In The Mouth of Insanity IC

[Gabriel Zero]

Link to the sign up OOC:
http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=24778

http://i252.photobucket.com/albums/hh7/clyde1204/abduction.jpg

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A cold crisp breeze swept through the room, stirring Henry despite the fact that he had been wide awake on his futon for the last several hours. It seemed like sleep wasn't a option for him anymore, even though he already tried dozens of different sleeping pills. Every night filled him with dread, fearful that his unbearable routine would last until the day he died.

"Christ. It's three in the morning again." Henry's voice cracked as he looked at the clock that sat across from his position. He could hear his cat shuffling in a corner of his studio apartment, his ex girlfriend had named her Gnome Chomsky. The cat was probably chewing up his bills that rested on the floor, almost all of them were marked "over due". Yet his own financial dilemma was far from his thoughts during these late hours.

Henry couldn't stand being alone, especially since the nightmares seemed to become worse. He took a quick glance at his phone, yet he knew almost everyone on his contact list was sleeping at this ungodly hour. Even with the urge to call anyone, he knew most of his friends warned him against doing so. Some have even threatened to block his number if he dared to even try waking them up. He got up and shuffled amongst his empty apartment, wondering why his life was beyond fucked up.

Henry went over to his laptop and started at his log in screen. Something about the eerie glow that illuminated from the monitor triggered a suppressed hidden memory. One of many memories flooded his skull, twisting and turning in his brain like a rusted dull dagger. Flickers of pain appeared all over his body, haunted by the faint taste of metal and scent of chemicals that overwhelmed his senses. He arched his back in pain, knocking his lap top on the floor. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, while his mind was flooded with images of creatures staring at him with eyes containing endless darkness.

When it was all over he found himself on the floor of his apartment faced down on a pile of old magazines and scraps of food that had been left over from yesterday. All of this left Henry feeling unsurprised and more exhausted more then ever. This was something that was happening almost every night, despite silently praying that he would somehow be spared. Henry was aware of his increasingly deteriorating state, knowing that his mind wouldn't be able to handle this kind of punishment forever. In spite of all of this he knew no one that he knew would believe him, the only help he would get is the one that involved a straight jacket and a padded room. Yet he would take that option if it involved making all of these nightmares go away.

Picking up the lap top, plugging it back in and turning it back on, he decided that if help was to be found he would have to turn toward a much larger audience. Staring into his web cam with glazed over eyes, he spoke to his new audience. Everyone who would listen would have his story, he would put out everything that he could remember. He didn't care if this would jeopardize his career or not, as of right now he only cared about living and he wanted his life back.

Within minutes thanks to his semi celebrity status, Henry Deacon's video blog would be posted all over youtube and twitter. With in hours the video would spread to every major news website in the world. Within days Henry Deacon found himself more talked about then Charlie Sheen. Still Henry Deacon waited patiently for the help that had yet to arrive.

[SpaceChicken]

"Bahhh. What is wrong with me?" Giovanna said, staring down at the piece of paper she was doodling on. Subconsciously she had found herself -- once again -- trying to capture the horror of the nighttime visions she had so frequently lately.

She couldn't.

Like most dreams, they weren't something that could be captured on paper, least of all through a crude doodle. Unlike most dreams, she desperately wanted to. SOMETHING had to make them go away. Something had to ease the fear of so much as closing her eyes.

Yet, being so tired, close her eyes she did, and gave a bit of a scream when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She put her hand to her heart as she looked around at the reception-area of startled animals and their suspicious owners looking at her. She slowly turned around to find the owner of the hand, the head veterinarian at the clinic, looking at her.

"I just wanted to know if you've got a call from Spicy's owner today," the woman said quietly.

"No. And, uh, sorry," Giovanna said.

"How are you feeling?"

"Alive!" Giovanna said, trying to brighten. "I'm alive. I'll let you know when Spicy's owner calls." She gave her best smile and tapped some papers upright on the desk. The vet nodded slowly before going back to her room.

The end of the day an hour later couldn't have come sooner for Giovanna. She wanted to sleep, soooo badly. But she couldn't. No, not knowing what might come if she did. Instead she surfed Youtube, checking out the channels she was subscribed to and their updates.

When she came across Henry's video, she was nearly asleep against her will. But as his voice came through the speakers her heart began to pound. She looked directly at the screen; it was almost as though he was looking directly back. He was speaking directly to her! No, he couldn't be. He was just a tortured man, experiencing the same...thing as her...?

It wouldn't hurt, maybe it would help to at least leave a comment. It was the internet after all. Certainly, he wouldn't read the comment, but maybe she'd feel better if she at least posted it...

"Wow, that's so weird...the same thing has been happening to me lately...I feel so crazy haha lol...maybe I should see a shrink...I know you're not going to read this ever but if you do I guess just know that you're not alone, wish we could talk about it more..."

[bluemoon]

Her hips moved, but her eyes stared straight ahead, her body feeling the music despite her distant gaze. She commanded the dance floor, eyes riveted on her as she sensuously gyrated to the beat. Sweat dripped from her hair, her back, her legs, and still she danced. Lost in her thoughts, she ignored the whistles and catcalls, finally collapsing on a stool at the song’s end. Nights like these flowed into one another, alcohol removing her senses, but never allowing her to forget the dreams. The gloved, alien hands caressing, probing and exploring. Manipulated and turned with a backdrop of the sky, she would awaken to her own bedroom walls, the lingering shame hanging heavy.

Mille raised her hand to the bartender, a frosty margarita quickly taking up residence beside her. A quick glance at the clock revealed the early hour…2 a.m. “Do you know where your kids are?” she thought giddily. Her fingers drummed on the surface of the bar, ashtrays spilling their contents onto the wooden surface drenched in beer and alcohol. Over her drink she watched the other patrons, but one in particular. Her gaze was intentionally obvious until the heavy-set man returned the attention. Winking, she moved across the floor, her gait unsteady in the 4-inch heels. Allowing her hips to brush his, she slipped into the ladies room, holding the door open until he entered.

“Do you have it?” He asked in an impatient voice, using his weight to shut and hold the door closed. She allowed her body to sway and lean against his, her lips moving close to his ear.

“Of course…” she whispered, “…where would you like me to stick it?”

Roughly he pushed his hand between them, his voice getting gruff. “No games Camille, just give it to me.”

Placing a bulky envelope into his hand, she pursed her lips in a fake pout. “Fine…maybe next time you can get the damn DNA sample yourself.” Turning her back on the officer, she strode into the closest stall, slamming the door shut with a grunt. In the next instant, she was gone.

[Gabriel Zero]

http://i371.photobucket.com/albums/oo158/Talyseon/fourth-kind-trailer.jpg

Thoughts from Henry's Head. (http://youtu.be/H4DxBsMijGY)

The cold autumn season wasn't kind to Henry, as he doubled up on his clothing. He wore a thermal shirt with a warm sweater over it, since the heat in his apartment was turned off. (Due to his bad memory to pay his bills on time.) The past few weeks he has had a substantial amount of funding through his art work being auctioned off on ebay. He owed his increase of success thanks his youtube video that he posted a month ago. It seemed that his "alien paranoia" turned into something of a internet phenomenon, a lot of youtube channels re-uploaded his video blog and made it into musical remixes. Since then he has received numerous calls for interviews, a lot of people wanting him to be the next Charlie Sheen so they could profit off of his apparent insanity.

Henry didn't want to be labeled "that alien guy" or to be the butt of everyone's joke. Yet as he sorted through the numerous emails, it seemed like it would be a long time before he would be recognized for his art work not his extraterrestrial experiences. He was suddenly glad he picked up his nasty smoking habit, he figured he wouldn't live long to enjoy old age anyway. Reading through the emails he felt himself more and more agitated, annoyed by the fact that those people thought his pain was some sort of cry for attention. Henry was about to sign off his laptop, when his eye caught a email that didn't seem to be taunting him or making fun of his situation.

"What the hell." Henry remarked as he opened up the email and read the comment from the youtube user named Space Chicken. Henry took another drag of his cigarette, wondering if this was another prankster having fun with him. Deciding that he didn't want to risk the chance of meeting someone who could shed light on his situation he responded to the email anyway. At first he thought about giving the youtuber his phone number, but then decided against it since that was a bad idea. Instead he opted to meet somewhere in public, so both of them could feel relatively safe in each others company.

"Hey Spacechicken I see that we don't live that far from each other, any chance you want to meet somewhere public for a chat?" Henry awkwardly typed out the question, then immediately sent the private message before losing his nerve and backing out completely. Henry felt slightly relieved at the prospect that this might be someone who shared the same pain as he did. Up until now the only sympathizers who messaged him were those who were bat shit crazy. He got emails of those who said their husbands were martians or that extraterrestrial's lived in their attic, he couldn't believe that even some of these people envied the trauma he had been put through. However if this "Space Chicken" person wasn't full of crap, then he could have the validation he needed to prove he wasn't crazy like all of the people who emailed him the past few weeks.

Henry figured it would be awhile before this mysterious Space Chicken person would respond to his message. It was getting close to midnight again, which meant he wouldn't be able to sleep at all. He's lost track of how many nights it's been since he passed out. Sometimes he could go three or four days before he would black out and wake up somewhere he couldn't remember. He hated the black outs because he hated losing track of time. Little by little his world was starting to makes less and less sense, sometimes he would check his mail and a week would go by without him remembering it. The only time he felt safe was around people, yet he knew eventually those people would go home or wherever they felt safe closing their eyes. Except Henry didn't have anywhere safe he could turn to, eventually he would have to come back to the silence where only god knew what was waiting for him.

Henry decided to visit that little bar he used to go to with his ex girlfriend. It was currently under new management, he heard they even turned the upstairs into some kind of dance club. He decided the new flux of people would hopefully protect him from being noticed. He grabbed a pair of shades and a baseball cap before leaving, then fed the cat and exited the door without locking it. As he crossed the street he could hear the loud music booming from the newly renovated bar. He felt himself start to get cold feet, so he decided to push past the butterflies in his stomach and enter the front door. The bar was nothing like he remembered it, if anything it turned into a weird restaurant and dance club hybrid. The bottom floor was all modernized with slick flooring and expensive decorations. He looked up to see a group of women climbing up the spiral stair case where he presumed the dance floor was located. He quickly decided to grab a seat by the bar, wondering which drink would kick off his one way ticket toward getting plastered.

[bluemoon]

Music pounding, her body swaying slightly to the beat and her foot elevated in mid-step, Mille paused, a sudden tickling sensation in her head causing her to look down. Following the curve of the spiral staircase, her eyes scanned over the main floor, coming to rest on an ordinary looking man--ordinary in dress, but good-looking in a typical boy-next-door way. Her eyes met his for just a second before he looked down and she felt the jolt again, this time more urgent…stronger. Her mouth gaped, the ice-cube she had been nursing slipping off her tongue. She gripped the delicate Margarita glass in her hand fiercely, the thin stem cracking and sending shards into her palm. She continued to stare…gaping…transfixed…her blood dripping onto the metal grating as she opened her fist.

Unconsciously turning, she began to walk down the steps towards him. His head was down, but he seemed…so familiar. Her heels tapped a rhythm on the floor that only she heard. Her black dress clung tightly to her thin form, rippling as she weaved her way to the bar. Directly behind him, she stopped and leaned forward. Her lips pressed in close as her hands reached up and gripped his shoulders. “They’re real,” she whispered, the sound barely more than a hiss in the crowded room. Her breath was cold on his cheek, the faint smell of lime hanging in the air. Her hand ran down his arm, leaving a thin streak of blood. Her heat was pounding, her breath coming in short gasps.

Blinking rapidly, Mille stared at the stranger intently. Her mouth felt dry as she ran her tongue over her lipstick-darkened lips. She definitely had his attention now. “Who are you?” she asked.

[Gabriel Zero]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v461/dostoevsky/communion_alien.jpg

Henry went to light up another cigarette and noticed the "no smoking" sign hung up behind the bar. He sighed and quickly stuffed the cigarette back into the pack, wondering how much he was going to regret coming back here after receiving the bill for the two drinks. He was about to ask for the bill and leave, when he caught a very attractive staring at him from the spiral stair case he noticed earlier. She definitely looked like she had attitude, carrying a strong vibe of "you better not fuck with me or else" emitting off of her. She was the type of strong Gothic women that Henry has been attracted toward his whole life, but he usually was too shy or intimidated to make the first move. He put his head down and decided to pretend not to notice her, it was after all how he dealt with the intimidation of attractive women. Much to his surprise he felt her eyes on him, he gulped down and closed his eyes as he felt her soft hand rest upon his shoulder.

“They’re real.” she whispered in his ear, he could almost feel her dark crimson lips on his skin. Henry shuttered at her words realizing that he had been noticed despite his somewhat crappy disguise. His first thought was that he attracted a news reporter's attention or perhaps one of the crazy people on youtube, yet she didn't look like the type that worked for the press. Henry looked up at her with a mixture of confusion and a slight amount of intimidation. He noticed that most of her clothing was black, including the dress that clung to her slim attractive frame. She looked even prettier close up, he couldn't resist gazing into her eyes. He wondered if this was the mysterious youtube user "Space Chicken" who messaged him earlier.

"Who are you?" She asked taking the words right out of her mouth. If she didn't know who he was, then she wasn't the youtube user who messaged him this morning. That would also mean she never saw his youtube video and she wasn't familiar with his artwork. Momentarily at lost for words he allowed himself to sit their with her in a almost awkward silence. As she removed her hand from his shoulder, he noticed that it was bleeding from a gash on her palm. Intrigued by how interesting things were getting by minute, he decided they should get out of there and talk somewhere more privately. He left a hundred dollars bill on the counter, assuming it would cover the three crappy drinks he allowed himself to indulge in.

"My name is Henry Deacon" He said in a somewhat concerned tone."We should go somewhere to talk. I have some first aide in my apartment, I could take care of your hand if you want." As he touched her petite hand, he felt a sudden rush of familiarity. Almost as if they had met each other before, like a dream that he struggled desperately to remember. Only vague snippets were revealed to him, flashes of the two of them surrounded by cold icy steel. Then suddenly it was gone as soon as it came, disappearing from his mind with no way of bringing it back. His eyes searched her own, wondering what the hell just happened and if she felt the same thing he did.

[bluemoon]

Mille’s eyes drifted to the crisp note laid on the bar by the attractive man she had approached, her eyebrow lifting a notch at the excessive tip. He was a bit too clean-cut for her tastes, but as she wasn’t looking to get hooked up, she went with the moment. For a few heartbeats she suspected he was going to just continue to stare at her, the long pause between her question and his response drawn out. “Henry…” she repeated, finally getting her answer. The name had no meaning to her, but she felt sure she knew him. When his proposal to go with him to his apartment was offered, she surprised herself by accepting without hesitation.

As soon as Henry took his eyes from hers, Mille rubbed her hand where he had touched her, his fingers leaving a chill on her skin. She opened her handbag, spreading the edges wide enough for him to see the pistol concealed within. “Hopefully it’s not too far,” she commented as she pulled out a fifty, laying it on the bar next to his cash and exchanging the bills.

The walk was much shorter than she had anticipated, her nerves finally starting to get the best of her. She was not afraid of him. It was the “talk” she was dreading. What was there to discuss…the dreams that were not dreams…the little grey men...the insanity of their plight? It didn’t matter, she realized. He was a port in the storm...perhaps her only connection to this whole mess. As they came upon his apartment, Henry stepped in front of her to open the door, allowing her to enter first. Standing just inside the entry, she allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim light coming from outside, before going further.

It was a typical man’s apartment, clean, but not tidy. Spacious. She could lose herself in all the room it offered. A dark shape circled around her ankles as Henry removed his hat and glasses and she casually slipped off her heels and set her purse next to them.

“I could use a drink,” she said, leaving the choice up to his discretion. Barefoot, she stepped deeper into his home. “You can call me Mille,“ she called, her hand drifting over the surface of his laptop. Papers littered the floor, food remnants scattered about, and cigarettes butts spilling from an ashtray. Whatever he did for a living, he also spent a lot of time here. She sat in the comfortable office chair, pulling her legs up under her, her dress hiking higher up on her thighs. Moving the mouse, she looked up as the screen was activated.

“Space Chicken?” she read aloud. Right or wrong, she began looking through his e-mails, a frown coming to her features almost immediately.

[Gabriel Zero]

Henry escorted her to his apartment, his heart pounding through his chest the entire time. He seriously hadn't had a woman in his apartment for the past three years. Not even his sister or mother had visited him, most due to the fact that the never returned their phone calls. For all intents and purposes Henry was a shut in, it was the only way he could function and paint. He had seen her weapon too, but instinctively knew she carried it for self defense. They didn't live in the most safest of areas after all, besides a bullet in the head was the least of his worries at the moment.

He watched her remove her heels from the corner of his eye, while he searched his messy kitchen counter for the first aide kit. Even her toe nails were painted black, which for some reason amused him. Despite his socially awkwardness it was nice to have someone else in his house. He was able to momentarily forget the night terrors, the black outs, and the wicked case of insomnia he had. Her presence was strangely comforting, despite the fact that he still couldn't find it in himself to talk about "it". He had to laugh at his own absurdity, he didn't even know her name yet he felt closer to her then most people he knew for years. He eventually spotted the first aide, taking out the necessary contents for cleaning a small wound.

“I could use a drink.” She said nonchalantly while she too a peek at his laptop. He pretended not to notice actually welcoming her to browse through his emails. He was tired of talking about "it", perhaps she should see for herself the reasons why. All the hate mail, the people calling him crazy, and the endless waves of trash talk. For whatever reason the concept of alien abduction brought out the worst in people. He took his time mixing the drink, partly because he wanted to give her time to peek through his emails and partly because he didn't want her to leave right away.

“You can call me Mille“ She said knowing that he was watching her. Henry smiled and brought the mixed drink over to her. He nodded and asked for her hand, gently cleaning the wound while she browsed one of the emails. Not once did she flinch or squint in pain, even when he cleaned the wound and wrapped it. In a couple of minutes her hand was completely bandaged, she smiled and returned her attention back to the computer.

"Millie is a really nice name." he awkwardly replied holding on to her hand slightly longer then necessary. Upon realizing he let go in embarrassment and sat down on the floor next to her in the office chair. "Her name is Gnome Chomsky" Henry remarked watching the cat rub up against Camille's ankle, desperate for the attention that Henry didn't give. She looked at the cat bemused, then asked him a question about the user that messaged him earlier.

"Space Chicken?" She asked with curiosity in her voice. Henry nodded and explained to her how he had just received the message earlier this morning. His answer led toward a slow trickle of the events that had plagued his life for the past several years. He gradually told her about the last few nights, then told her about the black outs and loss of time. It was like a dam that had been shattered, all of the built up emotions flooding out at once. He found himself unable to stop, almost gushing out on a complete stranger he only met ten minutes ago. He didn't even realize the tears that were starting to stream down his face, before he knew it he told her everything that he could remember.

[bluemoon]

It began with “Millie is a really nice name,” and from that point on, it was Henry doing the talking--an occasional nod or word from Mille her only participation. He had made his private life public, the e-mails evidence of the damage he had done. As he spoke, she had reached down to pet the persistent cat several times, finally joining the two of them on the floor. Legs crossed Indian style, she looked at him intently as he poured his soul out to her. His story was familiar, one she could just as easily been telling to him. She felt a connection to him, but it was one she tried to ignore. Often, she looked away, her eyes searching the room as if for an intruder. Nursing her drink, the ice cubes slowly melted, eventually diluting the flavor until she set it aside.

Mille was not good at sympathy, so she did what she could to show her support. She listened and nodded and remained attentive as he talked throughout the night. Nervously, she picked at the bandage on her hand, sometimes unwinding the gauze and rewrapping it many times over. Time seemed to pass quickly and she finally relaxed when the early morning light filtered into the apartment. She was tired, but also felt as if a weight had been lifted. Henry’s story was her own--his telling of it relieved her of her own need to share. She had spoken of her “dreams” to no one, her reputation already poor enough without adding aliens into the mix. When Henry finally became quiet, she rose, reaching for his hand.

“I think you could use some sleep,” she murmured softly, stifling a yawn herself. He seemed drained as he took her offered hand and stood. Managing a smile, she rocked her shoulders to work out a kink before glancing towards the door. “I’ll let myself out,” she stated, placing a finger over his lips when he started to speak. She moved in closer, allowing her lips to brush over his. “I have to go,” she lied, quickly moving to the door and grabbing her things. As soon as she was outside, she stopped, staring for a long time at his home. She didn’t need any more trouble and exposing herself to the truth was a step in the wrong direction. Shaking her head, she turned away, feeling a deep regret she couldn’t explain and refused to accept.

[SpaceChicken]

Late at night, that was always when the terror would start. Finding herself near sleepless, Giovanna would feel herself pulled backwards into a half-asleep state she didn't want. She couldn't do this forever, she had to sleep, or she'd die...she thought. Where had she heard that, Star Trek? She rubbed her face and, hands shaking, made her way to her computer to view hear email.

One can well imagine her surprise to see that someone had actually responded amidst the flood of comments she'd only added to. It grew even more to see that it was the poster of the video himself. She checked...then she doublechecked. It was his account, for sure...

He really wanted to meet? To talk about "this"? Was it even the same thing?

She paused several moments between sentences as she wrote back a response. "Wow. You really want to meet? Um that would be really cool, tbh I'm not sure if I can even help you much or whatever but...maybe we can figure something out. Where do you want to meet?" She hit send quickly before she overthought the message before going over to the window and throwing it open to let the cool night air in. Maybe it would help her keep awake.

[Gabriel Zero]

Henry watched Camille leave through the front door through swollen eyes. He wasn't even aware that it had been morning, until he noticed the rays of sunshine breaking through the blinds on his window. Somehow he managed to talk through most of the night, his mind feeling numb from exposing himself like that to another human being. He went to grab another cigarette not realizing that he smoked all of them last night. As he fumbled through his pockets searching for his smokes, his eyes ended up staring at the spot where he had spent with Camille.

"I'm such a idiot." He mumbled in embarrassment, realizing he acted like a child dumping his problems on a complete stranger. He hadn't realized how far he had fallen, until he spilled his soul on someone he just met at a bar. He did feel something in that brief moment, but she hardly spoke a word to him. Maybe it was all in his head and he had been imagining the whole thing after all? It wasn't like he had any concrete proof, it was almost like he was chasing a ghost or a person that didn't exist. But then what was happening to him? Why wasn't therapy helping?

The next several hours he tried everything to keep his mind from thinking about anything but last night. He started out trying to do push ups, sit ups, and even some various Cardio exercises. When he realized that it wasn't working he tried working on some of his paintings, but everything reminded him of the visitors he had seen in his nightmares. Their endless black eyes staring back at him on the velvet canvas, it was enough to make him want to smash the expensive painting into pieces. That was when he decided to go out for a jog.

He fumbled through his closet looking for his jogging sneakers and MP3 player. When he spotted his old footwear, he heard his laptop notify him of a new message. He stopped what he was doing to read through the message, slightly surprised that it was from that Space Chicken fellow from the other day. His motivation to meet her was diminished by the way he acted with Camille, he didn't know if he could trust himself to act normal in front of her. The thought of breaking down in front of another person made him sick to his stomach.

Not wanting to blow off Space Chicken the only connection he had left to his nightmares he replied to her message. " Hi there. I still want to meet up and see what we have in common. Are you familiar with that old record shop near the local community college? My sister use to work there back when it was called Darkside Records and Gallery. Want to meet around 8pm?" Henry sighed after typing the message and clicking send. Despite any apprehensions he had in responding, he couldn't deny the loneliness and isolation he felt being in the mouth of the insanity he was in.

He hit the streets with his MP3 player, working his way through the various back roads. He had memorized his favorite streets to jog through, it was probably the only joy he had left that didn't remind him of his problems. The adrenaline and music gave him a high that made him feel like he broke free from worries and troubles. Henry needed to jog until he was completely numb all over, so he ran until legs felt like the would fall off from the rest of his body. While jogging back to his studio apartment, Henry passed by a coffee shop and noticed something that horrified him.

"You have got to be kidding me...?" Henry spitted while he gasped for breath. The sweat from his run dripped off his nose and slid off his chin. he had to rub the bodily fluid from his eyes to see clearly. After using the sleeve to clear his vision, he could see the black eyes of the visitors staring at him from behind the glass of the coffee shop. He felt his hands tremble, this thing that haunted and tortured him stood mockingly in front of everybody. He hated this creature for putting him at it's mercy, every fiber of his being wanted to destroy it where it stand. Without a moments hesitation he took a nearby rock and smashed the window display.

"Come here you little fucker!" Henry shouted leaping over the shattered glass. Henry grabbed the little gray creature by the scruff of it's neck, squeezing as tightly as possible. The female cashier screamed bloody murder, while one of the larger customers tried to pull Henry off of his victim. "Get your fucking hands off of me! Let me go!" Henry refused desperately, they didn't understand everything these creatures had took from him. He wanted his life back, he wouldn't let go until this thing was as dead as he was on the inside.

"What the fuck are you doing Henry? It's just a kid!" One of the smaller customers exclaimed. Henry turned for a second recognizing the voice as his old publicist and friend Johnny Andrews. When he turned back to see who he was choking her was mortified to see it was just some nineteen year old boy. The kid sobbed uncontrollably while Henry released him from his grasp, moments later the authorities arrived in full capacity. Henry didn't resist when they hand cuffed him and read him his rights. He didn't a utter a single sentence when the press arrived on the scene either. All he could think about was how could he let himself slip this far into madness.

[bluemoon]

http://i282.photobucket.com/albums/kk257/winskunas/thumbnailCA7B7XDS.jpg

Camille had wanted to sleep after returning home, needed it desperately, but it evaded her with every toss and turn. Flinging aside the covers, she swung her long legs over the edge of the bed and ran her hand through her tussled hair. She longingly looked at the down pillow before finally setting her feet onto the cold floor. Slipping a satin robe over her naked form, she made her way into the small galley kitchen, preparing a pot of coffee before settling in front of her laptop.

For a moment she sat there, blankly looking at her home page, then hesitantly she typed out his name…Henry Deacon…and stared with half open eyes at the several hits his name brought up. Sipping at her steaming brew, she spent the next hour looking through his blog and finally coming to a section displaying his paintings. She rifled through the first few quickly, but froze as the next picture filled her screen. “No…” she whispered, her hand coming to rest against a cyber image of a four-digited hand that dominated the view. The background was mostly black with swirls of grey, white pinpoints marking the stars. Each ghostly image resembled a soul…screaming…reaching… The misformed grey hand extended only to the elbow, the rest of the image lost on the edge of the canvas. Mille bit her lip to control the trembling.

She sat there for some time staring, until a sharp knock at the door startled her away from the painting. The sound was repeated and Mille tried to remain quiet, hoping the visitor would go away. The sound of a key in the lock brought her to her feet. “Mako,” she breathed with a hint of disgust in her tone. She reached the entry just as the door swung inward and the large frame of the officer from the bar entered her apartment. “Why don’t you just let yourself in?” She commented with sarcasm.

“Why don’t you just let me in?” He replied, looking around the small space.

“I was sleeping.” She responded, her hand closing the laptop quickly.

“Right.” His attention turned back to her, his eyes appraising her closely. “You should go without make-up more often--suits you. Besides aren’t you a little old to be playing at the whole gothic scene?”

“Aren’t you a little fat and ugly to be playing cop and chasing perps?” She retorted, instantly regretting it when his face burned red. He raised his hand at her, threatening.

Camille cocked her head, narrowing her eyes and standing her ground. “Go ahead…hit me…not like you hav…” Her words were abruptly cut short as the back of his meaty hand made contact with her cheek, causing her to falter back a step. “You son of a bi….” The next slap sent her to the floor, her legs folding under her.

He stood over her, an amused smile on his round face. “You were saying?” His hand reached for hers and she scooted away from him, pulling the edges of her robe closer together. “Now, why don’t you be a good girl and get me some coffee. We have business…unless you want to continue this game?”

Using the wall, Mille got to her feet, spitting blood on the floor from her split lip. “Hit me again and I’ll fucking kill you.” She muttered under her breath as she made her way to the coffee pot.

“I can hear you Cammie.” He laughed, using the nickname he knew she despised. “I’ll take it black with one sugar.”

The next hour dragged on into eternity for her, Mako puffing out his chest like a rutting stag as he demanded information on a local drug dealer that had gone underground. He seemed to gain confidence from hitting her and she wanted nothing more than to smash his face right the f**k in. He finally left, after getting her assurance that she would “look into” the situation for him. She leaned against the door, sweat starting to gather on her forehead. Calmly she walked into the kitchen and picked up the hot pot of coffee. With a choked scream, she smashed the carafe against the wall, hot coffee spraying over the narrow space and glass falling in small slivers onto the floor. The plastic handle still gripped tightly in her hand, her breath coming out in gasps, Camille strode from the room and threw herself onto her bed, burying her face into the pillow.

[ThaliaFae]

Why the boss insisted the store be open this late...she had no idea. It wasn't as if people even bought fucking records anymore.

"How much for this one?" an elderly man asked her, his stupid hat pulled low over his eyes. He didn't even look like he had eyes. Maybe he didn't and that was why he was asking her about the price.

"There's a sticker on the cover," she managed to tell him, quite nicely as well in fact, despite the fact that he was interrupting her nap time, since she... "Whatever it says, is what it is."

"Oh, but, would you be a dear and tell me? I'm afraid I left my glasses at home." His nose wiggled when he spoke. Did he know that? He had a disgusting nose. Perhaps she should be a 'dear' and tell him that. Somebody ought to tell him. Somehow, however, she thought that the boss would perhaps not like that so much. She could just hear him now, prattling on about how it was in her best interest to be nice to the customers. Something about earning her way. Bunch of nonsense, was what it was. Still...she didn't like risking it. She rather liked having a roof over her head.

She took in a steadying breath. He smelled like...diapers and spinach. She was so glad she'd been practicing not strangling old people lately. "Seven-ninety-five."

He beamed at her with the three teeth he had left in his head and nodded. "I'll take it."

She wondered how it was possible to have a dual conversation with almost every person who came in here. She thought one thing but said the socially acceptable version. The version that would sell records. Damn old people.

He toddled out of the store and she sat back on her stool, jimmying the cash register closed with a gentle push. Her dad always told her she was nicer with inanimate objects than anything alive. Eh. She thought people were pretty cool. When they didn't bother her. Sighing, she put her head down, her eyes drifting closed. It was getting too dark for a nap, but she was just so tired. She'd tried to sleep at Cassie's house last night...but it hadn't worked. She'd woken up on the floor, screaming but paralyzed, until she realized it was only Cassie who was holding her. Only Cassie.

If Cass hadn't believed her before, she certainly had after that. Moira didn't want anything to do with any of it, however. She just wanted the nightmares to stop. As long as she kept to little naps during the day...she was okay. But it was catching up to her. She barely kept up in school as it was...and now she actually had to expend effort to keep afloat. It sucked. It wasn't her style. But she also refused to fail at something she could easily take care of. She pushed away her stool to walk among the shelves of records, wondering which to pick. She kept the rolling ladder handy, as she was much too short to reach any of the higher shelves, and finally decided on someone she'd never heard of. Might as well. The cover was pretty, at least.

Back behind the desk she went, settling the black disk on the player and moving the needle over. For a moment, nothing happened, and then some actually good old rock started playing.

Huh.

She looked at the sleeve again. Potliquor.

Sounded disgusting. Probably why the radio never played them. Luckily, their music sounded better than their name did.

Now to wait for nine o'clock. It seemed hours away.

Oh that's right. Because it was.

[SpaceChicken]

Giovanna stood at the entrance of the record shop at promptly eight, hopping from one foot to another. She was dressed in a simple, casual fabric skirt and tank top along with a light jacket. She was feeling a little better than usual, too...it seemed to good to be true that she would be able to meet with Henry and at least be crazy together.

...and it was. Too good to be true, that is.

She knew it was when her phone read 8:10. She hung around anyway. 8:20. She alternated between sitting on a bench and standing up, looking around for him. 8:30. He wasn't coming. 8:40. Was he a jerk, or jokester, or did something really hold him up? 8:50. Holding back tears and shaking slightly, she went into the record shop to look for something to keep her mind off the cruel prank. She avoided the cashier's eye contact and looked straight at the floor as she half-heartedly looked through a rack of old rock.

[ThaliaFae]

Oh, joy. She'd actually decided to come in the store when they were almost closed. She'd been pacing in front of the little store for almost an hour now, and it didn't take much to see she was a mess. Looked to be about her height, but a bit heavier, though she was one of those types that wore it well. Older than Moira as well, though not by much. Maybe a few years.

It was odd, though, as she didn't seem the type to burst into hysterics at the slightest provocation. The girl may have not been looking at Moira as she hid behind the shelves of vinyl, but Moira had been carefully watching her. As the time had passed, the girl had gotten increasingly distressed until she'd finally entered the shop. Hmm. A record shop was a bit of an odd place for a date...and it didn't look as if she was dressed to go out either.

So what was the story? Mo brushed back her blue-grey bangs and tucked her hair behind her ear as she thought. Nervous demeanor but not fidgety... It wasn't drugs. She looked too healthy for that. Whoever or whatever she was waiting for, though, meant a great deal to her. And she'd given up after an hour...so there was clearly a set meeting time involved. Hmm.

Suddenly, the door opened once again and a slight girl with fuzzy blonde hair ran up to her, papers flying as she slammed them in front of Moira, pale cheeks flushed, panting.

"I found it, Mo. I found it--and I didn't...I can't believe--" Bright blue eyes were excited, a delicate finger stabbing at the printed-off pages.

"Cassie."

"--And this guy! He says the same things! I know you don't want to think about it--"

"Cassie."

"--but you have to deal with it, Mo! You can't even sleep! I know you don't even want to think about the word 'alie--"

"Cassandra Leigh!" She grabbed the girl's arm tightly and Cassie stopped talking abruptly. "We have a customer." Mo widened her eyes and nodded her head toward the back of the store.

"Oh." Cassie looked a bit faint, glancing down at the papers scattered in front of them. "Well. Do you have a TV? The man. The one I was trying to tell you about before. Harry Deacon? He was arrested today for choking a teenager."

"That just proves he really is crazy," Moira muttered.

"I really think you should look at this stuff, Mo. I went through and highlighted the things that sounded pretty familiar."

"Cass. This entire page is yellow." The girl in front of her gave her a meaningful look. "Fine," she growled. "I'll take a look at it tonight. Not like I'll be sleeping anyway. Oi, you! Pretending to look at records! Store's closed."

[Gabriel Zero]

http://i51.photobucket.com/albums/f363/Seventy6Celica/InTheMouthOfMadness.jpg

Henry stared at the ceiling of his prison cell, half afraid to look outside the cell and make eye contact with anybody. He was partly expecting everyone around him to look like little grey men. He couldn't understand what was happening to him, he didn't feel like he was insane or that he had lost his mind. He never believed in UFO's when he was a kid, he didn't have a fascination with space travel, nor did he watch any science fiction movies when he was a child. Whatever was happening to him, he refused to believe it came from his imagination.

Henry wondered what his publicist John Andrews was doing this far away from New York. When they were both children they had been inseparable, but now they barely talked unless it was business oriented. Henry sometimes wished things could go back to the way it used to. Back when they would go out for beers and act like the way they did before he got married.

Henry's thought process was interrupted when he heard banging from his cell door. One of the police officers stood on the other side glaring at him, he was standing next to his old friend John Andrews. The officer mumbled something about having "ten minutes" then wandered back to his desk. Henry looked up at John and let loose a nervous smile, knowing he was going to be in for a ear full. John pulled up a chair and stared at him through the bars, he dropped his briefcase next to him which made a loud thud that echoed through the room.

"I saw the youtube video." John said out loud, not wasting anytime getting straight to the point. Henry had tried to talk to him about his episodes. The conversations usually led nowhere, usually John would get him a appointment with a therapist or a psychologist in the end. Henry had despised the various prescription drugs, in the end the nightmares still persisted and the medicine only made him feel worse.

"Look at me Henry, I am not here to yell at you this time." John scolded Henry. John's voice and appearance seem tired, almost as if he looked and sounded older then he really was. "I have been doing some research, I actually think I found someone who can help you for real." John's voice has a sense of sympathy in it, almost like he truly felt sorry for his friend. Henry dreaded what was going to happen next, where was he going to send him this time? Was it another psychiatrist? Or was he finally being sent to a mental institution?

"I am not crazy John." Henry started to protest. "Someone or something did this to me. I don't fucking want to be locked up in some padded room for the rest of my life." Henry stammered feeling his heart begin to beat out of his chest. He walked up to the bars where his friend sat, so John can look him in the eyes before condemning him to a mental institution. Henry wanted him to remember who he was talking to, that he wasn't just another one of his clients. He wanted him to see how sane he was, before they pumped him full of drugs and gave him a medical lobotomy.

"Listen to me and shut the fuck up." John growled while rubbing his temple anxiously. This was something he did when he was about to lose his temper and flip the fuck out. "We don't have much time left and I rather not spend it arguing, lord knows you caused me enough grief with that poor fucking kid you nearly strangled to death." John shot Henry his most threatening 'don't fuck with me' glare, before loosening his tie and taking off his jacket. Henry crossed his arms, then smiled waiting to see what came next.

"Right then." John cleared his throat. "I'm not going to say I believe their is little green men visiting you at night." John's voice got slightly quieter, almost like he was straining to say the next part. "However I talked to a friend of mine who believes she can help you get to the bottom of this. She works in hypnotherapy, if anything she can help you remember your black outs." John paused and took a deep breath. He never believed in the paranormal or the supernatural, just having this conversation shook the very foundation his own reality was built upon.

"I'm on your side Henry." John smiled. "Now get some rest, tomorrow I'm posting your bail and we're going to meet that hypnosis chick." John laughed as he picked up his briefcase. Henry paused for a minute, then for some reason John's words reminded him of his own meeting that he unintentionally missed out on. Not wanting to burn the bridge of the only person in the world who probably believed him, he asked his friend John for one last favor.

"Can you message someone for me?" Henry asked. "On my laptop at my house. A youtube user named Space Chicken was suppose to meet me tonight, can you tell her I'm sorry?" Henry's voice was soft spoken, wishing he could of kept the arrangement he had made tonight. John nodded since he had panned on staying at Henry's studio apartment for the meantime anyways.

[SpaceChicken]

Giovanna rubbed her nose, an album in her hand, though she wasn't really looking at it. It took her exactly eight seconds to realize she was being spoken too and she slowly looked up then. "...oh?" she said, her voice soft. She glanced at her watch. It was only 8:55, but... "Sorry," she whispered, trudging to the door. Why had Henry offered to meet her? Probably had just forgotten...probably too busy with interviews and stuff...unlike herself, who had to suffer the pseudo-insanity in silence. Thanks a lot, Henry Deacon.

Wait a minute...Deacon? She turned to look at the two girls. "I...I'm really sorry, but...did you say something about a Henry Deacon? He got...arrested?" she said. "The, um, guy on YouTube? He choked a teenager?" Now, to be honest, she was a little alarmed. If he was dangerous, maybe it was good she hadn't had a chance to meet him in person. She took a shaky breath, drew some courage, and walked up to the register. "Um, maybe it's not really my business, and s-sorry about eavesdropping, but I'm...I'm curious to know what happened."

[bluemoon]

Belly down, with her face buried in the fluff of her pillow, Camille slept fitfully until nightfall, her exhaustion finally having claimed her, but her dreams still finding a way to keep her from true comfort. Darkness crept over her apartment, bringing with it the unquiet of the building. Doors slamming, children crying, couples arguing and loud music drove her from the cocoon she had formed around herself with blankets. With disgust, she slammed her palm against the paper-thin walls, cursing their inability to keep the private lives of her neighbors at bay.

Pacing the bedroom, frustration brewing within her, Mille decided a walk in the cool night air would do her some good. She pulled on a black tank top, black cargo pants and black hiking boots--her favorite comfort clothes--and stepped outside, slipping a checkered jacket over her shoulders. The night life was just getting started in her part of town. She had no destination in mind, but wasn’t surprised when she found herself on Henry’s street. The windows of his flat were dark--an emptiness emanating from them. For a short time she stood and stared, remembering the night with his voice filling her mind with images of his experiences, so like her own. A chill crept along her spine, one not brought on by the cold, and she looked up. Blackness met her gaze, the stars all familiar to her untrained eye. Rubbing her hands along her arms, she turned, her pace picking up as she got farther away.

The streets were peppered with all types and Mille found herself looking at each one with curiosity. How many were like her and Henry--people who had “experiences” they couldn‘t explain? She had given up on the belief that they were just dreams some time ago. The increase in the frequency and duration…the lapses in time…were too real to be a figment of her imagination. Besides, she usually came back with something unexplainable….barely noticeable…a souvenir…so to speak. A new scar, or one that was no longer there.

Lights up ahead…a store front…and the tingling sensation again, drew Camille’s attention from her wanderings. She stared into a record store she had passed numerous times in the past. The business held nothing of interest to her. Three women stood near a counter, none of them familiar, and yet she felt a connection to at least two of them. She didn’t like it…not one bit. It was wrong. Her pale reflection came back at her in the plate glass window, a ghostly image of her ashen face highlighted with black. The image morphed, skin greying, the eyes enlarging and turning jet black. It took everything Camille had not to scream.

[ThaliaFae]

"That's fantastic," Moira snapped. "How about you take your eavesdropping, curious little self and shove it up your--"

"--Mo!" Cassie stepped in front of the scowling girl behind the desk, blocking her from view. She smiled kindly at the plump girl. "I must apologize. She hasn't been getting enough sleep lately and she--ow, stop pinching me-- and I would be more than glad to answer your questions." She took a deep breath, giving Moira another meaningful look as she turned to collect her papers. It was not as if her friend would do any reading on her own.

"They didn't have much in print, but it was all over the news," she began, scanning the pages she's made note on. Aliens. Who would have thought. "Did you say 'Harry'? 'Henry'? Hmm...his name really is Henry. Thought it was Harry. Oops." She gave a small laugh and squinted at her hastily scribbled writing. "It was...at a coffee shop, and apparently he just started going at this kid...People tried to pull him off but he was really going to kill the boy...raving about aliens or something...and then all of a sudden, he just stopped. Like he came to his senses or something. He was arrested and...that's all I know, really. You may be able to catch it on the news tonight at 11 if you're interested more.

"You know, I've been watching his Youtube videos, and I really don't think he's--ow! Mo! I bruise easily, you know! And I don't think he's crazy, so there!" She imitated Moira's scowl back at her before turning her attention to the girl once again with an encouraging smile. "Do you watch his videos too?"

She felt Moira behind her shift impatiently, but she knew the blue-haired girl wouldn't actually mind waiting for the answer to this. If there was one thing Moira always wanted, it was a new story. She should become a journalist. Except that it involved talking to people and not being lazy. She was actually quite nice once you got to know her... She really was. Cassie couldn't imagine not being her friend, especially after all this. She was so very worried about her friend and her health. These nightmares were really taking their toll, no matter how much Mo tried to play them down or hide her feelings from Cassie altogether. It just didn't work like that. They both knew each other so well. Too well, sometimes. Cassie had to be sure to keep her distance in some cases, or she knew Mo would become uncomfortable.

She may be pushing this issue a bit much, but she was not going to let her friend hurt herself through neglect of a problem. Sometimes, people just can't deal with issues on their own, and Moira needed help. Help Cassie herself couldn't give, but she could find someone who could. It was just sorting through the garbage that was a challenge. Conspiracy theorists, crazies, paranoia. It was so hard to find something that matched Moira's account of her...what, 'abduction'? It sounded so...fake. It was difficult to find a re-count that fit the description of Mo's ordeal.

This Henry-Not-Harry Deacon--why did she have such issues with names?--seemed to have the right presence, the right idea. His story wasn't exactly the same, but Cassie had seen the progression of the videos, and more than ever, that was what what was scarily similar. The degrading over time. Mo was already close to strangling 99 percent of the population without provocation. Cassie didn't want to see what happened next when Moira snapped.

[SpaceChicken]

Giovanna straightened and looked Moira in the eye for a moment. "You know, being a bitch is bad for your health AND your job -- I would know, I've been there. Just don't let your manager catch you like that while you're still clocked in; if you have to be a cock, do it on your own time," she said sweetly, before turning to back to Cassie. "Thanks. I watch his videos sometimes, I saw the one where he was talking about..." She waved her hand. "...you know. That...stuff. About weird things." She sighed and rubbed the back of her head. "I-I dunno if he's crazy, but at the same time, I don't know if it matters...SOMETHING'S wrong and I..." I'm going through what very well may be the same thing, but hell if I can just SAY that, "I feel like I can relate to him." She stooped nearby to start picking up a mess a careless customer had made, whether to steady herself or because she felt bad for snapping at Moira, it was hard to say. "It just seems to me like there may be something to it."

She suddenly turned, feeling eyes on her, and saw Camille. A shudder ran through her body and she put her hands over her ears for a moment in a self-protective gesture, feeling very nauseous. "I guess you guys are closed now," she near-whispered to the two other women, and, having finished picking up the messy display anyway, slowly made her way to the door.

[Gabriel Zero]

No, I Don't Remember (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9w4eJCo73iw)

Henry found himself released from his cell early Saturday morning, his body ached from tossing and turning all night long. He overheard the officers saying that no charges were pressed for assaulting the 19 year old. He assumed his John had managed to successfully pay off the kid and the coffee shop owners. He collected his confiscated belongings on the way out, then reunited with John in the main lobby. Henry managed a smile even though he didn't sleep at all the whole night. John offered him a coffee and a doughnut, which Henry accepted graciously.

They both managed to escape the paparazzi by going through the back exit of the police station. (Which ended up costing John another expensive bribe.) The two of them sped away from the the police station in John's 96' Oldsmobile Ciera, heading upstate for Henry's session with the hypnotist. Henry sank into his car seat listening to one of John's indie music bands. His mind focused on the different colored leaves falling down from the hundreds of trees they passed by. He wanted to lose himself in the present, afraid of what he would see when he was put under hypnosis.

It wasn't long before they reached a quiet little down in the mountains cheerfully named "Bright Falls." John barely talked to him the whole car ride, however Henry felt it was safe to assume the famous hypnotist lived somewhere close by. Bright Falls looked like a quaint little hippie down, where their was plenty of little coffee shops and trendy little restaurants to be found. He could imagine the therapist being a overweight metaphysical nut job surrounded by talismans and crystal balls. Henry yawned obnoxiously, while John parked the car in front of ordinary looking house.

"This is it." John mumbled as he stepped out of the car and stretched his legs. Much to Henry's surprise the front of the home wasn't littered with advertisements for fortune telling or palm reading. Henry thought about cracking a few jokes to ease his nervousness, but decided that he didn't want to risk hearing John lecture him again. Henry followed his friend inside the house, where they were apparently being expected since the door was unlocked. Once inside he was introduced to Julia Serling, a bright and cheerful young looking woman. She could of passed for a attractive model, her hair was a pretty shoulder length blonde.

The inside of the house wasn't anything like he expected, instead he was greeted by the smell of baked cookies. John had claimed that Julia Serling was a professional hypnotist, but instead she seemed more like Betty Crocker then a hypnotherapist. Henry offered himself a seat while both John and Julia hugged and chatted like two long time friends. He wasn't entirely sure what was going to happen, but everything sure seemed a lot less scarier then he imagined. Henry spotted a small greyhound walk by the table, sniffing for crumbs or scraps of food.

"So what exactly am I doing here?" Henry wondered out loud, oblivious to any hurt feelings his words may cause. Julia smiled thoughtfully in his direction before sitting down next to him at the table. She took a freshly baked cookie from the center of the table, then playfully shoved it Henry's mouth. Henry's eyes bulged out of his head, before savoring the taste of the deliciously soft baked cookie. It was probably the best tasting cookie he had in a long time, much better then those stale doughnuts John got him for breakfast. He had to wonder how she was able to maintain her petite frame around such delicious snacks.

"I'm not going to bullshit you Henry." Julia giggled as she fluttered her beautiful blue eyes in his direction. "I am here to try to find out what the Grey's want with you."

[bluemoon]

The previous night, like so many before it, had ended up being spent with a glass of alcohol for company. Mille had barely avoided running straight into the young woman who had left the record store. The girl seemed on edge, her eyes, barely visible behind glasses, nervously darting about. Mille’s arm had brushed hers as she hurried past, her destination the closest bar where she could drown herself in a bottle. Hours later, she stumbled into her apartment and collapsed on her disheveled bed. Any dreams she had were lost in her memory, intoxication giving her a reprieve from the nightmares.

Morning slipped into afternoon before Camille opened her eyes to the new day. It was upsetting how easy it was to get accustomed to the cottony mouth, the acid stomach and aching head. Shuffling to the bathroom, she grabbed two Advil and a glass of water before looking in the mirror at the dark circles that had taken up permanent residence around her eyes. Make-up and fatigue were combined, making the shadowing more defined. Her image reflected the spider webbing that wrapped around her right arm, a large spider entwined in the silken threads. The design was repeated on her chest, the etched lines encircling each breast, a black widow spider connecting the webs between her shoulder blades. Fondly, her finger traced the most recent inking of a cracked skull positioned along the upper bicep of her left arm. The tattoo was barely two weeks old, the latest in her attempt to decorate her body with art.

With a black robe draped over her slender frame and freshly washed hair dripping onto her shoulders, Mille took up her place in front of her laptop. Her routine was one she stuck to religiously, each day starting with research of some kind. Her fingers typed out her destination and she began surfing for anything related to what she had experienced recently. The psychic connection she felt with Henry and possibly those two other girls was disturbing and she felt unnerved by the experience. She had only begun to believe in the supernatural, her “dreams” forcing the reality of the unknown to heart. With a pen in hand, she wrote down the names of different types of psychic connections, spending the afternoon delving deeper into their meanings.

[SpaceChicken]

Giovanna stumbled home bleerily, Camille's face burned into her mind. She wasn't sure why. Maybe it was just seeing a face peering at her from the dark.

Regardless, it was the weekend. Not that that meant she could sleep much, of course, but at the very least she didn't have to go to work and look like a fool.

She was so tired, though. So tired. She decided to let herself rest for a few minutes, surely nothing could become of that.

As soon as she closed her eyes, darkness engulfed her, nearly dragging her conscious to another place.

A place of what she had heard called "greys". A place where she was strapped down to a...well, it was a bed this time. Terror overtook her, it didn't matter where she was strapped down to. A creature looked at her and narrowed its eyes, seeming to take a grip on her mind. She couldn't scream, but she found herself blacked out, the terror still pulsating within her.

Giovanna came to with a scream several hours later. She burst into tears and took a shower, feeling disgusting and dirty and, above all, absolutely terrified. The tears subsided a bit as she started shampooing her hair and realized that even if she had had another one of those "episodes", at least she felt completely rested.

Something burned in her stomach, though. She wondered if they'd operated there or something. She sighed as she looked down and saw a scratch, not quite a scar, going from her belly to her pelvis. Was this what the Jews tortured in concentration camps felt like?

After her shower, she decided to check her e-mail. She didn't expect anything from Henry, after all, the dude was in jail. So she was a little surprised when an e-mail from him did pop up.

"Hi Spacechicken, this isn't Henry, it's his friend John. In case you didn't hear, Henry was arrested last night, and is very sorry he couldn't make it." Here was inserted a link to a news article detailing the arrest. "<-- There's some more info in case you don't believe me. Don't worry, I'm working to get him out right now, and he says he's sorry, and didn't forget you.

Have a nice day,
John."

Giovanna was a bit shocked as she looked over the article, though it didn't give her any new information. After a few minutes of silence and thinking she clicked "reply".

"Hi, John or Henry, whoever gets this, I heard about what happened and sorry to hear about it. If you still want to meet when you get out I'm up for it.

I think we have a lot more in common than I thought before, actually...and if so I'm really sorry for you.

Good luck,
SpaceChicken."

She closed her laptop and went to make some breakfast.

[Gabriel Zero]

Haunted (http://youtu.be/fy9F3-Uh_uw)

http://i47.photobucket.com/albums/f166/ashtrey6/ALex%20Grey/ag.jpg

"Did you say Grey's?" Henry said trying to envision the things he saw in his nightmares. He remembered seeing people that almost looked humanoid but were obviously not human. Each one almost indistinguishable for the next, all tall and willowy. All of their eyes pitch black, the shade of a the darkest color available. Why did he have a hard time remembering them until now? Why did he see one of them at the coffee shop yesterday?

"Strike a nerve didn't I?" Julia said in a almost condescending tone of voice. "Not every person claiming to be abducted is telling the truth." she paused. "However I have reason to believe yours claims might be the genuine article." Henry now gave his full attention to her, realizing this wasn't going to be another bullshit therapy session. He could feel a slight migraine coming on, like the ones he would feel when he made his youtube videos. He resisted the pain and decided to work though it this time.

"As you may know this isn't only happening to you." Julia said as she tapped her long fingernail on the table. "I am here to help you understand it, however I can't promise that I can make it stop." Her voice was grim sounding, she was obviously not comfortable with the subject. She took a deep breath knowing this was the part where the barrage of questions came out.

"Why is this happening?" Henry asked knowing that she probably didn't have the answer. She promised him a way to understand it, but now he was starting to have cold feet. What if she was able to reveal his suppressed memories, which in turn would put him in a coma? His life was already in bad shape, but he didn't want to end up brain dead. The thought of having someone believe him was comforting, but now he was also afraid too.

"I don't have all of the answers Henry, but I know you must be very afraid." Julia's voice was gentle and strangely comforting. "I'm here to help you turn that fear into anger. Henry, do you really want to spend the rest of your life as a victim?" Julia's eyes met Henry's as she spoke directly at him. He slowly nodded while regaining his composure, he wanted to understand what was happening so he could fight against it. He smiled back at her, feeling a mixture of overwhelming gratitude to finally be back in the right frame of mind.

"You've done this before haven't you?" Henry grinned as he wiped tears from his eyes. She nodded slowly as she reached out and held his hand. Her features were kind and warm, she seemed to be a genuine in her sympathy.

"Yes." Julia replied giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Those who weren't faking it were usually terrified at first, but were able to take back their lives." She glanced out of the corner of her eye to see how uncomfortable John was with all of this. Yet since they had known each other for so long, he trusted her with his best friend's life.

"Well I ain't going down without a fight that's for sure." Henry managed to laugh half heartedly. "I'm ready to give it a go whenever you are." Henry summoned up courage, ignoring the steady increase of his heart beat. Julia nodded sensing his nervousness, she excused herself from the table and proceeded to prepare for the hypnosis session. Both John and Julia walked into the living room, where he supposed he would be put under hypnosis.

Before following he checked his iPhone one last time before shutting it off. He saw that he had got a new message from Space Chicken, she apparently got the message that John sent her. He shot her a quick message letting her know where he was. "Thanks for being so understanding. Look up Julia Serling when you get the chance, she helps people who are stuck in situations that we are in. The link included in this message has all of her contact information. I'll be in touch. ~Henry"

Henry sighed looking back at the living room where Julia was waiting for him. This was his chance to take the offensive and stop wallowing in his own self pity. He stood up with his confident grin, it was his moment to find out what he couldn't remember.

[Lox]

There were lights. Bright, white lights. He couldn't see anything. The lights were so strong, he felt as if they were going to evaporate his eyes. Slowly, they faded away, and he found himself in an obscurely lit room. He tried to move, but couldn't. He felt exposed, vulnerable...defenseless - a feeling almost completely unknown to Kyle Simmons. He felt exposed. Watched. His eyes couldn't penetrate the shadows surrounding him, but he thought he could see movements there. Then, suddenly, strange, humanoid beings emerged from the shadows. Their eyes...they were dark as the night...cold, emotionless, evil...they looked like...nazis.

"Hahh!!" He let out a cry of shock as he woke up. Smacking his mouth to rid it of the taste that always came with sleeping during the days, he found himself at his computer, having fallen asleep last night with his head against the keyboard. He rubbed his forehead as headache assailed him, and let his eyes drift around trying to get some situational awareness. Next to his computer lay the one thing he never walked anywhere without anymore, a .357 Magnum revolver, model 'Python'. Next to it was the computer screen, showing a news website, showing the latest events in the world and the US.

The phone rang next to the computer. Kyle jumped in surprise, feeling a shiver run through his body, followed by a mixed feeling of naked fear, disgust for the whole situation, and anger. He couldn't understand why, just as he couldn't remember the nightmares that gave him such painful slee every damn night. Whenever he tried to remember, violent headaches assailed him. He shook his head in self-disgust, and picked up the phone.

"Simmons." He muttered.

"Kyle, it's Helen." A female voice said. "Where are you? You were supposed to help the Hennessy girl today, remember? Her boyfriend refuses to leave her alone. She needs someone to drive home the point."

"Hennessy....right..." Kyle slowly said. "Sorry, I overslept. Tell her I'll be at her place in forty minutes."

"Sure. It's not usual for you to oversleep. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine..." Kyle lied to his best friend. "Just got a lot on my mind right now. Listen, I gotta go. Talk to you later." He hung up, and clicked himself over to the news section of the website, looking through the articles detailing the latest news in the world. It was the usual stuff. War. Terrorism. Epedemic threats. Oil crisis. Economic crisis. Violence and corruption. He breezed through it, until he came across an article about artist Henry Deacon, who had, apparently, spent a few days in jail after assaulting a nineteen year old kid. Most of the article was about Deacon's dark natured paintings and his existent or non-existent history of depression and similar behavior. To Kyle, it looked like a smear job more than a news article.

Following the article was a link to what was described as "Henry Deacon's Alien Abduction Confession video" on Youtube. Kyle clicked the link. He watched the video in its entirety. When it was finished he found himself sitting with teeth gritted and fists clenched, a shiver running up his spine. A strange feeling of need overcame him, compelling him to scroll down and write a comment for the video. He never wrote comments on Youtue videos. Ever. Yet suddenly, he felt a violent urge, no, need, to meet with Deacon. He clicked himself onto Deacon's profile, and began typing out a private message to send the man.

"You don't know me. I watched your video about the abudction stuff. I'd like to meet you and talk about it someday." After a moment of staring at the screen, he decided honesty was the best approach, and added: "I don't know why I'm writing this message. But I felt compelled to do so after watching your video. Like I had to do it." He stared at the screen again, thinking about whether or not he should sign it with his name. After some thinking, he decided on the name he had become infamous under during his time in the Mexican cartels: "Regards, El Chacal", he signed the message. El Chacal - the Jackal.

He shook his head as he turned off the computer, slipped the large calibre revolver into his shoulder holster, and hurried out the door and down to his car, to get to work.

[bluemoon]

Mille’s head pounded from too many hours spent with her eyes glued to the computer screen. She rubbed her temples, squinting at the notes she had jotted down on the small pad of paper next to her laptop. Two words stood out from all the others…Julia Serling…the letters thickened from repeated tracings from the lead pencil. A hypnotist, not exactly what Camille had been looking for, but for the sake of anonymity, she might be just what was needed. A one on one meeting, in a private setting, was offered for a reasonable cost. …and the woman had a reputation of getting to the repressed memories of victims who had suffered such experiences as Mille now endured. It was a risk, but one she couldn’t afford not to take.

The afternoon dragged, and still Mille had not worked up the nerve to call for an appointment with the renowned hypnotist. Several times she had dialed the number, always hanging up without pressing send. She was a private person and opening up to a stranger was not something that came easily for her. She still regretted her decision to walk out on Henry without telling him that she not only sympathized with his plight, but that she had also lived it. When finally she put the call through, a machine answered, asking her to leave her name and number. Silence fell over the line, Mille finding herself completely at a loss for words. The woman’s voice was pleasant and comforting, one you would expect to hear from a caring parent. Thrown off her guard and feeling confused by her reaction, she finally stammered out her first name only, then pressed “end”. Her hands coming to her forehead, Mille tried to rub out the headache once more before retreating into the kitchen to drown her pain in a bottle of Jack Daniels.

[SpaceChicken]

Giovanna walked nervously into the veterinary office where she worked, carrying an envelope. "Is the boss in?" she asked the receptionist on duty. The girl nodded her toward the head vet's office so she went in.

"Linda," Giovanna said softly, halting a few steps inside the door. The woman looked up from her paperwork and motioned her closer. Giovanna hemmed and hawwed several seconds before handing her the envelope.

Linda took the paper out and read the title. "Letter of resignation," she said, then mumbled as she read the rest of the letter. When she was done she put it back in the envelope. "Alright. Why?"

Giovanna began to stammer. "W-well I explained in the letter--"

"No no, I mean really. I mean why did a usual early-bird start falling asleep at her desk, having emotional fits, and get random aches and pains all of a sudden?" Linda said.

Giovanna fell silent for a moment. "Umm...I don't think it's really professional to have this discussion..."

"Then tell me as a friend, not a professional." Linda tapped her fingers on the desk loudly as Giovanna stared at her, completely dumb. This lasted a whole ten seconds until Giovanna finally spoke up.

"Um, I'm hallucinating a lot, and it's really bad, and I think...I think it's affecting my health," she said, very slowly and carefully. Now, of course, certainly, these weren't mere visions, she was sure, but she couldn't really say that. "...I've been seeing a psychologist but it hasn't helped."

Linda dug in her desk for a moment. "Tried hypnosis?"

"Excuse me?"

"Hypnosis. I know a girl who might be able to help you out." She handed Giovanna a business card, which she took and looked over. "She specializes in hallucinations, I hear. I don't know what's up, and you're right, you probably shouldn't be working here right now, no offense. But sometimes when you're at your wit's end, you have to do something crazy." She shrugged. "Anyway, you don't need to take two weeks notice, I'll call some people to come in. Just come back next Friday for your last check and some paperwork, yeah?"

"Thanks," Giovanna said, finally finding words. She slowly nodded to Linda before leaving.

[Gabriel Zero]

http://i30.photobucket.com/albums/c302/1seraphim/the_grey-2-1.jpg


Henry sat down on the warm sofa in Julia Serling's living room, he watched her with eyes filled with concern. He knew she was a trained professional, at least that was how John described her. Truth was that he had just recently started to trust her, however that didn't diminish the intimidation of what he was about to see.

Julia Serling spoke to him with slow drawn out words, her soothing voice asking for him to relax. He could feel his muscles begin to loosen up and become limber. He could feel himself fall deeper and deeper into a state of relaxation, his body felt increasing heavier and heavier. Before he knew it he wasn't lying down in Julia's living room anymore. Similar to reliving a memory long forgotten, he found himself back on the night he was taken for the twenty third time. A horrible sense of familiarity fell upon him, as if he had remembered being in this alien setting all of this time.

Despite feeling calm and strangely sedated, he knew that the place he was in now was dangerous. The first thing he immediately remembered was that he was paralyzed from head to toe. His mind felt drunk and slow, almost as if his thoughts took twice as long to process. His surroundings were covered in a thick layer of mist, even the table that he was froze on had a thin layer of mist creeping on it. Upon taking in his surroundings he immediately felt a overwhelming sense of isolation, humiliation, and shame while long willowy figures stared at his naked flesh.

Henry could hear their voices in his head, speaking down to him as if he was less then a animal. They bitterly exchanged information with each other, he could see parts of what they where and where they came from. The name Zeta Reticuli was forced into his mind, he could feel the name being burned into his mind. The expressions of his tormentors remained emotionless, their treatment of him was cold and cruel. This unyielding rape of his mind and body, left him shivering with overbearing sense of violation.

From the corner of his eye he could see children playing in a circle. These children were laughing and playing, oblivious to the frightening surroundings. In the center a tall willowy grey figure guided the children, only a single female infant cried at the sight of the grey man. Henry wanted to scream out in protest, but found his body weighed down by a unknown force. He remained a silent prisoner, forced to observe innocent boys and girls interact with these creatures. He feared for each of them, afraid that would have to experience the same torment he suffered through.

Henry's eyes were averted forward, where he could see one of these grey men staring directly at him. Begrudgingly he knew what came next was always painful and nearly unbearable. Each time a different test awaited him, followed by a feeling of shamefulness and mind numbing pain. Not once would they engage in any kind of communication, much like how a scientist wouldn't talk with the lab animal it was about to experiment on. Sometimes he would catch another human beings being tested on, but he could only see them briefly before being forced into the next experiment.

This time they fed him chemicals, triggering different emotions and memories. One memory in particular was the death of his most beloved Gizmo. His pet dog that he had owned for over fifteen years, the emotion so raw and he relived it all in that moment. He could still feel Gizmo's lifeless body in his hands, just like on the day he came back from putting him to sleep. His eyes became swollen from crying for hours, through his tear filled vision he could see their eyes studying him intently. He desperately wanted to tear at them with his bare hands, however to his dismay his limbs were unresponsive to his thoughts of violence.

When the testing was over he was allowed to ask one question. This was usually a reward for being a good little lab rat for them. He remembered asking them who they were once, he was shocked and appalled when they responded that they were "star people". He remembered how much that answer infuriated him, because to him they were nothing like human beings. The very thought that they considered themselves to be like him made him sick to his very stomach. He learned they prided themselves at being a part of the creation of mankind, which only served to make Wesley resent them even more.

When Henry woke up he found himself doubled over on the rug, laying in a pile of his own vomit and bile. He found out much later that Julia had recorded the entire session on tape. However he wasn't able to consider this a victory like he had imagined. The only thing Henry could feel was a hollow sense of numbness.

[bluemoon]

Camille fought to stay afloat, the murky waters of her dream pushing at her bare limbs. She was cold, a dampness penetrating deep inside her. Shivering, she stumbled through the unfamiliar realm, pushing aside long tendrils of moss that hung from the ancient limbs of twisted trunks. She called out, her voice lost in the fog that enveloped the trees. Falling to her knees, she lifted her head, feeling as though a weight was pulling her down. Unable to resist any longer, she allowed herself to sink into the soft earth.
-------------------
They surrounded her, each youthful face looking down on her inert body sprawled out amidst the garbage-filled alley. Nervously they glanced at each other, unable to ignore her filthy bare legs sticking out of the robe that barely covered her body. An empty bottle of Jack lay close to her outstretched hand. Hesitantly at first, then with more persistence, one of the boys nudged her thigh with his shoe.

“Hey…ya’ dead?” he asked, pushing the toe of his shoe against Mille continually, the motion causing her to rock.

“Damn foo…if en she be dead, how could she answer?” another teased.

“Don’t know, just askin’. Lay off man.”

“Fuck you…”

“No, fuck you! I gonna kick yoo ass!”
------------------
Camille moaned as she looked up into the circle of friends. Her vision was blurry and she blinked rapidly as she attempted to focus. Trying to move, her limbs felt leaden and refused to respond to her commands. “Henry?” she murmured in confusion, his face the only one she thought she could put a name to. Immobile, she could only look up, the dark sky outlining each face in the fetid atmosphere. Each of the five visages seemed familiar, but she struggled to place them. They looked down at her, smug smiles etched on their faces as they turned to one another and nodded. Her vision of the swamp melted as concrete and fencing replaced its green borders. As one of them reached for her, she screamed, thrashing against unseen barriers and trying to stand.
-------------------
The young boy pulled his hand back, startled by Mille’s outburst. “She be crazy…I ain’t touching her. You do it.” he clamored.

“No way…I ain’t crazy. I’m calling the cops, gotta get this bitch outta my alley ‘for my mom finds out we was here smoking.”

“Hell yeah, you call, I’m outta here fucker.”

Almost as one, the five boys disappeared deeper into the alley, the eldest placing the call as he took a last puff on his cigarette. They had reached a two-story home with broken shutters and peeling paint just as the first sirens could be heard approaching.
----------------
Camille fought the EMTs that tried to lift her, kicking and striking out with her feet and hands. Struggling, she finally succumbed when the straps were placed tightly around her body. “Please..” she begged, finally seeing the truth that her drunken mind wiled her into believing. She had never seen little grey men…no…she was a simple victim of a kidnapping. Drugged, bound and tortured for who knows how long, she had finally seen her captors for what they really were. Humans. Either that, or she had gone insane. She wasn’t sure which explanation suited her better.

[SpaceChicken]

Giovanna leaned over the toilet as she felt another attack of nausea coming on. She closed her eyes and tried not to cry, as that would impair her aim and just create a bigger mess to clean up.

She had gotten sick a lot every since she'd started being taken over by her odd visions, so she thought little to nothing of it; although, for some reason, she felt an acute pain in her stomach every time she vomited this time. As if something within her was trying to purge her body.

Not having had time to change once she got home from resigning, she looked over the little card her ex-boss had given her, bearing the name Julia Serling, as she waited for her body to expel whatever was in it. She was relieved when she did shortly and began to finally feel less nauseous.

After a bit of cleanup work, she hopped in the shower once more and cleaned off. The scar on her stomach was still there, and felt a little sensitive to the touch. She tried to take her mind off whatever they had done last "session" they had with her by considering hypnosis. "Well, why not," she said allowed, staring up at the shower head. "I mean, she won't think I'm...THAT crazy. Not like, 'shun her, shun her!', right? 'Cause I bet she has to deal with crazy people on a daily basis, I mean. If she deals with people who hallucinate. I've got nothing to lose anyway." She paused, realizing she was talking to a shower head, and finished her washing before getting out.

"Okay. Doing it!" She announced to no one in particular as she picked up the phone.

She felt very glad she did. It was odd how even making a simple appointment was comforting. Julia had agreed that the appointment should be held as soon as possible, even. The call ended all too soon.

When that was over, Giovanna decided to check on her e-mail, to see if perhaps John or Henry (not likely, she thought) had gotten back to her. "Oh, what's this..." she said allowed, surprised to see Julia's name in his e-mail. She checked the card Linda had given her; it was the same Julia, alright. She tucked the card back into her pocket. That was two votes for Ms. Serling, then, and her confidence rose higher than it had in a long time.

She e-mailed Henry back. "That's cool, my ex-boss also said to check her out...so there must be something to it all. Um, can I ask if you've had an appointment with her yet? I made one myself and I'm curious to see how it goes down. Thanks for telling me about her too. --SpaceChicken"

[Lox]

Kyle knocked on the door to the ranch-style house. The lawn in front of it was perfectly mowed, and a BMW was parked outside the garage. Not far away the neighbor was mowing his lawn, winking happily at the newcomer that was Simmons. Simmons looked back to the house as the door opened by a beautiful blonde woman in her early thirties. When she opened, he spoke, calmly and non-threateningly, seeing that she was both tired and scared after many weeks, if not months, of being stalked by her crazy ex. Simmons had seen it many times before, and permanently ended it just as many.

"Miss Hennessy? I'm Kyle Simmons. Miss McGuinness sent me to help with your problem." The woman's face brightened up considerably at these few words.

"Oh, thank god, you have no idea how grateful I am, Mr Simmons!" She exclaimed. "Jared called me an hour ago. He sounded drunk, as usual. I think he's coming over! I told him not to come around anymore, even got a restraining order issued on him, but nothing helps, and whenever I call the cops, they never get here in time."

"Relax." Simmons said, raising his hand to quiet her. "I'm here to solve the problem for you, permanently. If he does show his face around here, just stay inside. I'll handle it."

"Yes..." The woman said, her voice tired. "Thank you so much, Mr Simmons."

He offered an uncommon smile.
"Don't worry about it." He said. "It's catharsis." Before she could ask, he added: "I'm going to check your garden. You should stay indoors." With that, he left her to walk around the back. He checked the garden shed, but it was empty. Satisfied, he returned to the front, where he sat down on the porch and lit a cigarette to smoke while waiting for the stubborn excuse for an alpha male to arrive.

It didn't take long before an old car stopped with screeching tires in front of the house. A man got out, slamming the door closed. He wore a dirty wife-beater shirt, and torn jeans. When he saw the man in dark suit sitting on the porch as he approached he pointed a finger at him, shouting: "Who the hell are you, and what are you doing on my porch, boy?" Simmons raised an eyebrow, shook his head and tossed the burnt out cigarette aside as he stood up and went to meet the man.

"This ain't your porch, friend, and this ain't your girlfriend. You've been told to stay away. I've been hired to make sure you do." He spoke slowly, his dry voice in itself enough of a threat that he didn't have to voice any actual ones. The man scoffed and spat at the ground between them. Suddenly, he pushed Simmons backwards, hitting his own chest in a "Come get some" kind of gesture.

"Come on then, if you think you're so tough, huh, boy! Come on, come get some!" The man tried to goad Simmons, who resisted the urge to smirk.

He replied:
"I wouldn't do that again if I were you. If you walk away now, that will be the end of it. But if your next course of action is anything but a one-eighty back to your car, I will break every bone in your body, and turn you into a cripple for the next twelve months."

"Oh, I'm so scared, bitch. Why don't you shut the hell up and..."

Whatever the man was about to say stuck in his throat when Simmons moved in close to him, planting a fist in his kidney area, before sweeping his legs away from under him. When the man found himself with his back on the ground and tried to get back up, he found Simmons on top of him with his knee to his own chest, keeping him pinned down. A nasty looking, short, curved dagger, a karambit, was placed far too closely to his throat for him to feel comfortable with it, and the dark, sharp eyes, full of lethal intention, locked onto his own. His voice was cold as ice when he spoke, slowly, and carefully uttering each word:

"You've had your fun, but it ends here. You're drunk, so I shall give you one final warning. Leave Miss Hennessy alone. If you show your face around here again, I'm going to do things to you that even Charles Manson would find upsetting. Do you understand me?"

It was hard to be cocky with a razor-sharp knife to your throat, and so the man only nodded with wide-open eyes filled with naked fear. Simmons retracted the knife, and it almost seemed to disappear into thin air to the other man. He stood up, adjuted his suit, and turned to enter the house and talk to Miss Hennessy before leaving. He could hear the man drive away behind him.


*****

After the job was done, and he had told Miss Hennessy of the situation, Simmons called Helen as well. Since she had no new work for him on such short notice, he took a cab downtown, to grab a beer at a local bar. He never got that far, though. When he walked past a bookstore, his eyes caught sight of something in the window. It was a book with a strange, beige-grey head on the cover, with large, black eyes that seemed to stare at him. He stopped dead in his tracks, and felt a shiver run up his spine as he met their gaze.

"Unholy Communion", the book's title said.

He felt a strange sense of remembrance as he stared into those black eyes. Something he had had to do with before...something that had happened to him. When he tried to remember, a sharp pain came about in his head, and he clutched it in agony, taking support against the window. But unrelenting he continued to search his memory. Images flashed by, too brief for him to identify them, and the pain grew until he felt blood run down his nose, and he collapsed right there on the street, falling into the bottomless black pits of unconsciousness.

[Gabriel Zero]

http://i55.photobucket.com/albums/g150/skyhighhawk/annunaki_various-1.jpg


Julia Serling had seen this happen before with those she had helped remember their authentic abductions. Henry had become withdrawn, taking shelter in her guest room upstairs. She knew it was best to give him space for as long as they needed it. Any attempt to pull the information out of a genuine abduction victim was usually met with violence or worse.

"He'll be fine, I already made sure all pointy objects were removed from the guest room." Julia morbidly joked much to John's annoyance. John knew that Henry wasn't the suicidal type, but the things he had said while under deep hypnosis had really left him unsettled. Since yesterday John has felt like someone had stripped him of the world he lived in, he wasn't sure how to adjust to all of the madness that has recently swallowed up his life. Looking to change the subject to get a brief respite from thinking about Henry, he looked around the room and spotted Julia's cellphone blinking on a coffee table.

"Looks like you got a new message." He said pretending to be interested. Julia snatched up her phone and listened to the messages she got. She listened to the very brief message from a woman named Camille. She never turned down a client, so she looked in her caller history and found the number she called her from.

"Strange she only said her name and then hanged up the phone." Julia mumbled while she highlighted the number on her phone and clicked 'send'. "She said her name was Camille, does that name sound familiar to you?" She asked John who was making himself some coffee in the kitchen. John thought back to a earlier conversation he had with Henry, about the woman Henry had met at the bar/club across from his apartment.

"Yeah. That might be the Gothic broad Henry was going on about." John said while looking through her refrigerator for some more of Julia's baked goods. "He seemed convinced that this 'Camille' was being bothered by the same things as him. To Julia's surprise someone actually answered the phone, it was a nurse from a Hospital not that far from Henry's apartment. Apparently a nurse 'Francine Baker' was answering for a restrained and sedated Camille Lewis. She could hear Camille in the background screaming about being held against her will. On a almost impractical whim Julia lied and told the nurse she was a relative of Camille's to get permission to visit.

"You are going to visit her?" John asked out of concern, unable to help eavesdropping on the conversation. "What if she isn't the same Camille that Henry was talking about?" John pointed out while he watched Julia put on her jacket and grab her car keys from her purse. He knew it was pointless to try to deter Julia once she made up her mind. Besides he could feel that this was more then just a coincidence, a strange force had taken control of their lives that neither of them could possibly comprehend.

"If Camille isn't a victim like Henry I'll be able to tell when I see her." Julia remarked as she exited her home, leaving John behind to watch over his friend Henry Deacon. John sat down on the front steps of Julia's home, watching her speed off toward the town he had just came from. He checked his phone thinking about his wife he hadn't seen for a couple of days. It was strange that it seemed when he saw her last his life had felt relative normal. Now all the problems he had stressed out about -car payments, mortgages, marital problems- it all seemed insignificant to what Henry has been suffering through.

Henry watched Julia's 2010 Honda Civic speed away from the guest room upstairs. He heard his phone's email message ringtone go off from across the room. Upon browsing it he spotted Space Chicken's message, asking her about the hypnosis session he just experienced. His heart sank not knowing what his response should be, he swallowed hard while he typed the following message. "Julia showed me the face of the things that have been haunting me for as long as I can remember. Now I can't get them out of my mind. I'm not sure if this is what you really want, but now I know there is no turning back for me. Though I'm not sure if that option was ever on the table. If you are looking for answers however, you will find them here. -Henry Deacon"

[bluemoon]

There were moments of cohesive thought, tidbits of images, but most of what Mille remembered from the past few hours was jumbled and confused. Mako had been by her side, holding her down while she was injected with more sedatives. Each prick of the needle sent her deeper into an uncontrolled fury, until the valium finally grabbed hold of her nerves and settled her frenzy. A bag sat next to her bed in the hospital, clothing and a few personal belongings, compliments of Mako. She felt enraged that he had entered her apartment again without permission, but as the drugs entered her system, she found her tolerance increasing.

A middle-aged woman leaned over her bed, her once tidy white uniform wrinkled and damp. She forced a smile as she wiped impatiently at Mille’s brow with a dampened rag, pushing her hair away from her face. “You’ve got a visitor coming. I’m going to loosen your restraints, but if you get crazy, I’ll tighten them even more. Do we understand each other?”

Camille nodded once as she stared at the woman’s name tag. Francine Baker was a large woman, her full figure pushing against the confines of her tight uniform. Perhaps once she had been pretty, but time and gravity had worked against her, leaving behind a chubby women of forty or more. “I’m good…I mean, I’ll be good.” Her words slurred from the sedative, but she had some control now, her disturbing thoughts held at bay for the moment.

Their conversation was interrupted when a young woman entered the semi-private room. Mille looked up and frowned at the pretty blonde. “Julia?” She asked with confusion, recognizing her face from the internet photo. A dazzling smile met her query and Julia reached out and took her hand warmly. “Camille…it’s good to see you dear..”

Mille tilted her head sideways in confusion, but said nothing. The nurse laid a hand on Julia’s arm and leaned forward. “If she gives you trouble, just yell.” With that, she left the two alone.
-----------------
A few moments passed with each woman looking closely at the other. Mille saw a goody two-shoes type before her, the kind of woman every man wants to bring home to meet the family. The sweet demeanor left a sour taste in her mouth…or maybe it was the valium that was causing her bile to rise. Either way, she frowned again, grabbing the water next to her bed and taking a long drink. Julia smiled again, seeing the haunted look in Mille’s eyes that she had become familiar with over the years.

“I received your message.” She said warmly. “I thought maybe we could have a session here.”

Mille swallowed and almost choked at her suggestion. It was a constant struggle against the desire to sleep, but her curiosity kicked in at the mention of hypnosis. “A session? You want to hypnotize me here?” She asked. “ I don’t know…but I doubt you’ll be able to anyhow. I’m not that type of person. ”

Julia merely nodded. “You might be surprised. Just give me a chance. I really think I can help you.” She suggested sincerely. Taking Mille’s silence as a yes, she took out a recorder and began instructing her to relax. It was hard for Camille to resist, but her eyes remained open and she shook her head after some time. Stifling a yawn, she stared up at the ceiling and sighed.
---------------------------

“Camille?”

“Hmm?”

“How do you feel?”

“Tired. I’m sorry, I told you it wouldn’t work. Maybe we can try again later. Okay? I really am exhausted.”

After a pause, Julia cleared her throat. “Who have you disappointed, Camille?”

“What?”

“You said ‘they’ were disappointed. Who are ‘they‘?”

“I…I have no idea what you are talking about. I didn‘t say anything.” There was suspicion in Camille’s voice and it was obvious she was clueless as to Julia’s question.

Julia shook her head and smiled again. “…but you did, Camille. We’ve been talking for at least an hour now. I have it all right here.” She said, indicating her recorder. “I’ll leave it here for you to listen to. We’ll talk about it later…when you get back home. I can see you need to rest. You call me…okay? I’ve been talking to Henry also. You really should of told him about your dreams. He could use a friend who understands right now. You both would benefit.”

Mille watched the woman leave in silence. Her hand reached for the table and brought the indicated device to her chest, clasping it firmly. In seconds, she was fast asleep.

[Gabriel Zero]

http://i55.photobucket.com/albums/g150/skyhighhawk/Grey_3d-1.jpg

Henry continued to play with his phone reading through the swath of new emails commenting on his outburst and arrest yesterday. He now had double the emails and youtube comments to wade through, most of them weren't nice or helpful in any way. Still it was better then sitting around trying not to dwell on the pale Grey faces he saw every time he closed his eyes. While browsing the youtube private messages, only one name in particular caught his attention. "El Chacal" Whoever this "Jackal" person was he felt the same genuine vibe he felt with Space Chicken. Or maybe he was just looking for another distraction to keep him from dealing with his own situation.

Whatever the case was he decided that he would go meet up with the mysterious Jackal right away. He browsed El Chacal's profile and saw that he also conveniently lived three hours away. "Let's meet up at the Barnes and Noble on 35th street in West Nyack. I live only a couple of hours away, my number is 845-863-4894. Call me when you arrive. I'll be waiting." Without a moment's hesitation he sent the message and then prepared his belongings, rushing to got head first into another situation. Henry would be lying to himself he if said he didn't have his own share doubts about the entire situation. It was especially weird that up until a couple of days ago he felt alone in his situation, however he now knew of three other people who shared the same experience as him.

"Off to somewhere so soon?" John asked from the entrance of the guest room. Without anything to do he decided to step into the room unannounced. He could see that Henry wasn't in the mood to play around so he decided for a more gentle approach. "Sorry, I just wanted to tell you that Julia went to go meet your friend Camille." John shuffled awkwardly without either of them saying anything for five minutes that seemed to stretch on forever. Henry was grateful that Julia was checking on Camille, but he couldn't stand to be kept still for another minute longer. He had to get some fresh air or he felt like he would explode.

He wasn't sure if this Jackal fellow would arrive or if he would be stood up. It could of been a paparazzi trap for all he knew, however his now reckless abandon drove him to keep running. It didn't matter where he ran off to, as long as his feet kept moving in a direction. He didn't care if he took the train or went by foot, a part of himself knew he wasn't in the right frame of mind. However he would never openly admit this to anyone else.

"I met another person who might need our help. I'm going to meet him." Henry said as he walked passed John, obviously not wanting to talk about what happened. John remained silent and then decided to follow him outside, he wasn't about to let his best friend go off alone by foot. After leaving a note for Julia Serling, he quickly grabbed his car keys and scrambled outside. Once outside the two of them hopped into John's car, both wondering if the state Virginia had a high UFO abduction rate or was something more sinister in the works.

"I saw this video a few months ago about a guy who said that these things fed off our bodily fluids." John said trying to spark some kind of conversation because the silence was bloody killing him. "I think his name was Richard Dolan, he was suppose to be some kind of expert in all of this." John suggested trying to be helpful and knowledgeable, despite the fact that up until a couple of hours ago he thought all of it was bullshit. To his relief Henry managed a small smile, acknowledging his friend's conversation.

"Christ. Like vampires?" Henry chuckled. The two of them laughed and began to unwind slowly. For those brief few hours they pretended like things weren't as bad as they were. For those brief moments both John and Henry were extremely grateful. When they finally reached upstate Virginia, they both couldn't help but notice how empty and creepy the town was. It was definitely your typical rural mountain country side. Like something you would see in one of those Wrong Turn or mutant hillbilly horror movies. They nervously drove through a small town that housed the only commercial area within 60 miles, cautiously navigating toward the Barnes and Noble in the center of the community.

They drove past a small crowd of people staring at a collapsed body. "My god! What did those hillbillies do to that poor man?" John exclaimed as he pull down his shades and looked out the window. Henry got out of the car before John could bring it to a full stop. Upon closer examination it seemed a Barnes and Noble employee was already there trying to call the authorities. However much to the employee's frustration he was unable to get a good signal out in remote country side. The nearby locals explained that he was just looking at that ufo book in the display window when he passed out.

"Unholy Communion" Henry said as he looked at the book on display that the local mentioned. "By author Richard M Dolan." It was starting to feel like there was no such thing as coincidences , something was guiding these abduction victims together. A feeling in the pit of Henry's stomach said that this Richard M Dolan had the answers that he was looking for. He turned to the collapsed man, he looked like he may of been in the military at one point. He was well built with dark hair, a nicely trimmed beard and a expensive dark suit that complimented his features.

"I take it that this is our guy?" John asked while staring down the hillbilly locals that were giving him the creeps. "We better get him out of here before these folks decide to have him for lunch."

[Ali DellaLuna]

Fluttering, her eyelids struggled to lift. ‘Heavy,’ She thought. “So heavy.” Gritty tongue licked at cracked lips, dry and split in the corners. Everything was so heavy--her arms, her legs, eyelids. Even the vary air seemed to weigh almost too much to breath. Gasping in air, she struggled not to panic as her mind raced, ‘I’m going to sufficate! I can’t breath.” Her chest felt as though it were crushing in. “Help! Oh, God! Help please help me.” Still, she couldn’t move, couldn’t open her eyes. Pounding a timpany in ears that made them ache with the loudness, her heart beat faster and faster.

And then suddenly, her eyes were open. ‘Finally.’ she thought as green eyes struggled to focus on her surroundings, but while her eyes were open, everything was blurry, doubled and even tripped, she thought. Closing them tightly, she opened them again to take survey.

The walls, they seemed to pulse. Not a color she could describe. Not grey, not white, not blue--it was more a series of what it wasn’t than what it was. Shifting to look above her and around to the other side, she frowned. Not much larger than the bed she was in, it seemed a closet of a room, back somewhere.. forgotten. Even it’s shape was strange--It was … an arrow, she realized. the length all along her bed, then it flared into a triangle point towards the door.

“Door!” Her temporary relief at being able to breath a bit easier had stopped her struggles to free herself. Seeing the door, which stood ajar, renewed her desire. With all her force, she pushed out against the restraints holding her arms to the table. “Nothing.” Taking a deep breath, she pushed again, this time freeing her left hand. Hope swelled up inside her.

It was then that they appeared. She didn’t see them, she just knew. Felt the moment they entered. And just as suddenly she was down again, tied, struggling to breath--silently screaming as the searing heat of whatever they had just plunged into the vein of her left arm, coursed through her. Though in truth, she barely felt it at that moment, in that moment when her hope died.

“Aaaaahhhhhhh.hhh.hh” Annie flung herself forward, the sound of her own scream still reverberating in her ears. Sweat covered and shaking, she rose from her bed and padded barefoot to the shower cubical. As always, there was a fresh towel and change of cloths and sheets in the bottom of her bed. And following her routine, she scrubbed herself clean, trying to wash away all traces of what ‘they’ were and what ‘they’ did. Though they did leave little things behind on her that let her know her dreams, nightmares, were … well real.

Stepping out of the shower, she toweled off quickly, more swatting at her body with the towel than patting, as though her own body offended her. She lifted her toothbrush, and began to scrub away the taste that always followed, metal tinged with bile, difinately not a tasty treat.

Green eyes peered at her face, taking in the sunken eye sockets, grey tinge to her clear overly-pale flesh. “Yeah at this rate, you could be a model.” She stuck her tongue out at herself as she raked a comb through damp hair. Yanking on her top and loungers, she knew sleep was not happening again tonight. She stripped the bed, and remade it, then went to her desk. Day 573 OTR. Notes:

Everything felt so heavy.

[Gabriel Zero]

"Well I guess we have to take him!" John exclaimed unhappily after trying more then once to wake up the sleeping man. John was tired, terrified, and almost to the breaking point of what he thought to be insanity. At that moment he decided he didn't care if this man was the mysterious Jackal that contacted his best friend. He just wanted to get back to Julia's house so he could get drunk off his ass and pretend the last 24 hours didn't happen. He motioned for Henry to help pick up the heavy man and they struggled to get the nicely dressed bearded man into the back of the car.

"Heeeeey....Where are you taking him?" One of the locals protested as they watched Henry accidentally bump the unconscious man's head on the side of the car. After a bit of struggeling they managed to squeeze him in the back, John wiped the sweat off of his brow before turning his attention to the hillbilly's question. Still afraid of the dangers of their backwoods' community, he decided to lie through his teeth in order to avoid any unseen wrath.

"We're going to take this unfortunate man to the best doctor money can afford!" John bellowed loudly while marching to the driver's seat of his car. "You may all go back to your banjo playing and Nascar driving!" John tried to remain casual but the nervousness tone in his voice betrayed him. Henry tried desperately to stifle a laugh while jumping into the passenger seat. The car sped off the street corner climbing in speed quickly, leaving behind a bunch of gaping locals who weren't use to that kind of excitement.

In a little over three hours they managed to reach Julia's house around three am. John and Henry had barely talked the whole ride back, both of them a bit afraid at their passenger would wake up and do something dangerous. The both of them managed to drag their unconscious guest into Julia's house, laying him to rest on the couch where she performed her hypnotherapy sessions. John wondered how he would explain dragging a unconscious man into her house against his free will.

"This was probably the craziest thing we've ever done." Henry laughed as he wondered why Julia wasn't back yet. It was funny how something like having an alien abduction, could push law abiding citizens to break the law. John shook his head in disbelief, wondering if Henry's madness was contagious. "Julia is bound to be pissed when she gets back from visiting Camille." Henry added while he sat on the floor next to the bearded man.

"I'm going to go research that Richard Dolan fellow and drink myself into a coma." John haphazardly said while he shuffled toward the kitchen in search of booze. Henry could see how tired and worn down his friend was, he felt bad that he got caught up in the same madness that consumed him.

"Hey John. Thanks for being such a good friend." Henry said with a smile, sincerely happy to have such a amazing man looking out for him.

[bluemoon]

Outside in the city, darkness enveloped the streets, but in the hospital room, the fluorescent lights still shone brightly. Camille squinted against them, glancing at the small clock beside her bed. 3 a.m. Her wrists and ankles were still unbound and she struggled to pull herself into a sitting position, feeling the effect of the sedatives lingering in her system as she tucked her feet under her knees. The safety bar posed a bit of a problem and she finally swung her leg up and hoisted herself over it. The cold floor felt shocking on her bare soles as she worked her limbs into the black cargo pants and sweat shirt Mako had left for her.

Mille turned from the bed, slipping Julia’s recorder and her phone into her pocket. The night shift was bare bones, and she found it easy to slip past the vacant nurse’s station and make her way down the stairs. Exiting the hospital’s main reception room was even easier, the man stationed at the door holding it open for her as she left. Once outside, she patted down her pockets, realizing she was penniless and would have to walk the five miles to home. In her state, it would take hours.

Parched and tired, Mille stopped just a mile short of her home to rest. She leaned against the locked doors of the Century Club, looking at Henry’s apartment across the street. His windows were as dark as before, and felt just as empty. It meant he wasn’t home, but she found herself knocking anyways. There was no answer, just the muted sound of his cat brushing up against the door. “Gnome,” Mille whispered as her hand began sweeping the higher ledges and crevices for a hidden key. “No…” she thought, he wouldn’t be that obvious. She dropped to her knees and picked up several smaller landscaping rocks, shaking them until she finally found one with a secret compartment. Key in hand, she let herself in, locking the door securely behind her. “Breaking and entering…” she chided herself. “…add this one to the long list.”

Fifteen minutes later, Camille found herself listening to the recorded session she had with Julia. Drink in hand and a warm purring cat in her lap, she lost herself in the memories the words provided. She had already dismissed the idiotic idea that she had been kidnapped by her fellow man, the evidence pointing to another worldly experience. Her recorded voice was shaky and at one point she heard herself crying. It didn’t seem real, but it was her voice and the memories were there. The cold table. The strange beings. The odd stars. So much was revealed . She remembered Julia asking her who was disappointed after she woke up from hypnosis. The recording had ended with her voice, teary and filled with regret, claiming they were disappointed. The who was not in question, so much as the why. Picking up the dozing cat and turning off the recorder, Camille found her way into one of the bedrooms and slipped under the covers. She pulled her knees up and circled her body protectively around the cat. Eyes open wide, she stared at the dark walls and rocked herself for comfort. It was 6 a.m., the light of morning just staring to creep past the closed curtains of the room.

[Lox]

Who is he?

Gunnery Sergeant Kyle Simmons, 2nd Reconnaissance Battalion. Heh... A fellow Corpsman.

Clean?

*Scoffs* Hardly... The kid grew up in South Central, and did armed robbery from his teenage years and up. He got a get-out-of-jail-free card by joining the Corps. We think he's stealing weapons from the Corps and selling them on the black market. He's slick, though. Too smooth to get caught. A perfect test subject.

Alright. Let's get to it.

His body was stiff but not paralyzed, but rather tied down. Each limb could not move because of straps keeping it down. Even his head was locked in place by something vice-like. Yet he could not speak when his eyes saw one of the two characters, barely visible in his current bad vision, as more than dark shadows, approach with what looked like an injection needle in one hand.

Then, suddenly, there was a sharp pain to his neck, and he felt burning pain course through his neck and into his veins, as if the man had injected him with pure acid. He let out a violent cry of agony.

"Hah!" Kyle woke up with a jerk, instinctively reaching for the gun under his left shoulder as his eyes darted around in search for anything that could be considered an enemy. He found himself looking at a man sitting on the floor not far away. He blinked hard, trying to focus his eyes, and when the man's face became clearer, he realized it was Henry.... Henry what? Henry Deacon. His memory began to come back. He recognized the man's face from the news websites.

"Jesus fucking Christ..." He muttered. "I feel like I just got slugged in the face." He rubbed his face with one hand. "Did I...have a nightmare...?" He muttered to himself then, frowning when he tried to remember, but failed. Instantly, the splitting headache began again, and he had to clutch his head in both hands, gritting his teeth, to bear the pain. When it went away he grasped for air. "God..."

He looked at Deacon, and slowly offered a hand.
"Sorry. I guess I might as well introduce myself. Kyle Simmons. I'm the person that contacted you on Youtube. I saw your video. Don't know why, but I was compelled to contact you afterwards. And I have these freaky nightmares that I can't remember afterwards...and when I do try to remember, there's this splitting headache... I must have collapsed outside the bookstore when I saw that...book."

He shook his head.
"I'm not going to claim I believe your story, bro. And I'm not going to buy that my nightmares stem from an alien abduction." He shrugged. "But I can't work like this. I need answers. And I figure you're closer to finding those answers than me..."

[Gabriel Zero]

Richard found himself alone once again in his large Victorian home, sitting comfortably in front of a warm fire and browsing on his computer. Richard for the most part was a wealthy man, who earned most of his wealth as a announcer for sports games when he was young. It wasn't until his early twenties that he had what he would call "a spiritual awakening." I was at that time he became more involved in writing about extraterrestrials, which led to him becoming the laughing stock of popular media.

Richard has spent his later years dedicated to his work on spreading knowledge of the legit story behind extraterrestrial interaction with the human species. However much to his dismay his work was drowned out by the sea of fraud conspiracy theories by authors with too much time on their hands. It seemed that his story would never be taken seriously, no matter how many conferences he attended.

Richard never lost hope though because he needed to remain strong for those that believed in him. Though on some days it seemed harder then most, especially when his wife Aria left him so many years ago. Their relationship eventually broke under the strain of harassment they got from those that didn't appreciate the message he was trying to spread. He never lost his faith though because he knew he was protected, he wouldn't leave this world until his message was received.

Richard took a sip from his champagne glass while reading over the latest file that his college Julia Serling sent him through email. Julia had spent the last several years as Richard's right hand woman. Together they were pretty good at sifting through the frauds and weeding them out. The document she sent was a whole article dedicated to a man Henry Deacon , which strongly suggested he was worth Richard's precious time. In reality though Julia's own validation was good enough for him, the documentation and audio files were just for pleasantries.

Over the next ten minutes Richard had gathered his belongings while preparing himself to Julia's home. His last message from her was that Henry Deacon was at her house, which was fine by him because he preferred to do business in person anyway. After throwing on his warm winter jacket, he stepped into his car which played relaxing yoga music from the stereo inside.

After leaving his home Richard performed the necessary calculations and probabilities in his mind that this man was being visited by negative extraterrestrials. Unfortunately the outcome of those equations usually tended to be more probable. Especially since he was told that one out of every ten Americans were abducted and would never remember it. In most cases remembering it was enough to drive the individual insane.

Upon arriving at Julia's home he allowed himself in through the front door unannounced. Inside he overheard a bearded man talk about nightmares and the inability to remember it. This was all information that he had heard thousands if not millions of times, yet he was pleasantly content at eavesdropping for a little while longer. The man who introduced himself as Kyle Simmons seemed to seek the advise of Henry Deacon

"I need answers. And I figure you're closer to finding those answers than me..." Kyle paused as he looked at Henry's frozen gaze staring directly behind him.

"I think we found someone who can provide much better answers then I could." Henry stammered as Richard Dolan stepped into the living room.

[bluemoon]

Despite the warmth that should have been provided by the bed covers, Camille’s body shook with the cold that permeated their layers. Sleep evaded her, the morning hours dragging in, her blood-shot eyes tracking the shadows as they crept across the carpet. Julia’s recording replayed in her head, her spoken words etched in her memory. ‘You must open yourself to them,’ the hypnotist had instructed, causing the buried experiences to flood into Mille’s conscious. Now, she only wanted to close her mind to them, and maybe then she could get some needed sleep.

The room brightened, as if the curtains had been thrown open to the morning’s light. Camille threw her arm across her eyes to block out the rays, hearing a high-pitched cry and hiss coming from beside her. Nails raked her skin through her shirt, and the last sight she saw of the room was Gnome’s sleek body and puffed out tail exiting through the bedroom’s door. She looked up and her mouth opened in protest as she felt herself being lifted. Scrambling for purchase, she felt the sheets slip through her fingers as the room dissipated in a covering of mist.

Arched backwards, Mille was suspended in a tunnel of light. She struggled as she was pulled upwards, even her skin seeming to resist as it undulated along her arms. She screamed silently, her breath sucked from her lungs as she was propelled to an unknown destination. With a sudden jolt, her body was deposited onto a cold metallic floor, the surface dull and smooth, her clothing no longer wrapped around her shivering form. Lifted, she was carried to a room and placed upon a flat surface. Above her, a clear domed ceiling revealed a black sky, devoid of stars.

Camille tried to resist, thrusting against unseen restraints and attempting to raise her head from the table as four figures moved into her line of sight. She whispered, “no”, as a hand moved towards her face, the palm heavily lined and grey. Every muscle in her body relaxed with its passing and her mind calmed. Deep in her subconscious she continued the struggle, feeling every touch, every cut, every probe. Exhaustion finally claimed her, and with detachment, she suffered the examination with half-closed eyes. When it ended, her blood stained the table, and a hand with extended fingers pressed deep against her frigid abdomen. Gasping, with tears slipping from the corner of her eyes, she saw the naked head turn from side to side.

-----------------------------

“Wake up!” Camille’s mind screamed, trying to force her heavy lids to comply. Her hand felt for the blanket, trying to pull it over her chilled form. A solid surface met her probing fingers and with a start, she opened her eyes. A room, small, with four walls no more than an arm’s length away greeted her. She stared in disbelief. She should be home…in her bed…safe. The room began to vibrate and pulse, the walls, floor and ceiling becoming opaque. She searched desperately, but there was no door, no escape. She wanted to scream, but as fear gripped her, she dug her nails into her palms, the pain a temporary distraction.

Sounds began to fill her head. Images took form on the flat surfaces. They were all familiar, her memories, her life. …Her father sat in his easy chair, beer in hand, his eyes glued to the screen of the television. Two young children played on the floor, a boy and a girl, only a few years apart. She could hear her mother yelling from the kitchen. “No, mom don’t…” she whispered as she stared at the images, knowing what came next. Pounding foot steps, the sound of impact as a balled fist struck flesh. Crying. Begging. …A funeral, her mother dressed in black holding the hand of a young teen. Her father drunk, stoic, his face impassive as her brother’s body was lowered into a grave. Nights of fighting, tears, and drinking. …A girl of sixteen, head lowered and hand on her belly as her father raged and shook his fist. A dark alley. An abandoned building. Blood, so much blood.

Camille’s shriek could not be heard over the sounds of crying from the teenager as her weakened body was carried to an ambulance. Her young eyes searched out those of her father as he kept hidden in the shadows. Sirens, loud and shrill, filled her ears. …Pale, appearing lifeless, the sleeping girl was draped in white sheets up to her chin. A woman sat by her bedside holding her hand, silent tears falling from her cheeks. The two were alone, the father absent, but not missed. …The walls faded into white and Camille fell to her knees. “Fuck you…” she groaned softly at first, then raising her voice until she was screaming the same words. “Fuck you!”

Time had no meaning, and Camille sat with her knees pulled up to her chin for what seemed an eternity. She had yelled until her voice was hoarse, finally sitting on the floor to wait. The small room had become quiet…still…and warm. Comfortable.

Wrapped in blankets, she awoke in her own bed, naked, drenched in sweat and trembling. A mile away, her discarded clothing lay in a rumpled mess mixed in with sheets and a comforter. A cat was curled within the pile, purring and content.

[SpaceChicken]

This was it. The big day, the one Giovanna had been waiting for.

Every since Henry's rather ambiguous note regarding finding answers via Miss Serling, Giovanna's stomach had been in more of a knot than usual.

"Giovanna Farina? You're just in time," she heard a pleasant voice say as she entered the office. "You are Giovanna Farina, right?" Giovanna stared at the blonde woman before her and nodded slowly.

"Yeah," she finally croaked. "Uh...I heard a lot about you..."

"Come in, you can tell me over our session," Julia said. Giovanna nodded again and followed her over to a couch, which Julia motioned for her to sit on. "So you heard a lot about me?"

"Well, sort of...my ex boss told me I should try coming you, and so did that dude, Henry Deacon, you saw him."

"Oh, I see." Julia nodded. "You certainly did the right thing, and you're helping a lot more people by doing this."

"R-really? How?" Giovanna asked.

"The more victims we find, the more we can figure out, and faster, and get all of you help. Alright, let's get started. Please just relax..."

Giovanna managed to relax, but it didn't take under twenty minutes. Once she was under hypnosis, though, she found herself undergoing pure torture, pyschological mostly, but some physical as well.

"My stomach," she moaned, barely coming to.

Julia stopped the recorder. "Yes...your stomach indeed." She was troubled. There was something within Giovanna's body, but just what was hard to say... She passed some smelling salts under Giovanna's nose. The young woman shot up and burst into tears. Most of her skin was red and heated, and her face was contorted.

Julia managed to get her calmed down. She reassured her that it was all for the better and finally sent her home with a lovely recording to examine.

Giovanna sat at her laptop immediately upon arriving home, for some reason feeling a strong need to contact Henry. "Hi, it's me again. I just saw Julia. OMG, it was so scary... :( But she says I helped her and other people a lot...What do you think? --Space Chicken" Once she'd sent the note she leaned back, doing her best to clear her mind.

[Gabriel Zero]

http://i105.photobucket.com/albums/m210/meetherain/grey_.gif


3:00 AM (http://youtu.be/ttiTvI3caPk)

Henry wasn't sure what to say when he saw the odd man walk into Julia's living room. Henry immediately recognized the man as Richard Dolan, since he had spent the early part of the evening researching him. However he noticed that Kyle Simmons didn't look nearly as impressed by the tall gangly man. Despite their reactions the famous UFO author made himself comfortable on the couch across from the two of them. Richard didn't waste any time lighting up a cigarette and observing the two of them, it was at time he felt strange sensation burning in the center of his forehead.

"I hope you both don't mind that I talk to the both of you like this?" Richard's voice was heard in both Kyle and Henry's mind, however not once did his lip's move. "I usually don't like to display my gifts, but the Andromedans gave me special permission for this one time." Richard smiled politely at both Henry and Kyle, both of them not sure how to react to the sudden display of psychic ability. Despite their strange happenings the last few days, it was still shocking and amazing to know such things were possible. Yet not once did Richard act like this was anything but ordinary, his manner and disposition was calm and cool as if he was talking with old friends.

"This is totally unreal, I must be back in John's car dreaming..." Henry stammered feeling more then a bit freaked out by everything. The way Richard talked to him through his mind. It reminded him of the way the Grey extraterrestrials spoke and how only communicated telepathically. He looked over at Kyle who looked equally unease, he noticed his hands were trembling near his gun. Yet Richard Dolan sat their like a man who didn't exist, his very presence defied all logic and reason.

"I assure you both that you are not dreaming. I need you both to listen to me carefully, as we don't have a lot of time to play around with." Richard grumbled as he looked around for a proper ashtray. "We can thank Mr. Henry Deacon for that, Henry's youtube video pissed off all the right people." Richard decided to use a cup that Julia left near the coffee table, flicking his cigarette ashes into it. "Not that we mind, the Adromedans and I had a good laugh." As Richard chuckled at Henry's plight, Henry couldn't help but know exactly what he was talking about. In the back of his mind he wondered if certain people would be upset that he was exposing the existence of life beyond Earth.

"Who exactly is coming after us?" Kyle Simmons asked almost instinctively. Henry nodded wanting to get straight to the point, anxiously waiting for Richard's voice to resume inside his mind. Richard studied them both intently, while a wisp of smoke blew out from the corner of his mouth.

"Some call them the powers that be, others call them the Rockefellers, The Rothschilds, or the Illuminati. I just like to keep it simple and call them the bad guys." Richard mused. "They probably won't do anything to you yet, but let's say you have become a small blip on their radar." Richard's voice sounded very sure of himself, his voice was void of all doubt or uncertainty. "It's the self serving extraterrestrials that I would worry about, the ones that don't have humanities best interests in mind." Richard's voice now had a more serious tone to it, in his eyes they could see a concern that wasn't there before.

"Why should we believe you?" Kyle growled. Despite the fact that this man was talking in their minds, he hadn't said anything to convince them that he was on their side. Henry turned around slightly when he heard his friend John walk into the room. He was carrying his cellphone in one hand and a bottle of Jack Daniels in the other.

"I can vouch for him." John's voice sounded tired, yet the look on his face was stern and strong. "I just got off the phone with Julia, she told me that Richard would be here any minute." John sat on the couch next to Kyle, offering him the bottle of whiskey which he graciously accepted. "She is also with a acquaintance of yours, a woman who you may know as Spacechicken." John said with a bit of laughter in his voice. Henry found himself only slightly surprised but also a bit frightened at how they were all coming together. He couldn't shake this feeling that they were all being shepherded in the same direction.

"Boys." Richard announced as he tried to get everybody's attention. "I appreciate the vote of confidence John, but we really mist hurry things along." John looked around with a slight panicked expression dressed on his face. It took him a brief moment to realize that Richard was now speaking into his mind as well. "I think I can speed things up if I just show you what we're dealing with." Richard's voice became calm while he closed his eyes and focused a series of images into everyone's consciousness. Suddenly the three men were flooded with images of creatures that defied explanation and comprehension. Henry, Kyle, and John were brought to their knees in pain, tormented by the flashes of horrible aberrations.

"What the fuck did you do to us?" Kyle screamed as he squirmed in pain. Henry's nose began to bleed profusely, his vision was full of monstrosities both alien and demonic. "Make it fucking stop right now !" Kyle pleaded as he smacked John's whiskey bottle into air, causing it to shatter into pieces against a nearby wall. Richard continued to show them the forces they were dealing with, for the sole purpose to help them realize they needed to be aware.

"Those are what we refer to as the Draconians." Richard said with much resentment in his voice. "They are quite a self-involved race, only interested in space exploration for the purpose of conquest. Many wars have been waged between the Draconians and humanoids in the past; the latter often becoming slave races to the former" Richard paused and took another drag of his cigarette before continuing."They're extremely clairvoyant and extremely clever, and they can also be extremely sinister. They apparently were brought by someone to our time and space, our universe, in full physicality, and dumped here. I don't know who""

"If they are so dangerous, how come the Government doesn't warn it's people?"John asked as he watched the liquor dripped down the walls. The visions had faded away for now, but the memory of the Draconian faces was still fresh in their memory. "I mean obviously we would of heard of them by now if they posed such a big threat?" John's voice sounded unsure of itself, yet he felt it necessary to ask the question anyway.

"They have no respect for humans and would have invaded long ago if we did not have such outstanding support from our benign space brothers." Richard responded in a knowledgeable and carefree tone of voice. "As for your Government, the Global Elite exchanges the homeless, POW's, and other people who won't be missed for Knowledge and Power of the Draconians." Richard sounded resentful and sad to share that knowledge.

"Great." John blurted, almost regretting having asked the question in the first place. "So am I suppose to believe that our government is working with these space invaders?" John was feeling quite overwhelmed by the overload of information. Despite all of the extraordinary things that happened to all of them today, it was still hard to accept such outlandish and preposterous information. Yet for these three the proof was evident and they could no longer deny the abilities that Richard displayed for them.

"It's funny." Richard said as he actually spoke verbally for the first time since arriving in Julia's home. "I said the same exact thing to the benevolent extraterrestrials called the Andromedans." Richard chuckled softly to himself, while making eye contact with all three men. "But after awhile you find yourself cornered with the truth staring directly at you. That is when you realize it's either sink or swim, because I'm afraid there is no going back now."

[Lox]

Kyle was gritting his teeth hard as Dolan spoke. The pain from the visions had subsided - for now - and he was back to his composed self, the only trace left of his agonized behavior being the whiskey dripping from the wall. He stared at it for a moment, muttering: "Fucking waste...", before bringing out a pack of Courtleigh cigarettes, and lighting one with somewhat shaky hands. His trusty old zippo lighter flared to life, the United States Marine Corps insignia emblazoned on it helping somewhat to steady his hands and remind him of who he was. Being afraid wasn't his cup of tea, but right now, he was very scared.

After exhaling, his mind began to work properly again. He offered the cigarettes and lighter around to the others, and then said: "I've read about those Draconians..." He muttered. "The Anunnaki, the Babylonian Brotherhood...the Sumerian pantheon." He shook his head with a sigh. "I guess all those hours spent surfing conspiracy forums paid off after all." Standing up, he removed his blazer, and casually followed it up with the gun holster. He needed to get a bit more comfortable before getting into this kind of discussion. Hanging both on a near-by chair, he continued:

"Assuming we buy into this mumbo jumbo, Mr...Dolan, was it? ...assuming that. And assuming that sinking isn't really our style. You say there's no going back. So, what direction are we going to take, then? I'm not planning to just lay down and die, not for these alien freaks, and not for anyone else...but if what you say is right, then what the fuck are we supposed to do about it?"

A sudden pang of pain flashed through the back of his mind. He gritted his teeth, grasping for air as he clutched the back of his head. A strain of a fractioned memory appeared in his head, a swarm of pictures, words, faces. All of it went too fast for him to be able to comprehend it properly. Two words, however, stuck in his mind; "Project Reach". When the pain subsided, the flow of memories subsided, he shook his head to clear his mind, and muttered something inaudible to himself.

"Sorry about that." He muttered. "I've had these attacks of violent headaches lately, accompanied by strange memories that I can't seem to get a grasp of. And then the nightmares on top of that." He shook his head again, dismissively, as he lit another cigarette. Figuring that out was for another time. Right now, there was only one thing that had to be dealt with before anything else.

"Anyway, what happens now?"

[Gabriel Zero]

http://i539.photobucket.com/albums/ff356/sarcasticool/intruders.jpg


"So what happens now?" Kyle Simmons reasonably asked, the same question was both on Henry and John's mind as well. Richard Dolan had a answer for all three of them, he had planned for this moment ever since he read Julia Serling's file on young Henry Deacon. He was after a latent psychic in his opinion, someone who was able to attract those with similar abilities toward him. Almost like a beacon of white light, surrounded by complete and absolute darkness. Those who subconsciously knew the truth would eventually seek him out, after all it was in Henry' nature to broadcast the truth to the world.

However Richard found himself unexpectedly distracted by the Kyle Simmons' thoughts. The word "Project Reach" projected and echoes from Kyle's thoughts, causing it to flash and burn throughout Richard's mind. It was strong enough to cause a slight nose bleed, which he had to stop with a handkerchief from his coat pocket. He could hear John asking if he was "alright", however the words seemed faint and distant. Almost as if a loud explosion had just gone off, momentarily disabling his hearing for a couple of minutes. Richard stubbornly resisted the pain through sheer willpower, causing himself to regain back his clarity. The only thing he could be sure of was that Kyle Simmons was different from Henry Deacon.

"I'll be fine." Richard eventually responded, his voice was still being projected into everyone's thoughts. Though this time his voice sounded slightly weary. "To answer your questions, I would like the opportunity to take you all off the grid. At least until we could develop your abilities and natural psychic talents." Richard paused allowing the three men to digest the information he presented. He continued to blot his nose bleed until the white napkin was completely red. For now he would just pretend like the nose bleed was inconsequential, though in the near future he desired to investigate Kyle Simmons' abilities and potential.

"Psychic talents ?" John scoffed. "You mean like super powers?" The question seemed a little inane, but John couldn't help it since he was the most resistant of the three men. It was his knee jerk reaction to reject the unexplainable that threatened his conception of reality. At this point of events that have been displayed to him, he was even aware of his own asinine behavior. He laughed nervously for a few brief seconds, before awaiting Richard Dolan's explanation.

"We all have the ability to be much more." Richard reassured John in a matter that wasn't condescending. "It is the popular perception that we have limitations that restrains us from achieving our full psychic potential." Richard stood up and stretched his legs, aware that the three men were watching him carefully. "Some call it the Ego that restricts us, but we are all raised to believe that certain abilities only exist in fictional fairy tales." Richard's voice sort of trailed off as he concentrated on the pieces of broken Whiskey glass that littered the wall. In a matter of minutes the broken shards were starting to reassemble them self in midair, slowly recomposing into the shape of the once shattered bottle of Jack Daniels.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me." Kyle Simmons muttered out loud, watching the amazing display of psychic phenomenon. Little by little droplets of the spilled alcoholic liquid were pulled from the rug, and poured into the newly reassembled glass bottle. It was at that brief moment that all three men were completely speechless. After the bottle was about half way full with alcohol, he gently placed it on the coffee table for everyone to see. Richard sat back down and tried to pick which explanation would be the simplest for them to understand. Time was after all not something that was on his side.

"You see, at one time we were all genetically altered by several different extraterrestrial species. Some benevolent and some not so benevolent, the point being is that the human species has had extraterrestrial DNA for billions and billions of years now." Richard watched their reactions carefully before he continued. "It is possible to develop abilities that these extraterrestrials have. That is why it is possible for all of us to be so much more, it's just another muscle that needs to be exercised and strengthened." Richard sighed in relief since it's been a long time since he has had to cover the basics with anyone outside his familiar circle. He spent so much time surrounded by White Hats such as himself, that he forgot how little the rest of the 99% percent of the human race knew.

"So you're going to take us to a place where the big bad Government isn't going to reach us?" Kyle casually interrupted "Then train us to be bad ass psychics like yourself?" It seemed the dark suited man wanted simplified explanation before making up his own mind. Richard simply nodded in agreement, he seemed relieved to have at least one of them get the gist of it. Richard could sense that Henry was already convinced, the only thing that held him back was the thoughts of a female named Camille.

"Consider me signed up." Henry finally spoke up. He didn't need to hear anymore, he already decided that this was his destiny. "However there is a friend I would like to convince to come with us. I'm convinced that she would come if given the opportunity." Henry smiled looking at Kyle and then his best friend John Andrews. He could tell John had already known what he was going to go, so he held out his hand and waited for the keys to John's automobile.

"Alright. But you are going to drive because I'm too fucking wasted." John laughed while he passed Henry his car keys. Richard laughed at the two friends, watching them intently as they bid farewell to both Kyle and himself. "I suppose we'll meet her in that club were you met her before?" John playfully ribbed his buddy, while he nudged Henry in the stomach.

"We'll wait for the both of you to return, I still need to have a word with Kyle in private anyway." Richard said as he nodded in Kyle's direction. "However please be quick because it's only a matter of time our position is compromised." Richard watched the two exit the house and speed off in the automobile, then turned his attention to Kyle Simmons.

[bluemoon]

Camille had found sleep impossible, her most recent experience haunting her memories in constant replay. She went through her morning routine, using the make-up to hide the dark circles under her eyes and trying to keep herself distracted. The images in her head kept reappearing and she eventually turned to alcohol to try to shove them into oblivion. For hours, she sat at the computer, digging for a clue as to why she was suddenly so aware of the events surrounding her abduction. She wanted to forget…it was easier when they were more like a dream. Pacing the small apartment, she finally grabbed her jacket and stepped outside.

The day was cold, and with her arms wrapped about herself to keep warm, Camille walked quickly with her head down. Her thoughts turned to Julia, wondering if she had somehow caused this to happen with the hypnosis. She needed to call her, but her phone was gone…lost…just like the recorder. Shivering, she wasn’t surprised to find herself on Henry‘s street, the neighboring bar’s music loud and clear. A quick glance was all she needed to know Henry wasn’t home, the apartment feeling empty except for the presence of Gnome. ‘Where are you?' she wondered once again.

Inside the club, Camille felt herself relaxing. This was more home to her than her own apartment. The music’s beat filled her, pounding in her head. She sat where she had first seen Henry, the bar mostly empty, only the die-hard drinkers starting this early. In moments a drink was set before her and she lost herself in it, following one with another. She recognized too many of the faces and knew she was falling into the old routine. She welcomed it…the numb comfort of alcohol and the loud noises in the background. Soon, she forgot her troubles, drifting in a haze until she felt a presence behind her…a hand coming to rest gently on her shoulder.

Camille turned, too drunk to be surprised by the presence of Henry and another man behind her. They looked haggard, but their clean-cut appearances still poked through. ‘Not my type,’ she thought with a wry smile, before trying to stand to greet them. Henry’s hand came up under her elbow to steady her and his face showed concern.

“Camille, are you all right? We need to talk.” He said matter-of-factly. “It’s urgent.”

Camille shook her head, “It’ll have to wait…I’m drinking.” She slurred.

“Drunk is more like it.” John retorted.

Mille looked at the man’s at Henry’s side with suspicion. He was older...more conservative. “Who are you?”

Henry’s hand urged her towards the club’s exit. “We’ll have plenty of time for introductions later, let’s just get you sober. Okay? We can go to my place and get some coffee.”

“Your place? Coffee? Sounds terrific.” She said sarcastically, but she allowed herself to be led out, leaning into Henry for support as they crossed the street.

[Lox]

Kyle turned back to Dolan after the others had left.
"What do you want to talk about?" He asked all the while lighting another cigarette. His hands were shaking slightly. Dolan closed his eyes in a gesture, as if what he had to say was going to be painful.

"I can read your thoughts, Kyle." He said in a somewhat fatherly way. "When you had your attack, a certain name became clear to me. Project Reach." Kyle's hands twitched subconsciously, but he didn't reply. "First, let me ask you something. Were you ever in the military?"

"Three years in the 2nd Reconnaissance Battalion. US Marine Corps." Kyle replied. "I got kicked out."

"I thought as much." Dolan said, nodding to himself. "Tell me then, Kyle. Have you ever heard of something called Mk Ultra?" Kyle shrugged.

"CIA funded project on mind control, in the 60's and 70's. CIA kidnapped homeless people and criminals, and used them for mind control experiments. One of the freak children spawned by the Cold War. The Church Committee blew it wide open, but CIA had erased most of their files. Anyway, that was the end of it, right?" He took a deep breath on his cigarette and then asked: "Why? What does MK Ultra have to do with our current...situation?" He was uncertain as to what word to use to describe what they had gotten themselves into. Dolan didn't seem to notice.

"Because MK Ultra didn't end in 1975." Dolan said. "14-year veteran CIA agent Victor Marchetti went out in 1977, saying that the CIA's claim that MK Ultra had been abandoned, a cover story. The truth of the matter is that it was moved and centralized to a single facility, in Montauk, called Camp Hero, where other covert experiments were already being conducted. The project itself changed names for evasive purposes, through the years. The names included Project Spike, Project Fox, and Project Reach." Simmons' fingers again twitched, but he didn't speak.

Dolan studied him for a moment. Simmons' eyes were glazed, as if he was remembering something, yet not remembering it. It was typical of people that had suffered mind control and were about to realize they had. Dolan frowned as he continued:

"Project Reach was one of the latest incarnations of the project. At this time, it had moved from Camp Hero to a secret part of the CIA's 'Farm' facility, Camp Peary. The purpose of the project today, according to my sources, has very little to do with mind control, as much as to do with developing controllable elite soldiers. Less likely recruits, recruits with a criminal past, who would not be believed even if they remembered and told their story, were taken from the US Army, Marine Corps, Navy, even Air Force, and trained at the Farm, while being treated with various drugs that caused memory blackouts.

They were then used to carry out covert operations abroad, mainly in the field of retrieval of crashed UFO's. Because of the drugs administered they would not remember anything afterwards. It's also believed that these Reach soldiers were used to carry out assassinations of abductees, whistleblowers and others in the know, who were a liability to the cover-up. Even surviving extraterrestrials, from crashed saucers, on occasion." Dolan's eyes were locked like the eyes of a hawk, on Simmons, who killed his cigarette, and said, impatiently:

"Look, mate, if you're trying to suggest I'm part of some sort of CIA mind control project, then..."

"No." Dolan interrupted him. "Not anymore. You said you got kicked out of the Corps. Most likely, the severity of the action that caused it was enough for your handlers to cut you loose, or you'd risk exposing Project Reach. Not that you would remember anything, but people might question why you were having high amounts of LSD, or skolopomine, or any other drug used by Reach, in your blood at any time. And the people behind Project Reach didn't want questions asked..."

"That's a load of horseshit. Nobody controls my mind but me." Kyle muttered, but even as he said that, he lit another cigarette with unsteady hands. Dolan raised an eyebrow.

"No? Tell me, Mr Simmons, have you not had odd dreams lately, of medical examinations, drug administering, operating tables? Have you not had severe headaches lately when trying to remember the full extent of the dreams?" He shook his head. "I have no doubt that you too are a victim of abduction from the malevolent aliens I was talking about earlier. But I don't believe your nightmares can be acredited to them.

Project Reach treats its soldiers in a way that will allow them to bring out any such memories easily during a debriefing, for security reasons, yet keeps them firmly locked away for the subject until the project lead uses a 'key' to unlock the memories. A side-effect of this is that memory blocking walls caused by the project itself sometimes break down after many years, and memories begin to seep out in the form of nightmares."

"Bullshit." Kyle muttered.

"Not at all." Dolan mused. "Project Reach is today scrapped in favor of something else entirely. You could almost call its successor the military wing of the shadow government, because all governments need a military. However, many of its subjects still remain out there. When you have time over, perhaps you should search for them. Hypnosis, too, is a very useful method of breaking down memory walls. But enough of that for now. I suggest you keep it mind, in the future, however."

Kyle remained silent, pouring himself a glass of JD. Just as he drank it, the door opened, announcing the return of their friends.

[Enigma]

Tamara couldn’t move anything except her one good eye. Instead of her warm, lumpy mattress, she felt the cold chill of metal under her – a work table. One that could be easily rinsed off when they were done. They’d taken her again. A bright light was shining down on her, hiding the room in gloom, but she could see things moving in the shadows. They were waiting.

“Lássc, áthérg óúndr,” a strong, command voice said above her. The shadows boiled, and then the Others stepped out into the light. Many different creatures, in all sorts of shapes and sizes. Tamara frowned, her eye sweeping the crowd and the few details she could make out in the shadows. She couldn’t be sure – but did someone else steal her from her bed tonight? There was something funny about how the voice behind her was talking, like she could almost understand it somehow...?

“Óócl táén tíén, ídéóúsh réátúréc!” (Look at it, it’s hideous!)
“Tíén’s éfórmédd, úrélys?” (It’s deformed, surely?)
“Hátw áppénédh ótén tíéns églén?”(What happened to its leg?)
“Tíén óócsl émáléf, útbén hétén épródúctívér rgánsó réáén íssíngm!”(It looks female, but the reproductive organs are missing!)
“Hátw ódén hósét árcíngsm éánm nóén tíéns scín?”(What do those markings mean on its skin?)
“Óúyén éánm cárss?”(You mean scars?)
“Ónén, hétén ícóténgrámsp!”(No, the pictograms!)
“Fíén hátt síén úítéq nóúghé?” (If that is quite enough?) The strong voice interrupted. “Sáén óúyén áymén ávéh ótícédn, híst úbjécts síén ótnén ícél hétén htérsó éwén ávéh xámínédé. Híst néóén áshén xpéríéncédé évérés njúryí.” (As you may have noticed, this subject is not like the others we have examined. This one has experienced severe injury.)
“Hywén íddén héyt éávél tíén ícél híst?” (Why did they leave it like this?)
“Éáhy, hywén íddén héyt ótnén íllc tíén?"(Yeah, why didn’t they kill it?)
“Ónén, íén éánm hywén ávén ótnén héyt éplácédr hétén églén?”(No, I mean why haven’t they replaced the leg?)
“Híléw híst úbjécts síén rómf néóén fóén hétén órém évélópédd ócíétíéss nóén híst lánétp, héyt réáén tílls éryv rímítívép. Hétén bést héyt óúldc ódén síén ótén tráps nóén áén álséf ímbl ótén ívég híst réátúréc ómés émbláncés fóén órmálcyn.” (While this subject is from one of the more developed societies on this planet, they are still very primitive. The best they could do is to strap on a false limb to give this creature some semblance of normalcy.)
“óúldw ótnén tíén ávéh éénb éttérb ótén étlén tíén íédén hánt úfférs ícél híst fíén héyt óúldc ótnén ácém tíén hóléw?”(Wouldn’t it have been better to let it die than suffer like this if they could not make it whole?)
“Híst últúréc óésd ótnén élíévéb ósén.”(This culture does not believe so.)
“Hywén áshén tíén árcédm tsélfí íthw ólórsc?”(Why has it marked itself with colors?)
“Ómés fóén hémt ícél ótén árcm hémsélvést ícél híst, súállyú sáén áén ítér fóén ásságép ftérá áén réátg rdéáló. Réáén hérét nyáén théró úéstíónsq? Ónén? Hént étlén súén égínb. Écórdérr? Léásép cáns hétén úbjécts ndáén btáínó tíéns ágtén.”(Some of them like to mark themselves like this, usually as a rite of passage after a great ordeal. Are there any other questions? No? Then let us begin. Recorder? Please scan the subject and obtain its tag.)

“Ésyén írsén,”(Yes sir), a shape said, stepping closer into the light. It waved a ring over her, paused, and then did it again, sounding confused. “Írsén, íén ánnótc índf híst ágtén.” (Sir, I cannot find this tag.)
“Óúyén hérét, ívég tíén áén rytén.”(You there, give it a try.)
“Ésyén írsén!” (Yes sir!) another shape said, taking the ring from the first and waving it over her head again. And a fourth time. “Tíén’s ótnén órcíngw!”(It’s not working!)
“Hátw ódén óúyén éánm tíén’s ótnén órcíngw?”(What do you mean it’s not working?)The voice sounded angry. A hand, larger and more mottled with gray than any she’d seen before took the ring and held it over her head. “Cáyó, tíén áshén éádr hétén ódéc… Hátw? ‘Ótnén óúndf’? Ówhén áncén tíén ébén ‘ótnén óúndf’?”(Okay, it’s read the code… What? 'Not found'? How can it be 'not found'?)

"You will stop," instructed an angry familiar voice. The creatures standing around her turned in surprise, looking into the gloom. Cold chills filled Tamara’s being. Even after being kidnapped by some other creatures for whatever dark purposes they had, it had still found her…!

“Hátw síén híst? Óúyén réáén ntrúdíngí nóén áén nívérsítyú…”(What is this? You are intruding on a University…) blustered her captor.

“Híst síén ótnén néóén fóén óúry ággédt túdys réátúrésc,” (This is not one of your tagged study creatures) the new voice hissed. “Híst néóén élóngsb ótén émén, ndáén Íén máén ácíngt tíén áccb!” (This one belongs to me, and I am taking it back!)

[Sy23]

"Now, what was that name again?" whispered Q to himself, cudgeling his brain. "Like the old British money. Stirling, yeah? Julie Stirling. No, I remember, it wasn't quite that." He stood leaning against a hydrant for support. Since he'd been dumped by the Nordics, as he called them, he'd been living rough, eating whatever he could steal or beg, and thus hadn't had nearly enough sleep or nourishment. He badly needed a sugar hit of some kind, so he could think straight.

He'd picked up the name quite by chance, earlier in the day. He'd been hanging around a street market, in an attempt to keep body and soul together. A job would have been perfect, but no-one was hiring. Especially not a skinny kid with a British accent, and a wild, dazed look in his eyes. Then he'd tried begging, which was no more successful. The capitalist system, he was learning, especially here in its heartland, was not set up for compassion towards the less successful. He knew this would, eventually, lead to the system's destruction, for the Nordics had made it quite clear, but that was for the future, and now was now.

Now is always now.

Eventually, he tried stealing, and this was at least moderately fruitful. Literally, for most of his haul had been fruit. Apples, pears and other fruits are enough to provide healthy nourishment, but not to assuage hunger. He'd have killed for a loaf of fresh grain bread, and a hunk of good Wenslydale cheese - fuck, even the pallid squares they called "wonderbread" and flat, bright yellow synthetic stuff the Seppos* called cheese would have done!

But it had been between his attempts to beg and his foray into stealing that he'd overheard the conversation. He'd wandered into a Starbuck's, casually pocketing half eaten food that people had left on their plates and discreetly draining the dregs of coffee that people had left behind, and -

It's freaking amazing, man! Like these people, they got abducted by aliens. And examined, like they was animals or insects you'd pick up.

Aw, bullshit. That's outta sci-fi, man! Or those books by Whitney Houston or someone...

Whitley Streiber. An' it's true, I tell you. And that other guy, I bin lookin' at his youtube stuff an' his blog. Henry Deacon. Man, that stuff makes sense.

Aw, jus' some loonytunes fruitloop. I tell ya-

Nah, man. This stuff is for real, I tell ya. There's even a doctor or something, whass her name? Julia Serling! Practices in this very town, about three blocks from here. Get this - she specialists in treating people who've bin abducted by these Martians or whatever. Now, she wouldn't make no money, would she. if she didn' have patients come to her, yeah?

He'd listened carefully, memorized the name, and sneaked into an internet cafe - where he'd Googled the name, found the address of the surgery, consumed a coffee and a slice of cold pizza some other patron had left behind and sneaked out without paying for his computer time. By the time he'd finished, it was close to the end of the business day, and maybe she'd gone home. But he wasn't waiting till tomorrow - he had to make sense of what had happened to him.

It was round about five when he finally found the place. There was no receptionist - presumably she'd gone home. but he wondered if he could actually hear movement from inside the office of the psychiatrist or psychologist, or whatever she was (he'd never been sure of the difference)...

He took his courage in his hands and banged on the door. "Ms Serling? Julia Serling? Are you in there? Pleeeassse... I need help badly!"



*Seppo - Cockney rhyming slang. "Septic Tank = Yank"

[Gabriel Zero]

The car ride back to Julia Serlings place seemed twice as long, no one seemed to want to talk or engage in any kind of conversation. It was all happening too fast and this was the first time both John and Henry Deacon could digest the information that Richard Dolan provided. With all of this wondorus wonder injected into their world, their vison and scope of realitiy seemed to broaden toward new horizons. At the same time anything seemed possible, which made both of the men more then a little frightened. While he kept his eyes mostly focused on the road, his gaze wondered to the open sky on occasion. He half expected to see a flying saucer following their car, much to his relief and best of knowledge that never happened.

When they both finally arrived at Julia's place, Henry noticed that his friend Camille seemed to have dozed off. Friend? A strange unspoken bond between the two of them seemed to be there. Not to mention the fact that he had seen her face in a resurfaced memory that Juilia had pulled up during his hypnosis session. He still wasn't sure how much of his life had been spent being abducted by extraterrestials, but he didn't rule out the possibility that the two of them had been introduced during a abduction. He gently woke her up and smiled when she opened her eyes, he couldn't help but remember how emabarassed he was when he confessed to her the other night. Standing next to her now that memory seemed so far away.

He felt like a piece on a chess board that was being pushed into play by a higher force. Was this all a conincidence? His untimely meeting of fellow abductee Camille Lewis, abductee sympathizer Julia Serling, most strange of all the famous conspiracy book author Richard Dolan? Sure he had made a youtube channel and he has become popular, however he couldn't shake this feeling that the pieces seemed to be falling into "play" rather conveinently. After all it has been a little more then a couple of days since this all happened. His mom use to call this the "Law of Attraction", but when he got older he dismissed it as some new age mumbo jumbo. But what if she was right?

John walked ahead of them finally feeling sobered up, Henry and Camille were close behind. He had to wonder what she was thinking about all of this, he hadn't had the opportunity to tell her about Richard and the amazing psychic ability he displayed in front of him. Psychic abilities. Yet one more supernatural ability that he still hasn't got used to. A small part of him was frightened that this was all some cruel joke. That when he walked into Julia's living room John and the rest of them would yell "surprise" and reveal that this was all one big prank. Yet the things he has seen today reassured him that a prank of that magnitute wasn't very realistic.

"Hope we weren't interrupting anything." John said half bemused, when he walked in on tale end of a conversation between both Richard and Kyle. To be honest Henry wasn't sure what to make out of Kyle Simmons. Techinically Henry had kidnapped him while he was "incapacitated." If Kyle wanted he could probably sue him for everything he was worth, funny enough kidnapping wasn't the only thing he was probably guilty of in the last few days. Still Kyle seemed like he had a equally bizarre story to tell, he seemed to be much more then a alien abductee. Forgetting himself he forgot to introduce Camille, when Richard steped forward and gently shook her hand.

"Not at all." Richard laughed. "You must be the famous Camille Lewis I've heard so much about. I believe you have met my associate Julia Serling?" Richard's smile seemed friendly yet strangely ancient. As if it was a smile practiced among a civilization that was much older and wiser then humanity was. Camille simply nodded her head, Henry had to wonder if they were having a hidden telepathic conversation between the two of them. He would definitely have to ask her about it in private later. "I'm sorry to ask this of you, but all will be explained very shortly. I am just waiting for one more lost soul to arrive." Richard enigmatically said, his expression still light hearted and friendly then ever.

"Speaking of Julia, I believe that she has arrived." Kyle mumbled behind a glass of Jack Daniels. The five of them had heard a door slam from the opposite side of the house. Someone from the office side of Julia's home had entered in, leaving everyone waiting in anticipation. Both Henry and John thought it was weird for Julia to enter in through there, typically she entered in from the living room unless she had a client with her. For a brief second Henry was worried it was someone from the government, here to snuff out Richard and the rest of them for knowing too much. He could picture a swat team of Men In Black shooting them all before they could get the chance to fight back.

"Ms Serling? Julia Serling? Are you in there?" A voice called out from the receptionist area of Julia's home. Henry heard the side door knob turn slightly, when to his relief a young teenaged boy entered the room. The boy looked lost in more ways then one, but also his face expressed pain and fear. The kid looked like he was about to turn tail and run, obviously aware the Julia Serling wasn't in the room. Unexpectedly Richard was the first one to approach the boy,

"Hello young man. My name is Richard Dolan, I'm a partner and long time friend of Julia Serling." Richard had gracefully approached the kid, shaking his hand and somehow managing to keep the kid from running out of the house screaming. "You must of got her offices mixed up, she only uses this one on the weekends. However we can still help you if you like." The kid seemed to be let his guard down slightly when Richard motioned Camille to join the both of them. After all Camille was easy on the eyes, Henry had to wonder if Richard wasn't manipulating the situation slightly. From where he was standing he could hear Richard explaining to both Camille and the boy who he was and how he wanted to help.

"So what is the plan? " John mumbled to Kyle who was staring at the ceiling hopelessly. Henry had hoped that Richard had devulged his master plan to Kyle during his absence. Unfortunately by the look on Kyle's tired face, it seemed he knew as much as they did. Henry had already vowed that he would follow Richard, pratically jumping at the opportunity to join the resitance against the extraterrestials that ruined his life. Not being the victim meant taking action to move your life forward, being strong enough not to let the past keep you afraid. Despite what hardships may follow for the next couple of years, he knew he would lead the way if he had to, toward being someone lived for the future.

"The plan is to change the future." Henry found himself saying before he realized it.

[bluemoon]

Camille rubbed at her temples, her head reeling from too much drink, the overload of new faces and the intrusion inside her head. She had expected to arrive at Henry’s place, instead being awoken and led into another’s home with two strangers inside. The older of the two took her hand, his mouth saying one thing, but his voice inside her head saying another. Her reaction was a rapid blinking of her eyes, followed shortly by a nod, as she tried to wrap her thoughts around this new phenomenon. It amazed her how quickly her head cleared with his words, the lingering high from the drink disappearing with the unexpected trespass inside her mind. Despite the trepidation she felt, she had nodded, confirming both his verbal question and the one inside her head.

Mille was taking in her new surroundings when a loud bang, signaling a new arrival, surprised her. Standing next to Henry, she looked curiously from one man to another, some of the faces now familiar, yet others new. John and Richard had never been in her dreams, but the dark haired man on the couch was not a stranger. As he spoke, she felt a chill run up her spine, his voice bringing dark memories into the forefront of her head. She began to feel the familiar panic creeping in when Richard called to her to join him and a young man. She forced her expression to one of calm as she made her way over, her hands rubbing against the fabric of her pants as she walked.

Camille put on a reassuring smile. The young man looked haggard, much like the present company in the room behind her. It was obvious he was one of them…another abductee. Oddly, they were being brought together one by one. As Richard explained his place in all this, she began to grow suspicious of the older man. Perhaps it was all falling too neatly into place…first Julia, and now Richard, both of them outsiders. Mille pushed away the thought, reaching for the newcomers hand, hoping to bring him into the main room with the others. For some reason Mako’s face flashed in her thoughts, and she twitched slightly. Feeling self-conscious, her eyes turned to Richard, finding the man staring at her oddly.

[Enigma]

"Remember," the Voice whispered in her ear as everything was swallowed by darkness, "you belong to me!"

Tamara screamed and sat up, her hands reaching instinctively for a weapon - any weapon. She picked up her cell phone to throw it - but the aliens were gone. She was sitting upright in her recliner. The cell phone slipped out of her nerveless fingers, landing in her lap as she buried her face in her hands. Her body shuddered and heaved as she cried.


Ms. Peabody frowned after parking her car, staring sourly at the hotel. It was old and run down, but still open for business. She eyed suspiciously the men lounging on the stoop, then with the rattle of keys, opened the door and stepped out into the street.

The men eyed her back as she made sure her door was locked before walking around the front towards the steps. They moved to let her pass.

The lobby had cracked tiles and a man behind a railed counter. He was snoring under his paper. With a scowl, she slammed her palm down on the bell on the counter top. The snoring ceased immediately. After a moment, he plucked the paper off of his face and scowled at Ms. Peabody.
"Yeah? Whatacha want?"

"Tamara Bakhvalova. Has she left this morning?"
"Doubt it."
"And why is that?"
"Elevator's out," he smiled sourly.
"Really? When will it be repaired?"
"March?"
"I dare say she'll need down at some point!"
"So call the fire department! I don't fix elevators!"
Ms. Peabody let her lip curl with distain.
"A wreaking ball here would only be an improvement!"
"Yeah? You gonna let the cripple move in with you?" smirked the clerk. Sourly, Ms. Peabody spun on her toes and headed towards the stairs.

[Sy23]

Hello young man. My name is Richard Dolan, I'm a partner and long time friend of Julia Serling... You must of got her offices mixed up, she only uses this one on the weekends. However we can still help you if you like.

Q's first thought was to register Dolan's vice-like grip. For an older guy, he was certainly no weakling. In fact, if anything, he seemed too strong. having found himself suddenly dumped in a strange city, with a massive gap in his memory, Q wasn't prepared to trust just anybody. His search for Julia Serling had been a last resort - even if he'd found her (or if he did in the future) his personal jury was still out as to whether or not he'd trust her!

"Yeah, thanks, Mr Dolan. I'd like that," he replied, picking the nervousness in his own voice. He tried to force it half-an-octave deeper. His Cockney accent stood out in this urbane gathering like a British cold pork pie in a shop full of Rib-roasts and McDonald's burgers! "I dunno how you could help but - well, like, I'll try just about anyfink, I reckon."

He looked as Richard Dolan beckoned another person over. At first, he thought this might be the Julia Serling he sought, but a quick consideration soon made him think otherwise. Even given that American professional dress was less conservative than the British version, it was highly doubtful that this woman was some sober trick-cyclist! And then, as he took in her appearance, minute speculations pushed anything else out of his mind.

This woman was - not to put to fine a point on it - f*cking hot!!

The woman - whose name was Camille Lewis - bore her Goth persona with both dignity and (if one stretched the word to include the slightly outre,) charm! Her white make-up emphasized her high cheek-bones and tightly-knit face, her pale-blue eyes, and the black hair, worn in a series of ragged bangs a with a long plait hanging down in front as if to draw the eye to her breasts were further traits that pushed her into the realm of a goddess! Q desperately hoped that no-one would notice the bulge in his now ragged jeans, as he took her hand, noting the black-painted nails in passing.

He'd gone through much, lately, without having to steel his resolve any further. Q had always had a taste for older women, anyway, and this kick-ass, confident babe shot to the top of his mental high-score list, deposing his English teacher, Miss Traves-Brighton back down into a distant second. It was all he could do not to force himself to stare down her black tank-top, and return some meaningless platitude in response to her greeting.

Well, if the question was one of whom to trust, here it was answered. Miss Camille Lewis was, he realized objectively, no more a likely recipient than any other. But if he had to be lured off into some dark alley where unspeakable acts were performed upon him, if he were to be used and abused, if this group did have some dark plan for him... he might as well fix things to give himself some element of enjoyment while it lasted.

He was shorn of guidance now - he was on his own. No help from the blonds. Just a silence. Time he started making his own decisions.

He made eye-contact in what he hoped was a casual, sophisticated way. He had a desperate urge to touch the ring she wore in her black lips, an almost irresistible longing to solicitously straighten the black tendrils of hanging hair. He contented himself instead with a shy smile.