He brushed my cheek with his fingers. “I’d rather talk about you. I wonder, who do you more look like—your father or your mother?”
“I don’t remember my mother, but from the pictures Daddy kept of her, she had curly blond hair like mine. Otherwise, I’m all Stanson.”
“How old were you when she died?”
“Daddy says it was right before the discovery of my tumor that I’ve told you about. I can’t imagine how my Dad handled it: the death of his wife and then a terrible diagnosis for his only child. He couldn’t talk about her without tearing up.”
“If you are anything like her, I can see why he was so devastated. It’s awful to lose someone you love. But… to have someone you love vanish, without an explanation, never knowing what happened to them… that’s a different kind of torture.”
I kissed him again. He never discussed his sister. It was clearly too painful.
“Have you ever actually met one of the missing who returned? What did they remember? All those horrible stories about being probed and violated…”
His response was to pull me closer. It was the last time we made love.
It rained heavily the next day, and my passenger seat was stacked with files. I didn’t know why Steven had insisted I bring them out of the office and to the motel on the outskirts of campus.
A fierce humidity forced me to constantly wipe the windshield with my hand. I saw Steven’s car as I pulled into the parking lot. The red sheen of his hair stood out in the haze. A man with a beard stood near him, smoking. I pulled in quickly, behind a bread van.
I peered over the steering wheel, trying to identify the stranger. It wasn’t Dr. Roberts, as I had hoped. I hadn’t seen him, or Marcus, again, after that day in the cornfield. Steven explained that Marcus didn’t play well with others, and Dr. Roberts’s wife’s cancer had advanced so he wasn’t able to travel. I suspected it was actually something more, remembering that look of fear in both Marcus and Dr. Roberts’s eyes. Maybe they’d had enough.
The man talking to Steven hadn’t attended any of the Researchers meetings, and his face didn’t look familiar from any of the scientific journals I’d reviewed at the bequest of the astronomy professors. I unconsciously reached over and put my hand on the files protectively. All Steven had said was to bring the files on the Allen, Bristoff, and Carson cases. I assumed we were meeting another out-of-town Researcher, and it wasn’t strange he was staying at a discount motel. None of them was in it for the money.
I watched the man toss the butt of the cigarette aside as he and Steven stepped into the room, leaving the door ajar. Not wanting to risk the files getting wet, and frankly feeling that I needed to know more about this man with whom we were sharing data, I opened my umbrella and dashed to the end of the overhang.
I didn’t know if the water on my forehead was sweat or rain. Why was I acting so possessive? Why did I feel so off kilter? Yes, I worked hard on these cases, but it certainly wasn’t only my work. It was Steven who helped me become a Researcher. He could show the files to anyone he pleased.
I thought for a moment of how it would look if, by some terrible coincidence, Tom drove by and saw his wife enter a motel room with two men. Usually, my resentment towards him helped justify my indiscretions, but at this moment, I felt ashamed. I tried to brush it off, hurrying past the other motel doors. The curtains were drawn in the room that Steven and the other Researcher had entered. Smoke was drifting from the room, explaining why the door remained open.
“These wingtips are killing me,” I heard the stranger say.
“Pretty high end for someone in our circle,” Steven said.
Just another professor. I reached to open the door. Probably from Chicago—
“What does she know?” the man asked. I withdrew my hand.
“More than I do, at times. She’s whip smart.”
They must be sitting just inside the door, maybe on the edge of the bed.
“I mean, how much does she know? About the weather? About the other theories? Even Argentum?”
I bit my lip, remembering Barbara asking for an explanation of Argentum, and how Steven refused to even discuss it with me.
“Why would I waste her time with that?” Steven replied. “We don’t even know what it is. It’s a glorified urban legend about aliens, without any details. We’ve all been told to dismiss it anyway. Why do we keep asking what it is if we don’t even have a shred of information?”
“Is this smart, Steven? She’s not even a scientist, or a professor.”
“Not all of us are in academia. It does us good to have others.”
“If we go underground, will she do it?”
“I think she would, especially if I decide to as well. She’s seen a lot, enough to understand why this is so important.”
“It’s necessary, Steven. Not everyone agrees, but we have to become more militant about things.”
“Militant isn’t the word I would use. I think it’s important for those of us in academia to continue gathering information from the families of the missing. I know you say that you’ve been contacted by some… parent organization over the Researchers. But come on. I’ve been doing this for nearly ten years, and I haven’t heard of such a group.”
“The Researchers aren’t calling the shots. Don’t you realize someone… something…. is driving all our work? Sure, we Researchers share information, but something is connecting us, beyond a shared passion. All I know is that the call I received came from someone with the Corcillium, which, if you remember from Latin class, derives from corcillum, meaning ‘heart,’ as in ‘heart of the organization.’ This is a chance, Steven, to join the true mission. To go so far under the radar that no one can find us, especially not the Suits. They say it’s the only way we can move around the country without being recognized. And they said if you were interested, that you should come meet with them. I didn’t anticipate you insisting that your girlfriend come too.”
I shook off a surge of nausea, leaning into the door.
“You really think they’re monitoring us? The Suits?”
“Of course they are.” The man sounded weary. “They’re not stupid. They know we’re asking questions. They can dismiss us for only so long. This remote research is important, but it’s only scratching the surface. We would live among these people, spend time in their communities. Understand the commonalities that we have theories about. Live in all these places for a while, spending weeks, maybe months, in the locations of the disappearances. You said she can cook? That might be helpful.”
I was really fighting the urge to vomit. What is wrong with me? Is today the thirtieth? It is. I should have started last week.
I stepped back, my hand on my stomach. It’s been more than that. It’s been two weeks. I’m two weeks late.
“I’ll have to think hard about it. How do we know this isn’t a setup by the Suits? You think they may even have information… about what happened to my sister?”
“I think they’ve got information beyond anything we’ve ever known. Steven, they say there is more to the Argentum theory than what we know. But they made it clear over the phone: Once you’re in, you don’t get out. I’m ready for it.”
“I’m not sure. I know I want to be with her, and I think she’s more than ready to move on with her life.”
Navigating what I would later realize was my first bout of morning sickness, I teetered back to my car in the rain, not bothering to even pick up the umbrella. Steven was carrying it when he returned to his apartment, where I had gathered the few belongings I had recklessly left there.