by V. E. Lemp
“Liar. I’m sure they provided you with one. But I bet you prefer me to remember you as you were. You too have developed some interesting skills. I can feel I’m not the only one trying to manipulate this dream.”
“Can you?” His eyes were bright with amusement. “How I’ve missed you, my sweet. In the midst of all I’ve gained, everything I’ve learned, the one thing I’ve ever missed is you.”
“Don’t do that,” I said firmly. Thinking for a moment, I cast about us an image of Alex’s old office in the Indigo Building—the drab room his avatar used when he worked for Ian Vance and Exocorp. “Let’s keep this professional.”
“Oh, I think not.” He stepped forward until he was standing directly in front of me. “You called me to you. What do you want?”
“For you to be more careful.” I met his intent gaze squarely. “To monitor your thoughts. There’s a young lady who’s picking up messages from you. A girl, really. I think they’re thoughts meant for me, but she’s the one receiving them.”
Alex smiled. “Ariel Tarrow. Yes, I know of her. She possesses a great talent.”
“It’s a burden, sometimes. Especially when she receives communications so… indiscriminant.”
“And indiscreet? Yes, I’m sure that’s confusing.” Alex stretched out his hand, but, close as we stood, he could not touch me. “This is all very well, these dream communications. But it doesn’t satisfy all my desires.”
“Nothing ever will, Alex. Don’t you know that?”
“We shall see.” Alex faded away in front of me as the image of the clearing swirled back around us. “But I’ll attempt to be more circumspect, if only for Ms. Tarrow’s sake.”
“Thank you,” I said and realized I’d forgotten my earlier question. “Where are you, Alex? Where are you now?”
“Close.” I heard the word as if he’d whispered into my ear. “Very close now, my sweet. Almost home.”
I woke and sat up in bed. Mark was sleeping peacefully. I rose quietly and gathered up some art supplies. Time to head outside to capture sketches of the dawn. I knew I couldn’t fall back asleep.
FIVE
Under the clear sky, bright as a piece of polished turquoise, everything was outlined in a shimmer of light. Karen sat on the low wall separating the terra-cotta tiles of the motel patio from the hard-packed ground that rolled out, in a series of pine-covered hills, to the foot of the mesa. She was sketching as quickly as possible, capturing shadows that shifted minute by minute as the sun rose higher in the sky.
Karen lifted her hand to shade her eyes and stared at the unfamiliar landscape. It fascinated her because it was so different from her typical experience. It offered her what every artist loved—a new vision. A new way to see. She lowered her hand and reached for the bin holding her pastels. As she straightened, a shadow blocked the sun. She jerked backward as she recognized the figure standing in front of her. Her sketchpad slid off her knees and hit the dirt at her feet, sending up a small puff of dust.
“Hello again, Karen Foster,” said one of the Oneiroi’s avatars. “No, I am wrong. Karen Hallam, is it not?”
“Karen Foster Hallam, but you can simply call me Karen. You’re well-informed, although that doesn’t surprise me.” Karen stared at the slender, dark-haired figure. “Where did you come from?”
“Just around the corner,” said the being who called herself Alice. Her strange eyes—the large, dark irises surrounded by too little white—regarded Karen calmly.
“I didn’t hear your footsteps.” Karen leaned over to pick up her sketchpad. She laid it on the wall and balanced the bin of pastels on top.
A faint smile tugged up the corners of Alice’s thin lips. “You were not meant to.”
“So, what brings you here?” Karen sat very still. It was a struggle to keep her tone completely neutral.
“The same thing that has brought you. An interesting demonstration, don’t you think?”
“You mean the UFO sightings? Yes, very interesting. Are you involved in that display?”
“Perhaps.” Alice’s dark eyes were very bright against her pale skin. She wasn’t wearing a hat or sunglasses, yet showed no reaction to the blinding light of the early summer sun.
“Are you sending us a message?”
“You? No, you do not need one. You already see clearly what is happening on your world. No, the message is for those who do not yet understand, who still do not choose to see. It is … What do you say? A wake-up call.”
“Myron Tarrow’s trying to make them see. But it’s difficult. Many forces are aligned to mute your message.”
“I know. They have done so for many years. Yet I still hope, someday, to break the power of their lies. Perhaps it is a foolish quest. It is like rushing at water mills.”
“Tilting at windmills,” Karen corrected gently. “You’ve read Don Quixote?”
“I have tried. It is difficult, your literature. So many words that can hold many different meanings. I understand it is intentional—to find many meanings in such things. That there is not necessarily one right answer.”
“You understand correctly.” Karen eyed Alice speculatively. “We’re supposed to interpret, and bring our individual minds and feelings to bear on that interpretation.”
“Ah, well, my mind would bring something quite unique, I suppose.”
“No doubt. But you didn’t come here to discuss literature. Why have you sought me out?”
“I have come,” Alice said, “to invite you to a meeting.”
“A meeting? What kind?”
“A homecoming, actually.” Alice’s dark eyes were fixed on Karen’s face. “To welcome back an old friend.”
Despite the warmth of the day, a chill raced down Karen’s arms. “Old friend?”
“Someone you know well. Can you not guess?”
Karen closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Alex.”
“Yes, Alex Wythe.”
“He’s back then?” Karen opened her eyes and stared at Alice. She was surprised to spy a flicker of pity in those odd, dark eyes.
“Yes. That was another reason for the recent demonstrations. Along with the wake-up call.”
“You hid his return in the midst of all the other sightings? Very clever of you.”
Alice shook her head. “I cannot claim the idea. It was his.”
“Of course it was.” Karen sat for several minutes in silence, aware Alice was watching her intently. “Where is he?”
“Safe. But still undergoing an adjustment period. When he is ready to see you I will take you to him.”
“Along with Mark. I want him there. And Myron Tarrow and Samuel Lester. I think you may know of them.”
“I am familiar with their activities, yes. You would like them at this first meeting? That seems a bit unusual, but I am sure it can be arranged.” Alice regarded Karen with interest. “You do wish to see Alex Wythe again?”
“Yes. Though I fear it will prove difficult for me.”
“It will be more difficult, I believe, for him.”
Karen stared into Alice’s alien eyes. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
“Thank you. As I have told you before, I have a soft spot for the man. A most unusual human, but human”—Alice gave Karen a significant look—“all the same.”
“Alice,” Karen said after a moment, “I assume I can tell Mark about our conversation without delay? I do want to tell him.”
“Of course. There is no reason to keep anything from Mark Hallam. Now, I must leave you. I have more work to do that I am sure will please Mr. Tarrow, among others.”
Karen held out her hand. “Thank you, Alice. I don’t think I’ve ever properly thanked you for the things you’ve done to help us.”
To Karen’s surprise, Alice reached out and clasped her hand. The avatar’s grip was firm and her fingers cool and dry. “You are most welcome. I feel we are now—how do you say it? Colleagues?”
“Colleagues is one way to say it.” Karen gave Alice’s hand
a gentle squeeze. “Friends is another.”
“Friends?” Karen saw something then, in Alice’s eyes—a glimpse of the being behind the avatar. “That is an interesting word. It is one of those with many meanings.”
“It is. But all good, I think. Perhaps if you search your mind you can bring your own interpretation to it.”
Alice slowly released Karen’s hand. “I will have to think on that.” She turned to go. “It is possible,” she said, casting a final glance at Karen, “friends will turn out to be the correct choice.”
Karen sat quite still as Alice walked back around the corner of the building and disappeared from view. She stared at the snow-draped mountains for some time, then lifted her eyes and gazed into the clear blue of the sky. Beyond that sky, she knew, was an entire universe she would never see.
Alex Wythe had seen it, and returned to live among his own kind. What changes might such a journey work upon a human soul? Karen stood and gathered her art supplies. She would see Alex again, face to face. Strangely, the idea didn’t carry with it the pleasure she’d once imagined.
The sliding glass door squealed as it opened, the metal frame grinding against the dust caught in its weathered track. “I had a visitor,” Karen said as Mark stepped onto the patio, pulling a light cotton shirt over his t-shirt. His hair was still damp from a shower.
“Really? And who would that be?” Mark’s eyes were shadowed behind the lenses of his glasses.
“Our friend Alice.” Karen set her art materials on the patio table. “She came to invite us to a meeting. Well, more of a party, I suppose. A welcome-home party.”
“Alex is back.”
The sunlight had darkened Mark’s photo-gray lenses until they were nearly opaque. So frustrating—she couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. “Yes.” She kept her tone light. “Alice said she’ll take us to see him soon. She’s agreed to Myron and Sam joining us.”
Mark was very still, a signal that his attention was focused on one object. On her, no doubt. “Well, that’s interesting.”
“Alice is responsible for the UFO sightings, or so she claims. I suppose her family, or supporters or whatever they are, must be involved as well.”
“That would make sense.”
Karen walked over to stand before him. “They used the mass sighting to cover Alex’s return, among other things.”
“Clever.” Mark placed his hands on her waist. “And how are you?”
She paused for a moment, watching his face. “A little disoriented and somewhat anxious.”
Mark’s hands slid around to her back. He pulled her into a tight embrace. “Not to worry,” he whispered in her ear. “You won’t be facing Alex on your own.”
“I know. And anyway, you remember, I’ve done so before.”
“But that was his avatar, not the man himself.” Mark brushed back the hair from her forehead with one hand. “This may prove more difficult for you.”
And you, Karen thought, but did not speak the words. “Oh, it’s silly, really. What could happen, with all of us there, all of us together?”
“Yes, our merry little band.” A smile tilted the corners of Mark’s mouth. “Ready to hang together.”
Karen laid her head upon his shoulder. “But truly, as long as you’re with me I’ll be fine.”
“Of course you will.” Mark tipped her chin up with one finger. “And I’ll always be with you, as long as you want me.”
“You’ve just promised me forever then.”
“I’ve always promised you that.”
SIX
Following Karen’s encounter, Mark, Karen, and Sam spent a few evenings with Myron Tarrow at the viewing site. They sat at the edge of the makeshift stage as Myron led the growing crowds in watching the skies.
Karen rubbed her hands together to warm them in the cool evening air. A small team of people milled about, some of them crouched down or sitting, fiddling with a wide variety of digital cameras and recorders. Karen glanced at one of them—a young woman with a buzz cut and a plethora of piercings.
“Gotten any good footage yet?” she asked the other woman.
“Some.” The woman’s eyes were a clear gray-green, like a cold ocean wave. “But it’s never good enough, you know, for people who think we’re loonies.”
“I hope we can convince them otherwise.”
“You’re tight with Tarrow, then? I’ve seen you together. You and that guy you’re with.”
“My husband,” Karen said. Mark, who was talking intently with Sam, didn’t turn around.
“Oh?” The woman looked Karen and Mark over. “You aren’t like the usual lot of us, you know. I’m Beverly, by the way. Bev.” She held out her hand, which was etched in tattoos.
Karen shook Bev’s hand. “I’m Karen. Nice to meet you. No, I guess we are a little different. But, trust me, we’re true believers.”
“Yeah?” Bev met Karen’s gaze and held it. “Have you been abducted? I have. Nasty pieces of shit, those things.”
“No, but I know people who have. And I agree it’s a nasty business. But you know, those are just machines.”
“That’s what Tarrow says. Might be right, I dunno. I’m just fed up. Tryin’ to do my bit to let everybody know.” Bev lifted her digital recorder. “I’ve got some skills—spent some time in film school.”
“Well, that’s an advantage, I’m sure.” Karen elbowed Mark, who turned and looked at her quizzically. “Bev here has some film-school training. Maybe she’ll capture images that can’t be disputed.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You know these things will always be disputed by someone. However,” he said, with a smile for Bev, “the stronger the evidence, the better.”
“Yeah, well, I dunno if it’ll be me that gets it. But I’m damned straight gonna try.” Bev rose to her feet. “Nice to meet you. So not abductees, then?” She eyed both Mark and Karen.
“No,” Mark said. “But my niece was. So we’d like to see the truth put out there, trust me.”
“I’ll do what I can.” Bev strode off.
“That’s all anyone can ask,” Mark replied under his breath.
Sam leaned over Mark to address Karen. “Have you heard anything more from Alice?”
“Not yet. She always just appears. I never have any warning. I look up, and there she is.”
“I’ve wondered how they do that. Could be a handy thing to know.”
“Well, perhaps Alex Wythe will share a few of their secrets,” Mark said. “I doubt Alice will. For all her helpfulness, she keeps her own counsel on most topics related to the Oneiroi.”
“She probably has to,” Karen said.
“Possibly.” Mark stood up and stared into the sky. “Not sure we’re going to get any displays this evening. Seems quiet.”
Karen rose to her feet and moved next to him. “It’s been like this for two nights now.”
“Could be Alice and her supporters have run into a little resistance,” Sam said. “I wish I understood the logistics of their society a bit better. It’s difficult to strategize without more information.”
“I’m hoping Alex can help us with that,” Mark said.
Sam frowned. “Not entirely convinced Wythe can be trusted. He’s been with them over ten years. Who’s to say he hasn’t been sent back to infiltrate our movement?”
Mark took hold of Karen’s hand. “I know you have your doubts, and I confess I’ve considered that scenario as well. But I don’t believe that’s the reason Alex Wythe has decided to return.”
“I think we should keep the possibility in mind. Just in case.”
“Of course. I wasn’t suggesting we take everything he says at face value. But I suspect he’s simply grown tired of living apart from the world. Ten years”—Mark tightened his grip on Karen’s hand—“is a long time.”
“Look,” Karen said, “I think I see something. Up there, over the mountains.”
The two men stared into the night sky. A bright orb bounced up from behind the sn
owy peaks and darted off in a zigzag pattern across the starry expanse.
Tarrow’s followers scattered across the stage and surrounding landscape. Those with cameras readied themselves to record any movement in the sky. Karen leaned into Mark, who’d dropped her hand and placed his arm around her shoulders.
A small fleet of orbs appeared over the mesa. They ratcheted in all directions, like fireworks shooting off in a fountain of fire. The crowd shouted and pointed and ran in several directions, following the path of the lights.
The orbs were dancing in the midnight-blue sky, a display challenging every skeptic’s description of the phenomenon as anything of this earth. Karen glimpsed Bev standing at the edge of the stage, capturing the images with her digital recorder.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Sam stepped forward to stand near Karen and Mark.
“I guess Alice managed to orchestrate another display,” Karen said. “She never gives up, it seems.”
“A good ally,” Mark said.
“More than that. A friend, I think.” Karen looked up at Mark, who smiled and pulled her closer to his side.
“Friend?” Sam raised his eyebrows. “Don’t know if I can wrap my mind around that.”
“Well, I’d trust Alice before any human loyal to Exocorp, and Ian Vance in particular,” Karen said.
“I suppose you’ve got a point there. Never thought I’d consider them anything other than the enemy, but I suppose they’ve got their good and bad sorts, same as we do.”
“The difficulty,” Mark said, “is telling which is which.”
The bright orbs bounced about the dark sky in their carefully choreographed dance, flitting around like fireflies. Karen laid her head against Mark’s shoulder. “It’s rather beautiful, in its own way.”
Sam pointed at a brightly painted van. “There’s a national crew. Perhaps we’ll make the nightly news again.”
“I’m sure Vance and his disinformation agents have been put on high alert,” Mark said. “I wonder what they’ll come up with to discredit this display.”
Sam wrinkled his forehead. “Swamp gas? Nope, no swamps here. Probably something to do with Air Force maneuvers or weather balloons.”
