Page 52 of Reluctantly Abducted
Owen is gone, following the protocol we both agreed to. I should find comfort in that certainty, in the return to order and procedure.
Instead, I feel only absence, a persistent void that no amount of scientific data can explain away.
I look up at the stars, wondering which distant point of light marks Earth's sun. Wondering if, perhaps, at this same moment, Owen might be looking up at the night sky too.
"Maybe in another life," I whisper, echoing his last words before the transport took him away.
Then I turn and walk toward my empty dwelling, the sound of the sea following me like a reminder of all I've lost.
Chapter Fifteen
Owen
Sleep isn't coming tonight.
I've been back on Earth for two days, and I haven't slept more than a few restless hours. My body is exhausted, but my mind refuses to shut down. Every time I close my eyes, I see blue skin glowing with emotion. I hear a precise voice explaining alien atmospheric composition. I feel cool fingers brushing against mine.
After three hours of staring at my ceiling, I give up. The digital clock reads 2:17 AM. I pull on jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket, then slip my feet into running shoes. No destination in mind, just a need to move.
The night air is cool against my face as I step outside my apartment building. The city is quieter at this hour, though never truly silent. A few cars pass. Someone laughs too loudly down the block. A distant siren wails and fades.
I walk without conscious direction, hands shoved in my pockets. My right hand closes around the small vial of alien gemstones, my only tangible proof that the past week wasn't some elaborate hallucination. I've taken to carrying it everywhere, a habit I don't examine too closely.
My feet carry me toward the park six blocks from my apartment, a small patch of manufactured nature in the urban landscape. During the day, it's filled with children on the playground, people walking dogs, teenagers skateboarding. At this hour, it's empty except for the occasional restless soul like me.
I find myself at the park's highest point, a small hill that offers slightly less obstructed views of the night sky. Light pollution from the city washes out most of the stars, but a fewof the brightest push through. I lie back on the damp grass, ignoring the chill seeping through my jacket, and stare upward.
Somewhere up there is Ry'eth's home. One star among millions, indistinguishable to my human eyes. I wonder if he can see our sun from his world. If he ever looks up and thinks about the human who spent three days on his ship.
Probably not. He's likely already back to his environmental work, analyzing data, writing reports. Moving on with his life as if I were just another variable in his assessment.
That's what I should be doing too. Moving on. Getting back to normal.
Except "normal" doesn't feel normal anymore. Everything is exactly as it was before I was abducted, but nothing feels the same. My apartment is too quiet. My job search is uninspiring. The future I was trying to build feels hollow now, like I'm going through motions I no longer believe in.
"You alright, man?"
The voice startles me. I sit up quickly, combat reflexes kicking in before I register the source, a young guy walking his dog, a small terrier straining at its leash.
"Yeah," I reply automatically. "Just looking at the stars."
He glances up, then back at me with a shrug. "Not much to see with all the city lights."
"No," I agree. "Not much."
He continues on his way, the dog yapping at something in the bushes. I watch them go, struck by the strange disconnect of the interaction. Small talk with a stranger about the visibility of stars, when three days ago I was literally among them.
I pull out the vial of gemstones, holding it up against the night sky. The stones catch what little light there is, glinting with colors too vibrant for Earth, blues deeper than sapphires, greens more alive than emeralds, and something like fire captured incrystal. Practically worthless on Ry'eth's world. Priceless to me now, for reasons that have nothing to do with their market value.
I think about what I would do if I could go back. Would I have tried harder to understand the strange connection forming between us? Would I have asked more questions about his world? Would I have kissed him sooner, held him longer, memorized more details of his face, his voice, his touch?
It doesn't matter. There's no going back. No way to contact him. No way to even know where in the vast universe his planet exists. The aliens have the technology, the knowledge, the power. I'm just a human who was briefly assessed and returned, like a library book that's served its purpose.
A cold breeze picks up, sending a shiver through me. My stomach growls, reminding me that I skipped dinner earlier. Food hasn't interested me much since I got back, but my body has its own demands.
I push myself up from the grass and head back toward the streets. The neighborhood around the park is mostly residential, but a few blocks over there's a 24-hour diner I've passed occasionally but never entered. Tonight, the neon "OPEN" sign in the window seems like as good an invitation as any.
The bell above the door jingles as I enter. The place is nearly empty, just a middle-aged waitress behind the counter, a trucker-type hunched over coffee at the far end, and two college students sharing a plate of fries in a corner booth, textbooks spread around them.
