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.

S2.5E5: Escape From Horizon One Part II, Electric Boogaloo

Phillip gets awakened in the middle of the night to help the police track down Meagan after she broke out of the military base. Grace struggles with her mysterious sensitivity to Ryan's disruptions to the timeline.
CAST
Michelle Pearl as Grace, Marcia
Timmy Vilgiate as Phillip, Cameron
text2speech dot org as Salvia divinorum
C.j. Hackett as Ryan, Ryan, Ryan
Aaron Mayfield as the Chief
Collin Estes as Agent Carter
Dominick Vilgiate as Jacob
Jareth Spirio as Colonel Imes

PRODUCTION
Written and produced by Timmy Vilgiate
SOUND EFFECTS FROM FREESOUND(.ORG)
Ambience Coffee Shop 2 and door creak 02 by Jarred Gibb;
nokia ringtone with vibration by izalew;
evil laugh by zyrytsounds;
evil laugh 9 by nanakisan;
phone dialing by Harry Peeks;
footsteps down stairs 3 by sinatra 314;
indoor footsteps by dkiller2204;
radio click 2, radio click 3, radio click noise 3 by erh;
snare police radio over beep by flyin eye;
03 knocking on window by 15hpanska ruttner jan;
car window down and car window up by sandermotions;
machines at work by James Gilsenan
ambience night crickets 1car pass by mshahen
city at night ambience by Broken Head Productions

Newest episode, automatically posted to this blog.

Marcia reclined in a black leather chair, one leg crossed over the other. She wore a blue skirt and blouse, her lips done up in a perfect and seductive red, her hair hanging from the sides of her head in perfect curls. “I’ve been waiting for you Phillip.”, she stood up and gave me a hug. “It’s so wonderful to see you…outside of the office.”
“Mind if I buy you a drink?”
“I’d love that.”
“Just coffee, or you want something special?”
“I don’t know, surprise me.”
“If you say so.”
I stood up and headed to the cash register. But before I got there, an eerie feeling over came me. I looked around the room—caught sight of the doctor from the field hospital. Dr. Whitebalm. She had on a cartoonish fake moustache and glasses; smiling deviously, she took notes. Someone in the seat next to her whispered over her shoulder—they were taking notes to. They were all taking notes. Dr. Whitebalm. The Cashier. Marcia…
“What do you people want from me?”

(A phone buzzes on Phillips nightstand. Panting, Phillip bursts awake, and realizes it was all a dream, ad libbing. He looks over at the phone, seeing that it’s a call from the chief. He picks it up)

Phillip: Good evening. What’s that?...Missing?...Gosh…well. I can…(yawns)…I can head in. You called Grace yet?...Sure, I can do that. See ya in a jiffy, chief. (Sighs, starts to dial another number. It rings twice. Goes to a split screen type of setup, where Grace is in the left channel, on her porch, while Phillip is in the right channel, in his room)

Grace: (Faintly drunk) Hello?
Phillip: Good evening. Hope I didn’t wake you up.
Grace: No, I’m…on my porch right now. Why?
Phillip: Chief just called, he wants us to head down to the station. Says one of the people they had in custody after the sinkhole broke out. Meagan Cortez.
Grace: Oh boy…umm…I hate to ask this of you Phill(hiccup)up Can you pick me up, by any chance? I’m…a little drunk at the moment.
Phillip: I can come get you. You sure you don’t want me to tell the chief you can’t come in?
Grace: No, no. I need to…(hiccup) get out…I can’t stay here.
Phillip: Everything alright with you and the husband?
Grace: Oh everything’s fine. It’s just…(hiccup) We all died! (Laughs) And no one remembers! No one! (Laughs some more, her laughter gradually slows down from hahaha to just…”huh”) I’m going out of my mind. Come take me away. Bye.
Phillip: You got your…huh. She hung up. (Narrates) I frantically tore off my pajamas and got my uniform on, double checking myself in the mirror to make sure everything looked alright. As I charged down the stairs, I saw someone in the drive way. My son. He staggered up onto the porch. Looked high. I grimaced, and took a deep breath.
Ryan: (Sliding out of unreality) Oh, hey dad. Didn’t think I’d see you here.
Phillip: Thought you’d be home by ten.
Ryan: Sorry about that. I lost track of time.
Phillip: It’s three in the morning.
Ryan: Geez. No wonder I’m so exhausted.
Phillip: I’m sure you are. Lucky it’s the weekend.
Ryan: Say…uh. Where are you heading?
Phillip: Some…uh. Some girl they took into custody broke out apparently, no one knows where she is.
Ryan: Broke out…broke out. Meagan Cortez?
Phillip: How’d you know that?
Ryan: Oh, pft, I just…just. Lucky guess. You know…ugh… (Rewind sound) Who’s Meagan Cortez, you said she broke out?
Phillip: Yep. Not super sure what’s happening. Gotta go pick up Grace.
Ryan: Oh my God…John. You were supposed to watch her. She wasn’t supposed to go out of the house…Sorry, uh. Dad. Phillip. Forget I was ever here. (Rewind sound)
Phillip: (Narrates) I hurried down the stairs and out into my car, shifting it into reverse and speeding off to Grace’s house.


(Phillips car pulls up. Grace throws an aluminum can off to the side)
Grace: Have you tried Coors Light in the last (hiccup) few hours, Phillip?
Phillip: Oh boy, Grace. You are a mess.
Grace: You know what’s a mess? The mess is that you’ve called me five times and every time you think it’s the first time you called me. Haha! I’m….I’m losing my mind.
Phillip: You’re drunk.
Grace: No! You’re drunk! Fuck off. Pft. Doesn’t even matter.
Phillip: You don’t have to come. I can tell the chief you’re not doing well, you know, but I need to get to the station.
Grace: No, no. I’m fine. I’m a very civil drunk. I’m very focused. I’m very good drunk. I’m going. I’m…I’m a very good drunk. Civil. Focus. Let’s go.
Phillip: Grace, I don’t know…
Grace: I’m going Phillip! Everything keeps repeating and I think I’m traveling through time. Do you remember what Coors Light tasted like eight hours ago…
Phillip: You put that beer back where you found it and…(sighs) Okay. Okay, get in the car. You just let me do the talking, okay? If chief sees how drunk you are, we’re both gonna get our asses handed to us.
Grace: (gets in the car, sounds very sad) You died.
Phillip: What the hell are you talking about?
Grace: He took you to the forest and they burned you. And now no one remembers. No one remembers. Ha! Haha. No one remembers. But I remember!
Phillip: Look. Grace. We need to talk about this when you’re in a good state of mind.
Grace: (Pauses) Can you do me a favor?
Phillip: What?
Grace: Can you try to feel…feel really brave?
Phillip: What do you mean?
Grace: Oh my god…it happened again.
Phillip: What—(sympathetically) Sure. Maybe I’ll try to act a little sober while I’m at it to.


Chief, at the station: Thanks for coming in, you two…Where’s Grace?
Phillip: She’s…uh. She’s got a migraine right now. Had a little bit to drink but not too much. She insisted on coming in.
Chief: It’s alright. It’s late. I’ll make an exception.
Phillip: And…I don’t believe I’ve met you.
Colonel Imes: No, you haven’t. My name is Colonel Imes. Phillip, right?
Phillip: Right. What seems to be the problem?
Colonel Imes: We found two of our men standing guard at a secure location fast asleep and Meagan Cortez had stolen one of their identification badges. We’re trying to track it. So far we haven’t seen her go by her house. It’s urgent that we find her. Most of the staff I have at the base go home on the weekend which is why I’ve called you in. I really am sorry to have to ask so much of you folks, but I truly appreciate it.
Phillip: Of course, sir. Thank you for your service. So what are we looking out for?
Colonel Imes: Meagan Cortez, or her brother, Jacob Cortez. Meagan is approximately five feet eight inches tall, about 155 pounds. Dark black hair, hazel eyes, very pale skin, has some bruises of unknown origin. Medical records show a diagnosis of Asperger’s, may exhibit some unusual behavior. Her brother is about six-four, 210 pounds, might be wearing a uniform for McDonald’s or for the Kroger grocery store. Also dark black hair, slightly darker skin, and greenish eyes. He drives a red truck, Texas plates: BB3-8199. Meagan, we aren’t sure where she’d go but she works at Walmart. Has a grandmother in the hospital in San Antonio. You get all that?
Phillip: BB3-8899?
Colonel Imes: 8199.
Phillip: Got it.


Grace: Can I see your notes?
Phillip: Sure you can.
Grace: Huh…wonder why that changed.
Phillip: What do you mean?
Grace: She lost two pounds every time Colonel Imes told you who to look for. (laughter) I know I’m drunk but I’m not crazy. I don’t know why it’s happening. No one else remembers.
Phillip: Well, we’re just gonna keep a look out. If we can find this girl before the government does, maybe we can get some answers about what’s going on with her. (Narrates) Grace put her hand up over her face, and leaned back. (Dialogue) Got any ideas?
Grace: Huh. You think she had a ride? Or left on foot?
Phillip: I’m…not sure.
Grace: Well..(yawns) Let’s head towards Blackberry Creek, see if we see anything.
Phillip: The two of us drove down the highway towards the edge of town, the road illuminated by the golden yellow glare of the streetlights and our own too-dim headlights. The tops of trees shivered in a faint, ephemeral breeze.
Grace: Hey, did you see that car?
Phillip: BB3-8199. That’s Jacob. Boy is he driving fast. (I sped up to try and match his speed) Car looks empty.
Grace: Alright. So she’s not with him.
Phillip: Chief, we just saw Jacob’s car on the 290 heading out of town, but the car looked empty. Over.
Chief: Thanks for letting me know. You folks stay on him, let us know if he gets in contact with his sister. (Narrates) I let Jacob pass us. Would’ve written him a ticket but I knew what he must’ve been going through with his sister in the custody of the government. Best to let him be. He was a couple miles ahead of us—his car bobbed and weaved over the undulating hills, always just barely visible by its headlights. He pulled into a gas station.
Grace: Let’s see if we can find somewhere to park where we can see what happens.
Phillip: Good idea. How about that self-storage place across the street?
Grace: Sounds good.
Phillip: (Narrates) I fit the car in a spot behind a tall wooden sign, where we could see into the gas station, just barely. (Dialogue) Grace...that’s her.
Grace: Oh my god…she’s…Wait a second. Don’t…don’t tell the chief yet.
Phillip: Good idea. Her and Jacob are talking. She looks a little…disoriented. Very disoriented. He’s leading her out to the car. They’re…talking. And…alright. He just got out of the car…let me roll down the window, see if I can hear him. (Jacob’s phone call to Cameron plays in the background, very distant.
Grace: Hear anything?
Phillip: Shh. Not…quite. Something about…he thinks she’s…under the influence of something. He’s calling a friend to help out. Alright. He’s back in the car. And they’re talking again.
Grace: Seems a little strange. You think they drugged her?
Phillip: I don’t know. It would explain things. Poor girl. (Narrates) They pulled out of the gas station and sped down the road.
Grace: Should we tell the chief?
Phillip: It’s gonna be pretty suspect if we say we seen Jacob without his sister and they find them together. Let’s…let’s see what…
Chief: Any luck?
Phillip: Speak of the devil.
Grace: Well, answer him!
Phillip: Yeah, he stopped at the gas station cross the street from the Tucker Self Storage. Didn’t see Meagan, did look like he took a phone call of some kind.
Chief: Huh. Well, she’s probably trying to reach out to him. Keep following him, but don’t tip him off or anything.
Phillip: You heard him, guess we’re gonna keep following Jacob. (Narrates) I turned off the lights, letting the police car blend in to the night.
Grace: What’re you gonna (hiccup) What are you gonna say when your version of the story doesn’t match up?
Phillip: Well. (Sighs) I don’t know. Best case scenario no one looks into it all that much. Worst case scenario I have to dip into the old savings account and seek asylum in Ecuador, I suppose.
Grace: Hold on…they stopped.
Phillip: Alright. Here we go. What’re they doing?
Grace: Talking, looks like.
Phillip: I can’t see into the car. From the shadow he looks like…looks like something’s freaking him out. He just…just heaved over. Meagan’s got her hand on his shoulder, she’s trying to calm him down. Talking again. Alright. And they’re off.
Grace: And the chase continues. (Grace suddenly grew terrified) Keep…keep your distance.
Phillip: Why?
Grace: I don’t know how to explain. Just…keep your distance.
Phillip: You have another one of those uh…those weird time things?
Grace: I did but…it’s really hard to explain. Meagan can…uh…Meagan can…no, I don’t know what she can do…it’s just…we don’t want to get too close. S…sorry. I know it sounds like I’m going crazy, I just…phew. It keeps getting worse. I don’t know why this is happening.
Phillip: Maybe that…that Agent Carter fella slipped you something.
Grace: I…I don’t know about that. Maybe you’re right. Okay, they’re turning into Pioneer Hills. Make sure you stop at the gate. Goddammit, I’m drunk and I’m doing half the navigation.
Phillip: I’m looking at the same road as you, Grace. You just ain’t got no filter is all.  (Narrates) Watching Meagan and Jacob make their way into the neighborhood down the dusty, lightless dirt roads, Grace and I braked to a halt at the gate. The attendant saw our car and snickered.
Attendant (Played by Good Ryan, trying to stall): I had a feeling something was off. This some kind of drug bust?
Phillip: Nope, no drugs involved. Following up on a Missing person’s report.
Attendant: Right. Well, you know what, thank you for all you folks do. We got terrorists in this city now. Crime. Drugs.
Phillip: Thank you, sir…
Attendant: I tell you what it is. It’s all these goddamn Californians, moving out here, trying to change our way of life.
Phillip: Right, well, we’ve gotta…
Attendant: And then of course the aliens.
Phillip: Aliens?
Attendant: Illegal aliens. You know what I’m talking about. Coming across the southern border, bringing their crime, their drugs, their diseases. Spicy food. Rap music. Technological change rendering previously important sectors of the economy obsolete. You know what I’m talking about.
Phillip: Seems like…you uh. You have a lot to talk about. But we’ve really got to…
Attendant: Oh, oh, of course. I’m sorry. I just got a little carried away. Of course. You need to go. Just, you let me know, you let me know if I can do anything.
Phillip: Sure…sure will. Say, you know where that red pickup truck was headed?
Attendant: Oh, the red pickup truck. Yeah, the red…red pickup truck. Uh, think they went right. Not sure. But like I said, let me know if I can do anything to help. I’m the eyes and ears of this…and they drove off. Right. Well, I think I bought her about five minutes. I stepped out from the Attendant’s body. A faint smile came to his face as he remembered a visit to Port Aransas that he took as a child, playing on the beach with his brother and sister. He didn’t see me as I slipped out from his booth, back into the forest. I followed the police car close behind.

Grace’s migraines made this more challenging than I’d expected—since I tried to do the least amount of harm and the most amount of good, every decision I made had to be weighed against the potential to do more harm to vulnerable people like her. In the old days, I had not been aware of such auxillary effects of my powers since I had been so fixated on achieving godhood, then later, fixated on neutralizing my own worst instincts. Only recently had I turned my attention to helping improve the state of this world. And soon it would come to a close. But there were still loose ends to tie together. Wouldn’t there always be? Always some point that needs resolution, mending—the best anyone can do is to leave things better than they found them. The police car stopped when it saw Jacob’s car parked in front of a house. Phillip and Grace watched intently, with hawklike focus, mind’s pervaded by uncertainty. Grace saw me, but did not know how to explain me. She had seen me since she started drinking, a white sphere of indeterminate size and distance hovering just in front of her face.  Should they call the chief? Or should they continue to risk their careers to protect this fugitive from a government which, in their eyes, seemed rife with an arcane malevolence? Ethically, it placed them in a conundrum. Predictably, the smell of marijuana, which wafted through the trees, sent Phillip over the edge. No longer was Meagan innocently trying to escape the clutches of the state. She just snuck out to get high. Phillip felt forlorn as this occurred to him—that all of this risk might have actually been for nothing. He picked up the radio, heart racing enough to cause even the trees outside of the car to fill with dread.

Phillip: Chief, found her. She met up with Jacob at a house out in Pioneer Hills. Strong smell of marijuana coming through the air, looks like they’re just coloring inside. Some kind of a…drug party, I’d say.
Chief: Ha! Well, Colonel’s gonna flip when he hears that. They just about got the tracking figured out on that ID badge, but something’s been interfering with the signal.
Ryan: Something was interfering with the signal? Say it isn’t so!
Chief: You got an address?
Phillip: 571 Louis H. Wolffenstein Place. [hey don’t change this it’s the empirical formula for nicotine, plus the person who discovered the formula mixed with one of the people who discovered the structure. Just saying cause you took out the montauk, ny reference from season 2 and that shit was hilarious]
Chief: Alright, why don’t you take them in? (Agent Carter in the background, sounding groggy and tired) What’s that? You wanted to say something?
Agent Carter: Yes. Officers, I have a somewhat counterintuitive favor to ask of you. Could please make sure to stay out of sight, and take notes on their activity? While this may seem like a youthful late night folly, it could in fact be an attempt by the subject to covertly funnel information about the base’s activities. Keep an eye out for any cash transactions, any payments—see if you can see anything through the windows.
Phillip: Roger that Agent Carter.
Agent Carter: Thank you.
Grace: Well, I guess we had the right idea after all.
Phillip: Suppose we did. How are you feeling?
Grace: The migraine’s getting worse. I keep…seeing things.
Phillip: Did the alcohol help?
Grace: Helped me feel sick to my stomach. I shouldn’t have drank so much.
Phillip: Well, Grace, you’re only human. Been a long day.
Grace: Ha! That’s for sure. (Narrates) I didn’t know how to tell him how many times we’d had this conversation, or how many times the world had ended today—how with every single moment, I anticipated that rusty and menacing voice coming from behind us in the car, leading us towards an army of ghosts.
Phillip: (Narrates) We pulled forward, to where we could look down the driveway. Down on the floor, Meagan and her brother colored, while some twenty something with shaggy hair and a long beard hunched over a computer, looking serious and frantic. I started to consider the possiblities. Maybe it wasn’t coloring. Maybe it was notes. Maybe the fella on the computer was doing research on the base, trying to help them record the truth. I saw a bong on the table, still giving off faint wisps of smoke. Not wanting to be sighted, I pulled forward, further ahead, where they wouldn’t see us, where I could see, just barely, into the house. The fella stood up, said something, and went to go bang on some piano keys. Then he came back, handed something to Meagan. She looked very grateful, very serious and solemn, before standing up and clutching the item in her hands. Her and her brother went out back to the car. She walked slowly, almost on her tip toes, staring up towards the sky. A look of wonder came over her face—she saw something, something none of us could see. Her brother got really nervous. Started backing away. She collapsed to her knees, and shut her eyes, clutching her stomach. Not sure if he should look for help, her brother paced back and forth. I rolled down the window, slightly.
Jacob: Shit, shit…shit…Man, I hope she’s okay. Fuck…I hope they didn’t do anything to her. (He paused. His friend came out onto the porch, staggering slightly.)
Cameron: She alright man?
Jacob: Uh…she’s…
Cameron: Let me check her out. Not like, check her out. You know what I mean.
Jacob: Do you know…
Cameron: My older brother had cerebral palsy so I had to take some first aid classes and shit like that. Uh, let me…Her heart rates a little weird. Breathing seems fast. Probably the nicotine. Uh…let me try something… (The fella held up his hands and started shaking them, his eyes shut—he opened his mouth and babbled in tongues, before thrusting them back over her. They hovered over her.) Ah, yeah, man, her energy flow is like totally fucked right now. This must have a really powerful spirit or something, man. I don’t know. What I’d suggest is you like…you just stand by her side and try to send her some positive vibes, you know what I mean? Positive vibes are probably the best prescription I can give right now. Unless, like, do you want some hot cocoa?
Jacob: Uh…no thanks. But thanks for…uh…for…
Cameron: It’s called energy healing. I learned it in Peru. I’m gonna go meditate for your sister, alright? Let me know if she starts, uh. Like convulsing, or doing anything weird. We might need to do some drumming and some chants to try and realign her spirit.
Jacob: Right.
Phillip: (Narrates) The..uh..hippy fella went inside, and sat crosslegged on his floor. For a little while longer, Meagan sat their, until her eyes grew wide, and she lept up into the air. Unstable, she teetered back and forth a bit, before vomiting all over the ground. Her brother led her back to the car and the two of them sped off.


“Out of the car, both of you!”

Grace: That was…that was…
Phillip: Weird. Real weird.
Grace: What do you think we should… (Narrates) Agent Carter knocked on Phillip’s window. He rolled it down.
Agent Carter: Did you see anything?
Grace: Kids just sat around, smoked weed, and drew some pictures.
Agent Carter: Hmmm. Did their friend give them anything?
Grace: Looked like a…little box of some kind.
Agent Carter: Yeah…we found that. Nicotine gum. Not sure why. Anything else?
Phillip: Nope.
Agent Carter: It’s very strange. And our satellite tracking system went haywire the moment she breached security. You didn’t see…anything else?
Phillip: …No. We didn’t.
Grace: Gate attendant looked a little…strange.
Agent Carter: I’ll interview him. See what he remembers. Maybe stop by and have a chat with their…friend.
Phillip: He seemed like a real quirky fella.
Agent Carter: Did he?
Phillip: Yeah. Uh, seemed like he might have been under the influence of some uh, hallucinogenic drugs, based on the way he was acting and what we overheard.
Agent Carter: That’s a common ploy of certain covert intelligence gathering organizations—they keep their sources in line by getting them addicted to things like marijuana, LSD, heroin—gives them something to hold over the pawns in the operation.
Phillip: I hadn’t considered that.
Agent Carter: It’s all very suspect. Anyhow…it’s been a long night. You all deserve some rest. I’m going back to my hotel. Perhaps I can buy you folks some drinks later this week.
Grace: Sounds good to me.
Phillip: Sure. Got some plans tomorrow, but…should work.
Agent Carter: Alright. So long then. And thank you for all your diligent work.

S2.5E4: How Dusty Put the Gun Down

On the verge of shooting at a car parked in front of his house because he believes it to be beaming a voice into his mind, Dusty starts to recall what happened to his father.

Trigger warning: Includes several gunshots

CAST

Collin Estes: Dusty, Dr. Adam Haverford

Michelle Pearl: Young Dusty

Timothy Vilgiate: The Narrator, Social Worker

Sophia Doss: Aunt Amelia

PRODUCTION

Writing, recording and music by Timmy Vilgiate
Sound effects from Freesound.org

SOUND EFFECT CREDITS

machine gun shooting by deleted-user-7146007

cardboardboxes-01 by soundslike joe

stir fry 02 by lg

door wood pool shed shack open by kyles

bark wave leighlah f female furry funny by balanced energy 10

vietnamese group of women speaking all at the same time by tim sippala

embroidery machine by n8daly

loupe 0023 by adralba

helicopter ride interior omni mics roland r26 by gladkiy

dry leaves isolated crackling by liancu 

puppy hassling by cass bass

chain drag floor by hitrison

paper crumple rip unwrap gift by johson brand editing

ar-15 rifle shot by michorvath

sizzling by jasonelrod 

campfire 2 01 by bobv2

birds1-1644-fs-mst1 by naturenutt

countryside in texas insects and birds by felix blume

Newest episode, automatically posted to this blog.

S2.5E3: Disinformation

At the site of the explosion, Phillip meets Dr. Whitebalm for the first time, and Agent Carter attempts to see if he and Grace are working with "Dean Heyerdahl."

CAST
Collin Estes: Agent Carter
Timmy Vilgiate: Phillip
Michelle Pearl: Grace
Isioma West: Dr. Whitebalm
C.j. Hackett: Ryan

Written and produced by Timmy Vilgiate

SOUND EFFECTS (From Freesound)

Distant_gunfire_01 by CGEffex
Distant_gunfire_02 by CGEffex
Distant_gunfire_03 by CGEffex
distant explosion by reznik_Krkovick
panic by Erdie
zombies by Erdie
human male scream small crowd panic fear by JohnsonBrandE
ghost_sounds by fishwithfeathers
muffled distant explosion by nenadsimic
moans and screams of agony of military soldiers by qubodup
collision by quobodup
plane crash by quobodup
quake with crash by theminkman
girl giggling by madamvicious
explosion simulation by allanz10d
haunted shrils by squashy555
x explosion by cubicanocalypse
distant explosion by reznik krkovicka
my tinnitus sound by hear no elvis
distant ambulance siren by brunoboselli

Newest episode, automatically posted to this blog.

S2.5E2 edosipE elaniF deltitnU

Picking up where the Untitled Finale Episode left off, this shows the other side of the military response to the accident.
CAST
Timmy Vilgiate: Phillip
Collin Estes: Dusty, Agent Carter
Michelle Pearl: Grace, Marcia
Aaron Mayfield: The Chief
Music, production, recording, and script by Timmy Vilgiate.
Sound Effects from Freesound(.org)

Phone Ringing by Ferrettomatto
AmbienceConversation by BlancaBartual
Distant Ambulance Siren by BrunoBoselli
Ambience in a Parking Lot by botha9johann
Carpet Footsteps by 180156
crowd sm conf rm jumbled conversations by cognituperceptu
crowd sm conf rm jumbled conversations 2 by cognituperceptu
medium crowd murmering [sic] by jentlemen
G16-11-Police Teletype and Ambience by craigsmith
shop-door-bell by 3bagbrew
Tweets from Marianne Williamson read by Timmy Vilgiate and embedded in the background.

Newest episode, automatically posted to this blog.

Phillip: Not more than a few minutes passed before I got the call from the chief. Saw his number and tried to move as far away as possible so he couldn’t tell where I was... Explosion—needed to head in. Figured it’d be all hands on deck.

Back at the station, the parking lot was filled with cars. Two tall men in digital camoflauge uniforms with M-16s stood out front. I double checked my uniform before striding inside. The front lobby was packed. Marcia stood up when she saw me. “Fancy seeing you here on the weekend.”

            “Yeah, heard there was some kind of party or something going on?”

            “Yep, in the conference room.”, she raised her eyebrows, and motioned for me to come closer. Coyly, she pointed at a page in her magazine so it looked like she had something to show me. I leaned in. I was so close to her face that the smell of her perfume was almost overwhelming. My heart pounded and I tried to stop myself from staring at her perfect goddamn face. Shaking her head, she muttered in a quiet voice “It’s been really weird. The CIA is here, and the army.... Something is up.”

            “We’re still on tomorrow, right?”

            “Yeah.”, she nodded, smiling faintly.

            “I’ll fill you in, if I can.”

She looked over my shoulder, to see Grace come in through the door. Her expression soured. “Don’t get yourself in trouble, Phillip... I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her hand on her temple in frustration, Grace strode up to us. “Conference room?”, she asked Marcia. Marcia nodded.

Grace: “Great. Thanks...(They head through the door, into the hallway) “So you and Marcia, huh?”

Phillip: “Ain’t nothing happening between me and Marcia.”

Grace: “Phillip, your face is red as a goddamn tomato.”

Phillip: “Alright, well we’re going out for coffee. Turns out both of us have an interest in French Impressionism.”

Grace: “French Impressionism huh? Haven’t heard that one before. I got the impression she was more interested in the dramatic arts.”

Phillip: “Dramatic arts?”

Grace: “Cuckoo, cuckoo. Watch out.”, she snickered, before sliding into the conference room, “I’m gonna get myself a bagel. You want one?”

Phillip: “Uh, sure. Sounds fine. I’ll save you a spot.”

Grace: “Right. See you in a little.”

            Most of the people were still either trickling in or standing up, so I made sure I secured two of the only four swivel chairs for Grace and I. Only one person was there I didn’t recognize, a sour looking man in a suit, with a pair of dark, square glasses with thick plastic frames. He didn’t talk to anyone. Just sat at the end of the table, studying each person who trickled in with a penetrating, mealy look in his eyes and assessed them—taking mental notes. The chief sat next to him, quietly, and nervously, finishing up a bagel and watching people trickle in, including staff from police departments in other towns in the county. The Sheriff was there too, right across from the chief. Some of his deputies stood over by the wall. Grace sat down next to me, passing me a bagel and a cup of coffee. “Thanks for saving me a seat.”, she nodded. There was a silent code of honor between partners in the local police department that, at departmental meetings, one partner had to get bagels and coffee, while the other person had to try to claim the swivel chairs. It wasn’t one of those life or death codes of honor, but you still had to take it seriously.

GRACE

            I’d heard the explosion from my kids soccer game. Soon as it happened I knew two things. First thing: I was gonna get called in on my goddamn day off. Second thing: Dusty was right. Something strange was going on. It gave me nightmares last night. I kept thinking about that girl, Mary Ann. I imagined finding her body, and trying to tell people but no one would listen to me. I had a migraine now. I couldn’t sleep. When I woke up, my husband had moved to the couch again, apparently because I was tossing and turning. And now there was something else, something else I didn’t know how to even talk about…it had happened right after the explosion. Everyone’s kids froze still. I couldn’t move all the sudden. I saw this man…this old man…he looked like a walking corpse…drag a fishing pole across the field. And behind him, there was this roar. This awful roar. Everything went black. I had this terrible feeling that I was dead. That everyone was dead. I remembered flickers of it. And then I woke up. And everyone was normal again. But when I looked at my husband, at the other parents alongside the field, they all looked disturbed. Like they knew as well as I did that something terrible had just happened to them…like they’d all seen the fisherman, and heard the roar in the distance, felt the universe die, and then…go right back to normal. I kept thinking about it but I couldn’t remember the substance of what had really happened. None of it. Only flickers. I wanted to tell Phillip, but I couldn’t find the words to explain it.

Phillip

            Something was bothering Grace—I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was me and Marcia, much as I didn’t want to think she might have been jealous. The chief stood up and called out, “Alright, everyone, please get to your seats. We’ve gotta make this quick. I’m gonna pass around a sheet—if you can sign your name, Agent Carter can get this briefing underway so we can get you all back out there.”

            “Thank you Chief Bentley. As you all just heard, my name is Agent Milton Carter. I am a counterintelligence specialist, originally from Northern Virginia. Some of you may have spoken with me before. Just to clarify, before I brief you on the situation, you have to understand that, as this is a matter of national security, you cannot speak to the press until a full briefing has been completed. If anything leaks, I can and will have you court martialed, and you will face criminal charges. To start with the basics, at about 11pm last night our data collection facility intercepted a text message sent from a person on the No Fly List who we believed to be connected with the Islamic State to an individual in the Topaz Heights Neighborhood. Several months ago, some concerned citizens tipped us off to what turned out to be a so-called sleeper cell in the area, preparing to detonate a dirty bomb and to conduct several coordinated mass shootings across the state of Texas. The team planned their attack for today. While preparing for a drive to a Los Lonely Boys concert in San Antonio, the terrorists inadvertently detonated their device. Since we had already planned an operation to intercept them, the army was in the area, and was well prepared to assist with managing the disaster.

            I do need to advise you all, however, that several days prior to the foiled Los Lonely Boys attack, an elaborate video was posted to a youtube channel associated with a certain Dean Heyerdahl, a name we suspect to be pseudonymous, wherein a man reportedly was visited by an alien. This “Heyerdahl”: has gained repute on certain dark corners of the web since then for unfounded rumors about the Water Treatment Facility. As you all know, we do maintain a data collection center there, where we have a small detachment of soldiers and computer scientists. However, Heyerdahl seems to have convinced a sizeable number of people that the base is, in fact, not what it appears to be from the outside—that it is in fact some kind of alien research facility, a retired mind control laboratory—that sort of thing.

Heyerdahl claimed that the “alien” had warned him of a coming extraterrestrial event on February 11, 2017. He used his influence to organize a group of people that has been monitoring the city with hidden cameras, drones, and other specialized equipment. We are concerned about the size, scope, and coordination of his efforts. In all likelihood, Heyerdahl is not a lone wolf, but a code name for a covert organization of people, possibly connected with ISIS, possibly connected with foreign intelligence. If anyone seems to take an inordinate amount of interest in the site of the accident, please report them to me and we will take care of it from there. Be careful who you talk to about this incident—we have reason to believe that this “Heyerdahl” figure and his organization have infiltrated multiple levels of society, ranging from city government to ordinary fast food restaurants.

Now that that’s out of the way, we can discuss the security measure’s we need to take. We need to have patrols stationed at La Grange Way, Lookout Lane, and Samuel B. Edwards Road, the three main entrances to the Topaz Hills neighborhood. We also need help with security around a temporary field hospital and the press station we have set up near the sinkhole. Helicopters will be sweeping the perimeter of the incident, and we will need patrols to help distribute water, food, and propane to people in the surrounding neighborhoods. Some government land is being opened up to provide temporary housing, we will need help from local law enforcement to help people move in and feel at ease as we survey the damage.”

            The chief, the sheriff, all of them said some more words—sort of added their little bits of inspiration or gumption or what have you but didn’t really say all that much. It was easy to tune out. Easy to get fixated instead on the expression of Agent Carter while they were talking, that smug bastard, with his beady blue eyes, slicked back hair, almost leaning back in his chair like he wanted to laugh, looking down his nose at whoever was talking. Seemed impatient to get out of here, maybe, to get away from all us local heat. We made him uncomfortable. I could see it in the way he looked around the room. Sure, give all these local bufoons something good to do while they deal with the real emergency, an alien goddamn invasion. This all probably seemed petty to him, all of it. He probably wasn’t even in charge, just some rookie sent out to play agent, give us locals some way to feel like we were handling things out here. I’d seen it with my own two eyes and I felt like they wanted me to think I was crazy, they wanted to pull the wool over our eyes. It was hard not to walk across that room and wrap my hands around that little shit’s throat watching him just lie to us.

He looked further down the table and saw me glaring out at him.

AGENT CARTER

           

            Some rough looking local guy—sort of a cowboy type—was looking at me from down the table, glaring at me. Local guy. Rough looking, maybe a little bit of a cowboy type. Could see his trigger finger itching from the moment he heard the words ISIS. The cover story was a hook, but I was worried we were playing with fire. Fueling some kind of animosity. These people were getting angry, real angry, and I knew that could be dangerous trying to manage a sensitive operation like this. Real people, honest people, that the police officers in front of me likely knew, had lost their homes, their livelihoods in some cases. Redirecting their anger and sadness onto some imaginary foreigner fed into something dark, something primal—dangerous.

            As assignments went out, people hustled to weave their ways towards the door and jog out to the parking lot. I backed away, keeping an eye on the officers to see if I could pick out anyone…suspicious. Anyone who might know the truth behind this Dean Heyerdahl fellow, anyone who might be working with him. Months and months of trying to track him down, and he seemed closer to me than ever before. The chief patted me on the shoulder, interuppting my train of thought, “Alright, I need two of you to stay with Agent Carter to help with security out at the field hospital—Phillip, Grace, how about you two?”

           

            The officer who’d been staring at me, still looking unsettled, followed his female partner up towards the front of the room, sidesteppping and sashaying between people exiting the doors. “I take it you’re Phillip.”

“No, I’m Grace.” the man said to me, laughing, “This here’s Phillip.”

            “Say haven’t I seen you some place? Didn’t you man the roadblock at the data facility the night of that water main break?” (Ask this in a very innocuous way)

Phillip

            The way he asked it almost seemed so self satisfied, his voice was sneering. Like he knew exactly what they’d done with me. Like he almost took joy at coming face to face with one of the labrats. “Say, haven’t I seen you some place? Didn’t you man the roadblock at the data facility the night of that water main break?” (Now it’s asked in a very sinister, malevolent way, showing that Phillip is delusional) “Well, you might have.” (Phillip, this time, says this in a very sly, coy way)

Agent Carter

            Something was off about this fellow. Almost like he was mocking me. Like he saw straight through my cover story. Like he took joy in flaunting his that fact. He looked off to the side, raising his eye brows and almost rolling his eyes as he said, “Well, you might have.” What the hell was this guys problem?

Phillip: Or maybe I was the problem?

Agent Carter: Maybe I was the problem.

Phillip: All this time I’d been acting suspicious of him, so sure enough

Agent Carter: I didn’t trust him. And perhaps it showed. Maybe he just intuitively didn’t trust my story because

Phillip: He didn’t trust me.

Agent Carter: My distrust showed through.

Phillip: And our mutual suspicion of one another fed off of itself. Heck. Maybe he really believes that cover story. Maybe he’s just as clueless as all these other sheep here.

Agent Carter: He’s probably just as scared and confused as the rest of these people.

S2.5E1: The day before the sinkhole

The other side of Untitled Finale Episode, from Phillip and Grace's perspectives.

To follow this arc by itself, listen to S1.5E1, S1.5E3, S1.5E5, and S1.5E6.
Timmy Vilgiate: Phillip
Michelle Pearl: Grace, German Man, Marcia
Aaron Mayfield: The Chief
Collin Estes: Dusty

Written, produced, and engineered by Timmy Vilgiate.
Music by Timmy Vilgiate: Rivers of the Mind Season 2.5 Theme
Sound effects either produced in house or downloaded from FreeSound (see webpage)

SFX from Freesound(.org)

the-bizness: sim police siren
shall555: sh-shop-door-bell-openclose

An hour left on our shift. A Friday. Slow day. Only two calls. So they put us out on traffic duty. Grace was looking down at her phone in the passenger seat. I was watching the cars drive by, nestled in a hidden driveway surrounded by tall trees. 35. 36. 34. 35. 35. 40…40. Was it worth it? 39. 37. 20. Hey come on buddy, can you keep with the flow of traffic? Weird…I peeked my head forward just a bit. Colorado plates. Bet that’s why they slowed down so much. “Grace.”
“Huh?”
“We got a white Subaru with Colorado plates going 15 under the speed limit. Looks like a rental.”
She sighed, and locked her phone, “Alrighty. Let’s go.” I turned on the sirens and pulled forward, racing up behind the car. The two kids inside started frantically talking to each other. Flailing around. Probably trying to hide something. Who knows. They pulled off to the shoulder. “We gotta suspicious vehicle from the great state of Colorado out here, please standby.”, I spoke into the radio, before turning to my partner, “You wanna get it, or me?”
“I can do it.”

GRACE
Anything to get out of that goddamn car. Being around Phillip was different since that night with the field, and I don’t blame him or think less of him for it, but if he was in a bad mood then it was to hard not get sucked in. Hanging around this Dusty character was making him worse. Rubbing off on him. You couldn’t talk to him for fifteen minutes without hearing about how the…how the deep state was…was putting flouride in our water, or how there were hidden cameras in the woods outside of his house. I went up to the side of the car. The fella driving had long brown hair, blue eyes, sort of stubbly face—his girlfriend looked hispanic or something, couldn’t really tell. He rolled down his window.
“Good afternoon officer.”, he said, in a thick German accent.
“Sprechen-zie, Deutsch, mein herr?”
“Ja, meine Frau und ich sind hier im Urlaub. Sie sprechen gut deutsch, wo haben Sie gelernt?”…

PHILLIP
I could hear Grace talking in muffled German through the window—the man she’d pulled over laughed, and his wife reached forward to shake her hand. She asked them a few questions, before the man stepped out and led her to the back so she could look through her trunk. She glanced back at me, raising her eyebrows. The two didn’t have anything but some luggage. Probably tourists, I supposed. She strode back to the car. “He’s from the same town as my husband. Rosenheim. What are the chances?”
“Probably pretty slim, I’d imagine.”
“Yup, small world. Wife was from Italy, I guess. Visited family in Denver and came out to see the hill country. He kept getting pulled over for speeding so he was trying to go slower.”
“Right. Makes sense, I guess.”, I shrugged, and drove us back to the speed trap. 45 more minutes and we could leave. I was anxious to get the hell out of there. Had to meet up with Dusty after he got off work. We pulled back into our spot and I resumed taking readings of the passing cars. 35. 36. 34. 33. 35.
“So tomorrow, I guess, is the big day, huh?”
“Yep, sure is.”
“You got your…uh. Your Nike sneakers ready?”
“Oh come on, it’s not like that.” I tried to laugh. The humor didn’t come across.
“No need to get so defensive.”
“I’m not getting defensive. Just...(sighs) We’re going with Reeboks for this one. I’m supposed to pick up the Koolaid, and Dusty’s bringing along the rat poison.”
“Right. (weakly laughs) You really think something is gonna happen?”
“I’m not sure. Dusty seems pretty convinced.”
“He does. Maybe he’s on to something. Then again, maybe he’s just skipped one too many doses of his medication.”
“I don’t know, Grace. Seems like a pretty level headed fella to me.”
“Yeah, right…”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I asked him what he thought of the weather and he ranted for half an hour about the United Nations, FEMA Camps, and secret alien bases under the Gulf of Mexico.”
“He’s just a very serious minded person. You’ll see tomorrow. You’re…you’re still gonna tag along, right?”
“Well something’s sure as hell going on here, and no one else is looking into it, so, yeah. I’ll be there. It’s just gonna depend, uh…Tanner’s got a soccer game tomorrow so I’ll have to be there either in the morning or the afternoon. But I’ll be there.”
“Gotta put family first, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah. You…uh. You talked to Kurt about this?”
“Don’t know how. But he’s probably gonna be doing homework over at that, uh, Isabelle girl’s house.”
“Homework huh?”
“That’s what he keeps sayin’.”
“This is Isabelle Grove, right? Same Isabelle Grove we arrested for shoplifting five years ago? Her dad works at the scrap metal yard, doesn’t he?”
“Yep. That’s the one. She’s not gotten into trouble much since then, guess she’s in some kind of uh…computer club or something. Whenever I see her, she tries to sell me these, uh..these Byte Coins or something like that. Some kind of, uh, computer money. Kurt’s always talking about it too. Long as its keepin them out of trouble, and away from drugs, I suppose.”
“Right, right. So, what, you think they’re fixing to date or…”
“Oh, they probably are, just haven’t got around to tellin’ me yet.”, I gulped. The truth of it was, I hadn’t talked all that much to Kurt. I didn’t know what was going on with him. He’d just get home, shut himself in his room, and play his computer games since I caught him smoking pot. Wasn’t sure what to do. Least he was less angry at me than he was at his mom. Hardly talked to her, neither did I. I tried changing the subject. “This old speed trap sure ain’t what it used to be, is it?”
“Everyone and their brother knows about it. (sighs) Guess we should probably head back to the station soon, huh?”
“Suppose we could. Think rush hour’s just about petered out anyway…”

GRACE
The two of us pulled out of the speed trap, and sped on down the highway, back to the station. It was a sleepy day there too. The same guy who’d been sleeping off a hangover in one of our three holding cells that morning was now clutching his head, and staring down at his bruised hands. Marcia, the lady at the front desk, briefly looked up from a copy of People magazine, and waved at us with a smile. I waved back at her, even though Marcia was a catty bitch who seemed to think this was a goddamn high school cafeteria and not a police station. We lost the normal front desk person—Laura—last year when she finished her CNA license and went to work at the nursing home. Now she was a good receptionist. I don’t know who the fuck decided to hire Marcia.

Right as Phillip was leaving, someone tapped me on the shoulder. “Grace, you mind if I have a word with you?”, I heard the chief ask in a polite, business like voice. Phillip looked back over his shoulder, suspicously. “See ya tomorrow.”, I said.
“Yup, see ya tomorrow.”
“You folks got plans for the weekend?”
“Kids got a soccer game, we were all gonna grab some dinner afterwards. Tanner really looks up to Phillip.”, I explained. Not a complete lie. Tanner’s always a bit starstruck around Phillip since I told him about the time Phillip apprehended a suspect in an armed robbery after seeing him in a gas station.
“Ain’t that sweet.”, he shut the door behind him, “Actually, I was hoping to chat with you about Phillip for a moment.”
“Al—alright. What’s going on?”
“Well, I know he’s had a hard time lately, and he had that little incident where you were thinking somebody drugged him. And since then seems he’s been a little…well, he just ain’t been himself lately. Seems a little on edge.”
“He’s been depressed. Doctor has him on some new medication is all, as far as I know. Got it mixed up.”
“Seems like he’s been awfully interested in these um…angel sightings around town.”
“Sure, but I think most folks are, huh?”
“Interested, sure, but don’t think it really warrants serious investigation, do you?”
“Serious investigation? Oh, no, no. That’s not what I meant.”
“He’s not been looking into any of this on his own, has he?”
“(Grace audibly hesitates—she gets the impression the chief already knows Phillip AND HER have been investigating, and that he knows about the records she pulled) Well, on the day all those sightings came in, we did go around to double check some of the stories. He was thinking it might be some kind of organized prank or something.”
“Right. I was wondering about that. So are you all…I don’t know…planning on filling out a report of some kind about that?”
“Well, of course. He’s just been trying to…to narrow down a description of some kind, you know? Sounded like it was all the same person to him.”
“Hmm. Interesting. You know, this is the kind of thing I’d like to hear about. Not sure why y’all didn’t keep me posted on it.”
“I’m sorry sir.”
“It’s fine. I understand. Well, thanks for letting me know. When you find the time to write the report, I’d love to see it.”, he crossed his arms.
“Right. We’ll have it on your desk soon as we can.”
“Good. And…well, I hope you don’t mind me asking. Noticed that you’d…um. You’d pulled some old case records. Mind telling me about that?”
“Well…I was…curious. About the…the data collection facility, you know? They took us down and debriefed us…but…”
“I see. Now, I understand your curiousity here, and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way since you two are some of the finest officers we have but…I’d strongly recommend keeping your curiousity about that old base to a minimum. Do you understand? It’s a very sensitive installation.”
“[Grace nods, but what the chief is saying to her irks her] Right. It’s just…well there was a case I came across in the files. A girl named Mary Ann, guess she disappeared from a bar in San Antonio. Someone saw her mouthing for help from a car in town. Case closed pretty abruptly. It just stood out to me…[she clears her throat]…No one followed up on that evidence.”, the chief, caught off guard, frowned, faintly, but tried his best to withhold any emotion. I continued “Cold cases like that always stick out to me, especially when there was evidence no one bothered looking into. I wasn’t sure why I’d come across it looking for information about the base either, but there’s no statute of limitations for murder in the state of Texas.”
The chief gulped. and came closer to me. He looked…he looked genuinely disturbed. Guilty even. My heart started pounding. I sure as hell didn’t expect him to look this guilty when I brought up a murder that happened when he was barely ten years old. “I understand.”, he looked me dead in the eyes and came closer, muttering under his breath, “You bet your ass I understand, officer. Back when I was a detective, I spent every night in the cold case files. But just trust me when I say there’s certain rabbit holes in those files that you do not want to go down.” I hadn’t seen the chief act this way before. Usually he was amicable, professional, even when upset—now he looked worse than Dusty. Paranoid, conspiratorial. “Trust me Grace. I’m not trying to threaten you, I’m trying to keep you and Phillip out of trouble.”
“I see. So I should just…forget about it, I guess.”
“That’s what I’d advise.”, he grumbled, backing away towards his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Best case scenario, all you do is end yourself in a goddamn bureaucratic nightmare.”, he shook his head, “Just between you and me, alright, that place wasn’t always a data collection facility. Back in the day…well. Even I’m not sure. I just know that when I…when I started looking into it back in the seventies, I had government agents showing up at my door in the middle of the night, warning me to stop. I know that sounds crazy, I’m just saying, Grace. Something…I don’t know what…happened there. I’m sorry to be so frank. I shouldn’t have…told you any of this.”

Phillip

I started to leave, suspicious of the chief talking to Grace, but not wanting to pay it too much mind, before I noticed that…uh. That pretty new receptionist had a nice painting in the background on her desktop. I leaned in to have a closer look. Suddenly it hit me…she had on this perfume that smelled absolutely heavenly, these red painted nails, curled brown hair. I recognized the painting. “Sorry to bother you, miss uh…is that Camille Pisarro on your desktop?” She set the magazine down and looked over her shoulder, smiling. Holy goddamn that smile. She had her lipstick on just perfectly, her faint brown eyes sparkling in the light.
“I didn’t peg you as a fan of French impressionism.”
“I didn’t peg you as an art history type, either. The Banks of the Oise near Pontoise, isn’t it?”
“Impressive. We had the original at the museum where I did my internship before I came here.”
“Where was that?”
“Indianapolis.”
“Now how in the hell did you go from one of the biggest art museums in the country to the front desk of a police department in the middle of Texas?”
“I find myself asking the same question every day. I guess it’s not what I had in mind when I got my Master’s in Art History, but here we are.”

She stared back at me, sort of blushing, but I couldn’t tell.
“Well, we’re all glad to have you here. We’ve got a lot of problems with uh, art forgery you know, in this area.”
“Oh, do you?”
“Oh yeah, just the other day, I had to bust up a gang of ruffians tryin to sell a forged copy of The Port at Morgat by Redon for a dime bag of meth.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t call me in. (laughs weakly) You know, I’ve been dying to find someone I could talk to about this stuff.”
“Well, it’s not every day you run into someone who even knows who Camille Pisarro is around here. We should…”, remember your sensitivity training Phillip. For the love of GOD, remember your sensitivity training, “We should chat more often.”
“If you’re free this weekend, maybe we could grab some coffee.”
“Oh, uh. Coffee. Yeah. Yeah, I’d love to grab some coffee, uh. Some coffee. I got a, uh, a thing going on tomorrow. Maybe, uh, maybe Sunday morning, round eight o’clock if you’re free?”
“How’s eight thirty?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“You ever been to a place called Java Ranch? It’s right by my house!”
“Can’t say I have, but I’ll look it up, and I’ll meet you there.”
“Alright, I’ll put it in my calendar. Phillip, that’s your name right? Sorry, I’m terrible with names.”
“Yep. That’s what they call me. I’ll see you then. I should, probably, uh, probably get home, but nice talking to you.”
“Sure, see you on Sunday.”

MARCIA
A person! I talked to a human being! I had a conversation with a man about something other than a truck, a gun, or football for the first time in a year and a half! It was a miracle! I tried not to look to excited to have a friend. I didn’t want to seem like, I don’t know, I was desperately lonely or anything. I wasn’t. No, of course I wasn’t. I wasn’t weird. I had not spent the last week obsessing over an alien conspiracy theory alone in my apartment. I was a perfectly normal woman, I had perfectly normal interests. I took a deep breath and looked back at the magazine. Good work, Marcia. You have a friend. A work friend. Now don’t screw it up.

The door to the right of me opened, and Grace came out. I stiffened up my back and tried to look as normal as I could. I smiled up at her. She sort of scowled back. I could never read her. I couldn’t read…most of the people here. Was she angry? Did I have something on my face? “Have a good weekend.”, I said. “You too.”, she smiled, briefly, and paused. Was she waiting for me to say something? I should say something, right? That’s what a receptionist does. “Got any plans?”, I asked. “Just spending time with family.”
“You know there’s a story going around online there’s supposed to be some kind of UFO landing or something.”, I said. Was that the right thing to say? Do receptionists talk about things like that? She looked a little irritated. “Didn’t hear about that one.”, she chuckled, “Was that in the news, or…”
“Some, uh, blogger, took a video of this alien earlier this week. Pretty funny, huh?”, that’s funny. This is a funny thing, the thing that I am talking about. Right? She wasn’t laughing. It was…it was not a funny thing. Right. I sound like I think its real. Okay. “People sure are crazy.”, I said, hoping to insinuate that, yes, I believed the people were crazy. She rolled her eyes. “Sure are. You get a lot of crackpots around here.”
“Well, I’ll see you later! Have a good day!”, I paused. It’s not day. It’s night. (Door shuts) “Night!” I started to pack up my stuff. 8:30am on Sunday. Coffee. Work friend. Work friend=Phillip. Cool. Great.

Phillip

I waited by my car in a mostly empty parking lot in the next town over. It was almost night time. The air felt heavy and cold. Dusty pulled up in his truck, his face anxious, and he stepped out of the car. He mouthed something to himself in frustration and got out, striding across the parking lot.

Dusty: (slams the door to the car, walks across the parking lot) Do you have the documents? (Phillip hands a stack of
papers to him) Fascinating.
Phillip: Now you don't tell anyone I got those to you. You could get me suspended.
Dusty: Of course not. I can keep a secret. (looks through the document) Look at this
here—her friends reported that she'd been seen leaving the bar with a man, described as
a six foot tall caucasian male with dark brown hair. That matches the description of the
last case almost perfectly.
Phillip: Sure does.
Dusty: Jesus Christ...who knows what they did to her? ...Last seen in Fredericksburg, TX
at an intersection, mouthed the words “Help me” to a Miss Molly Perkins while she was
out walking her dog. Police never found a body.
Phillip: What do you think?
Dusty: I—it's too soon to say for sure. I'll need to cross reference it with the other
documents. If I start printing just anything, I'll lose my credibility. But...thank you.

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