by Dane Bagley
***
Steve moved quickly toward the exit room. He did not know if Tammy would follow. His mind was both clouded and clear. He felt as alert as he had ever been, but he also felt emotions gnawing at him from all directions. He reached the room and did not hear anything behind him. The light was red; they had not yet landed. “Come on Bob,” he muttered under his breath. It flicked to green and he made his way to the door. He hit the button with his elbow, Aspiria’s feet hitting the wall. The door began to open and the brilliant rays of this world’s early dawn sun began to filter into the ship. The door seemed to open so slowly.
He did not look back, but made his way toward the door. When it had opened completely he hit the button again, effectively starting the closing process, and made his way out of the ship, and onto the planet. Once again, he did not look back. He began to run, just like he had done the last time he was on this planet’s surface, but this time in the opposite direction. After about twenty yards he did look back. He had not heard a sound, but the ship was gone. He was now alone on this planet, with the body of the only being he had ever known from this world, limp in his arms. His ship was already tens of thousands of miles away.
Steve turned back toward the direction that he was running in, still full steam ahead. His eyes were struggling with the brightness of the daylight. He had not experienced daylight in several months, but he wondered if this world’s star was even brighter than earth’s sun. The last time he had set foot upon this world, he was in his suit, protected from all of the elements. This time he was fully exposed. He could smell the fresh air, and he was now breathing it in deeply as his legs ran, and his heart pounded. There was a fresh, outdoorsy sweetness—not unlike what he had experienced on earth before, but still different—sweeter and more pronounced. As he approached the woods, he began to slow down. It occurred to him that he was no longer running away from anything—he was running towards something; this led him to slow his pace to a walk as he entered the woods. It was significantly dimmer in the woods, and his eyes, that were somewhat watery due to being dazzled by the daylight, felt much more comfortable. The scent had increased, and was lovely. He was still drinking in the air deeply, and rapidly.
He walked forward, but now with no particular urgency. Instead, a dread began to creep over him. The realities of his circumstances were beginning to distill upon him. “What am I doing?” he said quietly, but out loud, between deep breaths. He felt the weight of his solitude now, and was fully aware that he was in enemy territory. He had high hopes of a great peace between Aspiria’s people and his own; but that was impossible now. His thoughts turned to Mark, and his heart sunk. What would happen to him? He had effectively left him alone. Mark had just taken a beating, and he was dealing with all of the aftermath of Steve’s mission. People were angry with him, and were taking it out on Mark. Now, not only would the whole world hate him, but would the government even protect his family? Mark had his old grandfather, and now, no one else in the world.
Aspiria is dead, and Mark is alive. I could do something for him, but I cannot do anything for her now. What have I done? He began to think. Aspiria’s body was dead weight in his arms, but she still felt warm. She felt just as she had when she had been tranquilized. Her body moved with every step, she had not begun to stiffen yet. Since her face had hit the table, he had not looked down at her, and upon it. He turned his gaze from the way in front of him, and looked at her sweet face. There was a mark on her forehead—a bruise that was forming. Besides this blemish, she looked flawless; she was so extraordinarily beautiful. Her eyes were not shut, and that gave her a peculiar look. He stopped, and went down to his knees, so that he could use his right hand and manually close her eyelids for her. Now she looked like a sleeping angel, and completely at peace.
He was still breathing deeply, but he was not tired. Still, he waited and rested for a moment, continuing to peer at her lovely face. When he had been here before, he could not bring himself to look at her. He had run the entire way, without so much as glancing at the face of the creature that he was abducting. He remembered his thoughts and his feelings at that time. He so much wanted to get for Tammy what she wanted, that everything else was pushed to the side. He knew that this creature, an intelligent creature, was what Tammy wanted to study more than anything, so he chose her over the deer that they had tranquilized first. At the time, he had felt in his heart that he was doing something wrong. He distinctly felt that he was being told to take her back. Take the deer, he kept feeling. But he kept pushing those thoughts away as he ran towards his ship. He had felt his conscience prick him continually as they were making their get away, but he would not give in. That is why he could not look at her. For days afterwards, he could not look into her face.
Now it was different: a different voice inside of him was telling him that what he had done, and was now doing was foolish. He truly felt sick inside for his brother, Mark. But the voice that had told him to not take her—that voice was bringing a feeling of peace to his soul. His conscience was feeling clean. He knew that he was doing the right thing now, though he saw no other benefit to his actions. As he looked at her, he felt such sorrow for what he had done to her. She was dead, and though he had not directly killed her, he had done so indirectly. His choices and decisions had led to this moment. He had had plenty of opportunities to correct this, before it had come to this. Yes, he was going to correct it today, but time had run out. He had ignored his conscience for too long, and now it was too late. He could not give her back her life, but he could give his life for her sake.
Slowly he rose to his feet, again. He still felt no urgency, but instead walked at a comfortable pace. He allowed himself to take in the beauty and majesty of his wooded surroundings. This was her home, and it was fit for a person as beautiful and majestic as she had been. He continued forward until he could see the outline of her home, at least a portion of the roof. His heart sunk again, as he realized that he was experiencing the last few moments of his freedom, and probably his life. But her sweet sleepy face brought him courage again. “She deserves this,” he said aloud in her alien language.
As he left the wooded area, he saw two figures walking away from the home that she had come from. His eyes were once again uncomfortable in the brightness, but not to the extent that they had been several minutes before. He could make out that it was a man, and a younger man. That must be her husband and son, he thought.
“Hello,” he shouted in his best rendition of her language. Both of the figures stopped and looked in his direction. Steve continued to walk forward, towards them. He was not close enough to see their faces very well, but they certainly seemed to be surprised. Come what may, I am going to do what is right by her now, he thought as he walked forward.
The two figures, clearly now a man and a teenage boy, were also walking forward. The older man looked pale. His eyes were on the body in his Steve’s hands, and not on Steve’s face. Steve could see a great deal of pain and stress on this older man’s face. He looked much older than Aspiria. Now, his gaze turned to the young man by his side. He was Aspiria’s boy, there was no question. He could see her both in features and in expression in that boy’s face. He was also clearly the son of the man next to him. This was indeed Aspiria’s family, and they clearly recognized her.
“I am so sorry,” Steve attempted as they became within ten feet of each other. The older man began to speak, and though it had a certain familiarity to Steve, he could not understand what was being said. His voice had a musical quality, like Aspiria’s, but it was deeper, and he spoke faster, and the tone made it impossible to follow. The two came up all the way to Steve, and the older man put his arms underneath Aspiria’s body. Steve allowed him to take her off of his hands. The man, her husband, looked longingly at her face, and then spoke to Steve again. Steve listened intently, but was still lost on the meaning of his words.
“I don’t understand,” he said in their language. This phrase he had said to Aspiria countless times, and could say it very well.
The man, spoke more slowly this time, and likely phrased his words more simply. This time Steve could understand: “She is warm, is she alive? Does she sleep, like the deer?”
Steve bowed his head, and shook it. Then looking the man in his eyes, said, “No, she is dead. She has been just recently killed. I did not kill her. I tried to bring her to you alive, but she was killed before I could.” He felt sick and self-serving as he offered this explanation, with an excuse.
Her husband’s countenance, which was already so pale, dropped even further, and he closed his eyes, seemingly in despair. The father spoke to his son, and it was incoherent again, to Steve. The son came up to the body of Aspiria and kissed her on the cheek. He grabbed her hand and placed his cheek up against hers. The husband turned and began to walk into his home, with the boy still holding Aspiria’s hand. Steve stood there momentarily, not knowing what to do. Then he followed them into their home. The man walked with Aspiria, and laid her gently on the couch, ensuring that a pillow was underneath her head. He carefully placed her, so that at least her body displayed the appearance of comfort. He kneeled by her side, caressing her cheek and holding her hand. He spoke softly, but it was not clear what he was saying, or who he was saying it to. The young man stood at the head of the couch, above where Aspiria’s head was, and looked down. The man bent over and laid his forehead on her breast. Soft sobs could be heard. Steve looked over at the young man, and he could see a tear fall from his face; it landed on his mother’s face and rolled down her cheek. Steve felt uncomfortable being in their room, and observing them mourn—he, the perpetrator of their suffering. But he also felt a sense of gladness that he was there. He knew that she deserved this, and felt that whatever future he would have to endure, it was worth it now.
Some minutes passed in this manner. Eventually, the father and the son were both kneeling by her side. Steve began to mourn, too. He mourned for this great woman, and for the motherless child. He mourned for the husband, now a widower. He mourned for his own brother, who was now left, essentially, without family. He thought of how he had hated that drunk driver, and would not forgive him. Now he was on the other side. He had committed the wrongs that led to this family’s sorrows.
The husband got up and approached Steve. He spoke slowly and simply. “Thank you for returning her. You may go back to your people, now.” That was it: no anger, no punishment—no revenge.
Steve stood there in silence for a moment. Then he shook his head. “My people are gone. They have left me. I am in your hands. You may do with me what you wish.” The man’s eyes narrowed as he looked at and listened to Steve.
“You are not going back? You are staying, here?” The concept seemed to be beyond the alien man’s comprehension, especially at this moment.
“I am sorry, so sorry,” said Steve as he bowed his head and nodded.
“Did you know her? Did you know, my Aspiria?”
“Yes, she is wonderful.”
“You have known her since she has been gone?”
Steve felt the sting of remorse and guilt surge within him, “Yes, I took her. It is my fault that she has been gone from you.”
The man nodded. There was silence between everyone, for what exactly do you say to each other at a moment such as this. Then, the man spoke, “You shall stay here,” and he indicated his home. “You shall be a part of our family.”
Steve looked at him in disbelief. Surely he misunderstood the language. But he could see it in the man’s eyes that he was in earnest. Steve was ready for all things: death, punishment, torture, imprisonment; but not this—not kindness and forgiveness. The young boy walked up to Steve now. The two looked each other in the eyes. Steve could see Aspiria was still alive, in the face of that young man. He must be about Mark’s age, Steve thought.
“Thank you for returning my mother to me,” he began. “I cannot imagine being as brave as you are, and leaving your people to bring her back to me. I thought that I would never see her again.”
Steve began to melt on the inside. The boy, still looking at him, spoke again, “I forgive you.” He came up to Steve, and gave him an embrace.
Steve was not sure what to say, but he again looked into this young man’s eyes. “Not long ago, Aspiria, your mother, heard a wonderful story. She said that she wanted to tell it to you. She cannot tell you that story now, but I can. It is the story of the birth, of the Son of God.”
The young man looked at Steve curiously. The older man spoke. “You are from that world?”
“Yes, I am from that world.”
Chapter 49
