Angelique Rising (39 page)

             
“You
know
about those aliens? Who
are
you people?”

             
He smiled a warm smile, like he was about to bestow a first set of car keys on an overeager teenager.

             
“You remember about the aliens but you probably don’t remember much about last night. You were very... shaken up. My name is Dr. Montgomery. Nathan Montgomery. I’m the primary care physician of Little Island which is where you are. And everyone here is here to help with your care, your
complete
care.”

             
I wanted so much to trust this man. “Thank you,” I responded warily. “But I can’t stay long. I’m a law student. I’ve got to get back.”

             
“We’ve notified the Dean of your absence, Mr. Hemmings. Don’t worry about it. You need rest, rest and recuperation. And,” he added with an almost sly expectancy in his voice, “to be around others who’ve had the same experience as you. You’ll find it very supportive.”

             
Others,
I thought. I remembered the girl who’d sent the message. What was it? TRUST NOT. Don’t trust Dr. Montgomery? The world in general? It was then that I noticed the IV tube attached to my arm.

             
“Here,” he said at once, “let me take care of that.” He extracted the needle painlessly from my arm. “Like most of the returnees
,
you were dehydrated. We like to give some vitamins too, and a few antibiotics in case your immune system’s down.”

             
While he was talking he picked up the telephone on a nightstand. “Yes,” he said into the receiver quite cheerily. “Thank you.” He hung up. His actions made me think I should call somebody (and I know it’s a painfully sad commentary on my life) but I couldn’t think of who.

             
“Are you government?” I blurted out.

             
“Very astute, Mr. Hemmings. Yes, we’re the government. I work for a scientific organization within the government. Sorry, but even the name of it is classified. General Peerless --you met him last night but might not remember-- is Air Force. We’re a mixture around here. But we’re all dedicated to one thing: helping returnees like yourself recover. And to help you to remember what happened to you, though that doesn’t seem to be a problem in your case.” He looked at me hopefully.

             
I am in a world of heavy duty shit
I cringed, apprehension starting to percolate through my stomach like tiny crystal shards.

             
The door opened and in walked two men in gleaming white uniforms, nurses or orderlies, I couldn’t tell which. The Doctor flashed another smile at me. “These men will help you get dressed,” he pronounced. “I guarantee that will make you feel better. Then perhaps you’ll join me for breakfast on the terrace. It’s a glorious morning!”

             
He was grinning. I got the acutely uncomfortable feeling that it wasn’t the weather making him so exuberant, it was me. I could almost feel him itching to write it down:
pt. alert, coherent, denies any c/os. Full debrief ASAP.

             
He sauntered out of the room and I swear I heard him whistling down a hallway outside.

             
Now I think I’m a person who has taken some rather hard knocks in life, the death of my father when I was still pretty much a kid, my mom’s death (which I won’t go into here) and last but most certainly not least, my “experience” as the good doctor called it. In short, life has made me --whether I would have wanted it or not-- not a crybaby. It had instead provided me with forced opportunities for vivid confrontations with my own frailties, so I knew what those frailties were, though the knowing didn’t count for much.

             
I wanted to belong. Like a little kid I suppose, but I felt so adrift then, wanting to be part of some group, a camaraderie kind of thing. That’s why, even though every instinct in me screamed I should leave Little Island at once, there was also a small voice whispering that these people were my friends, Little Island my snug, safe home, and maybe I belonged there, maybe I could be happy there. Thank goodness Caroline kicked my butt hard when I got to thinking that way.

             
I came to call her Caroline of the Beautiful Eyes. Chocolate skin and a dazzling smile, but it was her eyes that could capture me with the slightest glance.

             
The orderlies, or whatever they were, helped me wash and dress, then plunked me down in a wheelchair. I’d discovered (but they’d somehow known) that my wobbly legs were unreliable. Dr. Montgomery had been right about the dressing making me feel better, but my head still hurt in dull throbbing waves. I was afraid of more of their “medication” though, so I said nothing. Suffer in silence, that’s always been my motto. Yeah, right.

             
I was wheeled out of my room and through hallways, hallways and more hallways. All of them were beautiful, with large and frequent plate glass windows giving a breathtaking view of a forest beyond. The whole complex, I saw, was connected through these hallways. I saw many doors but none of them appeared to open to the outdoors. After a while, despite the airy beauty of the place, I couldn’t help but feel sealed-in, until I was finally brought back to the huge hall I’d entered the night before. I was deposited outdoors onto the terrace.

             
“Mr. Hemmings,” a familiar voice boomed.

             
“Dr. Montgomery,” I said, extending my hand.

             
He shook it vigorously, pushing my wheelchair up to a patio table and sitting down as well. A steward appeared at the table.

             
“Coffee,” the Doctor smiled up at the man, “and the works.”

             
I opened my mouth to place my own order, but the steward darted away.

             
“Isn’t this a view!” the Doctor said waving his arms (I noticed the biceps).

             
For a moment I thought of walking over to the wall and looking down the cliff --to see how sheer the drop was-- until I remembered with my rubbery legs I’d probably fall flat on my face.

             
“Very nice,” I said as coolly as possible. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like some information.”

             
“Of course. Ask anything.”

             
“Where is this place?”

             
“We’re in Washington state.”

             
“What do you do here?”

             
“Oh I thought I’d made that clear. We assist returnees. People who’ve had the same experience as you.”

             
“All these people were kidnapped by aliens? There’s gotta be--”

             
“Thirty-three,” he said, “with you.”

             
“That’s amazing! I thought I was the only one. The only
credible
one.”

             
“Absolutely not, Mr. Hemmings. May I call you Mark? Call me whatever you wish, Mark. Nathan, Nate, whatever makes you comfortable. Actually there are many more returnees than the thirty-three people here now. Many returnees have left, and the government didn’t even start collecting, er, I mean providing, a facility like this until several years ago.”

             
“You mean this alien kidnapping, it’s a huge problem?”

             
“It’s an important situation.”

             
“What’s the government
doing
about it?”

             
“Ah,” he said, not in reaction to me but to the platefuls of food being placed before him. Eggs, sausage, muffins, pastries, everything any red-blooded American at breakfast time would cast caution to the wind for. Before me, the steward placed a small bowl of oatmeal and watery looking milk. “Best to start slow,” the doctor said, eyeing my oatmeal and stuffing two thick sausages into his mouth. “Well,” he said conspiratorially, “maybe we can sneak just a little.” He pushed a small plate with half a muffin and a spoonful of scrambled eggs on it toward me. I wolfed it down, unbearably hungry for more. “The government,” he continued, “is doing all it can. Studying the situation. We know quite a bit now, these aliens don’t appear to be a threat.”

             
“Not a threat! Are you crazy? They pick people up against their will, transport them God knows where, do God knows what to them, and you say they’re not a threat?” I was incredulous.

             
“We have the big picture here, Mark, acquired through many years of hard work.” He was slathering butter on a corn muffin the size of a fist. Despite myself, I wanted that muffin so much I almost snatched it from him. He cut a small piece and laid it on my plate. I gobbled it down. “These aliens appear to be scientists,” he continued, “looking for ways they can interact with humans. We think they’re preparing.”

             
“For what?”

             
“For when, or rather if, they decide to make formal contact with us. And for that, they don’t appear to be in any big rush. So it’s up to us to be ready when or if that time comes. You see, Mark, we certainly wouldn’t want these aliens thinking that the Russians, the Chinese, --or, God help us, the
French--
or anybody else for that matter, would be the easiest, the most conducive, for them to make their first open contact with. It has to be with us, with our government. So of course the more we know about them the more ready we’ll be to welcome them, establish ties with them, seek a mutually beneficial relationship. You’ve seen their technology. Would you want that to be introduced to some other country, not ours?”

             
“No,” I said unsure of myself. “But what if I don’t want to be a part of it, of your... effort?”

             
His shoulders slumped and his eyes drooped.

             
“Oh I hope you don’t decide that,” he said, crestfallen. “You’re a step forward for us, a giant step. You remember the aliens, you remember being taken. Most of our returnees need considerable help to remember. And the spaceship, Mark, the ship! In the many years we’ve been at this, we’ve obtained very few alien artifacts, and then you show up with an entire spacecraft! We need your help. You wouldn’t turn your back on your country would you?”

             
The utter earnestness of his voice ignited misgivings in me, and, standing up to politely excuse myself and walk away to think things over, my legs buckled and I crashed to the floor.

             
He was instantly there, scooping me up in his massive arms like a child, cradling me with deep concern etched throughout his face.

             
“Where are you hurt?” he asked urgently.

             
“Probably his big dumb ass,” a woman’s scornful voice said.

             
I looked behind me and saw Caroline of the Beautiful Eyes laughing at me.

             
“Caroline,” the Doctor said gently, his voice tinged with a hint of irritation.

             
“I’m fine,” I sputtered, mortified that this woman was gawking at me being held in another man’s arms like a helpless baby.

             
“Didn’t you figure out your muscles ain’t gonna do it for you your first day back, Stupid?” She plunked herself down uninvited in the Doctor’s chair as I struggled for him to release me. “He pullin’ that food shit on you? Nathan, Nathan, when you gonna stop that crap? Here.” She pushed the plates of food over to me. “He ain’t your Daddy, sneakin’ you treats you should be grateful to him for. He’s your jailer, man. He told you that yet?”

             
I was horrified.

             
The Doctor pushed me in my wheelchair up to the table and chuckled. “Mark, this is Caroline. Caroline, Mark.”

             
“Jailer?” I gulped.

             
Montgomery shook his head and laughed in mock exasperation. “Hardly,” he scoffed, his eyes flashing sharply at Caroline. “As you saw yesterday, Caroline, Mark here has just arrived. We haven’t had much of a chance to speak yet, so I’m going to have to ask you to excuse us. Mark needs to get, uh, acclimated.”

             
“Bastard,” she said venomously. “No, not you, Stupid, him!”

             
“Dr. Montgomery’s seemed pretty okay so far,” I responded irritably, angry that this woman had called me Stupid not once but twice now.

             
“He’s a peach,” she said bitterly. “He’s such a peach, you tell him to call you a cab, tell him time for you to leave now. See what happens.”

             
That somehow didn’t seem like a wise idea at the moment. “Are you a... returnee?” I asked uneasily.