Fugue
By J.F. Slade
“Put your hands up where I can see them!”
I slowly raise my arms above my head, trying to ignore the blood trickling down my temple. Our captors wave their guns around haphazardly in an attempt to mask the cowardice in their eyes. Their fate is inevitable: nobody gets away with robbing banks these days. The cameras won’t lie, and neither will the dollars.
I drop to the ground at their command, pressing my cheek against the icy marble floor. I am going to be late to work yet again if I make it all. Will Tim accept being held hostage in a bank robbery as an acceptable excuse? He’ll probably need to see the news coverage, and then he still will doubt my involvement.
In the middle of a bank robbery, I am thinking about work. I need to reexamine my priorities. I twist my neck to peek at the gunmen. They are shaking more than I am, their voices cracking under pressure. In over their heads, they didn’t anticipate the mental toll.
I close my eyes, wondering how long I will be there, and for a moment, my mind drifts out of focus.
I slowly raise my arms above my head, trying to ignore the blood trickling down my temple. Our captors wave their guns around haphazardly in an attempt to mask the cowardice in their eyes. Their fate is inevitable: nobody gets away with robbing banks these days. The cameras won’t lie, and neither will the dollars.
I drop to the ground at their command, pressing my cheek against the icy marble floor. I am going to be late to work yet again if I make it all. Will Tim accept being held hostage in a bank robbery as an acceptable excuse? He’ll probably need to see the news coverage, and then he still will doubt my involvement.
In the middle of a bank robbery, I am thinking about work. I need to reexamine my priorities. I twist my neck to peek at the gunmen. They are shaking more than I am, their voices cracking under pressure. In over their heads, they didn’t anticipate the mental toll.
I close my eyes, wondering how long I will be there, and for a moment, my mind drifts out of focus.
“Ma’am, you’re all right.” I look up to see a police officer. Both of the perpetrators are handcuffed, being escorted out of the building. Confused, I stare at the other hostages. They all seem as muddled as me. How did we miss this?
I grab my phone and look down to see the time. Twenty minutes had passed. Twenty minutes in less than one. It wasn’t possible.
The officer leads me outside to where a large crowd had amassed. A reporter stands not too far away, recounting how the hostages are “dazed, but safe.” Dazed hardly cuts it. Trauma has unusual effects on people, but lost time is not one I’m familiar with. Am I having a mental breakdown?
An hour and a half later, I finally arrive at work. Tim glares at me as I walk in the door.
“Caroline, I’m surprised you bothered to show your face. You can pack up your desk and go.”
“Tim, I’m so sorry. I was just at the Union Bank.” I hold up my copy of the police report to show him. He snatches it out of my hand, reads it thoroughly, and grumbles something about me getting to work. One more chance.
I am a coordinator at one of the largest law firms in Seattle, though I rarely work directly with the lawyers. They have their cushy window offices on the top floor of the skyscraper, while I work down below with the rest of the support staff. That kind of job has a way of wearing on you, stealing your humanity. I suspect that at some point in life, Tim was a delightful person.
I head home that night after an exceptionally unproductive day. I couldn’t focus, unable to break from my fixation on those lost minutes. Something happened. Something stopped those robbers, but no one said what. I pour myself a glass of wine and scour the internet for clues, some indication of what happened. I can’t find a single account of how those gunmen were defeated.
Lost time. I type the words into my phone and fall into an abyss of stories. Some are clearly quack jobs or have brain damage, but others… others match my experience. People have had the same thing happen, and they whispered it out on message boards and comment threads telling a familiar story.
Someone, or something, saved them, and they can’t remember a thing.
I grab a notepad and start charting a list of every similarity. I note common locations and themes, tracking the dates and times. Almost all were in the Seattle area, and most didn’t start until the past few years.
I grab my phone and look down to see the time. Twenty minutes had passed. Twenty minutes in less than one. It wasn’t possible.
The officer leads me outside to where a large crowd had amassed. A reporter stands not too far away, recounting how the hostages are “dazed, but safe.” Dazed hardly cuts it. Trauma has unusual effects on people, but lost time is not one I’m familiar with. Am I having a mental breakdown?
An hour and a half later, I finally arrive at work. Tim glares at me as I walk in the door.
“Caroline, I’m surprised you bothered to show your face. You can pack up your desk and go.”
“Tim, I’m so sorry. I was just at the Union Bank.” I hold up my copy of the police report to show him. He snatches it out of my hand, reads it thoroughly, and grumbles something about me getting to work. One more chance.
I am a coordinator at one of the largest law firms in Seattle, though I rarely work directly with the lawyers. They have their cushy window offices on the top floor of the skyscraper, while I work down below with the rest of the support staff. That kind of job has a way of wearing on you, stealing your humanity. I suspect that at some point in life, Tim was a delightful person.
I head home that night after an exceptionally unproductive day. I couldn’t focus, unable to break from my fixation on those lost minutes. Something happened. Something stopped those robbers, but no one said what. I pour myself a glass of wine and scour the internet for clues, some indication of what happened. I can’t find a single account of how those gunmen were defeated.
Lost time. I type the words into my phone and fall into an abyss of stories. Some are clearly quack jobs or have brain damage, but others… others match my experience. People have had the same thing happen, and they whispered it out on message boards and comment threads telling a familiar story.
Someone, or something, saved them, and they can’t remember a thing.
I grab a notepad and start charting a list of every similarity. I note common locations and themes, tracking the dates and times. Almost all were in the Seattle area, and most didn’t start until the past few years.
I start looking for trouble night after night. I listen for sirens and tracked the police feed, anything that might attract a forgettable vigilante. I am always too late.
On the third night, though, I make an error. While leaving the scene of the mugging, I find myself face to face with the fugitive. Terrified, he immediately points his gun at me, worrying that I will scream. Instead, I just stare, frozen.
And suddenly, I am standing at the doorstep of my apartment building, with my keys in my hand.
I swirl around, searching all around me to find no one there. I quickly enter the building and run up to my apartment. I pull out my phone and click off the sound recorder. Then I hit play.
On the third night, though, I make an error. While leaving the scene of the mugging, I find myself face to face with the fugitive. Terrified, he immediately points his gun at me, worrying that I will scream. Instead, I just stare, frozen.
And suddenly, I am standing at the doorstep of my apartment building, with my keys in my hand.
I swirl around, searching all around me to find no one there. I quickly enter the building and run up to my apartment. I pull out my phone and click off the sound recorder. Then I hit play.
“Help!” I can hear myself scream on the recording. Then there are muffled sounds followed by the rapid sounds of footsteps leaving.
“Who are you?” my voice asked.
“Caroline, you need to stop trying to find me.” A kind voice, but not quite human.
“I know you… I’ve met you before.”
“Many times, but you never remember. You can’t.”
“What’s your name?”
“We don’t have names like you do, but I am your friend. Let me walk you home.”
“Who are you?” my voice asked.
“Caroline, you need to stop trying to find me.” A kind voice, but not quite human.
“I know you… I’ve met you before.”
“Many times, but you never remember. You can’t.”
“What’s your name?”
“We don’t have names like you do, but I am your friend. Let me walk you home.”
I lean back against the back of the couch and stare at my phone, searching through my memory. An image was coming together, but it isn’t complete. I know this voice. I know this man.
“Why can’t I remember you?” I said on the recording.
“Your brains can’t register us. You just fill in the blanks as if nothing was lost. If our image shows up on a camera, you don’t see it. If you hear us, you turn around but see nothing. We are forgotten.”
“But I noticed something was wrong.”
“Occasionally this happens; we don’t know why. Caroline, it isn’t safe to go looking for us. I know you won’t remember this, but I hope you stop.”
We were silent for some time, but then I heard his voice again.
“You are home now. Be safe, my friend.”
“Your brains can’t register us. You just fill in the blanks as if nothing was lost. If our image shows up on a camera, you don’t see it. If you hear us, you turn around but see nothing. We are forgotten.”
“But I noticed something was wrong.”
“Occasionally this happens; we don’t know why. Caroline, it isn’t safe to go looking for us. I know you won’t remember this, but I hope you stop.”
We were silent for some time, but then I heard his voice again.
“You are home now. Be safe, my friend.”
My dreams are filled faces, occupying all corners of space, hiding in the open, where no one can see them. He is there, appearing human but not entirely. I know him: all about him. He has a name, something I called him something once.
In the middle of the night, I wake up with a jolt and grab my phone. The recording is still there, unaltered, but I don’t need to listen to it again. I remember it all. I remember him.
I grab an old sweatshirt and slip on some shoes before walking out to the balcony of my second-floor apartment. My view consists of the neighboring building and the dumpsters below. Still, if the weather’s clear and I happen to be home, I can twist around the edge and see the silhouette of Mt. Rainier. This happens maybe three times a year.
I wrap myself in an old quilt and sit down in my weather-worn folding chair. The stars are out tonight, forcing their way through the light pollution of the city.
“Caroline.”
I jump at the voice and run to the edge of the balcony. He is there, on the street, and I recognize his face.
“You lied to me before,” I say. “You have a name, or at least had one: Jadon.”
He climbs on the dumpsters and then uses them to climb up to my balcony. His movements are swift and inhuman, sparking fear in me that is only outmatched by my curiosity.
“This isn’t very secure.” He looks around the balcony and not at me.
“I normally keep my sliding door locked. Do you often hang out outside my apartment in the middle of the night?”
He shakes his head. “I knew you were awake and that you remembered me.” He briefly touches my temple, and I back away, wrapping the blanket securely around me.
Then I see it: flashes, memories from my whole life that I have never seen. He is in it, throughout it. We were friends as children, both of us, closer than anything, but I forgot him. How could I forget him?
“You’re not human.”
“No,” he says. “We are lost. We crashed here when I was young, optimistic that our common appearance would help us integrate, but soon we realized our folly.”
“We can’t remember you.”
He nods. “You could, once long ago. Your young mind was able to process our existence.”
“But I forgot…”
“You grew.”
I sit down in my chair and stare at him, trying to process the onslaught of memories. I met him in the forest area behind my house. They were hiding out there, away from all of us. Jadon and I were friends, best friends. When my parents would work late, I would spend my afternoons out in the forest with him, away from human life and responsibility.
Before, my childhood memories consisted of TV and video games. How could I forget this? My confidence is shattered, violated by my own mind, and its inability to document my life. I mumble something about needing to go to bed, and Jadon understands. He leaves me to process this discovery and work through the experiences that should have defined me.
In the middle of the night, I wake up with a jolt and grab my phone. The recording is still there, unaltered, but I don’t need to listen to it again. I remember it all. I remember him.
I grab an old sweatshirt and slip on some shoes before walking out to the balcony of my second-floor apartment. My view consists of the neighboring building and the dumpsters below. Still, if the weather’s clear and I happen to be home, I can twist around the edge and see the silhouette of Mt. Rainier. This happens maybe three times a year.
I wrap myself in an old quilt and sit down in my weather-worn folding chair. The stars are out tonight, forcing their way through the light pollution of the city.
“Caroline.”
I jump at the voice and run to the edge of the balcony. He is there, on the street, and I recognize his face.
“You lied to me before,” I say. “You have a name, or at least had one: Jadon.”
He climbs on the dumpsters and then uses them to climb up to my balcony. His movements are swift and inhuman, sparking fear in me that is only outmatched by my curiosity.
“This isn’t very secure.” He looks around the balcony and not at me.
“I normally keep my sliding door locked. Do you often hang out outside my apartment in the middle of the night?”
He shakes his head. “I knew you were awake and that you remembered me.” He briefly touches my temple, and I back away, wrapping the blanket securely around me.
Then I see it: flashes, memories from my whole life that I have never seen. He is in it, throughout it. We were friends as children, both of us, closer than anything, but I forgot him. How could I forget him?
“You’re not human.”
“No,” he says. “We are lost. We crashed here when I was young, optimistic that our common appearance would help us integrate, but soon we realized our folly.”
“We can’t remember you.”
He nods. “You could, once long ago. Your young mind was able to process our existence.”
“But I forgot…”
“You grew.”
I sit down in my chair and stare at him, trying to process the onslaught of memories. I met him in the forest area behind my house. They were hiding out there, away from all of us. Jadon and I were friends, best friends. When my parents would work late, I would spend my afternoons out in the forest with him, away from human life and responsibility.
Before, my childhood memories consisted of TV and video games. How could I forget this? My confidence is shattered, violated by my own mind, and its inability to document my life. I mumble something about needing to go to bed, and Jadon understands. He leaves me to process this discovery and work through the experiences that should have defined me.
You never know how you can change until you do. I existed before, limited by the structure of the world around me. The human world: with jobs and money, and so much responsibility. In that world, I went to work, sat miserably at my desk, and glared at Tim through the shaded window of his office. I fit in that box, narrow and unimaginative, fulfilling the role I was supposed to play without ever questioning anything.
But this morning, I am free.
I reach for my alarm only to realize it hasn’t gone off yet. Laughing, I jump to my feet and get ready for the day. After a quick stop at the local coffee stand, I head to my job, thirty minutes early.
I pass by one of them on the street, but I try to not notice him. I don’t want him to know I can see him, that I can register his presence. How many of them are there?
Tim spits out his coffee at the sight of me, but I cheerily say, “good morning,” and sit down at my desk. I stare at my inbox as the emails pile up, designating me with mindless tasks that a monkey can do. For thirty seconds, I weigh my options in my mind, and then I promptly log off my computer, grab my bag, and walk out the door. I can hear Tim shouting after me, but I don’t care. It’s time for something better.
Once outside, I catch my breath and laugh. A few people walking by give me strange looks, but not as many as I would have expected.
When I regain my composure, I catch the eye of another one of them. This time, I can’t hide my acknowledgment. How many of these aliens are there?
She looks at me strangely and then beckons me to follow her. She leads me to a metro station and onto a bus. We ride it all the way to Discovery Park without saying a word. The wooded area has always seemed so empty before, besides the occasional jogger sticking to the path. Now I realize how wrong I was. It is packed full of them. They are everywhere.
A few of them I recognize from my childhood, but there are so many more. This isn’t a small ship that crashed. This is a civilization.
“So you can see all of us now.” Jadon is the first to greet me.
“What did you do to me?”
“It wasn’t me. You found the ability yourself. I just allowed it to come to fruition.”
I stared at the camp in the forest, none of them visible before now.
“How many of you are there?”
“23,000, but not all of them are in Seattle.”
I choke on his words. For two decades, aliens had been living among us, and we had no idea. No one knew a thing. Somehow, these aliens had minimized their influence to message boards in the dark corners of the internet.
“You’ve been following me.”
He shakes his head. “I promise I’ve only just checked in every now and then to see how you’re doing.”
“And rescue me from bank robberies and muggings. Are you trying to be a superhero?”
He smiles. “Definitely not, but I’ve discovered it is difficult to fight someone if you can’t register their presence. The others would prefer we not get involved.”
I know I should be scared, or something, but my emotions are so confused with the new onslaught of memories that I have a hard time feeling anything. I am terrified, happy, sad, and excited, all at once, and I can’t comprehend it. I discovered the existence of extraterrestrials living on Earth. I found this out as a child, and now I have again as an adult.
I spend the day with Jadon, interacting with his family and community. Their technology is unlike anything I have ever seen. They have an entire facility growing their food, hidden from all views. I expected to find refugees, but they are nothing like that. They are thriving here, hidden from our minds.
They are alien but more human than I would ever imagine. Their decades on Earth had taught them how to interact with us, but they are not used to complex conversations. My questions and persistence catch them off guard, as building a dialogue is not something they ever have to do.
“We’re telepathic. Our thoughts are all connected together, individual but in sync.”
“So, no secrets?”
“I don’t know how we would.”
“Everyone has secrets.”
He reaches out but hesitates. “Is it all right?”
I nod, and he touches my forehead again, but this time I don’t back away so quickly. Images flash through my mind, and then a rush of emotions and voices. It’s too loud. I push his arm away and hold my head in my hands.
“That’s what you hear?”
“It makes sense to us. Perhaps your mind is not structured to withstand it. I’m sorry if it caused you pain.”
That is an understatement. It was too much in a series of boundary-pushing moments. I promptly make an excuse and head home, back to my tiny apartment in the world of humanity.
The bus ride is longer than any other one previously, even if I don’t live far away. The city of my childhood is foreign to me, disconnected from my reality. Seattle-lites are known for avoiding eye contact, but this is different. It’s as if they are looking right through me.
It’s another restless night, but this time the images in my brain are defined, released memories after years of isolation. When I do manage to sleep, my dreams are vivid and alarming, jolting me awake with a rhythmic periodicity.
I wake up the next morning with less jubilation. I am no longer thrilled by the discovery of Jadon. Caution sets in and fear settles inside my brain. I know nothing about this species, about their intentions or their abilities. They are living among us, and no one knows anything.
Three people bump into me on the way to the coffee shop that morning, and then the barista won’t take my order. He keeps looking past me at the person behind me, taking their order instead of mine. Eventually, I give up and buy a bottled ice coffee at the grocery store, using the self-scan cashier lane. Then I hop onto the bus and head to my mother’s house.
But this morning, I am free.
I reach for my alarm only to realize it hasn’t gone off yet. Laughing, I jump to my feet and get ready for the day. After a quick stop at the local coffee stand, I head to my job, thirty minutes early.
I pass by one of them on the street, but I try to not notice him. I don’t want him to know I can see him, that I can register his presence. How many of them are there?
Tim spits out his coffee at the sight of me, but I cheerily say, “good morning,” and sit down at my desk. I stare at my inbox as the emails pile up, designating me with mindless tasks that a monkey can do. For thirty seconds, I weigh my options in my mind, and then I promptly log off my computer, grab my bag, and walk out the door. I can hear Tim shouting after me, but I don’t care. It’s time for something better.
Once outside, I catch my breath and laugh. A few people walking by give me strange looks, but not as many as I would have expected.
When I regain my composure, I catch the eye of another one of them. This time, I can’t hide my acknowledgment. How many of these aliens are there?
She looks at me strangely and then beckons me to follow her. She leads me to a metro station and onto a bus. We ride it all the way to Discovery Park without saying a word. The wooded area has always seemed so empty before, besides the occasional jogger sticking to the path. Now I realize how wrong I was. It is packed full of them. They are everywhere.
A few of them I recognize from my childhood, but there are so many more. This isn’t a small ship that crashed. This is a civilization.
“So you can see all of us now.” Jadon is the first to greet me.
“What did you do to me?”
“It wasn’t me. You found the ability yourself. I just allowed it to come to fruition.”
I stared at the camp in the forest, none of them visible before now.
“How many of you are there?”
“23,000, but not all of them are in Seattle.”
I choke on his words. For two decades, aliens had been living among us, and we had no idea. No one knew a thing. Somehow, these aliens had minimized their influence to message boards in the dark corners of the internet.
“You’ve been following me.”
He shakes his head. “I promise I’ve only just checked in every now and then to see how you’re doing.”
“And rescue me from bank robberies and muggings. Are you trying to be a superhero?”
He smiles. “Definitely not, but I’ve discovered it is difficult to fight someone if you can’t register their presence. The others would prefer we not get involved.”
I know I should be scared, or something, but my emotions are so confused with the new onslaught of memories that I have a hard time feeling anything. I am terrified, happy, sad, and excited, all at once, and I can’t comprehend it. I discovered the existence of extraterrestrials living on Earth. I found this out as a child, and now I have again as an adult.
I spend the day with Jadon, interacting with his family and community. Their technology is unlike anything I have ever seen. They have an entire facility growing their food, hidden from all views. I expected to find refugees, but they are nothing like that. They are thriving here, hidden from our minds.
They are alien but more human than I would ever imagine. Their decades on Earth had taught them how to interact with us, but they are not used to complex conversations. My questions and persistence catch them off guard, as building a dialogue is not something they ever have to do.
“We’re telepathic. Our thoughts are all connected together, individual but in sync.”
“So, no secrets?”
“I don’t know how we would.”
“Everyone has secrets.”
He reaches out but hesitates. “Is it all right?”
I nod, and he touches my forehead again, but this time I don’t back away so quickly. Images flash through my mind, and then a rush of emotions and voices. It’s too loud. I push his arm away and hold my head in my hands.
“That’s what you hear?”
“It makes sense to us. Perhaps your mind is not structured to withstand it. I’m sorry if it caused you pain.”
That is an understatement. It was too much in a series of boundary-pushing moments. I promptly make an excuse and head home, back to my tiny apartment in the world of humanity.
The bus ride is longer than any other one previously, even if I don’t live far away. The city of my childhood is foreign to me, disconnected from my reality. Seattle-lites are known for avoiding eye contact, but this is different. It’s as if they are looking right through me.
It’s another restless night, but this time the images in my brain are defined, released memories after years of isolation. When I do manage to sleep, my dreams are vivid and alarming, jolting me awake with a rhythmic periodicity.
I wake up the next morning with less jubilation. I am no longer thrilled by the discovery of Jadon. Caution sets in and fear settles inside my brain. I know nothing about this species, about their intentions or their abilities. They are living among us, and no one knows anything.
Three people bump into me on the way to the coffee shop that morning, and then the barista won’t take my order. He keeps looking past me at the person behind me, taking their order instead of mine. Eventually, I give up and buy a bottled ice coffee at the grocery store, using the self-scan cashier lane. Then I hop onto the bus and head to my mother’s house.
I don’t know what I expected. No one had acknowledged me since my last interaction with Jadon, but this is my mother: the one person in the world who should see me. Yet, she answers the door, looks around, and starts to turn back inside. I grab her arm and yell at her.
“Can I help you?” she asks, looking at me with terror.
“Mom! It’s me!”
“Can I help you?”
I run, as far as I can away from everyone, trying to not hyperventilate in fear. I solved a mystery and lost my own identity in the process. My memories came with a cost.
I sit down on a park bench and cry without restraint. No one even slightly turns their head to look at me. Finally, I head home.
“Can I help you?” she asks, looking at me with terror.
“Mom! It’s me!”
“Can I help you?”
I run, as far as I can away from everyone, trying to not hyperventilate in fear. I solved a mystery and lost my own identity in the process. My memories came with a cost.
I sit down on a park bench and cry without restraint. No one even slightly turns their head to look at me. Finally, I head home.
Jadon is waiting for me at my doorstep. He jumps to his feet when he sees me, smiling foolishly, and I want to punch him. I blow past him and head to the building door.
“Did I do something wrong?”
I whirl around and glare at him. “Did you know? Did you know I would become like you?”
He pauses for a moment, comprehending what I said. “No one…”
“Can see me? Remember me? Acknowledge me? I just visited my own mother, Jadon, and she hadn’t the foggiest clue who I was.”
He steps back and stares. “This was not my intention. I am so sorry, Caroline.”
“I don’t care if you’re sorry! You’ve ruined my life. The least you can do is leave.”
I turn around and walk inside the building, shutting the locked door behind me.
“Did I do something wrong?”
I whirl around and glare at him. “Did you know? Did you know I would become like you?”
He pauses for a moment, comprehending what I said. “No one…”
“Can see me? Remember me? Acknowledge me? I just visited my own mother, Jadon, and she hadn’t the foggiest clue who I was.”
He steps back and stares. “This was not my intention. I am so sorry, Caroline.”
“I don’t care if you’re sorry! You’ve ruined my life. The least you can do is leave.”
I turn around and walk inside the building, shutting the locked door behind me.
For the next few days, I don’t do much, trying to avoid any interaction with Jadon’s people, but they are everywhere. Every time I leave to get food or anything, I see them. But now I see all of them. I want to pretend I’m normal, but I’m not. I’m taken in by them, consumed by their presence.
I spend most of my time in my apartment, hoping my landlords don’t forget I exist. I’m worried about my money running out, and forming any sort of feasible plan has never been my strong suit. I’ve devoted my life to coasting, and suddenly, that method seems limited in its potential.
Petty theft could be an option, but I’ve seen the aliens out in the streets, stealing people’s wallets and walking away unharmed. Is it effective? Sure, but I also see their victims’ faces when they realize what happened, thinking it was them… thinking they had messed up some way.
If these aliens are so benevolent, they have quite a way of showing it.
Why would they need money anyway? I see them steal all of the time, everywhere, but they never spend it on anything. They have all of the technology they could possibly need, yet they are stealing from us, taking our money.
One afternoon, I decide to wander the city. There’s a rally downtown for the governor. I’ve never been much into politics, but boredom is a significant motivator. I stand there as he makes his speeches, talking about some policy that I’m sure is very important but rather uninteresting. My eyes search the crowd. They are here, everywhere, scattered throughout.
Then I look up at the governor and realize they are standing there with him. They are everywhere, with their hands in everything.
I spend most of my time in my apartment, hoping my landlords don’t forget I exist. I’m worried about my money running out, and forming any sort of feasible plan has never been my strong suit. I’ve devoted my life to coasting, and suddenly, that method seems limited in its potential.
Petty theft could be an option, but I’ve seen the aliens out in the streets, stealing people’s wallets and walking away unharmed. Is it effective? Sure, but I also see their victims’ faces when they realize what happened, thinking it was them… thinking they had messed up some way.
If these aliens are so benevolent, they have quite a way of showing it.
Why would they need money anyway? I see them steal all of the time, everywhere, but they never spend it on anything. They have all of the technology they could possibly need, yet they are stealing from us, taking our money.
One afternoon, I decide to wander the city. There’s a rally downtown for the governor. I’ve never been much into politics, but boredom is a significant motivator. I stand there as he makes his speeches, talking about some policy that I’m sure is very important but rather uninteresting. My eyes search the crowd. They are here, everywhere, scattered throughout.
Then I look up at the governor and realize they are standing there with him. They are everywhere, with their hands in everything.
I head home that day, frustrated and confused. I was so excited to learn about these aliens that I missed so much. They aren’t here by accident. That story hardly seems fitting now. They are on a mission, doing something, and no one knows what it is.
I stop by the grocery store to pick up dinner, grateful that the self-checkout scanner still registers my presence. They are there of course. One walks up to a woman, opens her purse, and steals her wallet. It’s so easy and ridiculous.
The woman looks embarrassed, assuming she had forgotten it or left it somewhere. I want to tell her what happened, but I know that’s useless. So instead, I run after the alien. She looks shocked by my recognition before she realizes who I am. I hit her and push her to the ground. I was never much of a fighter, but I am angry.
“The wallet, now.” I say, with newfound confidence.
She hands it to me and scurries off. I run back to the grocery store, where the woman is still panicked and searching the aisles. I touch her arm and place it in her hand. She looks at me briefly before focusing back on her wallet.
I leave angry, but with new resolve. This isn’t a small group of survivors. They have infiltrated everything, and I am the only person out there who knows about them.
And no one can remember me.
I stop by the grocery store to pick up dinner, grateful that the self-checkout scanner still registers my presence. They are there of course. One walks up to a woman, opens her purse, and steals her wallet. It’s so easy and ridiculous.
The woman looks embarrassed, assuming she had forgotten it or left it somewhere. I want to tell her what happened, but I know that’s useless. So instead, I run after the alien. She looks shocked by my recognition before she realizes who I am. I hit her and push her to the ground. I was never much of a fighter, but I am angry.
“The wallet, now.” I say, with newfound confidence.
She hands it to me and scurries off. I run back to the grocery store, where the woman is still panicked and searching the aisles. I touch her arm and place it in her hand. She looks at me briefly before focusing back on her wallet.
I leave angry, but with new resolve. This isn’t a small group of survivors. They have infiltrated everything, and I am the only person out there who knows about them.
And no one can remember me.
I miss my former life. I miss interacting with people and complaining about mundane tasks. I miss having something to do. Wandering downtown, I stop at my old work building. I pause for a moment before going inside. Riding the elevator up with some of my former coworkers, I follow them into the office as they key open the door. My desk is there, but it has already been repurposed into a free workstation. I wonder if they miss my work product, but I suspect they haven’t noticed. I was never that relevant of an employee.
Tim is there, in his office, looking as dismal as always. He is so miserable in his job, yet unwilling to acknowledge anything else. Does he have a life outside of this place? Does he know anyone?
I walk into his office and sit down across from him, watching him work, but then to my surprise, he looks up at me and jumps.
“Hello, Tim.”
“Caroline?” He is confused, hesitant in his question.
I laugh slightly. “Go figure, you would be the one who would hold onto my memory.”
He looks at me strangely, trying to place me but unsure if he can.
“Tim, can you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“There’s a whole world out there. Don’t let this small space define you.”
I stand up and walk out of the building. If Tim and the woman at the store can acknowledge me briefly, then others can as well. I can influence them, and so can the aliens.
Tim is there, in his office, looking as dismal as always. He is so miserable in his job, yet unwilling to acknowledge anything else. Does he have a life outside of this place? Does he know anyone?
I walk into his office and sit down across from him, watching him work, but then to my surprise, he looks up at me and jumps.
“Hello, Tim.”
“Caroline?” He is confused, hesitant in his question.
I laugh slightly. “Go figure, you would be the one who would hold onto my memory.”
He looks at me strangely, trying to place me but unsure if he can.
“Tim, can you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“There’s a whole world out there. Don’t let this small space define you.”
I stand up and walk out of the building. If Tim and the woman at the store can acknowledge me briefly, then others can as well. I can influence them, and so can the aliens.
Jadon once told me that he was no superhero. Now I know how far from the truth that was. They are everywhere: in our government, in our businesses, on our streets. I don’t know why they came here, but they have a plan. They came here for a reason.
And no one can see them. No one can remember them, except for me. But I know the truth, so I will watch them, I will follow them, and I will protect those around them. I will do what I can. I am Fugue.
And no one can see them. No one can remember them, except for me. But I know the truth, so I will watch them, I will follow them, and I will protect those around them. I will do what I can. I am Fugue.