Enchanted Dreams (16 page)

One by one, Emilie began following the links and spent the rest of that day reading. There was a lot to sift through. Most of the links consisted of insane chatter that offered no real enlightenment, but from the seemingly more reliable sources she found some consistencies that she herself could attest to. There were apparently many other women out there who had similar experiences to hers. Some people believed that the "grays," as she now believed she had encountered, often impregnated women in an effort to produce "hybrid"—half alien, half human—children. Why these hybrids were being bred Emilie could not find a satisfactory answer to. But she found great comfort in the fact that other women had been through an encounter that was remarkably similar to her own. In particular, she became hopeful when she read that many of the impregnated abductees reported having a second encounter shortly after the first, where the aliens returned to take the fetus from the mothers. Some women claimed to have gone through this entire process several times with the aliens. Others claimed to have experienced a kind of communication with them, where they were provided the "knowledge" that these hybrids were necessary for the continuation of the aliens' civilization. Emilie read all that she could find on these hybrids and their mothers, but in spite of the large number of hits she had gotten, there appeared to be precious little useful information to be found.

But the mere suggestion of the aliens returning gave Emilie cause for hope, and she fervently clung to the possibility that the aliens would come back and relieve her of her burden.

And yet, she knew that she could not rely on this. She must do something. But what?

She had already been informed by the nurses at the clinic that, in the event that the treatment did not work, she would be obliged to follow through with the procedural abortion. There were several problems associated with this, both of which seemed insurmountable to Emilie. First, the procedure they recommended was best performed between six to twelve weeks. She would never be able to endure carrying it another four weeks. But it was even worse to imagine going through the procedure. What kind of matter would they find when they extracted the contents of her uterus?

It was preferable to imagine that the aliens would return. But how could she be certain that they would? Yet the idea, once conceived, took hold of her consciousness, and Emilie suddenly found herself waiting. Every moment, with every movement and sound around her, she realized that she was only waiting. Even when she seemed to forget that she was waiting, she would suddenly remember again when she jumped to attention at the slightest noise, or flash of light, or anything else that captured her attention. But always she was disappointed to find something other than what she was waiting for. During this time, a kind of shift took place in her consciousness, so that she lived in state of constant expectancy that was shattered by thousands upon thousands of little disappointments.

Imagining the aliens' impending return, Emilie's entire being would become alive and alert, tingling with an unwelcome and discomfiting anticipation. Yet now she had good reason to accept, and even desire, their return. Recollections, fleeting but powerfully persuasive, would tease and torment her consciousness. Images of the tentacles—massive and encroaching in damp, colorless gray—flashed before her eyes, capturing her, holding her, penetrating her. With every passing hour her sense of expectancy grew, so that the slightest indication of something approaching would cause her hair to stand on end and her flesh to tremble and pulse. In those moments she was frozen with expectation and need, although she was repulsed by her own desire. She was alarmed and mortified by the jarring response of her body to the memories, which should have left her petrified with dread, not aching and wet with yearning. She tried to focus on the many negative and frightening aspects of the experience, but like a moth hovering too near a scorching flame, she was already trapped in the hypnotic spell of the bright white light, and she fluttered about in a frenzy as it continued to draw her in, closer and closer to that which frightened her most. In accepting her fate, she had come to expect it, even look forward to it, and in the meantime a terrible yearning took over all of her consciousness, creating an aching discomfort deep in her womb.

During this time of expecting, Emilie's dreams became even more intense and detailed. Often when she awoke, she genuinely believed the dreams really had happened. She would sit up in bed, excitedly grasping at the details of her vision, until she felt the familiar morning sickness well up, and her mouth watered from the offending taste of metal. Then she would lie back down in bed and close her eyes, trying to recapture the dream and retreat back to the state of mind that took her there. There was little left of actual terror now, for she had come to realize that they were not going to physically harm her. They were, underneath their alien exterior—she felt—harmless and peaceful creatures. There was even a kind of gentle beauty in their eyes as they silently watched her. They never spoke, not even to each other. The only sounds she ever heard were the slick, fluid noises coming from her body and her own echoing cries. The aliens, in spite of their absolute silence, somehow managed to convey a sense of calm so potent it would have taken drugs to produce the same effect by human standards. She had a sense that their every movement was calculated and controlled and significant. Her mind always seemed to go back to her memory of the tentacles, and she thought about them continually, imagining them caressing her, restraining her, penetrating her.

The dreams left Emilie weak with longing.

With the passing days a kind of frustration began to develop. Although Emilie's sense of waiting and expectation intensified, her fear that the aliens would not return also grew. This frustration kept her in a constant state of irritable touchiness and, everyone, especially David, kept a wide berth between themselves and her.

After a while, the fear caused her sense of urgency to reemerge. The alien thing inside her was still growing at an accelerated pace. She realized that she couldn't wait any longer. She reluctantly scheduled a second appointment at the clinic. But she was actually more terrified of what might happen at the clinic than anything she might be subjected to in an alien encounter. The events that had taken place in that encounter had been shocking and traumatic, but the thought of being exposed was unimaginable. Her life would be over.

This time there were protesters at the clinic. Emilie sat in her car, silently watching them. She did not feel that she possessed the strength to walk into the building. But with a sudden burst of anger, she got out of her car and approached the building. She saw that the protesters spotted her, but she refused to retreat. She must get to the other side. She could hear their angry voices shouting out messages and was seized with a full-blown fury of her own. What right did they have to try to stop her? Their conviction was suddenly terribly oppressive to her. She struggled to control her rage as she brushed off the pamphlets and flyers they flung at her.

But a dizzying confusion was coming over her. The crowd seemed larger than she originally thought. In which direction was she going? She was suddenly disoriented. Panic seized her as she struggled to find her way out of the crowd. She longed to scream but couldn't find her voice. Someone had hold of her. They were leading her, talking to her with soothing little sounds. A strange heat moved through her, searing upward, and filling her head in a sudden rush. She felt light-headed and realized she was going to faint.

And yet she did not lose consciousness. Somehow, the crowd just suddenly disappeared. Emilie didn't move—she couldn't move. It was as if she were paralyzed. But she was moving. There was no tangible movement that she could detect and yet she was certain that she was being moved. A strange sense of déjà vu crept over her. She realized that she was floating. Her last thoughts were of the white room with the bright lights.

Emilie woke up with a start, believing herself to be at the clinic, but there was an instant awareness of unreality all around her. And there were bright lights! She wondered hopefully if she had finally made it back. Perhaps her trip to the clinic had forced the aliens into action. Had they intercepted her? She looked around and suddenly there was no doubt that she was back in the white room. But was she only dreaming it?

She realized that she was naked and the anticipation filled her in such a rush that it jarred her on impact. A slow, tingling upsurge of stinging desire seeped tenaciously through her veins, meandering along each of the various pathways toward her womb. Her heart thudded heavily in her ears. Her legs had been lifted and were being held far apart. She could feel the cells all around her womb rising and swelling and moistening in readiness. Each one seemed to be pulsing with its own pounding, stinging ache. She squinted as she looked around her. Her eyes were slow in adjusting to the unnaturally bright light, but she desperately wanted to be certain that it was really happening this time.

Emilie felt something cool on her leg and jerked her head in that direction, still struggling to see. The heat of the light penetrated her, radiating inward, with so much potency that it felt like a physical touch. Yes. She believed that she was truly awake and that they had returned. Full remembrance of what happened came rushing back as Emilie felt the first tentacle creep insidiously upward along the inside of her leg. The tentacle clung to her flesh as it moved, causing goose bumps to rise up in alarm. It felt like hundreds of tiny, podlike suction cups clinging and grasping at her skin as it worked its way over her, reminding her of an immense caterpillar that clutches as it moves. The tentacles gently kneaded and pinched with every advance, sending all of her nerve endings into a flurry of sensations, ranging from revulsion to arousal. She felt another tentacle moving over her, and then another, and she could just make out the dusky formations against her pale skin. She did not resist, although she did have the presence of mind to feel an instinctual terror. But after the weeks of terrified brooding, with all of her senses held hostage by the dread of them
not
returning, her relief gave her body the freedom to suddenly come alive. Recalling her dreams, she brazenly reached her hands out to inquisitively touch the alien tentacles. The feel of them on her sensitive fingertips brought a fresh horror to the experience, as well as sending an alarming thrill through the center of her. They were real. It was going to happen again. A powerful surge of arousal flooded her womb, causing her vulva to swell painfully under the force of it. Her body ached with need.

Emilie turned her head and tried to capture a glimpse of them. Their visages were dim and difficult to make out in the harsh light, but she could clearly see their large, vacant eyes peering at her. She stared into the impenetrable orbs in openmouthed wonder as the tentacles continued to slowly advance on her, kneading and pulling at her quivering flesh as they inched their way up and wrapped themselves around her arms and legs to hold her steady for what was to come. She shook with impatience.

This time, having the terror of not knowing what to expect behind her, Emilie's senses were more keenly in tune with each and every nuance. She noticed in particular that their tentacles seemed to secrete something liquid as they moved over her, clasping and pulling—perhaps even penetrating—her tingling flesh in the process, and afterward leaving traces of the mysterious residue behind. She could distinctly feel the flurry of activity all along the undersides of their tentacles, constantly shifting and grasping as thousands of tiny fingers seemed to break through her skin with their continuous barrage of little clinging pinches. It suddenly occurred to her that this residue could be having some kind of tranquilizing effect on her; although her skin seemed to come alive under its influence, a sense of well-being seemed to be seeping into her, releasing her inhibitions and enhancing her desire. She felt all at once paralyzed and alert, so that, although she could hardly move, she could most definitely feel, and more keenly than she could ever remember feeling before. Spread wide open and immobilized as she was, she could not help but think of a fly trapped in the web of a spider. She reminded herself that she was not the aliens' prey. And yet, she was also keenly aware that they wanted something from her.

All of this was happening at an excruciatingly slow pace, as if in slow motion, reminding Emilie of her dreams. But this was much more vivid than any dream, and unlike her dreams, it was not somewhere off in the distance but right here in front of her, acutely real. And now, at long last, she glimpsed the other appendage—the very one that always evaded her in her dreams—approaching. Wobbly and thick, it moved toward her like something massive being conveyed on the end of a tenuous wire. It appeared even broader than she remembered—it was oh so thick—and grayish in color, just like the tentacles. Emilie watched, transfixed, as it advanced. Her arms and legs were still spread wide and held gently but firmly in place by the clinging, moving tentacles, allowing this new appendage full access to her body. She strained painfully against her lively restraints, not in an effort to escape the appendage but struggling to bring her body forward, to meet it head-on, hardly able to wait for it in its excruciating slowness. She sucked in her breath. She could no longer see the tip of it but she could suddenly feel it, there, at the entrance!

She wanted it, God help her. She wanted every alarming moment of it. She couldn't wait for it, in fact. She tried to open herself even more in an effort to accommodate the appendage but her limbs remained paralyzed. It was as if she had no limbs. Only those sensations that allowed her to
feel
what was happening remained active and keenly alert. Yet the tentacles continued to hold her down in spite of her paralysis, and all the while their undersides kept ceaselessly kneading and clasping at her flesh with what felt like a thousand tiny suction cups.