yes there would be.  But except for a few people, you four are the only ones that know."

            They looked at him in awe.  "Are you saying you are a secret agent?"

            John flashed them a quizzical look.  "Why would you say that?"

            "It's just like in the movies.  Someone gets chosen to leave his life behind, and join a super secret group of agents, running around the globe, getting into all kinds of adventures."

            "As Michelle can probably attest to, I didn't want to give up my life."

            "He really liked his life," she agreed.   "He had a great family, lots of reasons to stick around."

            "I didn't want any of it to happen."

            "So, John, what did happen?"

            John smiled.  "I can't tell you."

            "It is secret, isn't it?"

            "It is something that I have to work out before I can start telling people, that one thing's for sure."

            "Are you here to stay?"

            "No, I'm here on business.  I was in the state, and I stopped through here, before I head back."

            "Back to where?"

            "Washington."

            "DC?"

            "Yep, DC."

            "You were up at that thing in Traverse City, weren't you?"

            John tried to blank out her eyes.  "I don't know what you are talking about."

            She hit him in the arm.  "You were up at that site south of Traverse City, where that weird thing happened."

            He tried his best.  "No, I wasn't there."

            "Don't lie to me, John."

            He took another drink, and looked at her.  He didn't say a word.

            "You were there."

            "I have to get going.  It was nice meeting you three."

            "No you don't, John.  You aren't just going walk out like that."

            "I have to, Michelle. If I stay here, well, I can't stay here.  I shouldn't have even talked to you tonight."

            "Why not?"

            "Because it's not supposed to happen like this.  None of it is."  He was trying hard not to show it, but his unstable emotional state was acting up on him again.  "I didn't want to see you, not like this."  Tears were welling up inside him.  He couldn't handle this, not like this.  "I have to be going."

            Michelle got up, and walked to him.  She hugged him.  "I'm glad you did, John.  I'm glad I saw you."

            Tears started rolling down his face.  "I missed you," he whispered to her.  "When this is all over, maybe I can tell you what happened.  But I can't, not now."

            They still held each other.  "John," she whispered back, "I'm here, if you need me.  Whenever you need me."

            "I want to tell you something, Michelle."  He turned himself away from the others, making sure they didn't see him talk. 

            "Okay, tell me."

            "It's a warning."

            "Go ahead."

            "Remember that stuff I was into in high school, the really weird stuff."

            "You mean the-" She realized what he was talking about and pulled back from him.  She was shocked.  "My God."

            "I have to go."  He turned for the door, but turned back.  "Forget you saw me tonight, okay?"

            Michelle shook her head.  "I won't forget this, Johnny Ford.  But I promise that I won't tell anyone."

            John smiled, and then left the bar.  He disappeared past the front window, down the street.  Michelle sat back at the table, and finished her drink.  "What was his problem?" Liz asked her.

            "He's had a hard life," Michelle said.

            "He doesn't seem all that stable."

            "He's changed a lot, he's different than he was."

            "How so?"

            "He used to be like stone, nothing would phase him at all.  Now, though, that was the most emotion I've ever seen from him."

            "How could you be with someone who was like that?"

            "Because I loved him, and he loved me.  It was different back then."  She looked out the window, and thought to herself, thought about the old times, and smiled.  She was happy he was back.

11

            He finally made it back to the hotel after walking around the city.  It was almost three in the morning.  He had to clear his head, get his emotions in order, and make sure that he was doing the right thing.  Seeing Michelle again was an added bonus, something that he never really considered again.  It felt good.

            He was as quiet as he could be; he didn't want to wake Jenna up.  There were two rooms, but the one with the door was the one with the bedroom.  He heard her rustle around a bit, and he froze in place.  She stopped moving, and was silent again.  He proceeded to undress, to get into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, a Red Wings T-shirt that he bought at the game.  He noticed that there was only one bed, something that he didn't think of earlier.  He walked over to the couch, and sat down.  He let himself doze off, until he was awaken by the sound of someone coming towards him. 

            "Hi," she said.

            John squinted.  "Hi."

            She sat down next to him.  "How did it go?"

            "It went fine, I suppose."

            "You were with her a long time."

            "We went to Greektown after the game, but I left after only a few minutes.  It wasn't even eleven."

            "And you are just getting home?"

            "Yeah, I needed to clear my head a bit, so I walked around the city for a while."

            "You walked around Detroit after midnight alone?"

            "There wasn't anyone around to cause trouble."

            "I guess not.  Only wacko's are out that late."

            "Yeah, me and my kind."

            "Why don't you come to bed?"

            "I was thinking that I should probably sleep on the couch."  He patted the cushion beside him.  "It's pretty comfortable."

            She stood up, and took his hand.  "Come on, John." She gently nudged him along, and got him to follow her. 

            "I need a glass of water, first.  My throat's a little dry."

            "Okay."

            John went into the bathroom.  His heart was pounding.  He had to calm himself down.  He took deep breaths, and thought of the slowest things that he could.  He tried desperately to slow his pulse.  He drank some water, and re-entered the room.  He walked over to the bed, and crawled in.

            She looked like she was already asleep, but she wasn't.  When he was in the bed, she turned to him.  "How did it really, go, John?"

            "It was hard.  Really hard."

            "Why did you leave so early after the game?"

            "She was asking questions, about what happened.  I couldn't tell her any of it.  I had already told her enough about what had happened, and that I was back in town.  That was enough."

            "No other reason?"

            "What do you mean?"

            "Well, she was the one you told me about earlier today, right?"

            "Yeah, she was." 

            "And you loved her, right?"

            "Yeah, I did.  But that was ten years ago.  Ancient history."

            She put her hand on his chest.  "No one forgets something like that, John."  He knew what she meant.  She was talking about John and Michelle, but she was also talking about herself and Mikey, herself and John.

            "No, no one forgets." He took her hand, and pulled her close.  They held each other as they fell asleep.

            The next morning, John found himself in bed alone; Jenna was in the bathroom, taking a shower.  With each passing day, things were easier to understand, to get a hold of.  His emotions, although they were still popping up at him in the strangest times, they were getting easier to control.  He could tell that he had more control, because he woke up extremely happy, perhaps for the first time in ten years.  But it didn't overwhelm him like the other times had.

            He looked at his watch, and it read six-thirty-seven.  Good, he thought to himself.  I can give my dad another hour or so to settle in, and then call and make an appointment to see him.  John had researched it already, and figured out where his dad worked.  All it took was a little Internet time.  The Internet was an easy thing to use when you knew what you where looking for. 

            He got up, and went to the window.  They were lucky enough to have a room that overlooked the river.  The sun was rising over Windsor, and it was beautiful.  He had seen that once before, his senior prom, when he and his friend Erik took their dates to the same exact hotel.  It was as beautiful today as it was then. 

            There was a knock at the door, and he opened it.  "Room Service," called the young attendant pushing a cart.  "Did you order room service."

            It was Jenna, it had to be Jenna.  "Uh, sure, bring it in." She wheeled in the cart, and took the lids off.  French toast, scrambled eggs, and pancakes.  They looked delicious.  John reached into his wallet, pulled out a couple of bills, and handed them to her.

            "Wow," she exclaimed as she held them.  "Um, you don't have to pay for them now, sir.  They are added to the room."  She tried to hand him back a hundred.  He had given her one hundred and fifty dollars.  He shook his head, though.

            "You keep it, you probably need it more than I do."

            "Thank you, sir.  Have a nice day."

            "You too."

            "Oh, don't worry, I will."  She smiled at him and then left the room.  I have to stop doing that, he thought to himself.  Just then, Jenna opened the door, and walked out of the bathroom in a bathrobe.  She walked right past John.

            "Mornin'," she said.  "I see the food got here."

            "Good call there."

            "Sometimes I come through."  She pulled out some clothes from her bag.  "So, have you called him yet?"

            "No, I figure he's just settling in, and I'll give him an hour."

            "Well, don't give him too much time, Plant Managers are pretty busy people."
            "I'll call him after breakfast."

            Jenna headed back to the bathroom to finish dressing.  "Don't wait for me, go ahead and start."  He had already taken his first bite, though.  When she finally finished, he was done with the French Toast and had eaten half the eggs.  He drank some of the coffee, but not much.  He hardly drank it before, and didn't expect to start now.

            "Man, you ate quick."

            "I was hungry."

            "I bet, you've had a few busy days."

            "Yeah, and it's nice to eat real food again.  That cafeteria was pretty awful."

            "I'm sure it was."

            John wiped his face with the napkin.  "Do you have the cell phone?"
            Jenna grabbed her jacket.  She reached in one of the pockets.  "Here you go."

            John took it. "We have to get me one of these.  Can't we stop by the FBI here in town and get one?"

            "We could do that, I think.  We could try."

            "Cool."  He turned it one, and stared at it for a while.  "Hey Jenna," he started.  "What's the number for information?"

            "Try 411."

            He pushed the numbers, and then send.  Quickly, an operator came on line.  "Which city, please?"

            "Dearborn," he supplied.

            "Okay, what do you need?"

            "I need the number for the Dearborn Assembly Plant."

            "Which car company?"

            Oh yeah, he thought.  He forgot where he was.  "Ford."

            "Okay, please stand by."  A recording provided the number, and asked if he would like to be connected for fifty cents.  He said yes. He waited as it connected.

            "Good morning, Dearborn Assembly, how can I direct your call?"  The voice was very friendly and pleasant.

            "I'm trying to get ahold of Michael Ford."

            "Okay, let me ring you." 

            "Thank you."  He heard the phone click, and then it rang again.  His heart started to speed up again; he was about to talk to his father after ten long years.  It was enough to make anyone nervous.  After a few rings, he heard the familiar voice of his father.

            "Michael Ford, here.  How can I help you."  John swallowed really hard.

            "Good morning, sir," John started.  He had planned a cover story, that he was a new salesman at one of the outside suppliers, and that he wanted to get to know his new contacts.  That one fell through, though, when he heard his father's voice.  He was going to have to think fast if he was to come up with something on the spot.  "Um, my name is John, uh, Michaels.  Special Agent John Michaels with the Federal Bureau of Investigation."  He decided that the truth, or at least some of it, was the best way to go. Jenna looked at him when he gave his false name; they had worked on the cover story together.  She started to laugh at John's floundering, which helped ease the tension off of John.

            "What can I do for you, Agent Michaels?"

            "Um, I was wondering if I could get together with you today, I need to discuss some recent developments in your son's disappearance, and I was thinking that if we could meet for lunch, that would be good."  That was a lame sentence, he thought to himself.  It sounded like he was an idiot.  Jenna could hardly contain herself.

            "What do you mean, recent developments?  The case was closed eight years ago."

            Uh, oh.  He thought fast.  "Um, yes, sir, it was.  I'm new here in the office, and they had me read over old files to get my feet wet.  There were some things that didn't make sense, and I was wondering if I could ask you about them."  Okay, so that was different from "recent developments."  It would have to do.

            "Look, Agent Michaels, I'm a busy man here.  I don't have time to train FBI agents."  There it was, a classic response by his father.  He had heard from other people that his father had such a way with words, that he could tell someone to go to hell in such a way that they actually anticipated the trip.  John had always admired that. 

            "I appreciate that, sir, but I have some heat on my about this, and it would only take an hour or so.  Not too much more than that."

            There was silence at the other end.  "You know, it was hard enough to go through this ten years ago, and I don't really want to do it again."

            "Sir, I think that this meeting can enlighten both of us."

            "Agent Michaels, I don't think that you know enough to enlighten me about anything concerning this case."  His voice was showing signs of anger, another aspect about his father that he remembered.

            "Sir, please, give me a chance."

            "I'm not going to get rid of you, am I?"  He sounded like he was going to give in.

            "I only need to talk to you for an hour, no more."

            "Today?"

            "Yes, today."

            "Okay, I'll do it.  But this is the last time, do you hear me?"

            "Sir, you won't regret this, I swear it."

            "I already had to bury my son once, I don't want to dig him up again, only to have to bury him.  You had better have something worthwhile."
            "I think you'll be satisfied with what I have to tell you."

            "Okay, meet me at eleven.  There is a restaurant on Michigan Avenue in downtown Dearborn called Family Night Out.  I'll be there at eleven."

            "Thank you, sir.  I'll be there waiting."  He heard the phone click, and he turned off his.

            Jenna was laughing aloud now.  "What happened to the cover story?"

            "Um, when he started talking, I froze."

            "You ad libbed pretty good.  He's probably going to check up on this."

            "Oh shit, you're right.  I never thought of that.  We have to get to the FBI office."

            "And do what?"

            "Establish my cover story."

            "No, I think that it'll be more fun actually seeing what is going to happen."

            "It's going to suck.  It takes a lot to really piss him off, and I think that this will."

            "He'll recognize his son, though, won't he?"

            "His son's been dead for eight years, though."

            "Well, I guess we'll see.  It should be interesting."

            "Yes, it should.  But we still have to go the FBI office and pick me up a phone."

            "Today?"

            "Yeah, today.  I may need it today."

            "Okay, but let me eat first, alright?"

            "I guess I can wait a bit."

(<> <>)

            The two of them entered the FBI field office in Downtown Detroit a little past nine.  They walked up right to the front desk.  Jenna flashed her badge.  "I'm Special Agent Dimonte from Washington DC.  I called in and requested the requisition of a cell phone.  I'm here to pick it up."

            The agent manning the desk looked at her badge, and then typed furiously into the computer in front of him.  "Ah, here it is.  I'll give a call, and they'll bring it out to you, Agent Dimonte."

            "Is it patched through the Washington switchboard?"

            "I don't know that, you'll have to ask when it's brought out."  The man made the call.  "It should only be a few minutes, you can have a seat in the lounge."  He pointed towards a room adjacent to the main lobby.  They walked in there.

            "So this is the big, bad FBI."

            "It's a lot more interesting in Washington.  These offices are always pretty bland."

            "I can see that."  John picked up a magazine, and sat down.  He flipped through it, seeing if anything would catch his eye.  He was interrupted, though, by footsteps in the hallway.  He looked up to see Agent Winters in the doorway, holding a cell phone.

            "Agent Dimonte, you requested another cell phone?"

            She stood up and walked over to him.  "Yes I did.  Is that it?"

            He looked at it.  "Yes, this is it.  May I ask what it's for?  Did you lose yours?"

            "No, I needed it for John, in case we were separated."

            He glanced over at John.  "It's for him, then."

            "That's what I said."

            "I don't know if that's really allowed.  It's for official FBI use, only."

            "This is official FBI business we are on."

            "Is it?"

            "You know it is."

            "Actually, I have no idea what you two are up to."

            John spoke up.  "And you don't need to know.  If I have to, I'll pull rank with you.  Although I'm not affiliated with the FBI, I do work for the Federal Government, and for all intents and purposes, I outrank you.  I just have to make a few phone calls, that's all."

            "Is that so?"

            "Just try me, Agent Winters."

            "Don't worry, Ford.  I'm giving you the phone."

            "Thank you."  What an asshole, John thought to himself.  "By the way, have you found everyone from the area yet?"

            "No, they're still missing."  He was obviously bent out of shape about it.  "I think they are going to stay missing."

            "I told you, they're alive.  They'll turn up soon, and remember where you heard it from."
            "Yeah, I heard it from ET"

            John laughed.  "Good one."  He got up, and headed for the door.  Jenna followed behind, smiling at Winters.  John was winning this exchange.  "Let me give you some advice, Winters."

            "Lay it on my, Yoda."

            "Don't fear the unknown."

            "Don't worry, Ford, I don't."

            "Fear me."  John's eyes were deadly, and Winters saw an intensity in him that shook him to the very bone.  Their entire relationship had changed with that one exchange.  Winters would back off now, after that.  After the look that John gave him.

            As the two of them left, Winters called out to them.  "Hey, Ford, guess what happened today?"

            John turned.  "What's that?"

            "Someone called in looking for an Agent Michaels.  He wanted to talk about your case."

            "Yeah, I know.  It was my father."

            "I told him that there was no Agent Michaels here. "

            "That's all right.  We're meeting him for lunch."

            "Is that wise?"

            "Probably not. But I'm going to do it anyway."
            John left the building, and Jenna was behind him.  "Wow, John, that look you gave him, it was intense."

            "Good, maybe he'll shut up now."

            "It even scared me."

            "I'm getting it back together.  It all seems to be falling into place.  My confidence level has risen a bit in the last twelve hours.  That walk last night really helped sort out my emotions."

            "This has been a bit much for anyone so far.  Especially for someone with the baggage you had coming into this."

            "Yeah, but I have a feeling that it's going to be okay."  They got in the car, and drove for Dearborn.

(<> <>)

            Michigan Avenue was busy, especially at that time of the day.  The restaurant was easy to find, that wasn't the problem.  The problem was that they arrived there early, a little too early.  So, they stayed in the car, and waited for Michael Ford to arrive.

            It was a little past eleven, finally, when John said, "I don't think he's going to show."

            "That is a distinct possibility, John."

            "I think that my story spooked him a bit."
            "Maybe it did, maybe it did."

            Pretty soon, a forest green Jaguar pulled into the restaurant parking lot.  John saw it, and immediately knew who it was.  He nudged Jenna.  "There he is."

            "How do you know?"

            "He always wanted one of those.  I guess he got his wish."  He put down the newspaper he was reading.  "Good for him."

            "Are you ready for this, John?"

            He looked at her.  "I'm so nervous right now, I don't know what to do."  He held up his quivering hand.  "Look at me, I'm a wreck."

            "Do you want me to go in there with you?"

            "Did you think that you weren't going in there?"

            "Maybe."

            "You have to eat lunch, too.  It's on me."

            "No," she said.  "It's on the Bureau." 

            John looked at the entrance.  His father had just entered the restaurant.  "He's in.  We can go in a minute, once he's been seated."

            "I guess you know what's best, don't you?"

            "Of course, Jenna."  He flashed her a sly look.  "And don't you forget it."

            The last two days, as traumatic as they were, had strengthened him in ways he couldn't imagine.  He had his confidence back, and he was beginning to feel in total control.  He looked at Jenna, and knew that he didn't need her anymore, not as a pillar of strength like he did the first two days.  Something changed, like a light being turned on.  The switch within him had been turned on, and he was back, whatever that meant.  It always sounded good in the movies, he thought to himself.

            Although he didn't need her for strength, he couldn't imagine life without her.  Sure, things were happening quickly, faster than anything that he had ever been apart of, but that didn't matter.  The absolute truth was that he and she were together, and that they were always meant to be together.  God works in mysterious way, they always say.  Well, John thought, someone up there loves a good mystery.

            He looked at her, really looked at her for the first time.  He saw the look that the little girl from the dream gave him, he saw the eyes, the eyes that had always been with him, the eyes that he judged all others on.  She was beautiful, there was no denying that.  She was wearing her hair in a ponytail today, and it was magnificent. She was perfect.

            He had something else, though, to accomplish today.  He turned towards the restaurant.  "It's time to go in," he told her. 

            "Lead the way."

            They both got out of the car, and headed in.  John wore a pair of blue jeans, a white shirt, a dark red tie, and a black sports coat.  It was as official as he could make himself look.  At least he didn't wear tennis shoes with it.  He had enough sense to wear some dark leather number he had picked up the day before.  John was content with tennis shoes, but Jenna said these looked a hell of a lot better than tennis shoes.  Who was he to argue with her on a fashion level?

            He opened the door for her, and she nodded her head appreciatively as she entered.  He winked at her.  They walked to the front counter, and stood at the "Wait to be Seated" sign.  Soon, the hostess came, a little old lady in her sixties.

            "Hello, ma'am, we're here to meet the man who just came in here.  I'm not sure where he is seated, could you point it out to us?"

            "You're here to see Mr. Ford?"

            "That's right, ma'am."

            "He said that there would be some people looking for him.  I'll take you to him."  She turned, grabbed two menus, and led the way.  Jenna followed first, John trailed behind.  With every step he took, his heart rate grew.  He could feel his pulse in his neck, and in his head.  He was nervous, all right.

            The little old lady lead them through a maze of customers and tables and then turned a corner, into almost a second room.  There were a few tables in there, and they all had reserved signs on them.  He didn't see his father, though, as he turned the corner into the area.  There was an iced tea, though, at one of the tables.  It was his, that's what he used to drink.

            The little old lady pointed at the table.  "He'll be with you in a moment, so go ahead and have a seat.  Can I get you a drink?"

            "I'll have a Diet Coke," Jenna replied.

            "I'll have an iced tea," John added.

            "I'll bring them right up.  Mr. Ford will be with you shortly."  John and Jenna took their seats, with their backs to the rest of the restaurant.  John hadn't seen his father at all in the restaurant as he walked towards the back.  He had no idea where he could be.

            Jenna bent over towards him.  "It's almost like we're going to meet some crime boss or something."

            "I wonder what he's been up to.  Maybe he's just a regular here."

            "Or maybe he made some reservations.  Maybe that's why we're all the way in the back."

            "Maybe.  I just hope he shows soon, I want to get this over with."

            "You'll do fine.  Don't worry about it."

            He heard footsteps behind him.  "I see you brought a baby sitter, Agent Michaels."  John froze.  He didn’t want to turn around and face him, not like that.  He just sat there, thinking of something to say.  Finally, it came to him.

            "This is my colleague, Special Agent Jenna Dimonte.  She wanted to accompany me on this interview."

            "I'm sure you won't mind if I ask for some identification."  Jenna immediately went for hers, and handed it to Michael.  He looked it over, and handed it back.  "And what about you, Agent Michaels."

            John was in a jam.  Something told him to be honest, though.  "I know you called the FBI this morning, and found out that there is no Special Agent John Michaels working there."

            "Yes, I did call.  And I bet, if I call now, that I will find out that there is no Special Agent Jenna Dimonte there, either."

            "You are right about that, Mr. Ford," Jenna said.  "I'm out of Washington DC, and I'm in town on an investigation that has to do with your son."

            "Then who is he?"

            "He is a witness, and a member of the NSA."    She put her hand on his shoulder.  "When he called you this morning, just talking to you worked him up a bit, and he made up that story, to try and help himself along."

            "I don't like dishonesty."

            "I'm sorry about that, sir.  But it was necessary."

            "Why was it necessary?"

            "Because, I had to meet with you, in person, face to face.  You wouldn't believe me otherwise."  John kept his back to him.  "If I told you anything over the phone, you would have just hung up."

            "I was about to hang up, anyway.  I don't know who you are, but the way you do business is pretty fucked up.  You won't even look at me."  Michael sighed, and John smiled.  He missed that, although whenever he heard it, he was in big trouble.

            "Sir, if you would do me the honor of sitting down and sharing lunch with me, that's all I ask.  I'll leave, and you'll never have to be bothered again with this case.  But what I have to say and show you is very, very important."

            "Well, I am already here," he started walking towards the table again.  "I might as well get some lunch."

            Michael returned to his seat, and he finally got a good look at the man who had his back to him.  "Jesus Christ," was all he could say.

            "What's wrong, sir?" ask Jenna.

            "You look so much like him, Mr. Michaels.  You look so much like John."  He took a deep breath.  He was obviously upset at that.  It was something he didn't expect.  "My God, you look just like him."

            "Sir, I have a confession to make.  My name isn't Michaels, either."

            "What?"

            John took out his wallet, and then his ID card.  He placed it on the table, and slid it over to him.  His father picked it up, examined it, and then looked at him again.  "John?"

            "Hi, Dad.  I'm back."

            Michael's hands started to shake, and tears welled in his eyes.  "John, is it you?"

            John felt the same as his father.  "Yeah, it's me."

            "Oh John, it's good to see you."  He got up, and so did John.  They embraced.  "My son, my son.  It's so good to see you."

            They held each other, father and son, reunited after death and ten years.  He stepped back, and looked him over.  "You look good, John."

            "Thanks, Dad.  So do you."  Both he and John had lost a lot of weight.  John was down to the thinnest ever in his life, and his father, he was finally back to his high school football weight of one forty.  It was a good sized for someone who was five foot five. 

            "My God, John."  He returned to his seat. 

            "I thought that you should know that I'm still alive."

            "What happened to you?"

            "It's a long story, Dad."

            "I have the time, John."

            " I know, I know.  And to tell you the truth, Dad, I still don't know what the hell happened."

            "What?"

            "It's not like I took a top secret job in the government or something like that.  I didn't die on purpose, I really was abducted."

            "By who?"

            "That's the problem, I don't know.  I didn't even know that I was abducted, until four months ago."

            "What do you mean."

            "Dad, what I am going to tell you is already classified at the highest level, but I want you to know, because you're my Dad.  You've suffered enough, the whole family has.  You deserve the truth as much as I have."

            Jenna looked at him.  "John, you can't tell him.  You can't tell him any of it."

            "I know, Jenna, but I'm going to anyway.  I don't give a shit about what they said, it isn't about them, it's about me."

            "I know, but people can't know about it."

            "Well, he's going to know."

            Jenna saw that there was no use in arguing.  "This isn't what you planned on."

            "I know, it isn't.  He should know the truth.  He deserves it."

            "Yeah, I deserve this."

            John looked at him.  "You don't know how nice it is to see you again."  He took a drink. "I know you, Dad, and I can trust you.  You cannot tell a soul, not yet.  You'll see stuff starting to happen, I don't know what, but you'll know when you do.  It all has to do with what happened."

            "It's big, isn't it?"

            "Huge."

            "Okay, tell me."

            "Well, you know the facts.  Ten years ago next month, I disappeared from U-M, only, that's not what I remember.  I graduated, and was commissioned in the Navy.  When I was declared dead, I made my first WESTPAC.  After the Navy, I took a job in Washington working for the NSA or something like that. It sent a rift through the family, and we didn't talk to each other for five years.   Then, I got a strange case back in my hometown that I had to investigate.  It was a UFO sighting, and all the witnesses were people I grew up, went to school with.  In the end, to save everyone, I went with them, the aliens.  The next thing I remember was waking up in a military hospital.  That was four months ago."

            Michael was shocked.  John didn't know if he believed what he was saying.  But he had to go on.  "What really happened was weird. It was late at night in late November, some kind of alarm tripped in the Pentagon, and there was a loud crash on the roof.  That crash was me.  The security marine detachment found me on the roof, in a coma.  When I woke up, I told them my story, and they told me their facts.  I was gone for ten years, but I had memories for those ten years."

            "You are serious, aren't you?"

            John nodded slowly.  "I know it's a lot to take, but there's more.  I suffered from dreams, strange dreams that I was alone in a fogged room, and there were voices and beings in there.  I was in some kind of compound for the four months, trying to get everything back in order.  I guess I did, because four days ago, they let me go.  Two days ago, I was told to come here, to Michigan.  I had planed to come and visit you and Mom, to let you know that I was okay.  The government was all for it, they thought it would help me with my memory, which is of concern to everyone around.  Everyone wants to know what happened."

            "But they told you to come to Michigan for a different reason than to see us, didn't they?"

            "Yeah, you know that thing up near Traverse City?"

            "Yeah, that big lightning strike, that burned down a lot of the forest up there?"

            "It wasn't a lightning strike.  A circle with a diameter of 30 miles was flattened, turned into the equivalent of an asphalt parking lot. Nothing I know of could do what it did."

            "So you are saying that you were taken by aliens?"

            "That's the hypothesis that the government is working off of right now, and the one that I am, too."

            "Wow.  I would have never guessed that."

            "Neither would I, but I'm pretty sure that it happened.  The thing is, if I was gone for ten years, there must have been a good reason why I was taken."

            "I agree. A really good reason."

            "So, we went up there two days ago, and, in the process of the investigation, I was given this."  He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a little black box.  "There was someone in the middle of it, of the circle, waiting for me.  He gave me this."  He put it on the table.

            Jenna looked at it in amazement.  She hadn't seen it yet, she didn't even think that John had looked at it yet.  Sensing that, John explained himself.  "Last night, when I was walking, I opened it up, the bag he gave me.  In it was this."  He tapped the box. 

            "I was expecting something different," confessed Jenna.

            "What is it?" asked his father.

            "I don't know, but what ever it is, it's helping me out.  My mind is clearer now than it has been in months, and I have started to remember things.  It's only bits and pieces, but I am remembering things.  They are more like flashes, and none of them make sense."

            His father touched it.  It was warm, very warm.  It had a subtle vibration to it, like there was a motor on the inside running on some kind of task. He picked it up, and it was lighter than anything that was its size, or at least anything that he had ever felt.  It was amazing.  He could see himself in the sides. 

            "And this was given to you?"          

            "Yeah.  For some reason, I think that I have to find more of them."

            "Interesting."

            "I think so.  Dad, if there was any way, I wouldn't have let it happen like it did."

            "John, if there is any truth to your story, and believe me, I believe you, then anything that you could do wouldn't have mattered anyway."

            "I don't want any of this.  I just want to be normal, I just want to go home."

            "Speaking of home, when can you come home?"  He finished his tea.  "I assume you called this meeting because you couldn't just show up at home."

            John shook his head.  "I don't know, Dad.  I want to go home and see Mom, but then again, I don't know what's going on at all.  Whatever it is, it's started.  It has started, and I don't know what's going to happen.  I don't want to get you involved, if I can help it."

            "We're already involved, John.  We've been involved from the beginning."

            "Dad, to be honest, I don't want Mom to lose me again.  I was reluctant even to see you.  I don't want you to lose your son again."

            "I don't ever want to lose you again."

            "That's why I don't think I should see Mom quite yet."

            He nodded.  "That makes sense."

            "I wanted you to know, though, that I'm alive."

            "You're leaving now, aren't you?"

            John sighed, just like his father.  "Yeah, I'm leaving again.  I've taken up too much of your time already."  John stopped for a second, he felt something.  Something inside his head was telling him something, he couldn't tell what it was, but definitely something.  "But I have a feeling something is gonna happen soon.  I don't want to be around you when it does."

            His father nodded.  "I'm glad you came, though.  I'm glad you came."  He offered his hand across the table, and John took it. 

            "Dad, I love you."

            "I love you too, son.  Be careful."

            "I'll try, Dad."  He got up, and so did Jenna. 

            "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Ford."

            "John, you didn't even tell me about her."

            "That's a story for a later time.  I'll tell you when it's all over."  He looked over his shoulder.  The feeling was stronger, more intense.  It was going to happen soon.  "I have to go."

            Michael waved to him, and John smiled back.  He turned, and rushed to the entrance of the restaurant.  Soon, he was outside, and on his way to the car.  Then, his cell phone started to ring.  He looked at Jenna.  "Who has this number?"

            "The FBI does, but that's it."

            He took it out, and opened it.  "Hello?"

            He heard breathing on the other end of it.  This was it, John thought to himself.  This was what he was warning himself about.  "Is there someone there."

            "That was very touching, John Ford."

            "What?"

            "How's your father doing today?"

            "Who is this?"

            "Oh, no one that you know, at least not yet."

            "How the hell did you get this number?"

            "You have something that doesn't belong to you, something that you have no right possessing."

            "I don’t know what you are talking about."

            "The box.  You shouldn't have it.  It belongs to me, and I will be coming for it."  The phone went dead.  John just stood there, staring at the phone.

            "Who was that?" asked Jenna.

            "I don't know.  I never heard that voice before in my life. I'm pretty sure it wasn't the FBI."

            "What did they say?"

            "He said he's coming for me.  He knew I was talking to my father."  John was very shaken, and even more so when he heard the deep laughing.  It was coming from the same voice, and it was close, really close.  He looked around, his coat whipping around him like a black cape.  "He's here, watching me."

            Jenna drew her gun, and examined her surroundings.  "I don't see anyone."

            "I'm here, John, I'm always here."  It was coming from his head, that was it. 

            "I can hear him, in my head."

            "I'm coming for my little black box."  Then, something left him, and he blacked out.

(<> <>)

            He awoke in the car, his head in Jenna's lap.  "You have to stop doing shit like that, John.  You're going to kill yourself."

            "He accessed me, Jenna.  I don't know how, but he was inside of me."

            "What?"
            "In the restaurant, I was suddenly filled with a feeling, I couldn't place it, but now I know what it was.  It was him.  He invaded me."

            "Are you sure?"

            John sat up.  "I'm positive.  It was him.  The worst part is I know him. I'm sure of it.  I don't recognize the voice, but I recognize the feeling, the emotions coming from him."

            "Did he say what he wanted?"

            "He said he wanted the little black box.  I can't let him get it."

            "What is that, anyway?"

            "I don't know, but I have to find out, and fast."  John had regained his strength already.  "Let's get out of here."

            Jenna started the car, and they were off.  "Where should we go?"

            "Back to the hotel, we have to check out.  Then, we are going to the airport."

            She glanced over to him.  "Then where?"

            "I don't know, away from here.  I have to get as far away from here as I can."  John suddenly felt something else inside of him, it wasn't the same as before, but it was strong.  He glanced at the radio.  He reached over and turned it on.  He switched it to AM, and tuned it to 950, the all news channel.  He heard what he expected to hear, his next destination.

            "And to repeat this late breaking story.  A US Air Force Jet has collided with another aircraft over the town of Roswell, New Mexico.  Authorities are being dispatched to Roswell to investigate this crash.  The pilot of the fighter jet has been killed, but for the other plane, there has not been any conformation."

            "That's it," John said as he turned the radio off.  "That's the next step."

            "How do you know?"

            "I just know.  We're going to Roswell, New Mexico."

 

12

            John and Jenna finally arrived in Roswell just before sunset.  They found a room in the local Holiday Inn, and settled down.  John watched CNN's coverage of the crash, as the military had already closed the area off to the city authorities and residents.  The city was a zoo with new people, mostly military.  There were whispers going around town that it was a cover-up, just like before.  That the jet didn't collide with another airplane, that it was another saucer, an alien spacecraft that crashed in this town again.  John heard one such theory at the front desk.  He smiled, and was very nice about it.  John suspected that the truth wasn't too far from that.  He would see tomorrow.

            "What's the latest?"

            "Nothing new, really.  It's the same old thing.  They said that the investigation is basically shutting down for the night and will resume tomorrow morning."

            "I was thinking that we should call them tonight, or at least call someone, and tell them that we are coming."

            John shrugged his shoulders.  "I don't know if that will matter too much.   If we can't get access to the site with an NSA badge, and an FBI badge, then I don't think that we're going to get access to it at all."

            "It will probably help our cause if we say that we're coming."

            "If you want to, go ahead.  You know more about these kinds of things."

            "Okay, I will."  She picked up her cell phone from her jacket, and walked into the bathroom.  She emerged a few minutes later.  "It's all taken care of.  They'll be expecting us."

            John smiled.  "Sounds good."  He turned off the television.  "You want something to eat?  I can go get something."

            Jenna thought for a second. "Yeah, I am kind of hungry."

            "Well, what do you want?  I think there's a few fast food places around here."

            "Hmm, let's see.  You can get me a Quarter Pounder with Cheese meal, with a Coke."

            "Okay, I can take care of that."  He rolled of the bed, and grabbed his jacket.  It was a chilly desert night, and it was only March.  "I'll be back in two shakes of a lambs tail."

            Jenna looked at him strangely.  "Where did you hear that?"

            "Some movie I was watching while you were in the shower earlier."  He checked his pockets, no keys.  "Do you have the keys?"

            "Yeah, here you go."  She tossed them to him.  He started out the door.  "Be careful, John."

            "Don't worry, it's me!"

            He walked to the car, and fumbled with the keys.  Finally, he got them in the lock.  He had another feeling, something wasn't right.  He looked around the parking lot.  All was quiet.  Still, something wasn't right.  He started walking, towards what, he didn't know.  There was something there, he felt this.  He stopped, and looked up at the desert sky.  He saw a star, moving gently from east to west.  It might be a satellite, it may have been a plane.  John watched it as it traveled across the night's sky.  He was in awe, it was marvelous to watch.  Maybe, inside that light, were the beings that did this to him, or the ones, the others, that were messing things up? 

            It faded to the horizon, and he watched it go.  He walked back to the car, and got in.  As he left the parking lot, he didn't notice the man on the other side of the rooms, watching him from the shadows.  He, too, got in his car, and followed John to his destination.

            John stepped up to the counter in the McDonald's that was just down the street.  He placed his order, a Quarter Pounder Extra Value Meal, and a twenty piece chicken nuggets.  As he waited for his order to be assembled, he sensed that someone else came into the restaurant.  He didn't know that it was the same man from the hotel.

            Finally, the order was finished, and John was about to be on his way.  The man stopped him, though, by accidentally bumping into him, knocking the food to the ground.  "Oh, excuse me," the man said.

            "Don't worry, accidents happen."

            The man looked at him.  "It wasn't an accident."

            John looked at him curiously.  "What?"

            "I needed to get your attention."
            "Well, you got it, mister.  Plus, as I see it, you owe me for the food."

            "Don't worry about that."  He eyed the young lady that came out from behind the counter to pick up the mess that he made.  "I think that we should get a table outside."

            "Why?"
            "I need to talk to you, Mr. Ford."

            Not too many people knew him by name.  This was interesting, indeed.  "Maybe we should go outside."  The man nodded, and headed out of the restaurant.  John followed.

            "Who are you?" John demanded.

            "It's hard to explain," the man said. 

            "Well, try."

            "Let's just say that I'm an ally."

            "An ally in what?"

            "In what's going on.  I’m on your side."

            "What's going on?"

            "Son, I don't have time to play any games with you.  I need to give you some information."

            "What kind of information?"

            "Are you familiar with project Omega?"

            "I've never heard of it."

            "I'm not surprised.  With you only being back for such a short time, I'm sure they haven't sucked you in, yet."

            "What are you talking about?"

            "I'm talking about the existence of extra-terrestrials."

            "What's Project Omega?"

            "It's the evolution of Project Blue Book.  You remember what that was, don't you?"

            Yeah, I remember that one.  That was the Air Force's research into UFO sightings.  But if I remember, it really wasn't something that they took seriously."

            "Oh, they did take it seriously.  Deadly serious, actually.  Do you know how many reports were actually deemed unexplainable?"

            "I think it was something like eight percent, or something like that."

            "There were hundreds of them.  All of them could not be explained away as stars, planets, swamp gas, ball lighting, anything like that."

            "But the Air Force closed down Blue Book."

            "They did, but they funneled the unexplained cases into Project Omega.  It took over where Blue Book left out, and tried to explain them."

            "And you are saying that they have explained them?"

            "No, not at all.  No case has been explained to the satisfaction of anyone, at least not yet.  Except one case.  Omega case 11474."

            "What was that case about."
            "It was a series of erratic reports of strange lights on or about 15 April, 1996."

            John's eyes widened.  "That was the day that I disappeared."

            "Yes, it was.  It was the day that you disappeared."

            "I'm almost scared to ask, but what was the explanation for that case?"

            "The explanation is the first official documented extra-terrestrial encounter.  The sightings took place around the campus of the University of Michigan."

            "So it was my case. And they are convinced that it was aliens, then?"

            "Aren't you?"

            "What I believe doesn't seem to matter too much."

            "Sure it does, it has everything to do with it."

            "What do you mean?"

            "You are the proof of the existence of extra-terrestrial life forms.  The reason you are sitting here, on this planet, is because of a race of aliens."
            "Who are you?"

            "I'm one of the members of the Omega Group, the main investigative body of Project Omega.  We've been looking for you, John.  You are the proof that we are looking for."

            "I'm not proof of anything.  I'm just a man, trying to get by."

            "Then what are you doing in Roswell, New Mexico?"

            "What if I said I'm on vacation?"

            "Maybe I would believe that, if it weren't for the crashed spaceship that we have out in the desert."

            "What?"

            "That jet that went down yesterday, it wasn't a collision with a civilian aircraft."

            "So, you have your proof."

            "Yes, we have our concrete evidence, but you, John, you are special.  You've been out there; you've been with them.  We want you to come back with us, we want to help you."

            "Help me how?"

            "We have your files.  They were supplied to us a few days ago.  Your existence was hidden from us, because we would have claimed you under our directives.  Someone out there didn't want that to happen."

            "But I've been given my release from Government custody.  I'm a free man again, and I work for the NSA, to boot."

            "Yes, that is true, but we need to find out the truth behind what happened to you, and what happened here.  You are he key to everything, John.  IF we understand you, then we understand the situation."

            "I don't want to go with you people.  I'll just be a lab rat to you all."

            "Your value is incalculable, John.  We need you."

            "You'll have to get by without me."

            "There's something else, John, there something else that may change your mind."

            "What could that be?"

            "There is a live alien being, one that survived the crash."

            "You're kidding?"

            "No, not at all.  He's being held at the old airfield, where we made a makeshift headquarters."  He leaned closer to him.  " No one knows about it, and we need to communicate with it."  He grabbed John by the arm.  "We are both looking for the same thing."

            "What's that?"

            "The truth, John.  We both want to know the truth about what is going on."

            "I'm beginning to see the truth, sir, and it doesn't lie in with a phantom organization, or anything like that."

            "We need you, John."

            "Well, you won't get me, not like this.  I have to find my own answers, my own truth.  It doesn't lie in some military lab, or with you.  I'll be at the crash site tomorrow.  If I see you there, I may have something for you.  But nothing, until I see who you really are, until I see some authenticity to your words."

            "You'll never get access to the facilities."

            "Watch me.  You'd be surprised what I'm capable of these days."
            "If you get within ten miles of the crash site, it will be a miracle."
            "Sir, you aren't winning any points over there.  I don't give a shit about your little government project, I don't give a shit about your needs, I don't give a shit about you."  He stood up, for he saw the worker bringing out his replacement food.  "All I give a shit about it eating some dinner.  Whatever is gonna happen will, no matter what you or I want."

            "If you come with me, we can make it all make sense."

            "No deal.  Give me some proof as to who you are, and your organization, and maybe we'll talk some more."

            "John, don't throw this opportunity away.  We can learn so much from each other."

            "No," he said, and got into his car.  He watched in the mirror as the man just sat there, in front of McDonald's.

            When John arrived back in the room, he found Jenna asleep on the bed.  He shut the door somewhat loud, to wake her up.  She began to rustle a bit, and opened her eyes.  "Oh, I must have dozed a bit.  How long were you gone?"  She looked at her watch.

            "About a half hour, I think."

            "What took you so long?"

            "There was a man at McDonald's, he said that he worked for a project called Omega, and that he wanted me to go with him, or something like that.  I had to talk with him for a while."

            "Oh yeah?"

            "Yeah.  There's something not right about this crash, Jenna.  I can feel it."

            "What do you mean?"

            "This man said that it was a spacecraft that collided with the jet, and there is a survivor."

            Jenna looked surprised.  "Do you believe him?"

            "Not totally, but there is definitely something out of the ordinary here.  I have a bad feeling about this."

            "What kind of feeling?"

            "One of those 'my life is going to change tomorrow' type of feelings."

            Jenna got up, and made her way towards the bag.  She was hungry, and wasn't going to wait any longer.  She grabbed a few fries.  "You know, I have one of those feelings, too," she said between bites.  "But then again, life changes with you seem to take place every couple of hours or so."

            "This is different.  I think, I'm not sure, but I think we'll finally know what's going on, or at least get a really good idea about what the hell is going on."

            "Well, whatever is going on, it seems that you're right in the middle of it."

            "Oh, damn," he said angrily.

            "What is it?"

            "They forgot the damn bar-be-que sauce for the nuggets." 

(<> <>)

The shades were drawn, as they always were.  No sun was allowed to penetrate the room, none at all.  It stank of hundreds of cigarettes and sweat.  To look at the room, taking in its total environment, one would instantly think of a bar, or maybe a locker room.  The only difference, it was kept at precisely fifty-five degrees.  They liked it cold, and they liked it dark.  It was easier that way, never getting a good look at each other, especially considering some of the decisions that had to be made in that room. 

            It seated maybe twenty people, possibly more.  It was never full, at least not in recent history.  It was hard enough having to be the ones to make all the tough calls, but recruiting new members, that was a different story.  They were getting old, and the world was changing.  It was changing faster than they could imagine.  Soon, it would be necessary to inject new blood into the process.  Not today, this was a different kind of matter, a subject that had never before come before them, something that they read about in comic books and pulp novels.  Sure enough, though, the briefing papers in front of the sixteen members read like a Robert Heinlien novel, or maybe Arthur C. Clark.  Certainly not the work of non-fiction, and the top four intelligence agencies.  It was real, though.

            Soon, the members were assembled, and it began.  The elected chairman called the meeting to order.  "I won't fool you at all, I've never thought this would happen, at least on our watch.  But it has, and we have to deal with it.  I trust that everyone has read their packets?"  He was answered by the faint outline of nodding heads.  "Good, I will turn it over to Gemini to discuss exactly what's going on."

            All sixteen members sat at a round table, fashioned in the old Arthurian legend.  The one named Gemini sat near to the elected chairman.  "Thank you sir."  He cleared his throat, and began.  "Approximately thirty six hours ago, we learned of a disturbing incident in the New Mexican desert, just outside the city of Roswell.  A US Air Force F-15 collided with what is believed to be a civilian aircraft of some kind.  When military SAR teams arrived on the scene, they found something beyond imagine.  They found a crashed craft of seemingly extra-terrestrial origin."  The room was silent, but the heartbeats could be heard by everyone.  It was hard enough to read about it, but having it confirmed was something different.

            "They had the presence of mind to secure the area immediately, which was to our benefit.  By our, I mean the United States military, and the intelligence community.  As far as we can tell, there have been zero civilian witnesses.  We still have a containment problem, though.

            "The crash site itself if small, three acres at most.  The craft is in relatively good shape, however, the passengers, and there were a lot of them, they didn't far as well.  Seventeen bodies have been recovered.  One was alive when the team first arrived, but all first aid on it was unsuccessful.  Also, there seemed to be an eighteenth passenger, but we have been unable to locate it.  We have the site contained at the moment, members of Air Force and Navy intelligence, CIA, NSA, Special Forces, Marines, and every other hard core group has at least one representative there.  We wanted it this way, because this isn't something that we can hide, at least not from ourselves."  He sat back down.

            The chairman rose again.  "We are in sort of a bind.  As you know, we haven't had any contact with a race of extra-terrestrial origin.  We don’t' have facilities that we can use to store this type of wreckage.  We are forced with a few issues concerning this.

            "First of all, we need to transport this material.  The main pieces of the craft are too big to be driven away from the site.  They are light enough, we can air lift them to a few facilities in the area, although that wouldn't be the first choice.  Think about which was we can best remove it.

            "Second, there will be public involvement, especially when they discover that it wasn't a civilian flight that was hit.  My suggestion is say that it was a top-secret plane on maneuvers with the F-15, and there was an accident that caused the crashes.  We can then leak a new project or two, saying that the prototype was destroyed, and the project was being abandoned.  Denial, as hard as that is, is our best weapon, though, if the story fails to take root.  Same procedure that we use just about everywhere else.

            "Third, there is a wild card situation developing.  We have discussed him before.  I'm sure you remember John Ford, the man that popped up on the roof of the Pentagon with a story about aliens.  Well, he's in Roswell.  He's been there for a little over a day.  He want's access to the site, and to tell you the truth, it scares me.  I'm not sure it was a good idea to let him have freedom quite yet, especially since we have no idea what happened to him.  He was at the site in Michigan, but hasn't filed a report or anything.  Therefore, we are still in the dark.

            "That's what it looks like right now.  Are there any questions?"

            He waited for a second, and no one raised their hands to ask a question.  That was normal, too.  Everything that they needed to know was usually in their briefing package. (FINISH) 

(<> <>)

John awoke early the next morning, but he hadn't planned on it.  There was a tremendous rumbling outside.  It was loud enough to wake him up.  He first thought of a truck, or maybe a train.  The room was shaking, more violently than he would have suspected.  He got up, and went to the window, to satisfy his curiosity.  He looked to the street, but nothing was there.  The rumbling seemed to be right next to his room.  He looked up, and saw something amazing.  Three large military cargo planes, he wasn't sure what type they were, flew overhead.  They were circling the old airfield that was just outside of town, the old airfield that was the central point of the supposed cover up fifty some odd years earlier.

            John knew about that story, he had been interested in that sort of thing for as long as he could remember, before what happened to him.  Now, he was hip deep in it. In 1947, in early July, there was a tremendous thunderstorm in central New Mexico.  One of the clasps of thunder seemed strange, louder than most.   In the next few days, a farmer noticed wreckage, and called the authorities.  What happened afterwards is subject to debate, with many official and non-official stories circulating.  The popular story, believed by many, was that a spacecraft was struck by lightning and crashed, killing two of three aliens in the craft.  At first, the Army-Air Force issued a press release stating that they had recovered a flying disk.  It was quickly denied, though, and explained away as a weather balloon.  Still, many people claim that it was a saucer, and that the military covered it up, complete with threats against the residents of Roswell, New Mexico.  The official story still maintains that a weather balloon crashed, but this was not a normal weather balloon.  It was a top-secret balloon designed to detect Russian nuclear testing.  That flew like a lead balloon, no pun intended.  No one really knows what happened.

            As John watched the military move in on the crash site, he wondered if something like that was happening again.   Maybe it was.  He was determined to find out, though. 

            He heard Jenna rustling behind him.  He stayed at the window, his arms crossed in front of himself, watching the airborne parade.  "What's going on?"

            "It looks like an invasion." 

            "What do you mean?"

            "The military is moving in, bringing all sorts of equipment."  He shut the drapes and turned to look at her.  "This is more than just a civilian aircraft."

            She sat up, and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.  "Well, we'll be there in an hour or so.  We'll find out."

            "I don't like this."  He picked up his wallet and keys to the car.  "You want something for breakfast?"

            She was still asleep, for the most part.  She was also hungry.  "Yeah, get me a cup of coffee, and a bagel or two."

            "Any specific?"

            "Remember those raisin cinnamon things they had back at school?"
            "Yeah, those were great."
            "If they have something like that, get me those.  If not, poppy seed or onion."

            "Roge," he said as he headed out.  The old man was waiting for him.  John wasn't surprised.  He kept on heading to his car, though.

            "Mr. Ford, you can't deny what's going on."

            "What can't I deny?" he yelled back.  He got in the car.

            "I know what all this is about.  Let me come with you."

            John stopped, and looked at the sky.  It was a B-2 Stealth Bomber.  It was impressive, a flying wing of death.  It seemed to just glide overhead.  A show of force, no doubt.  It was escorted by the equally impressive F-117 A Stealth Fighter, three of them, to be exact.  They represented some of humanity's greatest technological achievements.  They were flying very low, too.  Lower than they'd normally fly.  Something was strange, and this man was his best bet, so far. "Okay, I'm going to get coffee.  You can come."  The man scurried to the passenger door, and got in.

            "Do you have proof of who you are?"

            The man looked at him, and then opened the briefcase that he was holding.  Inside was a manila envelope.  He took out he contents.  There was a black and white picture of John on the front, taken in his Service Dress Blues.  The insignia told him that he was a second class midshipman.  That was his junior year in college.  The pages that followed were reports on the investigation that took place by this Omega group of his disappearance. 

            "I was the investigating officer, Mr. Ford.  I followed your case from the moment it happened.  Too many things happened at once for it to be a coincidence.  Now, I've found you."

            "What's your name?"

            "My name is Colonel Brian Stephens, US Air Force, Retired."

            "Well, Colonel Brian Stephens, I can't help you.  I don't want to help you, I don't want to be the guinea pig of an investigation or experiment."

            "I understand you, Mr. Ford, I really do.  But we need to understand what's going on here."

            "Look, call me John, okay?  My dad is Mr. Ford."

            "How is your dad, anyway?  Did you have a nice visit with him a few days ago?"

            "How the fuck do you know about that?"

            "We've been watching you, John.  We can't let this opportunity go."

            John got pissed, then.  "You were the one that said that shit to me after, weren't you?"  He grabbed Colonel Stephens by the lapels.  "You son of a bitch, you did that."  The Colonel was shocked.

            "What are you talking about?"

            "That cryptic shit, the 'I'm coming for you' bullshit."

            "I don't know what you are talking about."

            "You are not getting the box.  No one is getting the box."

            "What box?"

            John stared at him.  Col. Stephens was freaked out, he could tell.  He didn't know anything about the box.  It sure as hell seemed like it, anyway.  John composed himself, at least a little.  He let go of the colonel, and sat back.  Maybe this guy didn't know anything.  "I'm, uh, sorry."

            "What was that all about?"

            "Nothing, nothing.  It's just that this has been a rough couple of days."

            "I'm not your enemy, John.  I'm here to help you.  Come work for us."

            "No, I won't work for you.  I'm going to maintain my independence."

            "Then lets help each other, at least.  I'll take you to the crash site, I'll take you to the survivor."

            "I have access to the site, I'm going there in an hour or so."

            "Not the real site.  What do you think all this is about?"  He pointed up, at the aircraft that still were making their way to the old airfield. 

            "A cover-up?"

            "Yes, a cover up.  The real site is contained, and a second, staged site is being set up.  A perfect cover story."

            "And you say I can get access to the real site?"

            "And the survivor."

            "And the survivor."  He thought for a second.  What if this man was telling the truth?  If he was, then he needed to trust him, at least a little bit.

            "So, what about this survivor?"

            "No one knows that we have it.  I haven't seen it yet, but no one knows that we have it."

            "So, it looks like you are my only hope, then."

            "Something like that.  We can help each other."

            "I'll give you one chance, Colonel.  If that one chance doesn't pay off, then, I think that there'll be some bad news in it for you."

            "Far enough.  I know this is a tough situation, John.  I need you to trust me.  I'm in it for the same reason that you are."

            "To find the truth?"

            "To stop the motherfuckers."  John looked at him.  Perhaps this man had more of a clue than he let on. 

            "To stop what?"

            "I know something is happening, you know something is happening.  I don't know what it is, you might.  I don't like it, and I bet you don't like it.  I want to stop it, for a couple of different reasons."

            John smiled at him.  "You should have said that from the beginning."

(<> <>)

            Jenna as surprised that John brought back a visitor.  After the introductions, John took Jenna aside, and told her what happened.  "Keep an eye on this guy," he told her.  "But I think he's on our side."  Jenna agreed.

            They headed south out of town, past the airfield, past the fake crash site.  It took almost an hour, but soon they arrived at a farmhouse.  John thought that this might be the old crash site, from fifty years ago.  He remembered that it was to the north, though.  This was something else, though.

            They pulled into the driveway, and saw four black Cadillacs in the driveway, concealed from the main road.  This was the place, all right.  Only the government would use such ominous looking vehicles.  Colonel Stephens led them into the house, and past seven guards.  They all dressed the same, in black suits.  They looked formidable.  They carried automatic rifles, with what looked like a scope that a sniper would use.  These people meant business, whoever they were. 

            Col. Stephens lead them downstairs, to a room that looked like something out of Star Trek.  It was filled with strange equipment and people who wore white smocks like scientists or doctors would.  The basement was huge, as if it had existed before this little event had taken place.  It probably did, John thought. 

            The colonel swiped an identification card into a slot, and the heavy door slowly slid open.  If it were a trap, John thought to himself, he was already in too deep.  He might as well keep on going.  Jenna followed him.  Both had their weapons ready, just in case. 

            The door lead to another corridor, with three doors, one at the end, and two on either side of it.  The three of them stopped.  "It's behind that door at the end of the hallway.  The two rooms on the right and left are prep rooms.  Men on the left, women on the right.  We have detected strange biological agents associated with the being, so we are being careful."  He pointed at the two rooms.  "We can change in those."

            John and Jenna walked towards the room.  John stopped before he got there, staring at the door in front of him.  He felt something, something he felt before.  Whatever was behind that door, John could feel it.  It was a strange feeling, one he wasn't used to.  Evil, it felt like evil.  That thing that they recovered, it was evil.

            "What is it, John?" asked Jenna, noticing his change in state.

            "I can feel it in there," he told her. 

            "What do you mean?"

            "That thing, the survivor."  He looked at her, his eyes filled with fear, and something else. 

            "There's more to it than that, isn't there?"

            John nodded.  There was a lot more to it.  "Yeah, I don't think that this going to be pretty."  Just then, the door swung open.  One of the workers ran from the room.  Three more followed him.  Colonel Stephens stopped one.

            "What's going on?"

            "That little son of a bitch just went berserk.  It started convulsing, and then it starting ranting and raving about something.  We couldn't control it, and it looked like it was going to break its restraints."  We got the hell out of there."  The man continued down the hallway.  John took out his gun, and loaded a magazine in it.  He flicked off the safety, and brought it up to a ready position.  He looked back at Stephens.

            "It knows I'm here, and it doesn't like it."

            Stephens looked at him in dismay.  "What do you mean?"

            "I mean that I have to go in there, and I don't have time to prepare myself.  It's not going to hurt us, those biological readings are harmless."

            Stephens looked at one of the men that stayed behind.  "He's right.  There isn't anything toxic to humans emanating from the creature.  It's just different to what we are used to, we weren't sure if it was a disease, or something like that."  Stephens looked at John, and nodded.  Jenna took out her weapon, too, and loaded it.  They were ready.

            John made his way to the door, and grabbed the handle.  He sensed that whatever it was inside knew that he was here, and that was what set him off.  Tough shit for it, John thought to himself.  It was showtime.  He turned the knob, and swung to door open.

            To his relief, there was a shielding of sorts in front of the door.  He didn't have to look at the creature right off the bat.  He could hear it rustling about inside, it was really making a fuss.  Good, let them suffer for a bit, John was through suffering. 

            He entered the room, gun raised, ready for anything.  He had a feeling that the alien was enclosed in some kind of cell.  If it wasn't, these supposed intellects were dumb as a post.  To his relief, he could indeed make out a cell, made of some kind of see-through material.  Good, these guys were smart.  At least they were cautious. 

            He turned the corner around the obstruction slowly; he wasn't sure what his reaction to the creature would be.   He really didn't want to look at it.  He suddenly thought back to the days before his abduction, when he would talk about the subject of Unidentified Flying Objects and aliens with his friends.  "I really think that they are cool and all, but I hope to God that I never have a chance to see one," he would tell his friends.  "I'd be scared shitless.  I don't know if I could even look at one."  Well, those feelings were creeping back into him.  He had to block them out, though.  If he could sense the alien, and it could sense him, then, he thought, that it could sense any kind of fear within him.  He couldn't let that happen, he needed to have the upper hand.  He took a deep breath, and turned the corner.

            Before John could set his eyes on it, the creature let out a shriek the likes of which he had never dreamed.  It was terrified.  John searched the cell, and finally found it.  It was what he half expected to see, but not really.  He thought of the typical alien that people would report after a late-night abduction scenario.  The beings were gray, and they were rather short.  Their height was generally thought to be around four feet, maybe four and a half feet.  They had big, almond-shaped black eyes that seemed to wraparound their head, as well as look right into a person's soul.  Their arms were described as being longer than a human's, in respect to the rest of their body.  They arms were said to hang down to their knees.  They were weak, or at least they looked like they were.  Thin arms, thin legs, and a body that really didn't look all that developed.  The head itself was bigger than a humans, and very bulbous.  This alien shared many of those qualities, but not exactly as the description.

            It wasn't gray, it was more of an olive-green.  Its head wasn't too much bigger than a human's head.  The eyes, they were oblong, almost almond-shaped.  They did wrap around its head, which obviously made their field of vision quite large, larger than a human's.  It was almost five feet tall, not all that small, and it looked very strong, very developed.  He could see muscles rippling all over its body, especially in its chest, arms and legs.  It would be a formidable opponent in hand-to-hand combat, for sure.  Its arms were long, longer than humans.  It had four fingers on each hand, almost claw-like fingers.  He wouldn't want to scuffle with it, not at all. 

            They stood there, staring at each other for what seemed like forever.  John lowered his weapon; the creature was obviously terrified of him.  It was cowering in a corner of the cell.  It never took its eyes off John, though.  It stopped screaming, much to the delight of John.  Jenna joined him by his side.

            "Holy fuck," she said.  John had to agree with her.  "That's what an alien looks like?"

            "Not all of them."  John walked to the cell; he put his weapon away.  This alien was too scared to be a threat to him.  John could tell that Jenna didn't holster her weapon. Good, at least he would have some cover.  With a caged animal, any kind of animal, sometimes they would lash out against their captors.  If this alien tried to jump him, he would like some cover.

            Colonel Stephens finally entered, and took his first look at an extra-terrestrial being.  "My God," he said.  "Those descriptions, they were all true."

            John was at the clear wall.  He put his hands up, as if to show that he meant no harm.  No, he wouldn't hurt this alien.  He needed to talk to it.  He needed answers.  "I'm not going to hurt you," he told it.  It didn't answer him, at least it didn't answer him out loud. 

            You are the chosen one, aren't you?  Inside his mind, John heard this creature talk to him.  You are the one that was sent by the Ancients, sent to defeat us.

            "I don't know what you are talking about," John replied, out loud.   He wasn't used to mind-to-mind communication. 

            You were the one taken, and then returned.  You were the one that they chose to fight us.

            "You have me confused with someone else, little guy."

            You have their technology on your person, I can tell.  They are extinct, yet you have their devices.  You are part of them, aren't you?

            "Why are you here?"

            Because my ship crashed, and I didn't die like the rest of my crew.

            "That's not what I mean.  Why are you here on this planet?"

            I cannot tell you that.  I am not allowed.

            "I think you want to tell me.  You want to tell me everything."

            You don't understand.  If I don't want to tell you anything, I won't tell you anything at all.

            "What do you mean?"

            My mental capacity is so much better than yours, there is nothing that you can do that will make me tell you something that I don't want to tell you."

            "Is that why you communicate only using thought?"

            That's why, yes.

            "You screamed pretty loud, though."

            My reaction was one of fear, but now, as I am beginning to know you and your thoughts, you aren't something to be afraid of.  In fact, you are weaker than most of the minds that I have invaded since I've been here.  The alien stood up, now with an air of confidence about him.  He walked towards John, almost goading him into some kind of confrontation.  That weak race picked a pathetic savior.

            "I'm no one's savior."

            That's obvious.

            John stepped back as the creature stepped forward.  Their eyes never left each other.  John could sense it's presence in his head, searched, sifting through all his thoughts, his memories, his entire being.  He tried to fight it, but he couldn't.  "Get out of my head," he screamed at it.

            I'm everything you fear, John Ford, it told him mentally.  You can't fight what you fear so much.  You can't possibly defeat us.  The creature was at the transparent wall, and John was beginning to waver.

            "What's wrong, John?"  Jenna noticed what was going on, at least she noticed that something was wrong.  He heard the hammer on her gun click back.  She was ready to blow a hole through the cell, and through the creature's head.

            Tell your soul mate over there to put away her weapon. Yes, I know all about their plan to bond you two.    It was enjoying what it was doing, John could tell that.  This wasn't going well at all.

            Thoughts flew through his mind, visions of death, of torture, of agony.  He was terrified at what he saw.  Mainly, it was himself, at the whims of these creatures, being operated on, poked, prodded, and beaten to a pulp.  He thought that it was making these images up, conjuring them to break John mentally.  They seemed so much more real than that, though.  They seemed true.

            That's because they are true, John.  You weren't with the Ancients for those entire ten years.  You were with us, too.  We did all of these things to you, all of them.  That's why you can never fight against us.  We broke you once, we'll do it again.  He was broken, he felt like it, anyway.  The images permeated every ounce of his being, he could feel the procedures, and he could feel the beatings that he endured.  The creature spoke the truth, they owned him.

            No, he thought to himself.  That can't be.  It can't be that easy. But it is, it told him.  It's always that simple with your pansy little species.  No, it isn't.  I won't allow it.

            You are already lost. You've always been lost.  I can see it within you, the great weakness.  You were your people's last hope, and now, you've condemned them to death with your weakness.

            He put his hand up, motioning to Jenna to stand down, to put her weapon away.  She didn't do it.  God bless her, he thought to himself.  He reached into his jacket pocket, and grabbed onto the box, the little black box that he was given in Michigan.  Whatever it was, it would have to help him.  If what he was being shown actually happened to him was true, and they did have him for a time, then he must have been saved.  The Ancients, as the creature called them, they much have helped him recover from whatever happened to him.  He just didn't remember them helping them.  It was like having only a few pieces to a puzzle.  His memory, it was a puzzle.  Without all the pieces, the total sum that was his mind didn't work, not at all.  Every little event affected him as he remembered it.  If they saved him from their torture, if the fear and pain was taken away from him, he didn't remember it.  He had to remember, though, in order to rid himself of it again.  The only way that he could think that this would be accomplished would be with the little black box that he was given.  He took it out, and held it in front of him.  "Recognize this, asshole?"  The alien took a few steps back.

            You don't know how to use that.

            "Are you sure about that?"  The alien was definitely spooked.  He could feel it begin to warm in his hands.  The soft vibration that it gave off was also increasing in intensity.  He didn't have to know how to use it, it would work on its own.  John knew that, the alien knew that.  The alien was afraid.

            Like a drug acting upon his system, John felt the fear melt away.  The Ancients had, in fact, rescued him from the clutches of these other aliens.  They had helped him heal from the mental and physical injuries caused by these aliens.  The box was quivering in his hand, now.  It seemed to begin to dissolve in his hand, almost as mercury would.  As if it was alive, it began to cover his hand.  It thinned out, moving up his arm, up to his elbow.  It took the form of some type of webbing, as it anchored itself to his skin, to his body.   "Is this how it works?" he asked the alien, who's lack of speech was evidence of his new found fear.

            You can't possible win.

            "I'm sick and fucking tired of being scared, of not knowing what the fuck is going on."  He could feel the box, or whatever the box had turned into, start to take its effect on his body.  More so, it was effecting his mind, namely his memory.  I think it's time to up the ante a bit, now.  He said it to the alien only using his mind.  It came naturally to him, he didn't know how it happened, but then again, he didn't really care. Are you in communications with the rest of your shitball race?

            No, they are too far away.

            "Too bad," he said aloud.  "I was going to let you live to give them a message.  Now, I think I'll kill you."

            Why would you kill me?  I'm not a threat to you, or to anyone else.  Where's the honor in that?

            John thought a second.  The alien was right, there was no honor in killing a helpless, unarmed person, even if that person was an alien.  He remembered what this particular alien did to his mind, triggering the almost paralyzing pain and anguish that he felt.  There was no telling what this little one could do to the unprepared and untrained.   You're right, there is no honor in killing the helpless and unarmed.  You aren't unarmed, though, are you?  You have that little mental number you do, and, well, I have just deemed you too much of a risk to survive.  He wasn't sure if he was bluffing or not.  He had pushed this entity from his mind, that was easy enough.  His mental ability had increased when the box transformed and attached itself to his hand.  They were the equal, probably superior to this little creature he saw before him.  He had never killed, though, not like this.  He took care of his share of insects and rodents, but not something as sentient as this.  No, he wasn't a murderer, and that was what this would be.  You're right, I won't kill you.

            The creature seemed to laugh at him.  You don't have the stomach to fight us.  You can't even kill someone as insignificant as me.

            John smiled right back at him.  I said I wouldn't kill you, but that leaves a lot open, doesn't it?

            He could feel the confusion from the creature.  What?

            Here's a little brain candy for you, fucker.  He thought of what he wanted to do, and the aliens shrieked just as he did when John had first entered the room.  In addition to that, it reached up and grabbed it's head.  It staggered around the cell for a few moments, then fell, convulsing as it did.  John felt his right hand, the hand that the black box has covered, clench into a fist.  Think about that, you little fuck.  He turned to leave the creature in its pain.  He walked right past Jenna and Colonel Stephens.  They followed him as he left the room.  To their surprise, the door swung shut behind them, without either of them pushing it closed.  That was John's doing. 

            "John!" Jenna shouted.  He didn't answer her.  He didn't even hear her.  He was too busy sorting out the new information that was making itself available to him.  "John!"  She grabbed his arm, and swung him around.  John stared at her, past her, into nothingness.   She was worried, she hadn't seen him like this.   Her fears subsided, though, as she was overwhelmed with a thought that told her that John was okay.  It was in his voice, at least she thought it was.  She saw a smile start to creep across his lips. 

            He turned back down the hallway.  He wanted out of that farmhouse.  They followed him. 

13

            John sat on the front porch of the farmhouse.  He hadn't moved in over an hour.  Jenna stood behind him, not leaving for the entire time.  He was processing everything, all this new information.  She waited patiently for him, she had to.  Finally, he turned towards her, with a big smile on his face.  "What?" she asked.

            "It's good to see you."  She smiled back.

            "What the hell happened in there. The doctors say that thing is in a coma."

            "Yeah, it is.  I don't think that it'll be recovering anytime soon."

            "What do you mean?"

            "Well, since I am the one who did it to him, I would guess that I would know if it will recover or not."

            "You did that to him?"  She looked horrified.  

            "Yeah, pretty neat, huh?"

            "Neat isn't what I'd call it."

            "Well, when I tell you what's going on, I think you'll reconsider."

            "I don't know."

            "Trust me, Jenna.  I know so much more now."  He raised his right hand, it was covered in the black webbing that was the little black box.  "I needed the time to let this fully, well, do it's thing.  It sort of merged with me, I guess."

            "Merged with you?"

            "It's a tool, a tool that they gave me, to help me remember."  He looked at it closely, for the first time.  "Wow, this is pretty cool."  He stared at it.

            "Well, are you going to tell me?"

            "Oh yeah, yeah, I'm going to tell you.  First, we have to get to the crash site."

            "Why?"

            "There's another box there.  It's the box that these little shits stole, when they kidnapped me. I have to get it back."

            "What? These were the aliens that kidnapped you?"

            "Well, kind of.  It's complicated.  I'll tell you after we get the box."  He looked around the yard.  "Where's Colonel Stephens?"

            "He's inside, talking with the people here.  I think he's pissed at you, for what you did to their prized possession."

            "Like that matters," he said casually.  He started towards the door, but stopped when he saw Stephens come out.

            "What the fuck did you do to it?"

            "Nevermind that, Colonel, we have to get to the crash site, now."

            "Why?"

            "Because I have to get there, I have to look at it."

            "First, you tell me what you did to that alien."

            "On the way.  But, I really need to find that crash site."

            Stephens stood there, contemplating his choices.  He really wasn't sure what to think about everything.

            "Colonel, we have to go, at once."

            "Fine, fine.  Let's go."  The three of them piled into their car, and Stephens directed Jenna to where the actual crash site was.  It wasn't even close to the supposed crash site that was set up this morning.  This site had circus tents covering the craft, as well as numerous armed men patrolling the perimeter.  They had no problem accessing the site, though, with Colonel Stephens' access.  John got out of the car, and stared at the tent.   

            "I need everyone out of the tent, immediately," he called to the Colonel.

            "What?  I can't do that!"

            "You have to.  I need private access to the wreckage." 

            "But I-"

            "Do it now!" he yelled, cutting the Colonel off in mid sentence.  Jenna stared in shock at the latest change in John's personality.  What was happening here?

            Colonel Stephens headed towards the tent, and talked to the guards.  One disappeared into the tent, and brought out a man in a very nice suit.  Stephens talked to him, occasionally pointing towards John and Jenna.  The conversation was quick, and Stephens started walking back towards the two of them.  "He said he'll do it, as long as you tell us what the hell you are doing."

            "You said you wanted answers, you wanted the truth, right?" John asked.  "Well, some of that truth lies right in there, and to keep your people safe, I suggest that you remove them all from inside the tent. 

            "It's being done, but you have to help us, too."

            "I will, don't worry.  You'll get your answers."

            Jenna observed many people exiting the tent, all with strange looks on their faces.  She wondered what they were thinking, but she probably already knew.  They all wondered what the hell was going on.

            The man in the suit emerged from the tent again, and nodded at Stephens.  He turned to John.  "They're all out."

            "Good," he said.  "I'll be right back."  He took out his weapon again, and cautiously headed towards the tent.  If what his mind told him was true, what was going to happen was probably not going to be pretty.  Confrontation usually never was.

            He pushed back the flap of the door, and walked inside.  When he was completely inside, everyone on the outside heard a loud clap.  It sounded like thunder.  A strange blue light flashed around the perimeter of the tent.  Jenna recognized it as the force field that snapped into place when John entered the circle up in Michigan.  Three guards were lost when that happened.  That explained why John had everyone leave the tent.  It made sense, he was looking out for them.

            On the inside, John was surrounded by all different kinds of wreckage.  It all looked like metal, albeit different kinds of metal.  He didn't know where to start, there were so many pieces.  He needed to look for the main body of the ship.  He would start at the bigger pieces.

            He was surprised at how light the pieces were.  Pieces bigger than himself were easily tossed aside like a cardboard box.  It was very convenient.  He noticed that most of the electronics, or at least the systems that appeared to be electronics, were stripped from the pieces.  The vultures had already taken their first bites.  He continues to rummage, not exactly sure what he was looking for, but knowing it when he saw it.  He didn't see it, though. 

            He stood up, his back was beginning to ache from bending over.  He noticed a long, flat section, one that obviously wasn't from the wreckage of the ship.  It had to be a storage unit for the bodies.  Curiosity brought him to it.  He looked at it, and saw where he could open it.  He did.  Inside where the other seventeen crewmembers of this doomed expedition.  They were stacked on top of each other, being chilled so they could later be studied.  These were the faces of the enemy, at least one of the faces.  There were others, at least two different kinds of races.  He knew that much.  What they looked like, he had no clue.

            He went back to the wreckage, trying to find the second little black box.  He was having no luck.  It had to be here, though.  He knew it was on this ship, that little shit in the farmhouse had told him that much. 

            He took a deep breath, not willing to give up.  But he had gone through at least three quarters of the wreckage, and nothing.  He rolled his head, stretching out his neck.  "Where are you, you son of a bitch," he said to himself.  Surprisingly, someone answered.

            "I take it you are looking for this?"  John snapped his head in the direction of the voice.  It was a man, someone who hadn't been in there a second ago.  Or was he?  Either way, it didn't matter.  What mattered what that he had the black box in his hand. 

            "That's mine," John said.

            The man shook his head.  John tried to focus on his face, but couldn't.  He had no idea what the man looked like.  He was clouding John's mind, somehow.  John recognized the voice, it was the man from the cell phone, outside the restaurant where he had met his father. 

            "I told you already that these didn't belong to you."

            "Who are you?"

            "It doesn't matter.  Just know that I am the one that will defeat you."  The man tossed the black box in the air, and caught it again.  "There's no use denying that."

            John felt him trying to get inside his head, just like he did last time.  John was able to fight back, though, much to the dismay of the stranger.  Then, the stranger saw John's right hand.  He was disappointed.  "You had to go and use the damn box, didn't you."  He shook his head.  "You shouldn't have done that, Johnny Boy.  You're just making things difficult on yourself."

            "I guess that's the story of my life."

            "Just let me in, John, and this will all be over in a few seconds."

            John continued to fight.  This person was strong, very strong.  "Go fuck yourself."

            "Tough words from an unproven warrior.  That little one you worked over, he's nothing compared to what's coming.  Oh, and be assured, we're coming.  We're coming, all right."

            "You haven't won yet."

            The man laughed, and the disappeared.  John was stunned, he never expected that.  I bet you didn't think we had this, did you.  John had to admit that he didn't.  Catch me if you can.  The stranger was gone, and so was the black box.  Things were worse, now.  He had to find someone that he didn't even see clearly.  He felt, though, that the man wouldn't be too far from him.  Besides, John had the first box, and the stranger wanted it as badly as John needed the second box.  He was more confused than ever, now.

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            The flash signified that the field was down, and probably John would be coming out soon.  He walked out, shaking his head.  "Why the fuck can't anything be easy?" he said to himself.  Jenna saw the look of frustration upon John's face, and ran to him. 

"What's wrong?"

            "Well, I found the other box."

            "That's good."  John shrugged his shoulders.  "What?"

            "Someone else has it."

            "That's not good."

            "No, it's not.  It was that son of a bitch from the restaurant."

            "It was?"

            "Yeah.  He just waltzed right in a took it, before I found it."

            "So, what does that mean?"

            John shook his head.  "I don't know, Jenna. Things were becoming so clear, but now, now, I don't know what's going on."  He brushed his hair out of his face.  She gave him a hug.  He needed it.

            Stephens ran up to him.  "Well, did you find what you were looking for?"

            "Kind of."

            "Well?"

            "Things aren't good."

            "What do you mean."

            "Things aren't good, not at all."

            "John, you owe me an explanation.  You promised."

            John looked at him.  Was he involved in this?  Was he in it with them?  He couldn't tell, not anymore. He had to be sure, and he couldn't.  He tried to probe his mind, but it didn't work like it did on the alien.  He wasn't sure at all.  He turned to Jenna.  "It's time to leave."  She nodded, and started for the car.

            "Where the hell are you going?"  Stephens was furious.  "You owe us, Ford.  You'd have nothing if it wasn't for us."

            John stopped, and turned to him.  "Wrong, Stephens.  I have everything."  He tapped the side of his head.  "It's all here, and when I figure it all out, everyone better watch out."  He turned back towards the car.

            "We had a deal."

            "Not any more.  We're on out own from now on."

            "You can't go, we have to find the truth."

            "I am the truth, Stephens, and this doesn't concern you anymore.  Go dissect your new frogs in there."  John walked to the car, and pulled out the keys.

            "Bullshit, Ford.  This concerns everyone."  He turned towards the containment tents.  "You saw what we have in those tents, and you saw what we have in that basement.   This is huge, and I need to know just what the fuck is going on!"

            John didn't pay attention to him, he put the key into the door's lock.  Stephens kicked it, breaking it off in the lock.  "You can't just leave here without telling us anything. We have to know!"

            John was getting mad.  He looked down at his right hand, and flexed it.  The webbing was a part of him now, he couldn't even feel it on his skin.  He wasn't sure what it could do, not entirely.  He'd learn, though, he'd learn along the way.  He tried to control his anger, but it was hard, really hard.

            "Do you really want to know what is going on?  Do you really want to know the truth?"

            "Of course I do.  That's why I'm here."

            "You can't handle what's going on, nobody can."
            "Tell me."

            John sighed.  Maybe it was the only way to get him off of his back.  "That thing in the farmhouse, it's an alien."

            Stephens looked at him.  "We figured that much."

            "There you go.  Aliens are real, and they are coming here."

            "What do you mean, coming here?"

            "They're on their way to our humble little planet."

            "What do they want?"
            "I don’t know that yet.  I don't think it's any good, though."
            "Is it an invasion?"
            "I don't know, Stephens.  I haven't been told a thing yet.  I just know that I have this."  He trusted his hand in Stephens' face.  "You see this black shit.  This was a black box that was given to me up at that site in Michigan.  I thought that I would find another one here, or at least some answers.  And I did."

            "Where is it?"

            "I don't have it."

            "Who does?"

            "I don't know who it is, but he was just here."

           

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 FODAD

 

FINALE

Day One

            The P4 message came into radio central just after three in the morning local time.  The Communications Officer, Lieutenant Junior Grade Marcella Ellis read it, and swore softly under her breath.  She quickly printed out another copy, one for the P4 hard copy binder.  The radioman on watch with the least seniority usually had the privilege of waking the Captain up this early to deliver the message, but after reading it, which she really wasn't supposed to do, she decided that it would be best if she did.  Not only to see his reaction, but also to make sure that he read it, and understood it.

            The USS Oldendorf, a Spruance-Class destroyer, was making her way back to her homeport, San Diego, after a ten day recreational underway that took them to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico.  It was sort of a tradition with the Oly, as her crew called her. In 1998, after two months of equipment onloads and system upgrades, just to get the rust off, the ship made its way down to the tip of the Baja Peninsula.  The resulting weekend of liberty was perhaps the most fun that crew had ever had together, and they decided to make the trek south an annual affair, preferably in the winter months.  Only deployments took precedence over the trip.

            LTJG Ellis wandered the dark ship.  She only had to go down one passageway and up a ladder, but it was darker than she had ever remembered.  Maybe it was the message playing tricks on her; maybe some of the lights were out.  She didn't know.  All she knew was that everything was changing, and changing over night.

            She stumbled her way to the door to the Captain's at-sea cabin.  Commander Michael Gullion slept peacefully, knowing that there were no operational commitments that he was to meet, no where that he had to be, and the hangover from the previous night's all hands party was still there.  One good night's sleep was all he needed. She knocked loudly. After a minute, she knocked again.  I should have called, she said to herself.  Too late for that decision.

            Commander Gullion opened the door, and looked her over.  The SECRET binder was in her left hand; she quickly saluted with the other one.   He knew immediately that it was important, or else she wouldn't have delivered it.  He smiled at her.  "Room service, eh?"

            "Yes sir, but not the kind I think that you'd like."

            "What is it?"

            "It's a P4, sir, from COMDESRON 23."  COMDESRON 23 was the Commodore of the destroyer squadron 23, of which Oldendorf was a member.

            "Splendid," he said, the sarcasm dripping from his groggy voice.  "I take it you read it?"

            "Yes, Sir."

            "I have to get you to stop doing that, you are getting too much power."  He took the folder, and started to close the door.  "Thank You, Marcella.  I'll call you if I need you for anything."

            "Aye, sir."  She turned to leave as the door shut. She wondered what the captain was doing inside his cabin.  He certainly couldn't be happy, that was for sure.  There wasn't anything that she could do.  She went back to radio central, and made a phone call to the Combat Information Center. She knew who was standing watch there. She couldn't hold this a secret for long.

            Commander Gullion read the through the message, sent it on his desk, and sat back in his chair.  He opened the top drawer on his desk, and took out the cigar that he had been saving for when they pulled into San Diego.  He retrieved his box of matches from his pants pocket, stood up, put on his deer skin slippers, and made his way to the bridge.  He would address the crew immediately after smoking his cigar, on the bridge wing of his ship.   

            The entire watch section on the bridge snapped to attention as the captain made his way out to his chair on the bridge wing.  They looked at each other, shaking their heads and shrugging their shoulders.  "Officer of the Deck, please join me out here."

            "Yes, sir," replied Lieutenant Michael Pellerito, the Combat Systems Officer.  He made his way to the bridge wing, while flashing a look the Ensign Blake Coleman, who was standing the Junior Officer of the Deck watch, a look that told Coleman to hold the fort down.  Coleman nodded, and maintained the bridge crew, keeping them as quiet as he could.

            Down in Combat, the CIC Watch Officer, LTJG Tari O'Connor hung up the phone, and sat in the Captain's chair.  She was dumbfounded when she heard what the message had been.  There was nothing that she could do to make anything make sense right now.  She just stared at the computer screen directly in front of her.

            On the bridge wing, the OOD stood beside Gullion as he lit his cigar.  Soon, he had the bright orange glow on the front of it going strong, and took in a long, hard hit.  He held it in, finally exhaling after what seemed at least a minute.  "Mark, I just got a very disturbing message."

            "Yes, sir?"  Pellerito didn't know what to say, or what to do.  He could only wait until he had more information to base some kind of action on.

            "Do you think that this crew is ready for battle."

            "Sir, I think that we are as close as we have ever been.  We've already completed our training cycle and-"

            The captain interrupted him.  "That's not what I mean.  I know that we've trained long and hard, and I am sure that we are trained for battle.  But are they ready to go to battle?"

            Pellerito took a deep breath.  This was definitely not going in a good direction, not at all.  "Sir, what did the message say."

            The captain took another drag, and exhaled into the clear, starry night.  "Mark, we are going north.  There is a Russian task force en route for some island off the coast of Alaska.  It seems that a Russian plane was shot down by an American plane."  He took another drag.

            "Shit."

            "That's what I said.  The American jet was also lost, and the reports out of the island are very, very sketchy.  We are going to be the first one's there, we need to be there in six days."

            "Do we get to pull in?"

            "No, we don't.  Straight up the coast to Alaska, maximum possible speed.  We are the only ship that is out to sea right now, and no one else is this far into their training cycles to be prepared for this."

            "There has to be other ships out there that could help us out on this.   What about ships in Washington?"

"They went south for WORLDPLAY South.  They'll be gone until next month.  I assume that they will be called back, but it will be a few weeks before they are of any help to us."

            "What about ships at 32^nd Street?"  He was referring to the 32^nd Street Naval Station, home of the Pacific Fleet in San Diego.

            "I'm sure that some ships will get underway, but this came down not more than an hour ago, the ships won't be ready for at least a day, and we are already out at sea.  We have a head start."

            "How much of one?"

            "Three days, I figure.  If I remember correctly, there aren't any ships that have a full armament on board like we do.  They'll have to stop off at Seal Beach before they can make their trip.  That would take a day, at least."

            "I don't like the sound of this one, Sir."

            "I don't either, Mike, I don't either."  He took another drag off the cigar.  "We are supposed to take on a few people, some experts on this situation, a man and a woman.  The P4 said that they will be flown out to us sometime during our transit, either when we are near San Francisco, or Seattle."

            "Easy enough."

            "It also said that there would be an intelligence brief given to us by those two when they arrive, and that they will know what is going on better in the coming days.  We are the first line of defense."

            "Sir, I think the crew can handle it."

            "I hope they can, because it's time to start earning money."  Commander Gullion finished all that he wanted from the cigar, and discarded it over the side.   "I was going to tell the crew tonight, but I suddenly got really tired.  I'll tell them tomorrow."  He got out of his chair, and headed for the exit for the bridge. "OOD, please wake up the XO and have him come to my stateroom."

            "Certainly, sir."  Just like that, the captain was off the bridge, and all eyes turned towards LT Pellerito.  He dialed up the executive officer's number and waited for him to wake up.  "Sir, the captain needs to see you in his stateroom right now."  He hung up the phone and turned towards the watch team.  "We're going to war, people.  We are going to war."

            The rumors began to fly around the ship like wildfire.  Rumors were a way of life aboard a navy vessel.  One person hears something, one person overhears something, and soon, they are going to war in a drop of a hat.  Although today's rumor was pretty close to the truth, no one really understood the importance and the dangers of this particular mission.

            The morning was uneventful, except for the rumor.  It was enough to be at sea, away from loved ones.  It was even harder when there was a rumor flying about that said that you weren't going home, at least for a while.  The crew was getting restless, to say the least.  It didn't matter one way or another what was happening, they just wanted to know what was happening.

            After breakfast was finished, and the mess decks were empty, the Captain made his way to the bridge, commonly referred to the pilothouse, to address the crew.  They had a right to know everything, because they were the one's that would be putting all they had on the line first. They did have a right to know. "Captain's on the bridge," the Boatswains Mate of the Watch announced as Commander Gullion stepped from the hatch leading into the pilothouse. 

"At ease, everyone," he said as he walked directly to the ship's general announcing system, the 1MC.  "Boats, give me a whistle."  The BMOW gave his whistle a hearty blow, signaling an announcement.  "Good morning, this is the CO speaking.  It has always amazed me how fast rumors, whether they be true or false, spread throughout a three hundred person crew.  The rumors flying around this morning are no exception.  I'm addressing you because I want to discuss these rumors.  Last night I received a P4 message from DESRON 23.  In it, she gave me a small brief about the increase in tension throughout the world.  I don't know if any of you have heard this, but yesterday, a US Air Force recon jet, a Russian recon jet, and an unknown third aircraft were involved in an incident off the coast of Alaska.  All three aircraft crashed on an island, and there isn't any news about survivors."  He stopped a second, giving a dramatic pause to a dramatic moment in history. 

"I bet you are asking yourselves something to the effect of 'What does this mean for us?' Well, that is what I am going to tell you.  I think that we are too good for our own good.  We are the Third Fleet ready destroyer, and we are the best armed, best trained ship on the West Coast of the United States.  Being so far advanced and already fully armed, we have been diverted from our destination of San Diego to Alaska, to lend support to the rescue teams that will be sent up there, eventually.  I know that it will take us over six days to get there, but there is also something else.  There is a Russian task force already in route, as well as three Chinese warships.  This leads me to believe that the third plane was in fact a Chinese plane.  We are to make best possible speed north, and arrive at the site of the crash as soon as we can.  We are the first line of defense, and we will have three days head start on any US vessel that will be heading up to join in the effort.  There is a better than average chance that we will see some type of combat, although I am not too sure what to expect."  He stopped, cleared his throat, and then continued.

"I know that this is difficult, hell, I don't want to go and do this, either.  But this is what we signed up for; this is the reason that we are in the Navy.  Our country needs us, our citizens need us, and most of all, the world needs us.  This is a very delicate and historic situation.  What we do there, at this tiny little island off the coast of our biggest state, may in fact determine the fate of countless of thousands of people.  I have confidence in you, and I know that your families do, too.  They would be proud of you, and all I ask of you is to continue to make your families proud."  Now comes the hard part.

"As per the orders I was given last night with my P4 message, I do have some more bad news.  All external communications from the ship have ceased as of 0500 this morning.  This means email, this means messages, this means phone calls.  We will receive only, until the end of our mission.  I know that this is a disappointment for everyone, it is for me, too, but we have to suck it up, and keep on going.  This will be a great story that we can tell when we return, and we will return.  We will return victorious!  Thank you for your time."  Gullion headed directly off the stunned and silent bridge and into is at sea cabin.  He sat down, and took out his journal.  He began writing.

"Today, I addressed my crew, but I failed them.  I didn't tell them the whole truth, the sad, terrible truth.  I didn't tell them that we have become an expendable asset.  I didn't tell them that the admiralty didn't expect the ship to survive this encounter.  I couldn't tell them that…"

 

Twelve hours later, the captain assembled the department heads in the wardroom for and information meeting.  They were there on time, and very curious.  The messages began to flow in from CINCPACFLT, Commander in Chief, Pacific Fleet, and were directly routed to the captain.  He was the only one with the information, he was reading it, and figuring out his plan before he gave it to his department heads to devour.  They were already seated when he walked in.  "Attention on deck," shouted LT Pellerito as Commander Gullion entered.

            "At ease, at ease."  He set his folder down, and got himself a cup of coffee.  "I know that I have kept you in the dark for the better part of a day, but I wanted a first look at this."  He sat down, and handed out folders to each of the department heads.  "These are all the messages that I have received concerning this mission.  They don't say a whole lot.  Them don't mention anything about the types of planes involved, they mention that they suspect that the Chinese were involved.  They have a working theory that it was a revenge hit for the Chinese, who lost some very important men in the bombing two weeks ago.  It just so happens that the country responsible for the bombing and the country where it happened were in the same place, at the same time.  It seems like that would be a logical scenario.

            "If you look at the fourth message, there is a sentence that I highlighted that has me a bit confused.  It mentions an external threat to those theorized.  To me, that sounds a little vague, as well as damned cryptic.  I also have ideas about how I want this situation handled.  But I want your thoughts before the plan is finalized.  So, here is what I want you all to do.  Read through the messages, form your opinions and plans, and we will meet here again tomorrow."  The good thing about Commander Gullion was the respect that he commanded when he spoke to a room full of his crew.  He would be able to finish his thought before anyone began to ask questions or raise points.  He was an eloquent speaker, with almost a musical voice that commanded attention as well as was pleasing to listen to.  His department heads had never failed him, and he had never known them to be anything less that one hundred percent trustworthy.  This situation would be no different, he was sure about that.  "Now, is there any questions?"

            "Yes, sir, I have a question."  It was the Operations Officer, Theresa O'Connor. 

            "What is it, Tari?"

"This message, uh, the fifth one in, mentions that we will be receiving 2 passengers in the vicinity of San Francisco or Seattle. Do we have any idea who they will be?"

            "No, we don't.  The message indicates that they are experts in this particular situation.  What that means, I don't know.  What I expect is some kind of intelligence weenies or something like that.  We'll take them on, and I'm sure that they will be helpful."

            "Yes, sir, we'll make the arrangements.  There is an empty stateroom they can share."

            "I was thinking of giving them my inport cabin.  They will probably need the privacy a little bit more."

            "Sure thing, sir."

            "Any other questions?"  Nothing.  The department heads, the Combat Systems Officer, LT Mike Pellerito, the Operations Officer, LT Theresa O'Connor, LT Ian Rainney, the Engineering Officer, LT Tim Earl, the Navigator, and LT Boris Belchoff, the Supply Officer, all stood up and took their folders with them to where ever they did their work.   They would have their plans ready by the time of the next meeting, Gullion was sure of it.

 

Day Two

John, what has happened to you?  Do you know who you are?  Do you know who you were?  Where are your memories?  Where is your life?  Voices, John, voices rule the world, they rule the worlds.  They always have.  Do you know what, John?  You are now a voice, for better or worse, you are a voice for your world.  You are the only one who had made it; you are the only one left.  The others, the rejects, they are mere slaves to the machines that are the voices.  You are that machine, John, and your destiny lies in parallel with a machine.  You mush go to that machine, you must become the voice, you must save the world.  It's time to save your world, John.

            John opened his eyes, ever so slightly.  The first view was that of the person he now knew that he had always loved, Jenna Dimonte, was the first face that he saw.  He had absolutely no idea where he was, where he had been, or what day it was.  All he knew was that he remembered.  For the first time, he remembered.

            He gave her a smile, and her saw her smile back.  He began to sit up, but he felt weak, and very sore.  It felt as if he had been beaten with a two by four.  He guessed that he was.  "Don't try and get up, John.  Just lay there."  Jenna put a comforting hand on his shoulder with just enough pressure to keep him on the bed.  He tried to open his eyes further, but he couldn't.  He rolled over to his back, and tried to prop himself up a bit.  Jenna saw what he was doing, and helped him.  For the first time, he noticed the black eye that she had.  It was an impressive shiner, and he would kill whoever had done it to her. 

            "Where am I?" he whispered.  His voice was hoarse, and pain resonated throughout his entire body when he tried to talk.

            "You are in San Francisco, John, in a hospital.  You've been here for almost a week.  We were worried about you."

            "What happened to me?"  He could barely make out the words, but he had to.  There were things that he had to know, now that he remembered.

            "You don't remember any of it?"  Jenna looked into his eyes, and he returned her stare.  The thoughts of years before began to resurface.  Pleasant thoughts, thoughts of Jenna.

            "There are so many memories in my head right now, I can't keep them straight."

            "So you do remember, don't you?"  She seemed shocked, although she knew better than she realized what was going on.

            "I remember more, I know that.  I remember more."

            "Then the three little black boxes worked.  You were hoping that they would, and it seems that they have."  She took it out of her purse.  The three boxes were interlocked together, in a triangular form.

            "My boxes.  Oh yes, my boxes."  He was beginning to recall the last week or so, especially the fight.

            The fight.  The stranger, what had happened to the stranger?  He was beating John furiously, but John was alive.  Something must have happened.  "What happened to him, Jenna?" John asked.  "What happened to the stranger?"

            "He's dead, John.  I know you told me not to interfere, but he was going to kill you.  I had too."

            "Did you shoot him?"

            "Yes."

            "Good.  Serves the bastard right."

            "You told me to stay out of it, though."
            "That was wrong of me, Jenna.  At least you did the right thing."

            "I thought I was going to lose you again, John.  I thought that they would take you away from me again." Tears began to well up inside her eyes.  She grabbed his hand, and held it tightly.  John felt the pain of what were probably a few broken fingers, but it was the nicest feeling that he had had in a long time.  A damn long time.  He squeezed back as hard as he could. 

            "I love you, Jenna, I always have."  With those words, she began to sob.  John smiled, and so did she, in-between the sobs.  She leaned toward him and kissed him.  It was a soft kiss, but it had more passion in it that John had ever felt before.  Then, the pain started to go away.  John instinctively knew what was happening.  "I have to sleep now, Jenna.  I have to sleep."  With those words, John passed out.  Jenna stayed there with her head burying in his chest, crying over her only true love, the only love that she had ever known.  She slowly fell asleep.

 

"Sir, intelligence reports have indicated that the Russian task force is projected to arrive at the island only three hours after us.  That is with the scheduled refueling, and an hour delay for flight quarters."  LT O'Connor had been given the task of organizing the transit, and the arrival to the island.  She would be handling all the intelligence reports, also.

"Three hours is a tremendous head start, though, Tari.  That should buy us enough time to get to the crash site first, anyway."

            "Hopefully, sir."

            "How are the other preparations coming?"

            "The ship has been rigged for cold weather, and for heavy seas.  We are as ready as we will be on that end.  The Navigator has the track laid out in combat and on the bridge.  CSO has run optests on all weapons systems, and they are all working perfectly.  We are ready to go to condition three, and have a tactical action officer on watch at all times."

            "What is the status of the helicopter and its two passengers."

            "Still scheduled for tomorrow afternoon.  The reports coming in say that one of the two is badly injured and in need of medical care."

            "That's fucking great."

            "Yes sir, it is.  Doc will stand by to receive the person, and treat him accordingly.  The trip is still on schedule, though."

            "Fine, my inport cabin will be ready when they arrive."

            "Sir, there was one last thing.  We have the transit planned out, the arrival, and the SAR mission into the island to find the helicopter.  What are we going to do about the Russian task force?"

            "I was kind of hoping that they would listen to reason, and agree to a proposal that I have been thinking of."

            "What's that, sir?"

            "A joint rescue mission.  We both find the crash, and we both find the answers.  There is no need to start shooting over this."

            "Do you think that they will listen?"
            "I don't think that they can afford a full world war, and I know that we can't afford a world war.  Let us hope that everyone there will have a level head, and half a brain."

            "I hope so, sir."

            "Me, too."

            "Sir, should I set condition three?"

            "No, we'll set it after we take on the helicopter.  When our riders are aboard, then we will up the tension level on board.  Until then, get people rest, so they are fresh to save the world."

            "Aye, sir."

            "Thanks, Tari."

            "Anytime, Sir."  Tari left his inport cabin, and Gullion turned and pulled out his journal.  If things went wrong, he wanted a documented record of what he thought, and why he made the decisions he did.  The history books deserved it.

 

The voices are back, John.  You have to go to them, John.  It is your destiny.  It's why you were chosen.  You know where you have to go, and you know whom you have to find.  They will be there, and they will help you.  You know them; you've always known them.  Go to them, there is strength in numbers, even if they do not have all that you have.  You need them, John, you need them all.  It's off to war, John.  It's time to save your world.  You are the voice.

            John opened his eyes, and checked the clock on the opposite wall.  If it was the same day, and judging by the light, it conceivably was, he had slept for three hours.  He felt pressure on his chest, and immediately saw Jenna asleep, her head resting on his chest.  He touched her head, ever so gently.  Her hair was remarkable, enchanting.  It was amazingly smooth and straight.  As he touched her hair, he realized that he felt no more pain.  He looked at his hand, and there was nothing that indicated that he had suffered any kind of injury.  Jenna began to stir a bit, now that John was moving more.  She opened her eyes, and looked at John.  Her eyes grew large, as if she saw something frightening.  "Oh my God," she said.

            "What?"

            "Your face, John."

            "What about my face?"  John felt it, but didn't feel anything out of the ordinary. Actually, it felt rather normal.

            "The bruises, the cuts, their gone."  John sat up, not feeling the shooting pains that were the results of broken ribs in his chest.  He knew what happened.

            "I think they want me healthy."

            "I can't believe it, John.  You are completely healed."  John noticed that he wasn't the only one that had been miraculously healed.  Jenna's black eye was gone.

            "Your black eye is gone, too, Jenna."

            She got up in a flash and was over to the mirror even quicker.  Sure enough, she saw that the bruise had healed itself.  "Unbelievable."

            "Jenna, we have to get to a ship.  It's headed north.  I don't know the name, but something has already happened, and the ship is heading towards it.  I need to be on that ship."

            "John, it's already been arranged.  Don't you remember?"

            "I guess not, Jenna.  What should I remember?"

            "About two weeks ago, when you and the stranger had it out, you told me that no matter what, when it happened, we have to be with the ship is sent to it.  I didn't know what you were talking about, but yesterday, there was a crash of a US spy plane, a Russian spy plane, and a third, unknown aircraft.  We are to be flown out to the ship tomorrow, that's why we are in San Francisco.  It's been set up ever since then.  We were waiting for the thing to happen, and this sure as hell sounded like something that you'd need to go to."

            "We both need to be there, we all have to be there."

            "Why do I need to be there."

            "You know why.  You believe that we've always been connected, haven't you?"

            "I do now, John."

            He reached out, caressed her cheek, and pulled her close to him.  It was something that John wanted to do ever since they had meet almost a month ago, but didn't dare try.  Now, it was as natural as breathing.  She put her arms around him.  "We're meant to be together, Jenna.  And we are meant to be at this crash site.  We have to go."  He stared into her eyes, for the first time with nothing but love and devotion in his heart.  "We all have to go."

            She returned the stare, she knew that he was right.  She could feel that there was something extraordinarily special about them, there was some kind of bond between them that could not be explained.  She knew that they were meant to be together, they always had been.  There was comfort in that, a security that couldn't be duplicated.  They were soul mates, they were star mates, they were a union created amongst the stars.  But was there more?  "What do you mean, we all have to go?"

            "There are others meant to be there, and they will arrive with us.  I don't know who, but I have a feeling that I have met them before.  I have a feeling that they are on the ship that is on the way to Alaska.  That's why we have to be on that ship."

            "Well, we leave in just under ten hours.  The ship will pass its closest to San Fran then. I think it's time to get you checked out of here, and we get ready for whatever is going to come."

            "I wish I knew what was going to happen."

            "It would take the fun out of it, though."

            "If this is fun, I'd hate to see something a bit more harsh."

            "At least it's an interesting life."

            "I guess so."  John sat up, and realized that not only was he healed, he felt a lot stronger.  He walked over to the dresser, and found his clothes neatly folded in the drawers.  He took a pair of underwear, jeans, and a shirt.  He went into the bathroom and took off the hospital gown.  His observations were confirmed.  He could tell that he was more defined than before, as if his muscles were healed, as well as sculpted.  What a great workout plan, he thought to himself.  He put on his clothes, and exited the bathroom.  Jenna had packed everything, and she nodded, signifying that they were ready to go.  They went to exit the room, but the doctor that had been treating him was in the doorway.  He was shocked to see John up and about. 

            "What happened to you, John?"  John had no idea that he was, but he didn't care all that much.  He was just happy to be leaving. 

            "Doc, I got better."

            "I see that, but just a few hours ago you were still in bad condition.  The recovery is remarkable, almost like a miracle."

            "No, doc, it wasn't a miracle, but it was the next best thing.  I am perfectly fine, and I really need to be going, so if you'd excuse me."  John started walking for the door.

            The doc couldn't say anything, he just stood aside.  John was fine, he knew he was fine. He and Jenna walked to the nurse manning the main desk on their floor, and informed her of their desire to check out.  She did the necessary paperwork, John signed it, and they were off.  Jenna had a car waiting for them at the main entrance, and they started for the air force base that was flying them out.    It seemed like a nice day out, and the flight wouldn't be that much of a hassle, at least compared to what they had already faced.

            At the Air Force base, John and Jenna boarded the waiting SH-60B LAMPS Mark III helicopter.  The crew was also flying onboard the Oldendorf to assist in whatever situation developed in Alaska.  As they entered the helicopter, Jenna was handed a manila envelope.  In it were reports and satellite photos of the group of islands where the aircraft were thought to have crashed, specifically Rat Island.

            They were given a crash helmet, and a survival vest, just in case they were terribly unlucky and crashed into the ocean.  John knew it wouldn't happen that way, if he wasn't meant to finish his tasking, he would find out when he arrived.  Besides, with all his new memories coming forward finally, he was confident that he would be victorious.

            The flight grew gave the passengers a thumbs up, signaling that they were ready to lift off. John grabbed Jenna's hand, more for himself than for her. He began to get a little nervous.  "It's time to save the world," he said to her.  She smiled at him, a smile that continuously melted him. The helicopter lifted off, and headed out to sea.

 

            "Flight quarters, flight quarters.  All designated personnel report to their flight quarter stations.  Where no covers topside, the weather decks are secured from frame 276 aft.  Now flight quarters."  The announcement rang throughout the ship, and the necessary personnel quickly manned up for the evolution.  It was a routine event, the Oly did it all the time.  The officer of the deck, LTJG Ellis, finished her check sheet, and then called the captain.

            "Sir, we've just sounded flight quarters for the clear deck recovery of Saber Hawk 78.  They report that they have one hour of fuel left, 2 passengers, and ops normal."

            "Very well.  How are the numbers looking?"

            "Winds are in the envelope, pitch and roll are both acceptable.  I was just about to pass them to the tower, sir."

            "Good.  You have a green deck when you are ready."

            "Thank you, sir."  She hung up the phone, and picked up another circuit.  "All stations, bridge.  Are you ready to receive the numbers?"

            "Bridge, tower.  Ready to receive the numbers."

            "Bridge, aye.  Relative winds are three-five-seven, twenty knots.  True winds are zero-two-zero, twenty knots.  Ship's course is zero-zero-zero, twenty knots.  Pitch one, roll three.  Barometer reads 29.91 inches, and number three gtg is not on line."

            "Tower copies all.  They winds are acceptable, request green deck."

            "Is FOD walk-down complete?"

            "FOD walk-down is complete."

            "Bridge, aye, green deck."

            "Green deck, aye."

            The OOD turned to her boatswain's mate of the watch.  "Boats, green deck."

            "Aye, aye, ma'am."  He turned on the 1MC.  "Green deck," he announced.

            Ltjg Ellis walked to the 29MC, affectionately referred to as the "bitch box" and punched in the circuit for the Signal Bridge.  "Sigs, bridge, green deck."

            "Green deck, aye," the scratchy response stated.  Everything was ready to receive the helicopter, finally.  The boat deck was manned and ready, in case the helicopter crashed.  All stations were waiting, and according to Oly's Land Launch circuit, the radio circuit that the ship used to communicate with aircraft on, the helo was on its final approach, only two miles out.  They would be on deck in a matter of minutes, and whoever the two specialists were, they would be here.  Then, she thought to herself, things would get really interest.  In fact, things would start to get really scary. 

            She picked up the phone, and dialed two-one-three, the captain's personal phone line.  He answered it rather quickly.  "Sir, the helicopter is on final approach, green deck has been granted."

            "Thank you, Ms. Ellis.  I'm heading to the helo hangar to meet our guests."

            "Aye, sir."  She hung up the phone.  All she could do was wait now.  She hated waiting.

           

Saber Hawk 78 landed without incident, and was chocked and chained to the deck within two minutes of landing.  As soon as it was, the passengers exited the helicopter, and made their way to the helo hangar.  Commander Gullion was there to meet them. As John and Jenna walked in, John stopped suddenly when he saw the Commanding Officer in front of him.  "Holy shit," he said to himself. 

            Commander Gullion extended his hand.  "Welcome aboard the USS Oldendorf.  I'm Commander Mike Gullion, the commanding officer."

            "I'm Jenna Dimonte," replied Jenna and took his hand. 

            John looked the commanding officer over, he was sure that he knew him.  He didn't even process the name of the ship, either.  The Commander turned his attention over to John.  "Commander Mike Gullion."

            John snapped out of his little daze.  "John Ford," he said, and shook his hand.

            "Have we met, Mr. Ford?"

            John was thinking the same thing.  "I don't think so, Sir.  And please, call me John."  He remembered his naval etiquette, at least. 

            "You look damn familiar, I have to say. Let me lead you to the wardroom, where you can sit down, and get some coffee."  He turned towards the hatch that led down a deck.  "Oh yes, please call me Mike, okay?"

            "Sure thing, Mike." John started to follow him, when Jenna grabbed his arm. 

            "What was that all about, John?"

            "I don't know, but I would bet my life that I know this guy somehow."

            "And he thinks he knows you.  This is all pretty fucked up, I have to tell you."

            "You don't have to tell me that, Jenna. It's the only thing that is for sure with this.  Come on, let's go."  They walked towards the hatch.  One of the flight deck crew had gathered their bags, and followed them with them.  With only a left turn after they went down the ladder, they were in Officer's Country.  With an immediate right turn, they were in the wardroom.

            "Please, make yourselves comfortable.  I will go retrieve my executive officer, and we can get down to it."  Gullion left the Wardroom; John and Jenna sat down.  The on duty mess attendant came by and asked them if they wanted coffee.  John asked for water, Jenna declined. 

            "He seems anxious to get this started, doesn't he?" Jenna observed.

            "Could you blame him?"

            "I guess not."

            Not even a minute later, Gullion arrived with another officer in tow.  He was a tall, dark skinned fellow.  "John Ford, Jenna Dimonte, this is my executive Officer, Lieutenant Commander Blake Coleman."  They exchanged handshakes and welcomes.  Then Gullion motioned for them to sit.  The three of them did.

            "To be honest, you don't seem like the two people that I was expecting for this particular situation."

            "How do you mean, Mike?" asked John.  Although Gullion was the commanding officer of the Oldendorf, John knew that he had total control over the entire situation.  With his memories erupting within his head, his confidence was growing stronger by the second, and his purpose was beginning to take its shape.

            "I don't know, but you don't seem like the types to be involved in the intelligence business, especially when a couple of spy planes and a Chinese aircraft are concerned."

            "Well, to be honest, we aren't in the intelligence business.  Jenna is an FBI agent, and I am nothing but an ordinary citizen."  Jenna took out her credentials, and handed it over to them.  Gullion inspected them.  He almost seemed disgusted.

            "This is a fucking joke, isn't it?"  He had a temper, thought John.  That may be useful.  Gullion was visibly angered with that confession by the two of them. 

            "Believe me, Mike, this isn't a joke," continued Jenna.  John and Jenna were working very well together, thinking almost the same thing, although John's head was filled with all the important information.

            "Then what is it?  This is a very delicate situation, and they send me two people who don't appear to have any kind of experience in what is about to happen."

            "No one has the experience that is going to be needed when we reach Rat Island, Mike."  John tasted his coffee, and knew it was going to taste horrible.  All Navy coffee tasted horrible, he remembered it from his first division officer tour when he was on the Oldendorf.  John's face went blank when he realized the connection.  He served on this very ship in the planted memories. How could he have not remembered that?  Those memories, although they are totally false, were still very powerful in his mind.  He can't get rid of them, but now, it seems like he doesn’t need to get rid of them, because, because of what?  He couldn't put his finger on it yet, but he needed those memories as much as he needed his real memories. 

            John suddenly noticed that everyone was staring at him.  How long had he been thinking to himself?  How long was he out of it?  "Uh, sorry about that, it happens to me sometimes.  The last few months have been very tough on me."

            "I'm very sorry for you, John Ford, but right now, my ship is heading into a deadly situation that could cause a goddamn world war.  The last few months of yours will be nothing like the next few, believe me."

            John smiled.  "I seriously doubt that."  Before a pissing contest officially began, he switched the subject.  "Mike, please forgive me, can you tell me where the heads are?"  Navy language, he remembered it from his false memories.  It would come in handy.  John was buying some time, though, to let Gullion calm down a bit, but also for John to gather his thoughts.

            "Just out the door, to the left.  There is a small alcove with three doors.  The one facing aft is the heads."  The disdain and anger was still in his voice.  Perfect timing, John thought.

            "Thank you. If you would excuse me."  John got up, and went to the head.  Immediately, Gullion turned to his executive officer. 

            "What do you think, Blake?"

            "Well, sir, something about this is really strange.  I think I know this guy from somewhere.  I can't tell from where, but I do know him."

            "Same with me.  I can't tell if this situation got better, or got worse."

            Jenna was sitting on the opposite side of the table, seemingly invisible to the two naval officers.  She figured that now was a good time to interject something.  "This situation, gentlemen, got more complex.  It was never going to get better."

            "Just what the fuck is going on, Ms. Dimonte?"

            "I think that John is best equipped to explain it all to you.  Believe me, when I first got involved, I never expected this."

            "How bad is it?"

            "It's pretty bad."

            "Is it something like World War II bad, or is it something like Saddam bad?"

            Jenna stopped for a second, trying to chose her words carefully.  "If I would have to give it a name, I would have to call it apocalyptic bad."

            The XO leaned back in his chair with a dumbstruck look on his face.  So did Gullion. "You are talking about the apocalypse?"

            "If I would have to give it a name, that would be it."

            "Fuck me."  An appropriate response.  Jenna took it is stride, she could swear with the best of them when she had too.

            "Give John a chance.  Believe him when he says he has been through a lot."

            "Fuck me," he said again. Jenna took it as the end of the conversation.

 

In the uncomfortably cramped bathrooms, John splashed some water on his face. "Think, damn you," he scolded himself.  Who were they?  Whom did he serve with on the Oldendorf those many false years ago?  Who were they?  Gullion was there.  Coleman was there.  There was another.  John strained to think of who it was.  It was an Italian name, he knew that much.  Very Italian.  He tried hard to think of the name, but it didn't come to him.  "Fuck," he whispered softly.  The memories were there, and if he saw a roster of the officers, he would be sure to find that name.  It would come to him.

            He splashed more water on his face, and looked in his mirror.  When he saw his reflection, he heart stopped.  He wasn't alone in the bathroom.

            He had no memory of what they looked like, or who in fact they were.  He knew them by voice, and by shadows.  But now, there was something standing behind him.  Was it another memory?  If so, was it a false memory or a real one.  He closed his eyes, and then opened them.  The creature was still there.  John reached down, and pressed the lock on the bathroom door, he didn't want anyone to come in and see what was happening.  As he heard the mechanical click of the locking mechanism spring into action, the lights went out in the bathroom, and he could tell that they did on the deck.  Something had shut down the entire electrical flow in the ship.  But there was more to it, John could feel it.

            The ship was stopped in time, or as close as they could get it to stop.  The engines were frozen in motion, the familiar vibration had ceased.  The crew had stopped, too.  Everything stopped, the entire world stopped.  Everything except John, and the creature that stood behind him.  Then, the voices started again.

            John, we reveal ourselves to you for the first time.
            "The first time?  You mean the first time that I remember, right?"

            No, John.  You have never laid your eyes on us.  But now, we feel it is necessary.

            "I'm afraid."  He was terrified, but the voice was so soothing, so calm, and so familiar.

            I am your friend, John, we spent so many days together.  You don't have them back yet, but when you do, you will remember me.

            "That's the idea, isn't it?"

            Do you know how hard it is for me to see you, John, knowing that you wouldn't remember me?"

            "I know how hard it is to remember nothing, to have ten years of my life stripped from me, without my permission."

            Oh John, you still don't know the whole story.  We were afraid, when they caught you, that this would happen.

            "When who caught me?"

            The Others.

            "Who are the Others?"

            They are the other race, the one that we oppose.  They are the ones that are causing so much hate, so much pain, so much suffering.

            "They are here, too, aren't they?"

            They've always been here, as have we.

            "Then why the hell am I the one that is putting his ass on the line for this?  Why don't you and your ancient buddies take care of business?"

            There are rules that govern all, John.  You know those rules, you have just forgotten.

            "If I can't remember, how can I possibly do this?"

            You will know what to do.  You always have known what to do. 

            "Like I said, I'm scared."

            Everyone is afraid.

            "I can't do this."

            You must do this.  But you have been given help, John. You have been given your friends again.

            "My friends?"

            You have been given them back. Use them, as you know you should.  As they know they should.  Remember what you told me before you came back here.

            "What was that?"

            The world needs a hero.

            The lights returned on, and the ship continued to vibrate from the on line engines.  John checked the stalls, there were no signs of the creature, no, of his friend.  Everything was back to normal, and John seriously doubted that anyone would have reported anything strange in the last few minutes. 

            He left the bathroom, and made his way to the wardroom.  The three of them were still sitting there, but it seemed as though something had changed, at least some of the attitude.

 

 

 

KILL 'EM ALL