I
A beam of light pierced my eyes and I was flying. No, not flying. I was being lifted into the mist.
My heart hammered against my chest; my eyes were frozen on the light. I was still floating through the air. When would I reach it? When would I reach the mist in the sky?
I was floating. I went higher, and higher. The mist surrounded me.
I reached into it and was consumed.
II
Uhmmm…
Aughkk…
Whaa…
Why couldn’t I breathe? I desperately tried to take a deep breath, but my lungs were like stone: unwilling to move. My fingers twitched and my eyes started spasming. No! No, this can’t be happening! Breathe! I tried to, but failed. Breathe, damn you!
Cardiac arrest is where your heart has a sudden cessation and refuses to pump blood. It is usually caused by lack of oxygen. My medical degree had taught me that much, but they never explained what it felt like. They never explained how intense the pain was or how sudden it came.
It was like a shard of glass had been plunged deep within my heart. I wanted to pull it out. I needed to, but it was nearly impossible. I could never stop the pain.
Lakarisshum…
Deshtuff…
Twitmhuh…
What were those damn noises? I attempted to open my eyes, but failed. It was as if there was a boulder sitting on top of each one.
The pain. Oh, the damn pain.
I slid my arm from my side over to my heart. My hand was brushed across my bare skin. What? Where were my clothes? I slid my hand down my body once again. I was naked.
What the hell was going on?
III
There were footsteps headed in my direction. The pain – the godforsaken pain – grew, twisted and cut and hacked. What was going on? Oh God, make it stop! Make the pain stop!
The footsteps halted. Whatever it was was standing right next to me. It was deftly silent as if it were examining me. Scrutinizing my body. I felt something sharp pierce my right nipple and I opened my mouth to scream in pain -
But no sound came out. My mouth was sealed shut, just like my eyes were. My nostrils, however, were not. They were my only source of oxygen.
Whatever had pierced my nipple remained there. The exploding pain was too much. I couldn’t handle it. I fell unconscious before I even could feel the pain as my left nipple was pierced.
IV
Probed. Yes, that was the correct word. I was being probed.
I still was unable to open my eyes or mouth. My nipples were numb, but my heart, oh thank God, ceased to hurt. Whoever had been probing me had fixed my heart.
Enghuh…
Klitgha…
Buhmmm…
There were three of them. I could tell because of their voices. Except they weren’t speaking. There was absolutely no sound.
Then how the hell was I hearing them?
There was the familiar sharp pain, this time in my right leg, directly diagonal from my crotch. I had already been probed in my penis, but luckily, they had avoided the testicals.
In the background – very, very faint – was a small beep. It seemed to have been coming from a different room. Maybe they were operating on someone else? But then, I thought, why wouldn’t I have a beeping machine? I wanted one. I wanted one desperately. I didn’t really know what I would do if I had one, but just the familiar beep, beep, beep made me feel safe… alive.
Maybe I’m already dead. That’s why I don’t have one.
No. I instantly turned down that thought. I wouldn’t be holding conversations in my mind if I were dead.
Buhmmm…
There! There was that sound! I desperately tried to open my eyes, to see who had spoken it.
No one had said anything. There hadn’t been a sound in that room ever since I woke.
There was another sharp pain. And another. I wanted to kick whoever was probing me. I couldn’t, though. I was frozen. I was a statue.
Oh, God, just tell them to stop probing me!
V
One day when I had stepped into my office, I had found a manila folder on my desk. It wasn’t anything unordinary – I found one there ever couple of days.
Every folder was designed for a new patient. That day’s patient was named Sam Roosevelt. He had a severe case of a mental illness. Down at the bottom margin had the words scrawled: Believes he has been abducted by aliens.
When I first met the man, he was wearing the hospital gown. He was sitting upright in his gurney. I jokingly asked him, “So, are you related to Theo by any chance?”
Sam had stared at me with these large eyes. Those frightening eyes. There had been something terribly wrong with him. I had noticed his hands trembling as he spoke.
“Please don’t take me back there. Please, don’t take me back there. Please, don’t take me back there?” Sam’s voice was hoarse, as if he had been yelling – or screaming. As I looked closer at him, I noticed several tiny dots on his skin. They looked like puncture wounds.
“Sam, what are those dots on your neck and face?”
He didn’t answer me. He repeated the same words over and over. “Please, don’t take me back there.”
I set the manila folder down on a counter next to me and stared into his eyes.
“Sam, tell me. What are those dots on your neck and face?”
He repeated the words over and over again. I growled and gave up.
“Take you where?”
He didn’t answer for the longest time. It was as if he were contemplating on whether or not he should tell me.
“Mr. Roosevelt?” I asked again. “Take you where?”
“Back,” he whispered, and then fell over and had a seizure.
The seizure had taken his life shortly after I had tried to revive him. I’d stuck him on the ventilator, but nothing had worked. The seizure was caused more by shock than anything. He had been found, just earlier that day, butt naked in a field. He was found alone and unconscious. Someone had been working in the field and had spotted him. The paramedics had arrived and brought him to my hospital, where he died.
I never really gave a thought about Sam Roosevelt until now. There had been something about what he had said.
“Please, don’t take me back there.”
In the margin of the paper it had said he claimed he had been abducted by aliens.
Everything started falling into place.
Oh God. Get me out of here.
