S2.5E6: Sunday Morning

Phillip has his coffee date with Marcia, and it goes differently than he expected. Grace meets up with Dusty to tell him about what she saw the night before.
CAST
Timmy Vilgiate: Phillip
Michelle Pearl: Grace, Marcia
Collin Estes: Dusty, Coffee Shop Cashier

PRODUCTION
Written, recorded, and produced by Timmy Vilgiate

SOUND EFFECTS (All from Freesound)
Coffee shop ambience by Jared Gibb;
milk frother latte cappuchino by Spanrucker
door bell a by kwahmah 02
countryside by Bruno Boselli
button by smart8951
residential ambience birds air loop mono by fun
back door open and close by todd bradley
footsteps on dirt by lzmraul
door open close by amholma
padlock chain lock unlock by leonelmail
trolley over floor by janevdmerwe
footsteps on concrete by florianreichelt
aggressive clatter 02 by leonel mail
clattering metal objects 2 by ohr pilot
clatter by soundsexciting

Newest episode, automatically posted to this blog.

I saw Marcia through the glass door to the coffee shop, and my stomach filled with butterflies. I felt like a goddamn school boy, smitten even with how tired and delirious I was from last night. But she didn’t see me—she was looking at her phone when I got there, her normally exuberant and joyful face now serious and intense. She had a blue earbud in her left ear, the other one dangled from her head below the table. Hadn’t ordered anything yet. She had on a yellow and white blouse with red flowers, straps that exposed her freckled shoulders. An elegant smoky eyeshadow ringed her eyes; she had painted her lips bright red. Nervously, I pried the door open and waved to her. She stood up and walked across. “Hey there Phillip!” Before I knew it, she’d wrapped her arms around me in a tight, warm hug. The smell of her perfume still overwhelmed me. I felt her soft and delicate hair graze the side of my face.

MARCIA
Aliens had invaded the fucking planet. I didn’t want to freak out my new work friend but I was watching the video for like the eighth time that morning when he got there and it was all I could think about. When I was getting ready, I was so distracted by the video that I  kept messing up my eyeliner. Now I looked like a goddamn racoon.  When I went into hug him, I could feel the sharp stubble from his chin, the soft flannel of his shirt. He looked tired. Infectiously tired.

Phillip: Glad to see you didn’t stand me up.
Marcia: Oh, I’d never do that. (Narrates) Did I have a reputation? Did people at the office think I was flaky? He stared at me for a little bit. He didn’t know what to say. He was probably trying to avoid making jokes about the fact that I looked like a goddamn racoon.
Phillip: Can I get you…something? Coffee, latte?
Marcia: Oh! That’s so nice of you. Sure, I’d love that. (Phillip: She smiled, a sweet and radiant smile) Coffee’s fine.
Phillip: With room, or…
Marcia: Room? For cream. Yeah. But I’ll doctor it. You want me to come along?
Phillip: Sure, don’t see why not.
Marcia: Pretty long day, yesterday, huh? Bet you’ve been dying to get a day off.
Phillip: You better believe it. We…uh. Got called in last night, ended up patrolling till about five in the morning.
Marcia: Oh my gosh! You must be exhausted!
Phillip: Little bit. Hoping that this uh…this little bit of nature’s medicine they call coffee might help with that.
Marcia: No! I feel bad. I should’ve given you my number so we could have picked another day.
Phillip: Nah, I’ve been looking forward to this all weekend. Wouldn’t wanna miss the chance to spend time with a lovely girl like yourself. (Narrates) She blushed, twirling her hair and laughing.
Marcia: (Narrates) What the fuck…..Was this a date? Did my work friend want to date me? What the…what the fuck? Uh…no. No, I should get my own coffee. I should definitely get my own coffee. What do I say? I can’t just stand here laughing like some kind of deranged lunatic. (Dialogue) That’s nice of you. Just let me know if you, uh. You want to head home and get back to bed.
Phillip: (Narrates) Boy…she sure was a flirt. The faintest hint of pain crept through some of the haze. I thought about my wife. I thought about how easily she’d lied to me. I wondered if I was ready to—no, I stopped myself from thinking about it. I sure as hell wasn’t gonna let that ruin the first shot I’d had at a relationship since the divorce. (Dialogue) So, you. Uh. You got your Master’s huh? When did you graduate?
Marcia: Yep. University of Indiana, 2014. Mhmmm.
Phillip: You from there, or…
Marcia: Well, my family’s from Wisconsin, actually. Wisconsin.
Phillip: She looked off behind her, towards a mural of some kind of Old Western Scene, probably assessing the brushstrokes, or the color palette—
Marcia: I looked behind me, to make sure no one was stealing my phone. I felt uncomfortable all the sudden, which really sucked. But he seemed like he was an okay guy, at least. Respectful. Maybe my crazy dream of a new work friend would materialize after all. (Dialogue) My mom and dad were both artists. So they always had these books lying around, big books, full of art from different countries, different time periods.
Phillip: You draw at all?
Marcia: (laughs) No, I can hardly hold a pencil still without breaking it. I like looking at art though. (Phillip: She looked towards me, smiling again. Coming closer to the cash register, her arm brushed against me and she leaned up against the counter, squinting so as to see the menu)
Cashier: Together or separate?
Phillip: To—
Marcia: Separate. (Reassuringly) It’s fine. I’m a big girl, I can buy my own coffee.
Phillip: (Narrates) Marcia winked and turned her head back around, flipping her hair over her shoulder seductively. I tried to be a gentleman about it but couldn’t help but look her up and down. Sweet baby Jesus that was a fine looking woman.
Marcia: My hair was in my goddamn face and they’d rearranged the menu so nothing was where I remembered it. I tried to hide how frustrated I was. “You still have that bacon and guacamole bagel?”, I asked, trying as hard as I could to not sound angry.
Cashier: Yes we do.
Marcia: “I’ll take that please.” Someone started up the espresso machine—it screamed like someone had torn a goddamn hole in the universe. I shut my eyes, and, instead of plugging my ears which I knew would have made me stand out, I tapped my fingers on the counter, focusing on their gentle rhythmn, which slowly calmed me down. “A cup of coffee, too, if you don’t mind.”
Cashier: For here, or to go?
Marcia: “For here, but put it in a to go cup.”, I instructed, trying to sound as gracious as I could. They gave me a mug once and their mug had these annoying little gemstones embedded in them, which made me cringe to even think about having to hold in my hand again. The cashier muttered the total, which I could not hear perfectly well since I was still recovering from the noise of the espresso machine. Coupled with the steadily crescendoing noise of the coffee shop, it made it hard for me to think clearly. I handed the clerk my credit card, and smiled, looking back over at Phillip to see if I could gauge if he thought I was acting weird. I was acting normal, right? I was keeping it together.
Phillip: Marcia shyly glanced back over at me, her right hip leaning up against the side of the counter. I wondered if she was expecting, maybe, to go some place with me, so I made sure to order my cup “to go” too, and got myself a breakfast burrito. We headed back to our seat with an order number. Marcia rested her hand on the table, tapping her fingers in silent, repetitive triplets. Brightly, and warmly, she smiled. I felt…calm. Calmer than I had felt since I’d gotten my powers. I leaned into the feeling, this cheerful and gentle feeling that she seemed to project.
Marcia: Returning to this spot started to calm me down. I didn’t hear the espresso machine, or the chatter around us. Just the light country music playing overhead. I could feel myself start to relax, to cool down. Glad that I hadn’t made a fool of myself or said anything fatally weird to my new work friend, I leaned closer so we could hear each other. “So how long have you been interested in art history?”
Phillip: Oh, gosh. Well, when I was round twelve years old my parents took me to the museum out in Houston. I hated the first part we went through. Lots of…old Renaissance paintings. Thought it was boring. But then…then we started getting to more of the modern art. And I remember the moment it really hit me…It was a 1907 piece by Claude Monet, Water Lilies. It was the first time I’d really liked art. I liked seeing the big brush strokes, the colors, not so much seeing some kind of perfect pictures, but emotion. Which, after all, is what they—(Someone came to bring us our food. [ad lib thank yous])—where was I? I don’t remember. Studied it in college at first, but I…(Narrates: Stop right there. You ain’t told no one bout that. Don’t want this young lady thinking you’re some kind of drug user)…I got persuaded there was more money in Criminal Justice and I…gave up. Which I hate to say.
Marcia: Aww, well that’s too bad. But…do you…do you like law enforcement, at least?
Phillip:  Suppose it’s not too bad, I…I get to protect and serve the community I grew up in. And when I can, I can still go down to Austin or San Antonio, you know? When I have the time.
Marcia: I’d love to go with you sometime, I haven’t seen many of the galleries around here. Do they have good collections?
Phillip: Well, you know McNay’s the first modern art museum in the country, that’s out in San Antonio, then you have Blanton in Austin. Blanton’s pretty nice, got a good collection. If I were gonna choose between them, though, I’d go with San Antonio. But it’s a toss up. There’s some good work up in Dallas too, they’ve got the Port of Morgat. (Narrates under his dialogue) It started to hit me as I talked about the art galleries in Texas, that Marcia very rarely stopped smiling. Only when she thought someone wasn’t looking, and then she’d get very serious—the way I’d seen her through the door when I first got there. She had a bright look in her eyes…but…now that we were…we were sitting down across from each other…something seemed…off…Like she was looking right through me. Almost looked a little…robotic. Pretty. But…almost…too perfect. Get a hold of yourself Phillip. You getting cold feet cause she’s, what, too pretty? Too happy? 
Marcia: (Narrates) He looked sweet when he talked about this. I could see this innocent gleam in his eye when he talked about Monet. Gruff as he looked from the outside. I sipped my coffee and listened to him tell me more about the art galleries in Texas. He knew so much about them. Huh….I was…I was on a date. A…a date. I could live with that, I guess. (Clears throat, talks) We’ll have to plan a day trip at some point, I guess.
Phillip: (Narrates) Somewhat mechanically, she reached for her sandwich, mis-estimating the distance between her hand and the plate and fumbling around for her food. (Dialogue) Sure, I’d be happy to show you. So…uh. So do you, do you specialize in Impressionism?
Marcia: Well, I’ve always loved it…but I did my thesis on…um. Photography.
Phillip: Photography, huh? Well, that’s interesting.
Marcia: Yeah, so that’s my speciality. So if you ever find an antique cyanotype that you need to conserve, I’m your girl!
Phillip: Huh! Interesting. Can’t say I’ve ever found one of those, but with how often I get to cleaning out my attic you never know. What was your dissertation on? (Narrates: She laughed nervously and bit her lip)
Marcia: Are you sure you want to know?
Phillip: Well, I don’t know, do I?
Marcia: I don’t usually…uh. Mention that on the first date. Not that this is a date! Not that this is a date, it’s not a date. No, uh, but yeah. You really want to know?
Phillip: Now you’ve got me curious. (Narrates: I thought back to yesterday—what Grace had told me—there was truth to it. Marcia was not…all there. She was…she was gorgeous though. I mean, my god. And I hadn’t gotten to talk to anyone about art history in a long time, but…something was off about her).
Marcia: Okay. So you know how they used to lynch people in the south?
Phillip: (Narrates) Marcia asked, uncomfortably cheerful as she did so. (Dialogue) I…I am familiar with that unfortunate bit of history, yes.
Marcia: Well, I studied the visual culture of lynching. Lynching photographs, cartoons, things like that.
Phillip: That sounds…
Marcia: Disturbing? Yeah. Still have a little bit of, uh…PTSD from looking at some of those photos. Lynching really was horrifying. You had…you had people burned alive, dunked in boiling oil… (Laughs nervously, narrates: Was this an acceptable topic of conversation? It wasn’t, was it? Some people were looking at me. I should change the subject…) Right. You can…you can read it sometime, if you ever want to learn about it. I published a…a couple papers on it. Sorry, that’s a little morbid. I’m not a super morbid person, just so you know. Just concerned about racial injustice.
Phillip: Oh, of—
Marcia: Like, I don’t like looking at dead bodies. (Laughs)
Phillip: Right.
Marcia: I’m not a serial killer, or anything.
Phillip: No, of—
Marcia: Do you mind if I go to the bathroom? Sorry. (Narrates) I need to stop myself. I need to stop myself before my work friend thinks I’m some kind of deranged psychopath.
Phillip: (Narrates) As she walked away, with a perfectly seductive and smooth walk, I again felt the same sense of butterflies I’d had at the beginning of the coffee date, but it was now clouded by the sense that Marcia had a couple screws loose. Oddly aroused yet simultaneously disturbed, I finished my breakfast burrito. Eventually, Marcia returned from the bathroom and I…I could see her eyes glisten with what almost looked like tears. Goddammit. You know what it was? It was me. I was…I was getting too relaxed. Too…I don’t know. Vulnerable. She started opening up more than she’d meant to, probably. As she sat down, I reached out a hand to her. (Dialogue) You alright? (Narrates) She wiped the corner of her eye.
Marcia: What are you talking about? It’s not like I was crying in the bathroom cause I can’t hold a normal conversation. (Laughs nervously. Narrates) Did I mean to say that? I didn’t feel like I’d actually wanted to say that, like it had slipped from my mouth without me fully realizing it. (Dialogue) Sorry. I’m embarrassed.
Phillip: Oh, don’t be. I’m sorry if I seemed…seemed weirded out. I just…I didn’t know what to think about it. Besides, its such an…such an emotional topic. I wasn’t sure what to say.
Marcia: I’m pretty used to people thinking I’m crazy, so—
Phillip: Oh, so am I.
Marcia: Really?
Phillip: Sure I am! I was abducted by aliens! (Narrates) Did I…did I say that out loud? Someone looked over their shoulder at me.
Marcia: Wait, what?
Phillip: You wanna…uh. Go on a walk?
Marcia: (Narrates) Did I want to go on a walk? (Dialogue) Uh, sure. You know, there’s actually this video I was watching this morning about something like that.
Phillip: Aliens?
Marcia: Yeah…I’ll, uh, I’ll tell you while we walk.
Phillip: We stood up and moved towards the door. Keep it together Phillip, I thought to myself, Don’t tell her too much. Especially not about the government experimenting on your, or your, uh, your superpowers. That might be a little much.

Marcia: So they did some kind of experiment on you? Gave you superpowers?
Phillip: That’s what I think.
Marcia: Huh. What’s…you’re uh, your superpower? (Narrates) This was a weird date. We were both very weird people, and we were on a very weird date, and it made me feel weird.
Phillip: It’s sort of like, I…I can make people…feel whatever I’m feeling. You know, if I want to. It’s not on all the time.
Marcia: Weird. (Narrates) Really weird. If that was true…maybe that was why I was starting to actually like this guy.
Phillip: Here…I’ll show you. Stay here. (Narrates) I walked across the street, towards a store front, and I stood next to a young couple sitting on a bench. Pretending like I was looking into the window, I started to contemplate the mysteries of the universe. The strange things we had witnessed. Grace’s mysterious premonitions and the scientist I’d met the other day. The young couple’s faces grew worried, they backed away from each other and started to look around the city, paranoid. I calmed myself down, and told myself a joke. What kind of music is a balloon scared of? Pop music. The two couples  groaned, laughing, but slightly ashamed of themselves for laughing. I tried to think of something better. Something funnier. How about the time the chief had a giant piece of salami stuck to his teeth through a whole meeting and nobody had the gall to say a word about it? There we go. I laughed, they laughed, people driving by in their cars laughed…I looked back over at Marcia. Shaking her head with that radiant (somewhat creepy) smile of hers, she crossed her arms, astonished. The young couple caught sight of each other and started kissing. Marcia blushed and avoided eye contact. Mirroring us, the two pulled away, inexplicably embarrassed, and I ran across the road. (Dialogue) Sorry about that last part, I got carried away.
Marcia: That was…really weird.
Phillip: Weirder than you talking all sunshiney about lynchings, abruptly denying that you’re a serial killer, and then running away?
Marcia: Well, maybe we’re just even, then. So…so have you heard about…about Dean Heyerdahl?
Phillip: Heard of him…Hell, I…(smirks) I read his blog every day. Is that the video you wanted to show me?
Marcia: Yeah…it’s…it’s of the explosion yesterday. It’s so weird. There’s these…these cows running around in a field, then these people come out…they captured this weird infrared…like…heatwave. And then the sinkhole. In the official footage, it shows the explosion coming right before the sinkhole, but in the video, it happens after. It’s so…so weird. I don’t know. What did they say about it yesterday?
Phillip: Let’s…lets go over there by the creek.
Marcia: What—
Phillip: Too many people, don’t wanna risk being overheard.


Marcia: So, like, is it a coverup? What’s going on?
Phillip: (Narrates) We sat down by a small creek in the middle of town. (Dialogue) I don’t know what’s going on, tell you the truth. They had some CIA fella come in, Agent Carter, and he told us the stock story about a dirty bomb. Then he takes Grace aside, tells her that there’s some kind of a…a foreign power attacking us, and they wanna keep it secret, that the whole dirty bomb story never happened. But some scientist…Dr. Whitebalm I think her name was…gives me a whole different story. Leaves me with a business card. Last night, one of the people who was in government custody broke out. And…and let me tell you. She was weird when we found her. Acted…acted like she was drugged or something.
Marcia: Oh my god. (Narrates) A chill ran up my spine. It was even more real than I had been willing to allow myself to believe. An alien invasion. (Dialogue) Maybe you should…maybe you should reach out to Heyerdahl. He could get the truth out there, maybe. (Narrates) Phillip smirked. (Dialogue) Wait. Wait…do you…do you know Heyerdahl?
Phillip: I may. How, uh. How good are you at keeping secrets?
Marcia: Not too bad.
Phillip: You…got any plans today?
Marcia: I was supposed to go get coffee with my coworker but I can cancel, he’s probably pretty tired.
Phillip: Huh. Well, why don’t you see if you can reschedule, I’ve got someone you’d probably like to meet.

A house alongside a highway. The door to a car closes and Grace walks up to a gate, ringing the doorbell.

Grace: Come on, wake up. (Rings the doorbell over and over)

Dusty: (Very tired) Hello? Who’s there? Phillip?

Grace: It’s me, Grace. I need to talk to you.

Dusty: Is there a way this discussion can happen...(yawns)...in a few hours?

Grace: No, it’s too important.

Dusty: Give me a second. (Grace gives him a second. Outside, she sounds anxious and impatient. Dusty opens the door, dragging his feet) Let me unlock the gate for you. (Starts unlocking the first lock) You’ve had a long night too, huh?
Grace: (Laughs, almost groaning) You don’t know the half of it.

Dusty: Where’s Phillip?

Grace: On some kind of date with a coworker. I don’t know.

Dusty: Right. (Finishes unlocking the gate) Well, come on in. (Leads her into the house) I was just preparing to eat some oatmeal. Can I interest you in any? I can start up a pot of coffee too, if you’d like.

Grace: Sure...sure. I could use some coffee. What kind of oatmeal do you have? (Narrates) Dusty disappeared into a closet, before coming back with a huge blue barrel on a dolly.

Dusty: I buy my oats in bulk. Most brand name oatmeal manufacturers are too deeply tied with the military-industrial complex for me to trust them.

Grace: I see.

Dusty: Let me get some water running on the stove. (Sink runs. He clears his throat) I’m sorry about the state of the house. I didn’t expect anyone to come over today. (Places pot on the stove) What’s the matter?
Grace: I don’t know where to start. Well, first off...first off, on Friday the chief pulled me aside and warned me about looking into cold cases that might involve the water treatment facility. It was...sketchy. I played it off, but it made me uncomfortable. He didn’t want me to look into that girl Mary Ann’s murder—for my own safety.

Dusty: Hmmm. Interesting. That’s very suspicious. So he must know that they’re hiding something.

Grace: Oh, they’re hiding something alright. We got called in to run security at the field hospital yesterday.

Dusty: I remember that.

Grace: Well, this guy...Agent Milton Carter I think was his full name...he’s convinced you’re some kind of foreign agent...

Dusty: Ha!
Grace: ...and fed everyone the story about the dirty bomb...but then when we actually got to the field hospital, he and this other lady, Dr...oh, I can’t remember her name...they both gave us different stories. He told me that it was a rail gun, the doctor told Phillip that the sinkhole was caused by a wormhole device.

Dusty: A wormhole device...a rail gun. They must be feeding you different, equally implausible stories to see whether or not you’ll pass them along to me. By the way, I meant to ask you. I have one dark roast and one light roast coffee already ground and ready to serve—which one do you prefer?

Grace: Dark, please.
Dusty: Sorry to interrupt you. Go on.

Grace: You’re fine. Like I was saying, they were telling us different stories. But clearly there was no dirty bomb. So we couldn’t tell why they’d bother taking all these witnesses into custody.

Dusty: They likely knew something about the aliens. That or they themselves were aliens.

Grace: Sure. I’d buy that. Anyway...uhm. I’d had a migraine all day. When we were driving home... (starts to get really afraid)...when we were driving home, I heard this voice I didn’t recognize in the backseat of my car.

Dusty: Yes? (Narrates) Could Grace hear the voice of the narrator too?
Grace: It was this...this monster. Almost looked like a walking corpse. He told us to get out of the car. He led us towards this field to burn us, before he suddenly froze still, and we...we went back in time. I don’t know how to explain it other than that. Phillip and I were back in the car, talking like normal, and he couldn’t remember what had happened. I rememembered it happening...over and over...in retrospect I could...I could suddenly remember what it had felt like to be in that forest, to be burnt alive...that whole night, it kept happening. Little insignificant moments where I’d travel back in time and live something again. Only tiny details changing, just enough that you’d notice. It gave me this awful headache, I’d never been in so much pain in my life. (Beat) You think I’m crazy, don’t you? Goddammit. If anyone was gonna believe me...

Dusty: I believe you. I’m just...trying to think. This...monster. He didn’t have a...a fishing pole, did he?

Grace: He...he did. I remember...I remember seeing him right after the explosion—he walked across the soccer field...

Dusty: I think I saw him this morning. I was still half asleep. I couldn’t move...

Grace: (silence) So he was real.

Dusty: We both saw him.

Grace: Whoever he was.
Dusty: More like whatever...hmmm. I need to make sure I post about this. Some kind of...alien invasion using...using time travel as a weapon.

Grace: What I don’t get is why it kept restarting. One time, when he froze...his eye flew out of his head. I swear.

Dusty: So something must have been fighting him. Interesting. Very interesting. Perhaps some sort of battle or war has been going on, out of the public eye, something the government doesn’t want us to know about so we don’t get alarmed.

Grace: You really think so?

Dusty: Yes. Some kind of war between advanced alien civilizations...I need to write this down. Wait...shit. The water’s boiling.  Do you mind...do you mind scooping some oatmeal into the pot?

Grace: Uh...sure? Two scoops or...

Dusty: Perfect. Thank you. And please help yourself to the coffee.

NARRATOR: (Fade down. Dusty hurried to his computer, logging in and struggling to drown out the narrators voice...

Dusty: (Over the narrator, crossfaded up) I hurried to my computer, logging in and struggling to drown out the narrator’s voice. How to piece all of this together...opening my word processor, I wrote down what I knew so far—a list of the key points—and tried to consolidate them together. Grace helped me parse through a few drafts, until I had what I believed to be a working synthesis of the theory—Earth had been attacked by a spacefaring race with the power to travel through time. I made sure to be clear—as clear as I could be—that this was only a theory, based on anecdotal reports from a colleague-I invited anyone who had seen the time traveler as well to come forward. (Speaks) Alright. It’s posted. Thanks for taking over with the oatmeal.

Grace: Sure. It’s not exactly how I prefer to spend my Sunday morning, but I’m happy to help.

Dusty: Thank you.

Grace: I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I couldn’t help but notice...is there a reason why all of your bowls are from the 37th Annual Veterinary Catheter Manufacturers conference in Boise, Idaho?

Dusty: Well, actually...(The doorbell rings) Hmm. I wonder who that could be. (Stands up to go to the intercom) Hello? Who’s there?

Phillip: It’s me, Dusty. Brought along a friend. Said she’s a big fan of yours.

Dusty: A big fan of mine, eh? Hmmm.

Grace: Ugh. Marcia. She’s the receptionist at the police station.

Dusty: Can she be trusted?

Grace: She’s a little bit of an airhead. Sort of gossipy.

Phillip: You still there, Dusty?
Dusty: I’m still here. Listen, before I let anyone come onto my property I need to speak with them. Can you have your friend come to the microphone, please?
Marcia: (More loudly than she needs to speak) Uh hi! This is Marcia Flemming. I’m from Wisconsin. How are you?

Dusty: I’m...

Marcia: Can you hear me?

Dusty: Yes, I can hear you, Ms. Flemming. What’s your occupation?

Marcia: I’m a receptionist at the police station.

Dusty: Right. And what did you do before that?
Marcia: I was studying for my Master’s at the University of Indiana.

Dusty: A Master’s? In what?
Marcia: Art History.

Dusty: (To Grace) I’m googling her now...

Marcia: Are you still there?
Dusty: I’m still here. I’m just double checking your information. Are you the same Marcia Flemming who wrote an article in a journal entitled Early Popular Visual Culture? On...lynchings, I believe?

Grace: Lynchings? Huh.

Marcia: That’s correct. Did you look up my name?

Dusty: I did. Now how did you end up here, in the hill country?
Marcia: Well, I thought I had a job lined up but it fell through, so I applied and took the first thing I could.

Dusty: Right. (To Grace) I can’t find anything suspicious online. She is who she says she is, more likely than not.

Marcia: I read your blog. I’ve watched the video from yesterday at least twenty times already and I really think you’re onto something.

Dusty: What do you think, Grace?
Grace: What do I think? Well I’m surprised she has a Master’s I guess, but I’m telling you, she’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Dusty: Hmmm. Well. The house has a faraday cage built into the walls. We can sweep her for recording devices—the government can’t even tap her cell phone from in here.

Grace: I was wondering why I couldn’t get any service.

Dusty: If Phillip trusts her...I trust his judgement. Lets see what she wants.

Marcia: Hello?

Dusty: I’ll come out and let you in. (Narrates) I hurried out the door and into the yard. I could see why Grace hated Marcia, almost immediately, and at the same time, understood why Phillip trusted her. She was beautiful—almost impossibly beautiful. I froze in place, looking at her skeptically. Someone like that could have easily been sent to infiltrate my house. Phillip had probably already told her everything. Just look at him. Pathetic.

Marcia: Hey, you must be Dusty, huh?

Dusty:  I am, yes. (Gulps) You’re Marcia. Right.

Phillip: She’s trustworthy, Dusty.

Dusty: Sure she is. So, “Marcia,” before I let you into my house, what interests you in my blog?
Marcia: Oh, I...I’ve always been curious about aliens and stuff, you know? The paranormal.

Dusty: (Narrators) She hesitated slightly when she answered. Perhaps a nervous tick. But perhaps she was worried I was catching onto her plot. (Dialogue) Right, right. And how did you become interested in that?
Marcia: Well, when I was little, I swore I saw a flying saucer. We were camping out by Lake Superior one summer and I went out of my tent at night when everyone was asleep and I saw this...this big flying metal disk in the sky, covered in lights, soaring away from me. And plus my house I grew up in was haunted. I...don’t know that for sure, you know, like who knows if ghosts are real or something but...yeah, sorry. I don’t want to ramble too much. And I hope I’m not bothering you, you know, I just have been following the blog and I wanted to see what, you know, the latest was. See if maybe I could help out. Plus Phillip said he wanted to tell you about something. If you don’t want me here, I can just head home.

Dusty: Hmmm. (Begins unlocking gate) I’ll let you in. You can never be too careful. Come in.

Phillip: Did Grace tell you what happened last night?
Dusty: About the time traveler?
Phillip: Time traveler? No, no, I mean about the girl.

Dusty: Here. Please take off your shoes when you come in. What girl, Grace?
Grace: I was getting to it, but we got so caught up with the time traveler. So, Marcia. Fancy seeing you here. (Narrates) Marcia smirked at me and raised her eyebrows.

Marcia: (Narrates) I smiled at Grace and tried not to look too nervous. (Dialogue) Nice to see you. (Narrates) I said.

Grace: (Narrates) She sneered. I couldn’t believe Phillip brought her here—and today of all days. It was a goddamn police investigation, not some kind of fun coffee date activity. Marcia: I’ve noticed strange things since I moved out here. One day...one day, I saw all these people get on a big bus at five in the morning! Weird looking bus. Had dark black windows. And then one day, a few weeks ago, I went out for a walk in the woods, and I heard the weirdest sound. This kind of rumbling. Out in the middle of nowhere. Not an earthquake, either.

Dusty: Right. One of my inside sources (His dad) reports that the complex underneath the water treatment facility spans several dozen miles. They did mind control experiments there in the 1960s. Now they do testing on aliens. Have you ever stopped by the Arby’s?
Marcia: I did. I got the strangest feeling there from one of the chefs. He was looking at me sort of funny.

Dusty: It’s got a hidden entrance. So does the HEB in Fredericksburg.

Marcia: How do you know all this?

Dusty: Well, I can’t exactly tell you that. Just having met you and all. Anyway. You all were saying something about a girl. Please, fill me in.

Phillip: Meagan Cortez, you remember her from the sinkhole?
Dusty: Yes. What about her?
Phillip: She snuck out of the base last night. Stole someone’s ID, and went out to some house in Pioneer Hills. Druggy type of place. They smoked some weed, sort of fooled around, looked innocuous at first. But then she collapses all the sudden. Falls to the ground.

Grace: And when she got back up, she vomited all over the place.

Dusty: Interesting. Very interesting.
Phillip: The government took her and her brother into custody.

Dusty: Well that’s peculiar. But I don’t know what to make of it, quite. What do we know about Meagan Cortez?

Phillip: She’s a 24 year old. Works at Walmart. Guess she’s got Aspergers of some kind.

Marcia: Asperger’s isn’t a diagnosis anymore, they just call it Autism Spectrum Disorder Level 1.

Phillip: Well, they told us Asperger’s. Who knows.

Marcia: (Under her breath) Well, I do, but whatever.
Phillip: Anyway, I didn’t really know all that much about her. When we saw her last night, she looked like she’d been bruised pretty bad.

Dusty: Somehow she was present at the sinkhole. And appears to have been injured in government custody. Perhaps given some kind of substance which induced vomiting. Maybe one of the chemicals they developed back in its MKUltra days.

Marcia: They phased out Asperger’s syndrome in the DSM-V. So her diagnosis is old.

Grace: She wasn’t in good shape, that’s for sure. But I didn’t hear her put up a fight when they picked her up.

Phillip: The look in her eyes when it happened too. She wasn’t scared.

Grace: Right, right. She looked angry. Like she was about ready to kill someone.

Phillip: Her brother was scared. Looked to be tweakin’ a little bit.

Dusty: This is interesting information. I think it warrants further investigation.

Grace: Agreed.

Marcia: I’m down if you want to investigate today.

Dusty: No, no, we can’t rush into it. And we can’t all go at once. It will draw too much attention. Phillip, Grace, how about you visit the house you say Meagan stopped at tomorrow? Maybe interview other folks who know who she is? Marcia, see if you can find anything about Meagan online. While you all work on that, I’ll keep watching known government hotspots for any activity. We can reconvene tomorrow night.

Grace: Oh, no...no, I’m not staying up until midnight again. I did that almost every damn night last week and I need some (yawns) I need some goddamn sleep.

Dusty: Grace, all of us need sleep. But this is important. It could be a matter of life and death for Meagan Cortez.

Phillip: If you really do wanna just go home, I can fill him in on whatever we find.

Grace: Would you?

Phillip: Of course.
Grace: Okay, thank you. In that case, sure. Reconvene at two in the morning behind a McDonald’s dumpster for all I care.

Dusty: How about Anschultz Bar and Restaurant? If we eat and drink in public, it will show our enemies that we’re not afraid.

Marcia: Really?
Phillip: Sounds like a plan.