Alien Deception (3 page)

His hand reached out and touched one of the tables. Its cool, hard surface felt just like it should, confirming its physical existence. This surprised him. He tried to remember if he ever had a dream where he actually was able to perceive everything around him as if he were wide-awake. He didn't think so. He touched himself and felt the pressure of his own warm hand on his arm.
How the heck can this be? What is…

A strange feeling of electricity in the air interrupted his thoughts. He could almost feel his hair strands beginning to stretch upward, there was so much static in the air of this place. Something was going to happen. He wasn't sure how he knew that, but it was the only thing he was sure about at the moment. He also felt that he didn't need to be nervous or scared; whatever was going to happen was going to be a "good" thing.

Suddenly, a crowd materialized around him. The people were all dressed in period clothing of the Forties. Greg began to walk toward them; perhaps he could learn something and possibly end whatever it was that was happening. He hesitated as he noticed that most of the people who had materialized were gorgeous and seductive looking women. At that point, he virtually lost control of what he was doing as his mind blended into some kind of scripted event, as he consciously remained a casual observer to the play.

A thought formed in his mind with such clarity and certainty causing him to blurt out, "They're all here for me." His body shivered at the mere thought of all these women. "Of course, that's it. Why else would I be here?"

He felt as if his body no longer belonged to him as it strutted across the floor in his fashionable clothes, the baggy pants billowing with each step; his tight-fitting shirt accentuated his one-hundred-sixty-pound muscular, five-foot, eight-inch body. His dark hair, every strand perfectly in place, shimmered in the light and added a golden aura to the dream-like quality of this experience. He almost felt embarrassed by the thoughts and words coming from his mind and mouth. Yet there was this uncanny attraction that seemed to grow as the dream went on.

The crowd parted magically as he walked through their midst. They appeared to glow and shimmer as he neared them, like ghosts drifting between points of solid and gaseous states. They came from all around just to shake his hand. He felt the warm touch of flesh against his palm. But something told him, or somehow he knew, that these glancing touches were just empty shells of air, and this only seemed to reaffirm that there was somebody else here that he had to meet. Someone very special and he was meant only for her, not any of these others.

A gorgeous and voluptuous blond-haired woman stepped up to greet him.

"Hi, Greg. Remember me? I'm Karen. I bought you a drink once." Her voice was so high, it almost sounded like a squeak. She placed her hands lightly on his shoulders as she moved closer, her face only inches away from his. He could smell the too-sweet perfume that radiated from her.

"You were so kind, you…spoke to me," she said breathlessly. "Remember? I gave you my chair and you said, 'thank you.'"

"I'm sorry, but no, I don't remember you," he said apologetically, yet his voice hinted of a new-found arrogance as he stepped away from her hands and her warm grip, his own actions again surprising him. Although his body moved around her, his eyes remained fixated on her loveliness, chest high.

"Oh, thank you! You are just too kind!" she said, nearly in a swoon, as he brushed past her. She stared down at her hands as if this mere touch had made them golden. She turned them over and over, and then hugged them to her body in ecstasy, pushing her breasts to the brink of expulsion from her clothing. He continued to walk on, shaking hands with everyone, not having a clue who any of them were.

A spotlight appeared from somewhere out in the darkness and encompassed a sole woman who sat at the bar. She appeared to pose there, her back to him. In this view, he could catch glimpses of her carefully taking tiny sips of her drink. He immediately stopped and gazed in awe at this woman.
She is the one,
he thought
. She is the one that I knew would be here.

She wore a simple black evening dress that flowed over her body, accentuating her curves in all the right places. As he studied those curves with intent interest, he felt goose bumps suddenly arise all over his body. He stared at her hair that shimmered like black silk hanging past her shoulders, wanting so much to touch those strands of black loveliness before they disappeared into the darkness outside of the spotlight.

He squared his shoulders and stepped up to where she sat on the barstool, a ravishing sight. He knew why she was here. She was waiting just for him, nobody else, just him. He had never felt so sure about anything in his entire life. As he reached her barstool, the room fell eerily quiet.

He gently placed his hand at the base of her barstool, noticing even more how the black dress clung to her body. He inhaled deeply and let her perfume tantalize and tease his senses. It affected him like one who is addicted to a drug and has just found a bountiful quantity. He had to have more, and more. His head became giddy as his mind searched for the perfect words that would entice this woman to be his. Words that would make her simply melt into his arms. He felt no control as his smoothest voice spoke warmly and seductively to her. "You look like you're waiting for someone. Someone like me. Well, I'm here now. You and I have a destiny to fulfill. We will go to the stars together and experience things that others have only dreamt about."

The woman slowly began to turn toward him. Time felt as if it stood still as he watched her face slowly rotate toward his plane of view. Then, suddenly, without even the slightest hint or warning, her face disappeared and was replaced with darkness.

He screamed, "No! No! I must see your face!"

But the darkness kept coming and he knew it would keep him from her, his woman. As he plummeted into the darkness, he screamed again.

****

"Damn it, that hurt!" Greg shouted, as the box of files he was reaching for fell from the shelf, glancing off the side of his head. He held onto the ladder with one hand as he rubbed the spot on his head with his other hand as the box continued its gravitational trip, ending with a resounding w-r-u-m-p as it hit the floor.

"Damn it!" he shouted again, but the pain was not as bad as the disappointment he was feeling at not seeing the face of the woman in his recurring dream. This time he had gotten closer than ever before to actually seeing what she looked like.

As far as the box taking a whack at his head, he knew he had no one to blame but himself. This incessant daydreaming he was experiencing was getting worse. At first, it had just happened when he was sleeping, but now it was taking over even his conscious moments. Not that he minded about the women, or really just "the woman," in the dream. But that box weighed a good fifty pounds and, with the height and speed, it could have caused some serious damage, possibly even killed him, if it sent him hurtling off the ladder to the hard cement floor.

Well, what's done is done,
he figured, as he continued to rub the knot on his head for a few seconds. Finally composed, he climbed down the ladder. When he reached the bottom, he noticed the time on his watch, and was relieved that it was time to call it a day.
This is a good thing,
he thought.
Especially with the way things have been going lately.
Who would have thought that working in a Naval Reserve Records Center in New Orleans would be such hazardous duty. But it wasn't like this usually. Only recently had the bizarre near accidents been occurring. In fact, it was a strange coincidence how his clumsiness appeared to be getting worse as the dreams became more intense and frequent. This was something that required serious thought over a beer as soon as he got out of here.

He hurriedly made his way to the time clock, probably the quickest thing he had done all day. As he stood before the almighty guardian of time and money, he became fixated on the archaic time machine and the manila punch cards all arranged neatly in their little slots. He had never realized how he was just one cardboard slip of paper among the many, with nothing special about it, no individuality.

"I need a change before I become lost in the pile. I'm meant for greater things or, at least, something other then this," he said out loud, catching a few stares from other workers waiting impatiently to punch out as the last stroke of the clock indicated the exact hour. He removed his card and let the mechanical teeth bite into it. He winced at the solid thump of the machine as if it had done bodily harm to him, then quickly placed his card back amidst the myriad of others, and headed for the elevators. He punched the "down" button of the old elevator, and waited for its steely doors to open. He jiggled his car keys in his hand as he waited impatiently, still seeing the herd of uniform manila time cards in the back of his mind. "Just lost in the crowd," he muttered, as his thoughts drifted back to the dream, where he was an individual who garnered attention and who obviously had some self worth. Still, it was very strange. Why was he having these dreams, these images of going to a bar to meet a woman? Why was she so important?

The chime sounded and the doors of the elevator slowly opened. As he automatically stepped forward, he suddenly dropped his keys, and bent to pick them up. As he grabbed them, he instinctively looked forward and felt his heart jump in his chest. Instead of staring into what should have been the elevator floor at this angle, all he saw was the darkness of the elevator shaft.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed, as he continued to peer into the empty elevator shaft. He moved forward a step and gazed in; it was a straight shot down the dark abyss. He would have been killed if he hadn't dropped the keys and stopped to pick them up.

People began to huddle around trying to see what was happening, the infamous disaster rubber-neckers. The corny jokes were already starting to flow.

"I guess you have to understand the
gravity
of the situation," someone sniggered, shortly followed by another. "You could really have gotten
the shaft
there, fella.” “
Oops
is forever," a man said, elbowing him to indicate that it was all in good humor. Greg had to admit he didn't see anything amusing about what had almost happened.

Finally an overweight, dreary-eyed security guard slowly sauntered over to the rapidly forming crowd and, having conducted a thorough investigation by looking down the shaft and determining that there really was a problem, he sealed off the elevator shaft with yellow caution tape.

The guard turned to him and said, in a cigarette-harsh voice, "Good thing you looked in there before you walked on, cause that would have been a good seventy-five foot drop. Your butt would have been
New Orleans Gumbo
after that fall."

Greg laughed politely with the guard, although he didn't see the same humor in the situation. He muttered agreement with the guard's assessment and thought it might be a good idea to maybe take the stairs down instead of waiting for another elevator. As he proceeded down the steps nervously, the earlier thought returned to him about all these "almost accidents" that he was having. This made him feel extremely conscious of possibly falling down the stairs, so he cautiously trod down each step, one at a time, slowly, just to be safe. He did not subscribe to the old expression that when it's your time, it's your time. His life might not be very exciting at this stage of the game, but it was still a life, and he wasn't in any hurry to see it end.

Nearing the door that led to the parking lot, thinking he was safely almost out of the building, he nearly tripped over a suddenly untied shoelace. He shook his head and bent down to tie it, nervously laughing and wondering if that could have caused another mishap.

Suddenly, there was a loud crashing noise. His head snapped toward the sound. The door that led to the parking lot had swung open violently, without warning. It looked like the mechanism that held it in place had broken, causing it to smash into the adjoining wall with such force that a piece of cinder block had chipped off and a severe crack appeared in the remaining block. If he had not stopped to tie his shoe, he would probably have caught the full effect of the crashing door.
Deja vu?

"Jesus!" he cursed under his breath, as the realization hit him. "What the hell is going on around here? This place is falling apart at the seams!"

He cautiously stepped around the door, still shaken, and moved rather quickly to the safety of the outdoor parking area. Out in the sunlight, he stood and let the warmth soak into him; it seemed to help him regain some of his composure. He started to walk slowly, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine of April, knowing that the weather would soon turn into the usual unbearable heat and humidity so typical of the New Orleans area.

Finally feeling somewhat relaxed, he let his thoughts wander aimlessly, trying to find something else to focus on other than the near-mishaps. This usually worked for him because when he dove into his thoughts, he might be looking directly at someone as if he was listening to what they were saying, but his mind would be centered on some other plane out in space. He closed his eyes momentarily, as was customary in the calming process, and then opened them.

To his shock and surprise, he was back in the 1940s-era bar again, standing next to the woman at the bar. The spotlight he remembered earlier was now bathing them both in a bright white light and slowly moving. She was still looking away from him, her face hidden from his view. But the rest of her was there, in the wonderful shape and form he remembered. As he tried to think of something to say, her mysterious voice reached out to him.

"Tell me about yourself," she said, her voice warm and inviting. "Tell me about your life."

Greg knew full well that he had been standing in the parking lot a few seconds ago, but he could see none of it now; only this place and this gorgeous woman. He struggled with what or which reality he was in, but as earlier, a sense of calm settled over him, and he felt so relaxed that he didn't want to be anywhere else at the moment.