Tagged: Short Story

Chapter Five

                                                          

Only Chris went with me to the bar he’d suggested. Most of the team was needed to hunt the degenerates that had attacked me. Prisha had taken me aside and asked if I needed her or Katie to come, too, and I shook my head. “Thank you, though,” I said. 

Chris drove into an area that could loosely be called the city’s night district. Once he parked, we only had to walk a couple blocks, but suddenly the expanse of dim sidewalk was overwhelming. I climbed out of the car and froze while holding open the door. 

Chris walked around to my side of the car as I kept staring out at the dark street. We weren’t really that far from where my attack had occurred. 

“Look at me,” he said gently.

My eyes flicked to his, but the rest of me couldn’t move. 

He held out his hand and said, “Take my hand. Walk with me.”

I did, letting his warm hand guide me down the street. The walk was a little shorter and slightly less terrifying that way, and I could eventually let go of him. 

It was the first time he took me to Wiley’s.

“How is a bar still serving at three-thirty in the morning?” I asked.

“Well, the thing is,” he said, leading us toward the outdoor bar, “I’m not exactly sure. I have a feeling that the people who own this place, and the people who come here, are all kind of like us.”
“They see degenerates too?” I whispered.

He grinned. “No. More like, they’re seeing stuff other people don’t. Everyone is kind of evasive when you talk to them, but I think we all know we’re—”

“Ghostbusters,” I finished seriously, then laughed at his expression. It was nice that I could joke already. It was definitely Chris’s doing. Anyone else could have made the entire night even more awkward and awful than it already was, but being around him was comforting.

My suspicions about the legality of serving in the earliest hours of the morning were confirmed when we were offered a menu that had only two types of beer and one cocktail on it, but it didn’t really matter, because the cocktail was sweet. I settled into a couch with Chris. He had a habit of making long eye contact when he spoke to me, which was flattering.

Except then I remembered the glowing white patches in the scan of my brain, and started shivering. I zipped my jacket and then drank half the cocktail.

“You’ve had a long night,” Chris said. “I know you don’t know me, but we can go back to your apartment and I can just sit on your couch?”

“It’s okay.” I muttered, “I’m never going to be able to sleep again anyway.”

He grimaced. “When I started seeing them, I got insomnia for a while.”

“Great,” I replied, stirring my drink. “How did you get over it?”

“Fighting back,” he said. 

And that was the first but not the last time I thought, I’m not strong enough to be part of this team. I don’t want to fight back. I don’t even want to know that’s an option.

He must have seen my thoughts in my expression, because he added, “Not at first. It takes a while. You’ll get there.”

“What if I don’t want to get there?” I whispered. “What if I just want to go back to before tonight?”

He sipped his drink, let us sit quietly for a few moments, listening to the mostly calm conversations around us. Eventually he said, “There might be a way, actually.”

“Get black-out drunk so I forget tonight ever happened?”

He laughed. “No. I’m working on this project that might help.”

“Good. Because there’s no way I can be a part of your team.”

#

But now, in the MRI for a second time, I think, maybe I can. Maybe I am strong enough, if I have other strong people around me. If I have Chris and I’m not alone with my secret. It was selfish of me last time not to give my decision a little more time—to give Chris more time.

The team is nearly silent while I’m in the machine. Prickles roll up my spine, and a rock drops in my stomach. Surely somebody should have something by now? Unless they’ve suddenly decided on a more professional protocol, which seems unlikely, as we are, yet again, not supposed to be using the fancy equipment.

When they pull me out, Chris helps me stand. “We’ve decided we better go get a drink to discuss the results.”

“That sounds… bad,” I say cautiously.

“It’s not terrible. But a drink will help.”

“Won’t it be kind of public if I have a meltdown?”

He smiles. “It will and it won’t be. You know the place.”

It’s still early enough in the night that Wiley’s isn’t too crowded, and our group—Chris, Prisha, Mateo, Katie, and me—find a cozy corner with two loveseats.

Chris starts, “So, there’s pretty amazing news, and then there’s—”

“Bad news,” I interrupt, nodding. “I figured it was bad if you thought I needed this,” holding up my cocktail.

“Weird news,” he finishes, ignoring me. “You remember the damage in your brain?”

“Yeah, the damage that is giving me a permanent, nonreversible degenerative brain disease? I remember,” I say, sipping my drink.

“It’s still there,” he says.

“Great,” I say.

“But,” he continues, exasperated, “some of it has healed.”

I choke.

Chris takes a deep breath and says, “It’s stunning, actually.” He nods at Mateo.

Mateo says, “What we can best theorize is that deactivating the memories of the degenerates healed some of the injury. Not all of it, but a significant percentage.”

I manage to stop gaping. “So you guys are magic.”

“Not magic,” Prisha says.

“The neural pathways the degenerates use to consume memories overlap with what we think may be the location of your memories of them,” Mateo says.

“This is news to us, too,” Prisha says, “and it explains why when we think about them, talk about them, whenever, they show up like roaches. It’s like we’re waving a flag at them.”

“So…” I trail off. I almost understand what they are trying to tell me, but I’m tired and my drink is honestly too weak. 

“We think removing memories of the degenerates may, in fact, repair some of the damage. Look at the scans.” Mateo points to two images on his phone, the first one they took of my brain and the one they took the first time. “It’s not complete, but it’s significant. It’s years back.” 

Years. 

“There’s a catch I’m still not getting,” I say, glancing at Chris. 

He nods. “Remember when I said that it’s my fault the degenerates were trying to kill you, even after we removed your memories of them?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“We each have neural pathways that are twinned, or connected, or something—”

“Or something?” I ask.

“Look, you know this is—”

“Magic,” I finish.

Despite himself, he smiles. “It’s alien to us, definitely. When I think about you, it reminds them, or alerts them, to your presence, and in the same way they come looking for us when we think about them, they go looking for you if I think about you.”

“So don’t think about me.”

“Most of us don’t,” Katie snaps.

Mateo elbows her.

“You’re going to think about me all the time. You have my brain scan,” I argue. 

“Actually, Chris has offered to forget you, too,” Prisha says.

“What?” I ask.

“He just told you you have parallel pathways to the degenerates. Do you know why?” she says.

“Oh, parallel pathway, I like that,” Mateo says.

“Thanks.” She flicks a hand and continues, “It’s because he has the same brain disease you do.”

I bite the inside of my cheek as I turn to Chris. “You do? This whole time… you too?”

He shrugs. “Only a couple of us have been lucky enough to be attacked in the same way. I wasn’t being entirely selfless when I offered to forget you. I might also get some time back.”

It’s like a punch to my gut. 

Prisha adds, “This is all theoretical. There’s no way to tell what’s us thinking of each other that brings the degenerates, versus what’s us thinking about them. We’re constantly working together, talking about them, thinking about each other. But if Chris forgets about you, maybe the degenerates will really leave you alone. You couldn’t see them anymore a few days ago.”

Chris says, “Of course I’ll do it.” 

“I can’t ask you—” I start.

“And I can’t ask you. And you don’t have to.”  

And more importantly, I can’t ask him not to. Maybe I was reaching a point where thirty years with him outweighed the fact they’d be thirty years ( or more now?) spent battling alien parasites, and maybe even to a point where they would outweigh gaining a few extra years of being myself, but I don’t know if that’s where he is.

“But what’s the point?” I ask. “You guys will be looking at my scans, and even if Chris thinks it’s someone else, he’ll be thinking of me.”

Mateo says, “Exactly. Making you both forget each other is short-sighted.”

Katie counters, “But it’s an excellent experiment. And if you guys remember each other? Well, Natalie won’t be able to run away anymore, and her brain will be even more repaired.”

“The stakes are low,” Prisha says, draining her drink.  I’m not sure if she’s being sarcastic.

“We have to try,” Chris says.

Mateo sighs. “Guys, this isn’t good. Reactivated memories are fragile, and subject to contamination. The reactivated memories you have now, Natalie, probably aren’t in the same condition they were before we deactivated them. You had all this new information introduced about us since the second time you met Chris. You’ve lost information, it’s been interfered with, and then it’s been restored—literally put into storage a second time—and it’s not the same it was before.”

“It’s her best bet,” Chris says. “I have to give her a chance.”

Why is my heart screaming?

“We might be able to convince you this time, Natalie. But Chris? You’re going to figure out we’ve tampered with your memory. It’s going to be blurry,” Mateo says.

“Right, but I’m prepared. I’m going to know some of my memories were deactivated to help a member of the team who’s had to go into hiding.”

Mateo blinks. “That seems very likely to fail.” I have a feeling he was keeping himself from flat-out saying, “That’s stupid.”

Prisha announces, “I’ll make it so I’m the only one who remembers your name. Everyone else will know that there was a team member who had her brain scanned, but they won’t know personal details.”

Mateo nods slowly. “That could work.”

They would all forget me. 

“Excuse me,” I say, and slip over to the bathroom stalls that are also mostly outdoors. I close myself in a stall.

On the one hand, my life is awesome. My nephew and my brother, along with my parents, are all the family I’ve ever thought I needed. I have been to almost every continent and I want to keep going. My promotion means the money to do it, and I don’t want to start missing work to battle aliens and risk the life I’ve made. On the other hand, Chris makes me feel like maybe there could be room in that life for even more. But I can’t ask him to forgo a possible treatment for his own brain disease. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth until I’m sure I won’t cry, and then I head back. 

“Well. Let’s do it now,” I say, returning from the bathroom.

Chris looks up at me, panicked. “Now?”

“If I wait, I won’t be able to do it. Let’s just do it out on the sidewalk, get me back to my car, and then—yeah. Let’s do it now or I’m never going to do it,” I babble.

“Good idea,” Katie says cheerfully, which almost makes me change my mind.

Prisha is silent. She and Mateo exchange a glance. Chris is staring at the three others, as if hoping they’ll come up with something new to stop tonight’s absurd direction.

Then Prisha stands and gives me a hug. It’s a relief, but then she whispers, “I won’t do this again. Stay away or you have to come back for good.”

I can’t say anything because otherwise I’ll cry, but I nod.

I shake hands with Mateo and Katie, and presently Chris and I are out on the sidewalk, walking towards my car. It takes no time at all.

“I’m sorry, Chris,” I look at him miserably. “I want you to know, I had almost changed my mind about staying. But. Well, you guys said years. Years back, for both of us, so, I’m sorry.”

“Natalie—” his voice hitches. “I really wish there was a better way. I can’t take this from you.” He’s about to say something else, but he stops. “Are you ready?”

I let the tears spill over so I can speak through them, then tilt my chin up. “Do it right this time,” I try to joke. 

Then, terrified he’s really about to do it, I put my hands on his cheeks, push myself onto my tiptoes, and kiss him. A little off balance, I fall into him and he catches me, kissing me back. He holds me so tightly it hurts, in a good way, in a burning way. 

When I step back, he’s blinking very wet eyes and chokes out, “Believe me, I will. Can’t do this again.” He presses his hand to my forehead.

“Chris,” I say. “I… Stop. Stop.”

“What?” his eyes are wild.

“I’ll stay. I’ll stay. Please,” I say.

His hand drops from my head.

And then three, no, four, degenerates slam into him out of nowhere. He’s on the ground, he can’t get up. Their limbs encircle him, their pinchers dig towards his brain.

I reach for one and my hand touches its warm, clammy skin. I think of sitting with Chris on his couch. Another pincer coming toward me. I think of being in bed with Chris. I think of him looking down at me on the train track. I think of—

#

I’m having a weird week. It’s like my brain is short-circuiting. I just took nearly back-to-back beach vacations that pissed off my managers (and somehow didn’t dent my savings?), but it doesn’t seem to have been a very good idea. I thought I’d feel rested, at least after the second trip, but I’m exhausted already. I can barely remember what I did or where I went.

#

I spend hours at night watching classic cartoons, which I never even liked as a kid. I stare up at buildings I pass under as I walk home on my commute, hallucinating falling pianos. I avoid the river, certain an aquatic vehicle is about to lose control and come careening towards me. In my mind, danger is everywhere: outlandish freak accidents are waiting around every corner, but even though I’m sure there’s something out to get me, they never materialize.

After countless nights of a bored yet unstoppable stupor of cartoon viewing, I start to formulate a theory around the Sisyphean attempts to kill the bunny, kill the duck, kill the canary, kill the mouse. Woo the cat. Never seeming to learn from their previous failures.

#

I’m not suicidal, but I lie down on a train track and wait until I hear the horn blare. I push myself off the ground and race away into the shadows down by the river. My chest heaving, I feel the train roll by in my whole body, the chugging matching my pulse. Nobody came, nothing happened. It was all in my head.

Finally, I walk back up the path and onto the sidewalk. I let my feet keep going. I open the door of the first bar I come to, a hole-in-the-wall I would have never noticed if someone wasn’t stepping out of the gate at the same moment I walked by. They hold the door open for me with a smile, and I wander into a beautiful courtyard shaded by a large, lantern-filled tree. I flash the host a half-crazed smile and take a seat at the bar in between a happily chatting couple and a guy in a dark green beanie. He looks like he wants to say hi, but has thought better of it. He just glances at me and nods, goes back to his food.

Maybe I should say something, let it lead somewhere and make his night. 

While studying the beer menu, I peek at him. Brown hair, brown beard, nice looking arms, no ring, seat next to him clearly empty.

He’s really very cute. I can’t stay quiet, anyway, not when I’m feeling like I’m going to claw my way out of my own skin. 

“Hi,” I say. “I’m Natalie.”

He smiles and holds a hand out. “Chris.”

Chapter Four

                                                          

Everyone else goes back to work. Meeting over. It’s a normal day. Prisha heads for a bus stop. Chris steers me out of the building, saying we’re getting lunch, but he looks at me so sadly once we’re back in his car. 

He drives for a while and eventually parks on a street a block over from the shopping district. We’re sitting next to a mural that’s a face taking up the entire side of a building. Hands cover the man’s eyes, but the angle makes it unclear if they’re his hands or someone else’s.

“Do you want to get out?” Chris asks, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to. 

“You knew what I was going to choose,” I say, unable to keep from sounding accusatory.

“I had hope. But yeah, I knew.”

“You don’t want a life outside this?” I gesture vaguely. 

“It would be nice, but…” He shrugs. “It doesn’t sit well with me. And that’s no criticism of you.”

It is, though. “Maybe things would be different if… I don’t know, if I’d found out when I was sixteen and directionless, but now—“

“Now you have a life and goals, and a set timeline,” he finishes exactly what I was going to say. “And that’s okay.”

I shrug. “And I don’t want to know I have a deadline.” I want to put the trouble back in Pandora’s box. Again.

“We all have one,” he says. “An expiration date.”

I laugh. “Could you find me again?” I ask after a beat. “And just let me think you’re a detective or something?”

“You’d get suspicious eventually,” he says. “And besides, you might not like me under regular circumstances.”

I look up at him and wink. “That’s very definitely true.” Because of course it isn’t.

“The point is that if you don’t remember them, you shouldn’t see them anymore, either. That part of our theory did seem to be proven true.”

We watch a car try to get out of its parallel spot and tap the bumper of the car behind them. The driver hesitates, then speeds away.

“One thing is different this time,” I comment. “What’s with all the cartoon stuff? The piano? The freaking bells today?”

“Yeah, that’s the part I don’t want to tell you.”

“It’s because you were stalking me, right?” I ask.

“I was keeping an eye on you!” he exclaims. “I mean, Prisha was kind of right about that, though. I watched a lot of kids’ cartoons for a few days after we sent you home. Just, you know. Comfort watching. I’m still connected to the degenerates, so they used images from my brain to attack you.”

“That’s messed up,” I say.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he says. “I made everything worse.”

“It’s okay.”

Our gazes meet and we start giggling. I grin harder, almost hysterical, as I study the smile lines in his face, and then we lean in, me leaning further, and kiss. 

I was immediately attracted to him the first time we met—and the second time, really, on the train track. The first time we kissed was more romantic, since we were standing on a walkway above the river, watching the sun set, an osprey circling over the rapids, in which stood a dozen great blue herons. But this is pretty good too, because I suddenly feel all the missed time between us. I forget everything but his hands gently holding my face. 

When we pull away, he laughs softly. “This sucks.”

“Yeah,” I agree. Then slam my hand on top of the glovebox. “Wait,” I say.

He waits.

“So you alerted them to where I was? If you’d just stayed away…”

“I’m not sure. I thought about you all the time. It could have been proximity, or it could have been my thoughts,” he says, but his hands do not release my hair, which they’re tangled in.

I dig my fingers into either side of my head. “Even if you hadn’t stayed away, they might have still come after me, because you were thinking about me?” 

“It’s possible,” he says.

“Well, now what?” I ask.

“Lunch, then back to the lab?” he suggests.

#

We don’t go back to the lab. We don’t even go to lunch. We go back to his apartment. I don’t know what makes me do it. I must be a cruel person. Even as I lie with my back against his chest, the two of us curled like the concentric rings of a target, I’m not planning to stay with Chris. But he’ll remember me.

It’s half-perfect, half-wrenching, to know how good this feels. Is it good enough to spend thirty years knowing there’s a bomb ticking? Does it matter if it’ll be ticking either way?

To avoid the topic, I ask, “What kinds of cartoons?” I lace my fingers in his and hold his hand on my chest, letting the heaviness of his arm hold me down like a paperweight.

“All of them. Old ones, new ones. Anything I could stream.”

I laugh. “I could watch some of those with you.”

I have no right to feel crushed, or even guilty, when he asks, “Do you think you’ve changed your mind?”

I’m quiet for too long.

“Right.” He peels away.

“Chris…”

Somebody down in the alley screams with laughter. A door slams shut.

I unravel. “I’m sorry. I’m not saying no, but I also didn’t mean to get your hopes up. I just…it felt like I’ve missed you for so long, even though you’re the one who’s missed me, right? I mean, you have? This was shitty of me. I do like you, and if there was another way, I mean, maybe there is?” Maybe there is a way.

His phone buzzes, and he checks it instead of answering me. “The team is still at the lab. Jitender can get us into the MRI after hours. We should head over in a bit.”

“Sure,” I say blankly. But my heart might be breaking, so I sit up and grab his hand. “Chris. I like you a lot. I might want to stay. I think I…might.”

He kisses me on the forehead. “You still have time to decide.”

But at the lab, we find out he’s wrong.

#

While I’m lying in the MRI, I half-expect to look up and see a degenerate crawling up the tube, coming to eat my entire brain. But it’s a boring process, and compared to the last time I was here, it’s easy. 

#

The first time I saw a degenerate, I’d been walking to my car after a dinner with friends. I’d parked on a residential street. It was mostly empty of people, but packed with parked cars. Most of the rowhouses had lights on. Some of them had old, gaudy stained glass in their front doors. Their tiny yards sported fairy gardens, welcoming yard signs, unweeded but clearly beloved vegetable gardens, trendy lanterns, and lawn chairs. Not a place that would make me cautious. 

The white light I saw up ahead didn’t arouse any suspicion in me. I kept walking toward it. What did I think it was? A belated fourth of July firework? An extremely early ghost inflatable? I probably wasn’t thinking anything.

When something hard flung itself at me, shoving me off the curb and wedging me in between two parked cars, I wasn’t prepared. I did have my key in my hand, but it went flying into the street. I froze for a second, then started struggling, but it was too late. A strong hand—claw—gripped my nose and mouth, smothering my screams. The back of my head dug into cold, hard pavement. 

A bulbous white head loomed over me. I could feel its fingers probing my head.

Aliens, I thought wildly. Goddamn aliens. Goddamn aliens. That’s still the only thing I can remember thinking, although I know the entire time I was trying to figure out how to get away. It was like sleep paralysis: I was unable to move or scream, my body stuck under two cars, this creature on my chest. I could barely see what was happening. 

It was the same as the attack under the bridge, except worse, because the monster had full minutes to carve into my mind, peruse my mind, read each memory that came up. I couldn’t tell if I was remembering or if it was remembering for me. Thoughts started and then stopped as they were taken.

Nightmares and degenerates are similar in that, quite frequently, you forget them, unless something makes you think about it over and over until the memory solidifies in your head. I might have decided I’d fallen and hit my head on the street if Chris hadn’t passed me entirely by chance. He’d seen the glow of the degenerates and started chasing them, but found me instead, trying to crawl onto the curb on shaky hands.

I didn’t know that at the time. All I knew was that I was stumbling on my knees, both trying to flee and to find my car keys, when a hand touched my shoulder and I screamed again.

“Hey! Hey, it’s okay,” a man soothed. “It’s okay, I’m just trying to help you. Are you okay?”

“No,” I sobbed, standing dizzily and keeping my distance. “Goddamn aliens.”
“I know,” he said seriously, which made me pause my search for my keys and look at him.

“Did you call 911 yet?” I asked, reaching for my phone.

“No.” He put out a hand, and the gesture was enough to stop me, I was so vulnerable at that point. He continued slowly, “You don’t need to. I can help you.”

“Okay, pal,” I said suspiciously, like I was in a gangster movie, and unlocked my phone.

“They read your mind, right?” he burst out.

I hesitated. “Yeah.”

“They’re not aliens. They’re parasites called degenerates.” He was speaking fast, keeping me from interrupting or dialing. “They latch onto your mind and mess with your brain.” He held up a badge attached to a lanyard. “See? I’m a neuroscientist.”

I stared at the grainy photo of him printed on the badge. “That means absolutely nothing to me.”

“Look, we really need to get you checked out immediately.”

“At a hospital.”

He sighed. “They’ll ask who attacked you. They’ll either think you need psych work or they’ll accuse me.”

“It was an alien! I’ll tell them!” I exclaimed, but even I could hear how delirious I sounded.

“No one will believe you,” he replied quietly. “Nobody believed me.”

I started. “Was it you?”

“No. God. Look, my team believes you. Please,” he added.

I started edging away. “How do I know you aren’t a psychopathic murderer who set this all up?”

He ran a hand over his hair. “I’m not usually the person who does this. I’m not good at convincing people. Look, I’m not trying to freak you out, but they took over your brain, right? They were controlling your thoughts?” 

I bit my lip, annoyed that he was right.

He pressed, “I’ll send you the address. You can meet me there and decide to come in, or not, when you get there, okay?”

I’d just been attacked. Most of me was still planning to let him go, then get in my car and call the police. When I looked up the address he sent me, it was legitimately labeled as a scientific research company.

“Look,” he said again. “I believe you. But no one is going to believe us. Nobody can see them but us. Come with me.”

The part of my reality that was breaking fully broke, and I agreed.

#

At the lab for the first time, I was introduced to Mateo and Katie. Both of them were much warmer than the second time I met them, I guess because I hadn’t ditched them yet. Katie smiled and patted my shoulder reassuringly a lot, and Mateo chatted to me the entire time he had me in the MRI, telling me in a disarmingly precise manner about degenerates and how they worked.

I understood that you generally don’t get scan results immediately, but this wasn’t a normal situation. Officially, we weren’t there, and we had the actual doctors, Chris and Katie, in the room with the tech, Mateo. 

“Look at that,” the latter exclaimed.

“It’s there,” Katie replied. “No one will ever replicate it, but yeah.”

“We might replicate it,” Chris said.

They were talking about my brain. My body. My stomach twisted. “Can I see now?”

“Almost done,” Mateo said. “Pulling you out now.”

When I was seated with the others, Chris showed me the images. “So, the main thing we’re looking at is where the degenerates got into your brain.” He pointed to the screen. “Do you see this area?”

“Um. Sure,” I said. “My brain.”

“This is where the degenerates latched on. We’ve never had a picture of it before today, but you see how it almost glows white on the edges?”

“No,” I said.

Everyone laughed a little.

“Well, it’s there. Anyway, they left some damage.” He frowned, looking at the scan and then Katie. “I think they took a lot of your memories, Natalie.”

Katie has been studying the scans this entire time. “It’s hard to say exactly. But there is some evidence the damage will have far-ranging results on your health.”

I swallowed. “How far-ranging?”

And that’s when they tell me that there’s already evidence that, in a couple decades, my brain will melt and groove in the wrong places, taking who I am and leaving me with neurodegenerative brain disease.

“But how can you be sure?” I asked.

“That they’ve affected your brain function?” Mateo replied. “One scan can’t predict the future. We’re completely guessing here.”

Katie said, “But we do know something important now. Your brain is made up of white and gray matter. White matter has long axons that communicate longer distances, for example, throughout the brain and to your central nervous system.”

“Okay. White is long-distance,” I said.

“Right. And white matter is white because of the myelin sheaths around its nerve fibers. It’s bright white, in fact.”

I scrunched my mouth. “Bright white like the degenerates?”

“Exactly.”

“Degenerates are made of white matter?”

“Not exactly, but not far off. Myelin sheaths are basically a protective layer of fat around the nerves. So the degenerates have a lot of fatty material protecting the pincers on their hands, or limbs, or whatever you want to think of them as. Our theory is that it allows the electric signals from your brain to travel to theirs.” 

“The neural pathways,” I repeated. 

“This parasite has adapted to work the same way as human brains. They have developed long-distance connections, allowing them to latch onto your brain, devour memories—”

“Destroy my brain,” I finished.

Katie said kindly, “I know we gave you some bad news tonight. But your brain could change the world, Natalie. You’re the first person we’ve been able to get to the lab quickly enough after the attack for this, well, afterglow to be visible.”

“Afterglow,” Mateo said thoughtfully.

“I know,” Katie said. “Good, right?”

Chris added, “We may finally be on the verge of proving that some neurodegenerative disease is caused by an alien parasite.”

In disbelief, I scanned their faces. They were excited, maybe even had the audacity to look victorious. After I’d been attacked. 

I meant to sound angry, but my voice was hoarse as I said, “You told me you’d help me.”

They all stopped talking.

Chris said, “We did. We got you an immediate MRI. You can see the damage and the degenerate glow right here. You would’ve never gotten this at the hospital. They would’ve seen you didn’t have a concussion, taken your statement, and sent you home. Or admitted you to the psych ward.”

“You knew I was vulnerable and you convinced me to come here instead of somewhere safe,” I accused him.

He managed to look guilty and startled at once. “Natalie, I know you’re having a horrible night, but please trust us. You are the safest you’ll ever be with us.”

“How could I ever trust you?” I snapped.

At that moment, a woman who looked like a walking arsenal appeared in the doorway. “Are we ready to go hunting?” she bellowed cheerfully.

Chris smiled. “Natalie, this is Prisha.”

Prisha waved. “I heard they got some good pictures of your brain!” she said happily. “Don’t worry, we’re going to murder the things that probed you.”

Despite myself, I smiled at her. “You don’t have any guns.”

“Knives are quieter,” she said. “Degenerates aren’t really that big, after all.”

“Big compared to protozoa,” Mateo chimed in.

While he and Katie showed Prisha the scan, Chris pulled me aside. 

“I know you’re scared and hurt right now,” he said quietly. “We’ve all been there, Natalie. Finding out you’re one of a few people who can see an alien just… blows.”

I wanted to be angry with him, but he was sincere enough that I nodded. 

He continued, “We can help you. And more than that, we can teach you enough that you won’t need our help. To defend yourself, to protect yourself. You won’t be alone with this.”

I almost thanked him. But then I flashed back to being thrown into the street, and I shuddered. “I just want to go home.”

“You can’t go home until we’ve cleared out this cell of degenerates,” Prisha said, suddenly at my side. “You could stay with Katie or me for the night.”

Katie didn’t look any more pleased with the proposal than I did.

“Well,” Prisha said, exasperated. “What? You want to stay out all night clubbing?”

“I’m not going home with any of you,” I snapped.
Chris interjected quietly, “I know a place.”