Page 47 of Reluctantly Abducted
"Ry," I start, not even sure what I'm going to say.
"Goodbye, Owen," he says formally, cutting me off. His voice is steady, but his eyes tell a different story. "Thank you for your participation in the assessment."
The clinical words feel like a slap after everything we've shared, but I understand. This is easier for him. Protocol gives him something to hide behind when emotions become too much to bear. I've done the same thing countless times in the field, fallen back on medical terminology and military procedure when the human reality became overwhelming.
"Goodbye, Ry'eth," I reply, deliberately using his full name one last time. "Thank you for... everything."
He steps toward the control panel, his movements stiff and precise. "Transport initiating in thirty seconds. Please remain still on the platform."
A humming begins around me, rising in pitch and intensity. Lights start to rotate around the platform, creating a disorienting pattern.
Twenty seconds.
Ry takes a single step toward me, then stops himself. His hands are clenched at his sides, his entire body rigid with restraint.
"Maybe in another life," I say, my voice barely audible over the building hum of the machinery.
Ten seconds.
"Owen," he says, taking another step forward. "I—"
The humming reaches a crescendo. Light surrounds me, bright enough to blind. I try to hear what Ry is saying, but the sound of the transport drowns out his words.
Five seconds.
I keep my eyes on him until the very last moment, trying to memorize every detail. The last thing I see is the brilliant flare of light beneath his skin, a luminescent goodbye more eloquent than words.
One second.
And then nothing.
The world dissolves around me, reality stretching and compressing in impossible ways. For a timeless moment, I exist everywhere and nowhere, my consciousness scattered across an incomprehensible distance.
Then, sudden solidity. The hard floor of my apartment beneath my feet. The familiar smell of my home. The sound of a car alarm somewhere on the street below.
I'm back. Exactly where I was three days ago. Exactly as I was, wearing nothing but my underwear in the middle of my living room.
Except I'm not the same at all.
I stand there, disoriented by the abrupt transition, my ears still ringing with the sound of the transport. My body feels heavy, weighted by Earth's gravity after days in the ship's lighter pull. My lungs struggle slightly with the difference in air composition. These physical adjustments are jarring, but they're nothing compared to the emotional whiplash.
My fingers reach automatically for a blue-skinned wrist that isn't there. My eyes search for a bioluminescent glow in a room lit only by ordinary lamps. My ears strain for the gentle hum of the ship's systems, hearing only the mundane sounds of my apartment building instead.
Three days with an alien. Three days that somehow carved deeper channels into my soul than my entire fifteen-month marriage. My ex-wife and I shared a home, a bed, a life, and when it ended, I walked away bruised but fundamentally unchanged. Three days with Ry'eth, and I feel like I've left part of myself behind on that ship.
How is that possible? How could seventy-two hours with someone not even human reshape me so completely?
In the military, we trained for extreme situations. Physical endurance, psychological pressure, moral complexity, I thought I understood what it meant to be changed by experience. I've held dying men together with nothing but gauze and determination. I've made impossible choices in moments that stretched into eternity. I thought I knew what intensity was.
I had no idea.
There's something almost ridiculous about it. If I told anyone, my former commanding officer, my ex-wife, even my therapist, they'd think I'd lost my mind. Three days with an alien scientist and suddenly I'm what? Pining like a teenager? Questioning everything I thought I knew about connection?
But it's real. As real as the phantom sensation of cool blue skin against mine. As real as the memory of bioluminescent patterns pulsing in response to my touch. As real as the taste of his lips that lingers even now.
"Fuck," I whisper to the empty apartment, running a hand through my hair. "What the hell just happened to me?"
I walk to the window and look up at the night sky. Somewhere up there, a ship is already moving away from Earth's orbit. Somewhere up there, an alien environmental specialist is probably filing his final report, documenting the successful completion of the assessment protocol.
