Keeper

by Jessica L. Randall

  Keeping an eye out for Randy, I slid my phone out of my pocket. He hated it when we used our phones at work. I put “seeing strange eyes memory loss” into the Google search bar, thinking it ought to generate a good random selection of links.

  The first few results were about aging and Alzheimer’s. I was pretty sure I didn’t have Alzheimer’s. I scanned down the page, my attention halting at a link that made my eyes roll. Have you been chosen? It was a link to a UFO chat room.

  I scratched at my wrist as his words echoed in my head. They got you too, huh?

  I tried to access the details of the dream I’d forgotten. There was a connection there, but I couldn’t reach it. The compelling feeling to touch that link bloomed in my chest until I could hardly breathe. My finger hesitated over the blue words. Finally, hating myself for being the kind of person who would ever access a chat room for UFO nut-jobs, I touched the link.

  The background of the website was black and filled with clusters of stars. A gray box displayed a discussion between two users named foilhatgirl and theyrhere247.

  Foilhatgirl: The govt knows all about it. Which would you do? Let them take a few people or start a war with someone way smarter than you?

  Theyrhere247: Will that stop them from attacking when they have enough info about us?

  Foilhatgirl: No. Just buys us time. Or maybe we’re benefiting too.

  This was weird stuff, but I couldn’t help getting sucked in as I read, and the feeling that I was peeking in on a conversation between total strangers only made me more interested.

  Theyrhere247: I’m sure the abductees don’t feel that way.

  Foilhatgirl: Or their families.

  Theyrhere247: Sorry ☹

  I was already invested. There was clearly a story there, but no reply came up. I used the pause to check out the website. It looked like you could sign in as a guest, not that I had anything to say, or planned to jump into their private discussion. I also noticed a FAQ link. I clicked it.

  You probably think this is a freak show, but you’re still here. Why?

  Think about what led you here. Maybe you’re just interested in the possibility of life on other planets, or making contact.

  Or has something happened to you that you can’t explain? Do you feel like your memories have been manipulated? Have you seen bright lights? Is there a voice in your head telling you to go somewhere or do something? Do you have strange dreams, or see large, alien-eyes in your minds’ eye?

  Don’t ignore the signs, whether you’ve experienced them or a loved one has. I wish I hadn’t. You need to talk? We’re here.

  I went back to the main page. After hesitating for a moment, I logged in as a guest. Couldn’t hurt.

  The two users had come back, but only momentarily, it seemed. Foilhatgirl said she had to grab a quick snack, and Theyrhere247 said his/her mom was kicking him/her off the internet.

  That was it? It was like reality TV or something, and I’d been left wanting more. So anti-climactic. My finger hovered over the comment box. If I made a comment, no one would know who I was. Besides, they’d probably love to, like, indoctrinate me or something. It would make their day.

  It seemed like they were gone now, but I still felt the urge to type something. Maybe I just wanted to send a little piece of my confusion out into the universe, or join the feeling of camaraderie between people who could spout off whatever they wanted under fake names without being judged.

  Guest: I have a scar on my wrist? Does that mean anything?

  I glanced at my words typed out in the box. I laughed at myself. It actually helped, seeing the proof of how ridiculous I was being.

  Foilhatgirl: A scar could indicate the insertion of a tracking device or monitoring system. Did it just show up?

  I jumped. I hadn’t exactly expected a response.

  Guest: I don’t think so.

  That sounded dumb.

  Foilhatgirl: LOL, so you’re also experiencing loss of memory, or memory manipulation as well. Sorry. Not funny. Dude. You should totally meet me in person. I’m way more awkward.

  I stared at the phone, my mouth hanging open a little. What had I gotten myself into? This chick was crazier than I thought.

  Foilhatgirl: Seriously. Don’t let me scare you off. What other symptoms are you experiencing? I’m pretty much an expert on this stuff. I mean, in this case the more you know the whackier people think you are. I guess it’s a wisdom is in the eye of the beholder thing. Not that I’m some kind of Gandalf for the UFO community. Sorry. Go on. What else?

  I swallowed as I considered exiting the site. But maybe I should hear what she had to say. It might make me feel less crazy to listen to someone who was obviously totally off the rails.

  Guest: The eyes. I couldn’t get them out of my head all day.

  Why did I say that? I wasn’t seeing alien eyes. I was seeing the eyes of a really good-looking guy, which was perfectly normal for a teenage girl. Fine, I saw them before I met him, but they weren’t the giant alien eyes that graced the tabloids. They were just unique. And burned into my brain.

  Foilhatgirl: That’s a big one. Are you sitting down? You need to consider the possibility that you’ve been the victim of an alien abduction.

  A cold feeling spread through my chest, making me think of alien tentacles from a movie I’d seen. I imagined them taking over my body, paralyzing me, turning me into the perfect study subject, ready to be sliced into or mutated.

  Foilhatgirl: Read the FAQ page to see if there’s anything else that fits. I’m here if you have any questions. How are you dealing right now?

  How was I dealing? I was trying not to start giggling in a way that would make Randy really nervous. How was I supposed to react? I couldn’t believe I was actually having this conversation, and yet I was beginning to get seriously freaked out.

  Guest: Fine, I guess, all things considered.

  Foilhatgirl: So the good news is that some people only experience abduction once. If you’re not what they’re looking for it’s catch and release. Although there’s a certain amount of trauma, and I guess I’ll say connection, that remains.

  Connection? Like the way I couldn’t seem to get enough of seeing Micah?

  Guest: And the bad news?

  Foilhatgirl: The bad news is that some people are in for life, and like, their kids and their kids’ kids.

  Foilhatgirl: I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have laid that on you all at once. Sometimes I hit enter before I can stop myself. Listen, more often than not it’s a one-time deal. You’re going to be okay. But seriously, I’m here for you.

  Guest: And what can you do about it?

  It sounded harsh, but was there some kind of alarm button I could click when in danger of repeated abduction, and they’d all leave their parents’ basements and come to my rescue?

  Foilhatgirl: It’s true that I can’t stop it. But I can help you know what to expect. And having someone to talk to is super important when you feel like you’re losing your mind and no one believes you. Many abductees report an intense feeling of isolation. Also I’m chasing a lead that I hope will make a difference. We have to believe that the human race is strong enough to fight back.

  I quickly exited the site and slipped my phone back into my pocket, rolling my eyes again. If the grizzly, raving man who’d just left the store and the loony girl at the front register were a good sample of Earth’s representation, the human race was in big trouble.

  Chapter 9

  Meet me outside.

  When I opened my eyes I was standing on the front lawn. I hadn’t walked in my sleep since I was a kid. Yet here I was, standing in the cool grass in thin shorts and a t-shirt.

  I’d fallen asleep watching Weird Human Habitats again. Sure, it was a strange choice for a seventeen-year-old girl, but I liked to see how people lived outside of the burbs. I liked to see people who broke the mold. It gave me some kind of hope.

  Then I’d dreamed of his eyes again. I’d heard his voice, urging me to come o
utside, and like a loyal puppy, I guess I had. What would Kaela say if I told her that even an imagined whisper in my sleep would send me running after Micah Noble? She couldn’t know how pathetic I was.

  The girl in the alien chat room had mentioned a connection that abductees suffered from. That would explain my reaction to Micah, and my desire to be with him. The evidence that it was all true was beginning to stack up. But I hadn’t dismissed the possibility that I was simply out of my mind.

  The night was unusually still and perfectly quiet. The row of identical street lights casting a glow on the rows of cookie-cutter houses unnerved me. It gave the creepy impression of an episode of The Twilight Zone. I wrapped my arms around myself, imagining I was the only human left, surrounded by the tidy but empty remains of life as I knew it.

  The feeling of urgency that had compelled me here weakened as my concern for my mental state surged. Why was I still standing here? As if I were lying on Kaela’s metaphorical couch, I listed the possible reasons for my instability.

  Sure, it had been a couple of rough days at school, and at home, for that matter. Then there was that freaky guy at work, and the alien chat room. But was all that enough to explain the reality that I’d followed instructions given to me by a voice in my head to wander outside in the middle of the night?

  I’m coming for you.

  I turned around, feeling a shiver in the air, and looked up. A smattering of stars hovered overhead, their brilliancy dulled by the street lights. Then something moved. It was as if a piece of night sky had shifted. Something was there, and yet it was not. I thought of the hunter at Mick’s, shrouded in camouflage. Waiting for the deer.

  My shirt lifted slightly, and I felt the hairs on my arms prickle and raise. The wind was part of our town’s character, as familiar to me as the way Kaela swayed when she walked. This motion was something else. It was silky and static, pulling on me like a vacuum. My hair began to swirl around my head, eventually hovering above me like I was underwater. I felt it with my fingertips, imagining what people looked like just before they were struck by lightning.

  This was the moment where they either got out of there or fried. I remembered my father’s words, Run like they’re coming to get you. I took a deep breath to pull myself out of the shock I seemed to be swimming in, and bolted for the door.

  Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.

  I’d heard something like that before. I was sure I’d felt the calming influence that followed, too. Before I reached the front door my resistance suddenly waned, the way a sunset goes from fiery orange to a submissive, calm indigo.

  I felt my toes scuff the concrete as I was lifted upward. My arms flailed, as if it would help me gain control over my body. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t. It felt like cotton was packed around my urge to fight, softening my fear even as logic insisted I was in danger.

  I looked into the faces of the yellow street lights as I drifted upwards in an invisible current. Then I was looking down on the rooftops, at the carefully constructed patterns of our subdivision, then another neighborhood, and another, the pin-pricks of light barely enough to light them.

  I was grateful for whatever was keeping me calm, because I knew without it I’d die from sheer terror. As it was, I was able to see the beauty of it all, as I liked to do from my perch on the canyon rim. Even though I had no way of knowing how high I was in comparison, sitting on my rock was nothing next to floating alone into the endless expanse of night.

  I looked up instead of down. The stars spread out above me, bright and clear points of light. Even the tiny details of clustered galaxies, usually a milky smudge from my yard, took on definition now that there was no competition from the lights of town.

  Then my eyes settled on a spot that didn’t seem quite right. The sky looked even darker there, and it shifted, the way I’d seen it do from my front steps. The stars didn’t glow the same way. It was as if they were painted on that patch of night, rather than a vital, burning entity like the others.

  A circular opening appeared. Light flooded out, and I moved toward it, finding myself dipped in the brilliant white light as I moved into its path. My chest burned, a whisper of panic scratching from the inside. But I drifted on as if I were perfectly willing to be swallowed alive.

  Chapter 10

  I was deposited onto a pad made of something squishy I’d never felt before. I rested my forehead against it, fighting the urge to throw up. There was a swooshing sound, accompanied by a strange scent. It smelled like a medicine, and my stomach calmed.

  When I lifted my head, Micah was standing there as if he’d been awaiting my arrival. We were alone in a room lit by the same white light that had welcomed me in.

  I blinked, trying to get a grip on reality, a thing I now found myself doing on a disturbingly regular basis. I’d never been nauseated in a dream, but a dream would explain the lack of fear. Sometimes in dreams, I was afraid of the stupidest thing, or perfectly calm when I should have been screaming my brains out. But if this was a dream, as soon as I realized it, one of two things would happen. Either I’d quickly wake up, or I could do whatever I wanted. When there was no luck with the first one, I glanced behind me at the opening, wriggling my way toward it. I looked down at the lights of the city that sprawled out below me. I didn’t want this dream. The one I’d had the other night had screwed me up bad. It would be better to jump and end it. But could I? I didn’t really feel afraid.

  “You are not dreaming,” Micah cried out. “And I don’t think I could make it to the control room in time to catch you.”

  Could he read my mind?

  The lights made his fair hair glow white, and reflected off his pale eyes. Dressed in white as he was, he looked like some kind of stern angel. He shook his head. “I cannot read your mind, but I can read you.” Watching him, I was reminded of when he’d stood in front of the class, certain he knew everything, but more nervous than he was willing to admit.

  I leaned away from the opening, and the muscles in Micah’s jaw relaxed. I wouldn’t jump. Just in case.

  I slowly sat up. Squinting from the bright lights, I took in my surroundings, hoping for some indication of what kind of place this was. The room was pretty much empty, aside from several posters hung on the metal walls. I made out pictures of cats and rock climbers attempting impossible feats.

  “Motivational posters?” I pressed one hand against my head, wishing something would make sense to me.

  He made no move to come closer, but studied me carefully, as if he was afraid I might reconsider and jump after all. “They were Miriam’s idea. She thought it would put you at ease.”

  I shook my head. “Yeah, feels just like my guidance counselor’s office. So I guess ... you requested my presence?” My voice was weak, and I coughed to clear it. Even with the imposed calm, I had some amount of shock to deal with. “Better be important, ’cause, you know, you could have just talked to me in class tomorrow. Except that I guess you aren’t talking to me now, at least not in public. You prefer to pluck me off my front lawn and suck me up into this ...” I couldn’t say the word.

  “I am sorry,” he said quietly. “Miriam reminded me that my spending time with you was inappropriate, and I thought it best to keep my distance.”

  “I guess she’s right, since music is considered inappropriate in your culture. Chocolate cake, too, I suppose? It’s okay, I’m considered a bad influence among my people these days, too.”

  He held a blanket toward me, his fingers twitching. “I am glad to see you are awake this time.”

  “This time?”

  “You passed out before.”

  Before. The dream—the memories—that had come to me in speech class resurfaced. I stiffened as the realization that it was all real sunk in. He’d taken me before. I was called a specimen. He’d put some kind of tracker in me. My fingernails sunk into my wrist as I fought to break through the calm. Why had I let him come anywhere near me?

  He took a slow step toward me, his
hand extended, as if he wanted to help me up. I shot him a warning look. Then I took a deep breath and stood, surprised that my legs held me. I glanced down at myself and quickly tugged at my shirt and shorts, making sure they were covering everything they were supposed to. Then I snatched the blanket and wrapped it around myself.

  I raised my chin sharply, looking into Micah’s eyes. I was sure I saw something like regret or shame there. Maybe I was just as good at reading him.

  He lowered his eyes. “Come with me,” he said quietly.

  “Why would I do that?” I asked, my feet firmly planted.

  “Because you are the kind of person who wants answers. And because you know I am not going to hurt you.”

  I looked him in the eye and gave him a stiff nod.

  “We will start with a change of clothes,” he said, leading me through a doorway.

  Covering up sounded like a good idea, as long as I could do it in privacy. Then again I wasn’t sure I had any kind of rights wherever I was.

  “Then what?” I asked.

  “One step at a time. This can be overwhelming.”

  “I don’t see how,” I said, glancing around the strange tunnel we were passing through. I was glad the sarcasm was still able to bubble up through the relative calm.

  “Well,” he said, glancing at me, “it is all very new. You probably don’t know what to expect. It is my job to help you as much as possible. I am like ... your host.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sarcasm is wasted on you, isn’t it?”

  There was a tinge of pink on his cheeks. I was grateful. Embarrassment made him look more human, rather than like a perfectly chiseled statue who could apparently do whatever he wanted with me.

  “Miriam has told me I have not grasped that yet. She is so much better at languages and cultural intricacies.”

  I looked around, not sure whether the sight of more people would make me feel more or less safe. “That would explain the limited use of contractions,” I mumbled.