The Others

                He approached her at the party with only one thing on his mind. She had seen him eyeing her all night, so he knew this needed to be handled delicately. Social graces were something he was not known for.

                Shit.

                She turned to face a new subject just as he was at a range where eye-contact was acceptable. She wasn’t playing any games tonight.

                He reached out a shaky hand and tapped her on the shoulder. The girl she was talking to was facing him. She gave him a look out of the side of her eye that said “Go away, creep.” It was as clear as anything he had ever heard.

                Sorry, he thought, I’m not going away.

                The girl turned her head, but not her body. She looked him shoes to stubble. When she finally gave in to meeting his eyes, she rolled her own and then turned her head back around with a laugh as if the girl she had been facing said something funny only moments before.

                Why won’t she talk to me, he wondered.

                He had carried the weight of the universe on his shoulders for 4 months, now. He had watched his back when walking to his car. He had set up security cameras in all corners inside and outside of his house. He tried therapy, but that only lead to 2 weeks in a psychiatric ward under civil commitment. When he got out, he began searching for her. If there was anyone he could talk to, it would be her.

                The risk was everything, but the reward was more. He just needed one moment of sanity to get him back on track. Clearly, she did not need the same.

                She was hard to find. He only knew her first name, but they were taken from the same location, so he knew she was in the area. He had gone every day since to that same spot from 4 months before. Eventually, she showed up, too. It was too tempting not to, and he knew that. He had followed her for a few days until he found himself at this party. He knew she couldn’t make a scene, here, so he entered the building like he was right where he belonged.

                He had theories about what she was capable of, now. He had tried to call for her during the few times their cars were only feet away. Either she didn’t hear, or she ignored him.

                He sat on the couch that her friend had been leaning on. He nursed a beer while pretending to watch the 90s music video playing on the television. Who were these people?

                He called out to her. He screamed to her. He told her he needed help. He told her they could be a force if they did this together. He told her that he had a safe place to stay, and that this time, he would have video, so even if they went missing, people would know what had happened.

                She didn’t respond.

                ANSWER ME!

                He sat quietly for a moment as the party-goers filtered in and out of the living room. From behind the couch, he heard her—or was it her friend?—say, “They’re here.”

                This was the first time he had heard something so clear come out of their conversation. That seemed odd because he knew they had been talking the whole time, their words were just drowned out by the music and chatter, that is, until right now.

                Was she doing it? Was she trying to warn him?

                Before he could make sense of the moment, he heard it again, only louder, “Right here, they’re right here.”

                He turned sharply to face her, but she was gone. How could that be? He had heard her, right? Did this mean they could communicate at larger distances?

                He stood up slowly with a growing smile. This was it. This was what he had been waiting for.

                As he scanned the room once more in search of her, he saw the lights.

                No. Please, no. I won’t do it again, I promise. He thought. Where is she? Did they take her, too? Was this his fault? He had only wanted someone to talk to.

                Please, don’t.

                In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

                The girl returned from the bathroom. The friend she had been talking to by the couch was gone, as well as the man who had been trying to communicate with her all night. When she asked another party-goer about the girl by the couch, he said, “You’ve been standing at that couch alone for 45 minutes. We’ve all been watching you and wondering what you were doing.”

                She giggled and swayed on her feet before slurring something about having had too much to drink. Even just faking it made her feel embarrassed for all of the moments in college when she really did behave like that.

                She glanced back at the couch and tried to remember her interactions with the girl. Did she handle the man’s touch properly? Did she say anything too suspicious?

                She wished she could have warned that sweet man not to reach out. He had been talking to her for weeks. She had written down his every thought in a diary. He was Taken #43 to her. Some of the taken were odd, or creepy, or downright awful, but this man was genuine. He thought of his dog’s well being, he took notice of the neighbor lady’s flower bushes. He thought of everyone. He was one she was going to miss. If only he had known that they were everywhere. Half or more of this party were made of them, and the other half were made of her.

                She felt terribly that he felt so alone in the end. If he could have just stuck around long enough, or listened a little bit closer, he would have understood what she did; She knew that survival didn’t mean banding together with their kind. Those days were over. Survival in this new world meant either being one of The Others or blending in just well enough that no one could tell the difference.