Chapter 14 #2
I snorted and let my arm fall back to the mattress, rubbing at my bruised bicep. Discolorations and scrapes dotted my whole body. I sure looked like I’d survived an explosion.
Biting my lip, I raised my right palm, eyeing it. All the way down to the scars.
The media had already sunk their teeth into the university’s explanation. I’d received the official text and email earlier: Finke Hall was closed until further notice due to damage and investigation. Faulty wiring. Solar flare malfunction. Yada yada.
At least they weren’t blaming me.
I shook my head and stretched my arms overhead, careful of the deep purple, finger-shaped smudges. My spine popped, one vertebra at a time.
I’d crashed hard. The last thing I remembered was inhaling the last pizza slice and face-planting on the pillows.
I pushed the rainbow-colored quilt aside and stood, tugging my baggy sleeping shirt back into place. The room tilted for a second. Maybe finishing off the rest of that wine had been a poor life choice. I waited for the spin to pass, one hand braced against the wall, the other on my roiling stomach.
When the tossing subsided, I padded into the bathroom, used it, then leaned over the sink and stared at my reflection in the mirror.
The bruise on my upper arm looked even worse in this light, a violent bloom of purple and blue. When it threatened to twist up my guts again, I focused on my face instead. My hair was a disaster, but the dark circles under my eyes had faded.
Too bad those marks on my hand hadn’t followed suit.
Steeling myself, I raised my palm again. Under the yellow glow of the bathroom’s bulbs, the lines were faint. Barely visible, the palest curves and dots. Subtle enough, I wouldn’t have seen them at all if I hadn’t known where to look.
Filigree. Etched into my skin. Graceful and artistic and…totally not as scar-like as I’d like.
Angling my palm to better see the intricate design, I made my way down the hallway for a drink of water to soothe my dry throat. Those lines flowed in delicate swirls and angles, like decorations seared into my skin. Like something…deliberate.
A lot of the internet accounts I’d read talked about marks left behind from alien encounters. Marks on victims. Symbols or implants, unfortunate souvenirs of abductions, some claimed. But I hadn’t been abducted.
Had I?
My blood chilled, and I exhaled slowly. Shakily. The white light had knocked me out—and I’d woken up in a different place.
Maybe I had taken a spaceship ride somewhere. If I had, it’d been a short one. Not much time had passed between my descent into the basement and being found by the EMTs and police. I pursed my lips. Strange that they’d taken my book bag for a ride, too.
The thought, while eerie enough to make my belly jump, didn’t send me into another tailspin of panic. So that was something. Maybe binging every single alien encounter forum thread I could find had actually worked to desensitize me.
All jokes aside, my head-first dive into conspiracy-land had done something. It’d helped. Just knowing I wasn’t alone made a difference, and the curiosity I’d been keeping at bay was slinking back in. I needed to know more.
I wanted answers to the lingering questions: who, what, and why. And, as a bonus, how.
There had to be a logical explanation. Something that made sense. And I was going to find it.
I patted down my frizzing hair. If I wasn’t careful, this could easily become an obsession.
Both Mom and Amelia said when I got hooked on something, I went all in.
I needed to understand and conquer it before I could let it go.
That was why anthropology had always made sense.
It was, in a way, a career about decoding the biggest questions surrounding human existence.
This was no different. Except this time, I’d be digging for answers about life beyond the human existence.
The floor was cool under my bare feet as I crossed into the kitchen. A breeze from the HVAC vent stirred against my nape, and goosebumps swept down my arms. It smelled like night wind.
It reminded me of Sky, strangely enough.
I snorted. At least all this insanity had cut back on my daily quota of bartender daydreams. I curled my fingers over my marked palm and skirted the counter-height bar that passed as a kitchen table, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.
After twisting off the cap, I took a long drink and leaned against the stove.
What would he think about all of this? He’d been tense and oddly curious at the scene of the accident and later at Oasis. Like he’d known I wasn’t telling the full story.
Like he hadn’t believed I’d seen nothing.
Maybe he’d seen the lights, too. Plenty of people had. Maybe he’d been following one and that was how he’d ended up in the middle of nowhere the night I nearly became his hood ornament.
Maybe, like me, he’d been too afraid I’d think he was crazy.
I breathed a hoarse laugh. That couldn’t be it. Sky wouldn’t care what I thought. But maybe he didn’t want to end up the subject of some Oasis gossip group text.
RE: The Hot Bartender Who Believes in Little Green Men.
My smirk faded as I studied the ugly bruise on my arm. No, not little green men.
Vicious, nightmare-machine aliens.
Still, Sky’s opinion didn’t matter. I was done spiraling. I’d go out with Amelia. I’d even tackle midterms next week.
But I wasn’t done. I was going to get to the bottom of this.
These alien visitors and their infiltration had just become my new hobby.