Something of a Kind

chapter 13 | ALYSON

“You’re sure you want to do this?”

It wasn’t the first time he had asked. Noah had pulled over, bringing it up again at the town’s only stoplight, paused outside of the parking lot, and offered to leave again while idling inside it.

Though Aly knew he had somewhere to be, Noah didn’t seem rushed or anxious. Instead, they both sat buckled, sneaking sidelong glances. Her hands were folded around the phone in her lap. Noah kept one loosely folded eleven o’clock on the wheel, the other on her knee. He hadn’t started the ignition to leave, and she hadn’t worked up the courage to step out.

Stalemate.

Unable to answer just yet, she bit her lip. Nodding towards the flashy silver in a reserved space, she observed, “I think that’s Greg’s SUV. I guess he’s home early.”

“I thought it was at the diner.”

She swallowed, nerves twisting in her stomach. “Me, too.”

“Jerky,” he commented, having jumped to the same conclusion as her. Greg got impatient and controlling and dug for the extra keys.

Did he lie about the trip?

“I’ll take you in the morning. You can figure out what you’re going to say,” he added, squeezing her knee. “I’ll take you home right now, if that’s what you want. Or you can come back with me. You don’t have to go alone.”

Aly shook her head, hair falling across her cheeks. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to push it back in the tight French braid her mother adored, or spend the night hiding behind it.

Noah’s hesitation had keyed doubts in her testimony, forcing her to consider the motives she couldn’t identify. It seemed strange his support now was the only thing keeping her brave enough to go through with it.

He tucked the strayed curls behind her ear and twisted in his seat to face her. She sighed, raising a hand to cover his as it rested on her cheek. Closing her eyes, she focused on his warmth, like fire after sundown. When they fluttered open, Noah leaned close. He kissed her forehead, pulling her into an encompassing embrace. Pressed against his chest, his touch sent heat through her skin. Her hands rested against his muscular back, sliding to fold across his spine as her arms crossed. Breathing in his scent, Aly shivered.

“Whatever you decide, it’s going to be okay,” he promised.

“I know,” she whispered. “I’m ready.”

As she unbuckled and gathered her things, Noah kissed her. Trying to hold onto the courage she felt when he made her tremble, she waved after shutting the door. He didn’t start the engine until Aly stopped looking back.

The office was pushed back in the trees down the road from Yazzie’s, almost curling onto a side-street, the building’s back to the marina. At least two stories high with reflective glass paneling, double-door entrances, and a lit-up marble walkway, the building was fantastical compared to the town’s standard structures. A sign illuminated with lawn lighting read: North American Ape Research Corporation: Ashland, Alaska Satellite Office, labeling the pristine building.

Shouldn’t it say ‘organization’?

It was too pretty for Ashland from the outside in. The floors were covered in tan tiling, swirling gray patterned carpets picking up in the various hallways. Couches surrounded one of three lobby flatscreens. An artsy coffee table covered in brochures displayed like a game of solitaire was placed in the center. Freestanding chairs were lined and stacked along the outer walls, broken up by miniature trash cans or bedside-sized tables stacked with magazines, tissues, and lamps. The high ceilings looked as though they were falling apart, but the place was otherwise immaculate. The curved front desk looked more like the check-in to a hotel than an office lobby to an unknown researcher facility. Despite warm cream walls, it felt like the waiting room to a teaching hospital.

As Aly passed the televisions, the same documentary played in sync, photographs shifted with basic affects, a woman’s voice droning on about Alaska fading in and out.

“ -nearly twothousand and six hundred square miles… home to nine-hundred-ninety miles of shoreline with inestimable palisades, rocky cliffs, promontories, and beaches to explore… One hundred and five miles of it are girding paved roads, making it…”

With a baby face and shaggy blonde hair tucked beneath a beanie, the guy behind the desk didn’t appear much older than Aly. Hunched over a tablet in his lap with a dazed stare, he popped gummy bears into each cheek from a torn bag by a laptop blinking with a bouncing bubbles screen saver. Resisting the urge to clear her throat, Aly rocked on her heels. In spite of her nerves, she was intent on feigning patience.

Upon glancing up, his brow knitted. As he blanched with recognition, she glanced at his name tag reading ‘Franklin Clancy’ before he could stumble over himself to stand. Franklin fished for a clipboard and pulled a wire basket from a bottom drawer, lifting a blank report to clip beneath a pen.

“You’re making a report?” he clarified. As he spoke, an enlarged Adam’s apple bobbed in his skinny neck.

“I am,” Aly agreed, half -smiling to mask a shudder. Her voice felt too pleasant, offering illusions of calmness. As her words met her lips, it sounded almost lyrical.

He offered it wordlessly, glancing through his hair. She felt his stare, feeling vulnerable to its invasive nature, as she backed away.

Taking the nearest seat, Aly blinked at the neon clipboard in her lap. The front page requested a name, contact numbers, and other personal information. The second was filled with paragraphs of empty lines accompanied by a basic questionnaire.

Attempting to squeeze in every scathing detail, she fit the experience around available space, dropping fragments and estimated numbers in a loopy scrawl. It seemed too politically correct – If direct contact was made, what would you define the animal you encountered as (using common names)? Explain. Which classification of encounter do you feel you have according to an A (being sighted upon interaction with evidence recovered), B (interacted, not seen, evidence may be recovered), and C (assumed interaction, no evidence recovered) scale? Explain.

Explain, explain, explain.

By the time she had finished, her knuckles ached, the pen hovering over blank areas as she reconsidered her thoughts. Unable to offer anything more, she stood, nodding to herself. Offering it to Franklin’s sweaty outstretched hand, she stared at her feet. As Aly tried to ignore his expressions – confusion, disbelief – she felt her resolve building. It crumbled when he blurted, “Alyson Glass as in Greg Glass?”

Aly shrugged.

“Um, wow. Oka y, never mind. I need to file this and send it in for evaluation. They’ll be some people here to talk to you…” His voice trailed, distracted by something on her paper.

He flipped the page, revealing nails bitten down to the buds. She couldn’t tell if they were dirtied, blood-blistered, or carrying chipped remnants of black nail polish. Uncomfortable with the observation on a queasy stomach, she turned away.

“That’s really fantastic,” Franklin muttered absently, almost disbelieving. “You know what? There are some people who used to work with NESRA I want to take a look at this. Do you mind if I borrow your cell? I’ll need to upload the files.”

Wordlessly, she pulled it from her pocket. He untangled a cord from a dozen others piled in a milk crate at his feet, hooking it up like a flash drive. Typing something in, he grinned. Spinning his chair with a kick, he pointed to the screen over his head. Her photographs merged into a slideshow, popping up like an aver-key, every lobby screen in unison.

“Someone will be out soon for an interview” He sounded pleased as he returned her phone.

After a moment, he worked on arranging a flood of copies, labeling several files with her name. In thick permanent marker, the manila folders became something daring– The Glass Case. It had become a political statement against her father, possibly against herself. Aly didn’t know how she felt about it.

Before she could return to her chair, Greg was running towards her down the hall. She paled, biting her lip. Silently, she rushed to build resolve. She could tell by his jerky movements that he was working towards confrontation. Bracing herself, she prepared for anything. Perhaps he was confused or angry; maybe he wasn’t aware of her until she’d caught his eye. They flashed now, a chilling blue.

Either way, he sees me now. There’s no getting out of it.

Before he’d stopped walking, Greg warned, “Alyson, you better tell me what you’re doing here right now.”

Aly crossed her arms, her defense instant. “I’m making a report.”

“How,” Greg yelled, “How did you know?”

Her eyes slid to the people around the room, frozen and gawking. It occurred to her just how loud he was being. Trying to sound innocent and unaffected, Aly inquired, “About what?”

She failed. Her father’s hands shook. When he caught her confused stare, he tucked them in his elbows. Fists balled, exposed skin pulled white over his knuckles. “My work – how did you know about my work?”

“Townies,” Aly replied, an edge to her voice.

Why does he keep demanding something from me?

Disgusted, he spat, “What is this?”

“Why am I being scolded? I saw something. Some friends identified it and pointed me in the right direction.” Feeling defensive, her fingers itched, curling into themselves. She dug her nails into her palm, a welcome distraction from the hurricane raging in her chest.

“This isn’t a joke, Alyson. This is my career. You can’t take this from me. You can’t take this too. I won’t have it. You’d regret that, I’m sure.” Tone menacing, his jaw set.

What is that supposed to mean?

Baffled, she stuttered, “I-I didn’t-”

Incensed, he demanded, “Did your mother put you up to this?”

What the hell?

A lump germinated in her throat. Eyes wide with shock, she blinked back confused tears. Suddenly ashamed of her vulnerability, she curled her nails into her palms, desperate to shake it off. Unwilling to whisper, her voice hardened. Aly said, “She’s dead.”

Greg nodded slowly. Sounding distant, he smirked, “I guess so.”

Blood boiled in her veins. She labored to control the spiraling rage in her chest. She wanted to hurt something, maybe him. It was painful to resist the rage to open her mouth and say a million things

– something, anything until it hurt him. She wanted to go low, to rip the arrogance that grated her calm.

The consciousness of the people staring around the lobby forced serotonin through the storm, but the state felt impassive. How could he say that? How could act like it didn’t matter, as though he had almost forgotten? As though the revelation was almost amusing? How could he not revere and love her mother as completely as Aly did?

She couldn’t fathom Vanessa allowing a man into her world that didn’t worship the ground she walked on. Aly remembered her mother’s words – “You are worthy of nothing less than the Alpha. You wait, watch, and you ask nothing of him because you never rely on a man. He has to prove himself.” Was it a secret to life Vanessa passed on in discretion, or a warning not to follow the footsteps that lead into her darkest mistakes?

She never said I was one of them.

Greg shook his head in frustration to a thought he hadn’t shared. Stalking away from her, he ripped the folder from a statuesque blonde woman’s hands as she discussed them with a coworker. She threw her hands up, waving, calling after him. Greg ignored her indignant threats, flipping through the pages. He slowed to a stop, silent. His lip curled.

“You have got to be kidding me,” he snarled. Shoving splayed contents back between the manila covers, he shook it in Aly’s face. “What the hell is this?”

Why does he keep demanding something from me?

The blonde materialized behind him, stiffly tapping his shoulder. He spun to face her, meeting a look of death, a hand on her hip. She ripped the file from his hands, turning and walking away without a word. Greg’s face reddened, following with anger bleeding from his stance.

“You’re actually taking this seriously?” He yelled. His arms stretched out, as though he was waiting measuring wingspan. Something about it put Aly on edge, her nerves flooded with alarm. It seemed aggressive and self-gratifying at once.

“How do you recommend it be handled, Greg?” The woman responded, voice curt. She kept her back to him. Finally glancing over her shoulder, she inquired, “Alyson, are you still holding that this is a legitimate report?”

Aly nodded, rubbing her arm. It was too warm in the building, but she had grown cold. Ignoring Greg’s glare, she raised her voice, “Of course.”

This is wrong– it’s happening way too fast. My head’s spinning.

The woman smiled. It seemed genuine, managing to overlook Greg completely. Aly realized she reminded her of her mother. “Fantastic. If our screening approves, I’m launching investigation. If only to extend Doctor Glass’s comfort zone – think of it as professional development.” Her eyes narrowed on Greg, smile dissipating. “It’s good to be challenged by our colleagues – even better by our supervisors. Now, would you do me a favor and follow up on the Yaver report like I requested this morning, and the morning before?”

“You-” Greg began.

What is going on? I’ve never seen him like this.

“Now, Gregory.” She interrupted. Her voice was too polite, somehow a warning, as she added, “Please and thank you.”

Greg glowered, his animosity momentarily on his boss, rather than Aly. She breathed a sigh of relief, moving to sit closer to the desk. It felt safer, as though the distance allowed her to stay out of sight despite the open-layout. Though tempted to move to the couches as they vacated, she held still. He stalked down a back hallway to gather himself.

Or plot revenge and world domination.

After a moment, the woman moved to continue her conversation. As another researcher in casual work clothes joined them, Aly’s interest was piqued. Her relocation put them in hearing distance. She knew they were discussing her, or at least her case.

“What’s the word, Jocelyn?”

She finished her sentence, ignoring the interruption. “…It appears two teens with her are refusing to come forward. She claims the third will show in the morning.”

A scrawny man in a lab coat groaned. He turned enough to reveal red stitching with the title Oliver Grooves above a breast pocket. “Can’t we deal with it then?”

Pushing her bangs from her eyes, she shifted the papers, reading one page while fumbling to recover a photograph beneath it. “It’s a classic rock throwing encounter, with photographs. They’re way to unclear to identify any animal, but it’s still a reiteration of validity. Did you see the picture of her leg?”

Oliver nodded. “Yeah… It looks like she was in the way of an assault weapon… kicked a grenade or something.”

A taller man with braids pulled into a wide ponytail shrugged, adding ardently, “Plus, bears have no known record of throwing rocks.”

“Honestly Darrin, all of this is irrelevant to one fact: that’s Greg

Glass’s daughter.” Oliver shook his head.

“It’s all the more reason to look into it. He’s a serious guy,” Darrin sighed, rubbing his brow.

“Yeah, but he’s hardly Mr. Moral,” Oliver argued, pushing half- rimmed glasses up his nose.

“If it’s any help, I absolutely believe her– or enough to give her the benefit of the doubt. It’s our job to investigate claims. We treat known hoaxers with more open minds. Don’t blacklist the kid.” Darrin motioned with each sentence like a conductor, offering a sincere expression to Oliver’s doubting face and seeking encouragement from Jocelyn’s. She nodded each time, avid in agreement.

Jocelyn nodded. “Exactly. It’s necessary, no matter your personal feelings.”

“Whatever. You’ve got paperwork.” Oliver shoved the papers into Jocelyn’s hands, seeming more exhausted than irritated. He bumped into her arm playfully as he moved past. She spun around, eyes following as he speed-walked towards what seemed like a break-room from a limited glance. She stuck out her tongue, he responded with a taunting leer. Crude hand gestured where exchanged until he finally disappeared behind the wall, leaning as though someone pulled him inside while he struggled to stay behind for the last word.

Walking alongside each other, Darrin and Jocelyn smiled at Aly mid-conversation as they passed. Unsure how to respond, she nodded. Self-conscious, she stared at the colorful Band-Aids along her skin like stepping stones, wishing she’d worn something more modest than shorts.

The sound of a solid bass erupted from the front desk. Caught off guard, she flinched. Seeking the source, she noticed someone rush to pull the phone from their pocket and silence it without a glance.

Even with his back to Aly, the man at the counter was an interesting sight. Tall and skinny, he seemed almost lopsided with stocky shoulders attached to such gangly limbs. The hems of his skinny jeans were inches above his ankles, revealing clashing socks sprouting from sneakers with neon laces. Against his clean-cut torso, including a professional blazer and his military-esque crew cut, it blared like an alarm, distracting.

Unsure what compelled her, Aly stood, drifting to his side. He leaned on the counter above the desk, shifting through ink-fading photographs she recognized as her own. Noting the illegible tattoos running across his knuckles, she inquired, “Is everyone here reviewing the file?”

Clearing his throat to mask a surprised jump, he blurted, “You’re Alyson Glass.”

Amused, she nodded. He stood, offering a hand and a grin. “I’m Banes. Rowley Banes.”

“Like James Bond?”

Pleased she understood his reference, he nodded, lifting the stack. “Almost everyone. Most of our work is amongst ourselves. There’s usually a lot to circulate, but the area doesn’t really get hit with reports until tourist season. You’ve broken the calm before the storm, Alyson. They’re freaked and flurrying.”

“So is everyone,” she concluded, dismissing his explanation. “Who works with this stuff anyway?”

“There’s all sorts of people who work with this. Sketch artists, professional imitators, DNA diagnostics and polygraph experts, biologists, archaeologists, zoologists, cryptologists, private investigators, field researchers, trackers, teachers, professors, doctors, journalists, cops, even friends of friends… any- and everyone who’s seen it or wants to. One guy was in charge of wildlife for the United Nations. It’s crazy. It’s hush-hush. There’s a lot invested in the field.”

Aly raised a brow, joking, “And I’ll bet they just come running to work with you guys.”

Rowley g rinned. “We can instigate them – knocking, mimicking vocalizations, even using machines and acoustics. You wait until the animals grow silent, it’s their instinct to lay low when a ‘squatch is around. The tricky part is, when they’re provoked enough to actually interact, they’re extremely aggressive. The key is to try to make it seem like accidental attraction. They’re usually more curious than confrontational. But they’re very protective of their young, and since they travel in families, a baby‘squatch is always around. You know how mamabears are? It’s a very similar situation. There’s a fine line between scaring them off, getting them curious, and threatening their territory.”

“So it’s dangerous?” she clarified.

“We think they’re omnivores, but I’ve neve r heard of anyone being eaten by one,” Rowley’s voice teased. “In case things go wrong, everyone in the area is trained to handle the worst. Usually we can keep the expeditions isolated from human interference. We work to reinforce posts on protective laws in supported regions so it’s a haven from hunters. It’s really important to keep their habitats intact and the numbers up in their species, since they’re so rare and we know so little about them.”

“They’re just regular animals, then?” Aly asked. “They’re not halfhuman like the legend says?”

“Of course not. We think they’re a plain old North American primate – which is pretty amazing in and of itself. It’s totally possible. We think they’re a descendent of Gigantopithecus, adapted to a different environment. See, Giganto probably migrated from the Bering land bridge. Chinese apothecaries often hunted the big guys and sold them as dragon’s teeth for pagan rituals.” Eyes wide, he added, “No wonder then ran over, right?”

Aly had to laugh. She understood little of what he said, but his joy was contagious. The way Rowley spoke reminded her of Noah when he told his stories, filled with expression and details of idiosyncrasy. It occurred to Aly that her mother was the same way, when rattling off odd facets of her workday or imitating doctors to force humor into their fears.

I wish they hadn’t been so valid.

Noah reminded Aly of a happier life. It was never easy, with school perpetually awkward and her only parent consistently nailed with work at ungodly hours across a myriad of jobs. Even once Vanessa found schedules in the nine-to-five, jobs were layered with online classes and culinary seminars, most of it falling away with sudden hospitalizations. If Greg hadn’t agreed under threats of faltering child support to maintain the condo fees, she would have been packed into Francesca’s lower trundle years before stage four.

It’s a wonder he never renounced parental rights.

She released he was waiting for her to respond. Blinking to recover, she inquired, “So, how do you usually find them?”

“Well, you look for high breaks in the trees. Higher, with more damage than other animals with that mass can do. When the cedar trees are upside down, we call those inverted. They’re dead giveaways.”

Her brow knitted, images of the tunnel flashing through her head.

“But how would you even know where to look?”

“We follow migration paths based on blank areas in the rest of the ecosystem. They’re pretty common on premade trails, but many animals are. It makes it harder to find their tracks. We think they’re soft-footed, so the grasses spring back after a good rain. Leaf litter is a problem, too,” Rowley sighed, shifting through the photographs again.

“It sounds impossible,” Aly commented, confused and disbelieving.

These people do this for a living with no luck. It came so easily for us.

“Nah, it’s easier because we’re trained. Like, you can't just cast a footprint– you have to splatter cast it, which distributes the weight so it doesn’t dilute or disturb the original shape, which is so important. Plus, we’re hooked up with the best. We have H.D. – high definition, I.R. – infrared, refractory, digital, and stealth cams, audio recorders, shotgun microphones… all sorts of stuff. We get closer all the time. We’ve coordinated with a myriad of other researchers in all corners of the world.” Rowley’s eyes sparkled from behind his boxy glasses, his skinny arms waving in excitement. “There’s a staggering amount of encounters. Did you know even Jane Goodall was interested, even believing, in the species?”

Why haven’t they found it, too? This is so bizarre.

“Why don’t more people know about it then?”

“It’s denounced as myth without looking at the evidence most of the time, unfortunately. I think a lot of credible researchers shy away from our work because it leads to tarnished names so quickly, leaving the entire theory unchallenged beyond the ancient alien theorist distortions.” He winced. “They just kill us sometimes. Well, figuratively.”

“Even here though, where everyone’s supposed to be looki ng for evidence, it seems like half the people here don’t even buy it.” She bit her lip, remembering the fragments she had overheard.

“It’s not that they don’t believe, although it’s not the world I’d use – more like, it’s like… knowing, it’s that they don’t believe you,” Rowley offered apologetically. “You’d think that dedicating their careers to this would make them inclined to put more thought than external factors into the mix.”

“Right,” Aly said, “My dad.” “No offense, Alyson, but everyone pretty much hates him,” Rowley confessed, quickly adding, “Sorry.”

A laugh burst from her chest, alleviating the tension in her shoulders for a moment. His face twisted with concern, unsure whether to alter his statement. She waved off his silent concerns. “Honestly? You have no idea how literal ‘everyone’ is.”

“I shouldn’t have said that.” He scratched his head. “It’s slander. I was trying to convey that whatever issue everyone has, you’re not the problem.”

“Well, thank you, Rowley. That makes me feel better.”

“I’ve got to say, if this is what you think it is, it’s really amazing. This could change everything. If you’re… serious, I guess, you should fight for this.”

“You mean if I’m telling the truth, I should press my story?” She raised her brow, a smile teasing the corners of her lips. He nodded, sheepish. “Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“I think Adam’s waiting for you in the hall.” He cupped one hand to block the other, pointing through his palm at the swish of people through the double-doors to the left.

“Rowley Banes!” a woman’s voice, shrill and pitching, echoed through the lobby.

He froze, offering an expression of mock-horror. Stepping backwards, slowly with dramatic leg lifts, he looked like an actor from a silent movie. His face twisted into an outlandish expression. She covered her lips with widespread fingers as though it covered her giggles as he winked, spinning on his heel to disappear through the door of the men’s bathroom. His name kept ringing through the halls until a pretty Asian girl ran through, awkwardly sliding around in oversized tan flats. She flashed Aly a look of desperation. With her clipboard tucked under her arm, she disappeared in the room after him, ignoring the metallic sign announcing gender-specifics.

Unsure if she could control her laughter if Rowley ended up dragged out by the ear, Aly headed towards the hallway where she’d seen the doctors go through. Both doors were propped open with wooden wedges. A man and a woman dressed in frumpy work attire sat in close proximity. Their voices traveled, too loud for their lifeless expressions.

Feigning patience, Aly waited in the doorway.

“The report holds: distinct saginal crest, approximately between eight feet and eight and a half feet tall, blurred motion, visible eyeshine,” his voice was monotone.

“Seems feasible.”

“It could’ve been a deer,” Adam offered. “Distinct saginal crest, eight-foot? Hardly,” the woman scoffed. “There was a statement issued claiming reports consistent hold reason to believe the eyes have cones, similar to canines, that assist in night seeing for nocturnal behaviors.”

“Was that another forum comment, an anonymous tip, a theory…? Or was it actually, specifically circulated by the B.F.R.O. this time?” He snickered.

“Irrelevant,” she muttered, squaring her shoulders.

“Maggie,” he stated. She balled her fists, resting them on her hips. As he nodded towards the door, Maggie swiveled around. Aly realized he wasn’t reprimanding his partner, but instead announcing her presence.

Maggie stood briskly, smoothing the fabric of her tan slacks and extending a hand. As she moved, bleached wisps fell from the redheaded bun knotted at the nape of her neck. Aly accepted the shake. The grip was too firm, as painful as the woman’s strained expression. Maggie’s dragon-clawed nails left deep imprints in Aly palm.

“You must be Gregory’s daughter,” Adam offered, smiling tightly. When Aly stepped forward to enter the room, his head cocked to the side. “I don’t see the resemblance.”

She leveled her gaze with his. He blanched.

It’s always in the eyes.

“Take a seat, Miss Glass. I’m Doctor Margaret Stone, this is Doctor Adam Birnbaum,” Maggie presented, her chest inflating with confidence at their titles, the only waver in the monotone.

“I’d introduce myself, but it seems unnecessary,” Aly said, carefully selecting each word.

With the woman’s arm still outstretched, she took the seat across from them. Despite the hardwood chairs and red accents, the room seemed like it belonged with a criminal investigation. She felt like she was an eye-witness to a homicide rather than an animal sighting. With the look of death in Maggie’s eyes, perhaps a suspect would be more fitting.

Aly forced a smile, her chin rising through the intimidation. “I understand you have questions.”

The doctors turned to each other nervously, sharing a curt nod. Rather than relaxing, Maggie began to pace and Adam stiffened. Anxiety crawled up Aly’s spine. She leaned back in her chair, away from the table. Manila folders were slathered across like background checks, filled with evidence she thought would be received joyously.

I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve got to stay calm.

Instead of acceptance, she was being questioned. Noah’s hesitation and Luke and Owen’s refusal made sense with epiphany- level clarity. It reminded her of a childhood punishment, where her mother jerked her chin up with two fingers and demanded, ‘Are we clear?’

Crystal.

In speaking, Aly open the floodgates.

“We have to be extremely selective in what we deem worthy of investigation, nonetheless what we file as a legitimate claim.” Maggie’s voice was tight.

“You have to understand that encounters like this are extremely rare, and from our research, the location seems near impossible,” Adam frowned. “Not only does the likelihood of a hoax appear to be incredibly high, seeing as the information here”

“Frankly, it’s too good to be true,” Maggie interrupted. “That is often the biggest concern in our field. The Patterson-film argument has been rolling under that argument since it was released. Which is to say, it’s perplexing how you can suddenly offer so much… insight. Multiple witnesses, all children of well-versed natives or specialists, with an eerily consistent story, collecting more evidence than most in the field can collect in weeks – sometimes more than what’s uncovered in entire expeditions and reporting it immediately after the sighting with nearly intact record?”

“That’s a lot of stars falling into place,” Adam continued. “You also have to consider that reporting it in one of the only areas we don’t investigate isn’t only convenient, it’s unlikely. From our decades-old research, we have a basic understanding of the species, and in an area with such little resources – the ecosystem doesn’t fit.”

“They pull bears out of dumpsters in the midd le of the city, and you’ve already ruled that the environment doesn’t fit?” Aly offered, her voice high. Her nails dug into her elbows. She hadn’t realized her clasped hands had flexed into crossed arms. It was standoffish and abrasive, mirroring their passive aggressive monotones. Too calm, almost airily, she murmured, “Unbelievable.”

They’re just like my father – trying to make me feel crazy.

“We’re not saying it’s impossible, we’re not even saying you children are lying,” Adam continued. “We haven’t even factored in the plentiful abundance of natural factors that could explain it.”

“The plentiful abundance,” Aly repeated offering an unimpressed stare.

Adam swallowed, pulling at his turtle neck. Fidgeting, he straightened, folding his hands on the table. Maggie paced behind him.

“We take our jobs seriously, Alyson,” Maggie suggested. Warnings and implications rolled from her paper thin lips. “Just think about that for a second.”

I can’t get mad. Just breath.

“I don’t need to do anymore thinking,” Aly clarified. “Unless you’re seeking recollection.”

“We’d appreciate it if you would recollect a little harder.”

I don’t really see how trying to be helpful warrants scolding from two strangers. If they think I need a parent, mine should be outside somewhere.

She bit her tongue.

“Ask away,” Aly replied.

Maggie glared.

“All right,” Adam cleared his throat, motioning towards her. “Why do you think your evidence is real?”

Aly quirked a brow. “That’s your job, right? To find out if he’s real?”

“We’re attempting,” he said flatly. “Let me paraphrase. Why should we spend our time investigating your case?”

“Let me paraphrase,” Aly repeated, “You want me to justify to you why you should believe me.”

“Inevitably,” Adam confessed. “It’s suspicious.”

“You could start by ex plaining why I need to defend myself to you. All I did was make a report. It’s a wonder you get anywhere with this research, choking the life out of everyone who offers you anything. Except, of course, you don’t, because Greg’s my long-lostfather who everyone hates. I get it, okay?” She groaned, burying her face in her hands. Look up suddenly, she tucked a curl behind her ear. “You guys have forensic scientists and everything, right?”

Maggie had stopped pacing. Both stared.

I guess I’ve effectively name-dropped.

“Those kind of tests…” Adam faltered. “That’s asking our limited budget to dish over hundreds, sometimes thousands, of dollars. It’s asking a lot.”

“There’s lie detectors and image specialists,” she pressed. “Why don’t you have that on-staff if you’re such an authority?”

“How would you know about any of that?” Maggie demanded.

“My mom worked late shifts before she died. When your options are between N.C.I.S. or Paid Programming, you make difficult choices. I’m also well-versed with the Cooking Network, now can we get on with it?”

“Right,” Adam muttered.

Aly couldn’t tell if he was uncomfortable with the big D, or moving off topic. He seemed uncomfortable with her in general.

“That’s why you’re with Gregory?” Maggie blurted. Her jaw was in danger of hitting the floor. Aly bit her lip, looking at her hands. She didn’t want to know what her father had been claiming.

“Yeah,” she sneered, unable to make contact. Pain was eating at her chest. “Want a DNA test too? Unless, of course, that would bleed the bank.”

“She didn’t mean anything by it,” Adam sighed, pitching the bridge of his nose.

Aly wasn’t sure who he was placating, but silence wedged into the conversation. The tapping of Maggie’s heels as she resumed pacing bounced off the walls. She realized it had never been an interview, but an interrogation. With her patience thinning, Aly smirked at the thought of making it a crime scene.

“Do you even believe they’re out there?” she asked finally, shooing the elephant from the room. They exchanged glances, surprise carved into their faces.

Adam said, “We know they exist. What we don’t know is if your experience is legitimate.”

“Rowley told me all about your technology when I was outside. I know that if you wanted to, you could stop wasting your time looking for a confession and utilize the photographs.”

“You do realize that claiming to know a lot about this is draining your credibility down to nothing, right?” Maggie spat.

“Do you realize insinuating I’m a know-itall isn’t going to make me say I’m lying, right?” Aly retorted, anger welling in her chest.

“Your father is the head of this sector, and you’re a child – his child. What foundation do you have for these claims? Why are you pushing this? I’m trying to keep you from embarrassing Greg,” Maggie demanded.

“Why does this have anything to do with my father?” Aly hissed. “He doesn’t own more than a thought in my entire day.”

“You’re lucky, then. I-”

“There’s no basis for you to decide he affects anything about me or influences any part of me,” Aly continued, seething. “Whatever your obsessive personal vendetta, it’s unwarranted. I’m here to assist with a research project on an animal, and you’re acting like I’ve personally crossed you. It’s totally juvenile.”

“You’re just like him,” Maggie stammered, disbelieving.

Aly knew her mother would have a thousand clever things to say at that moment, but she had run dry. If Noah was at her side, she would feel safe. But Noah was home, doing his duty to the family that existed in his life long before she did, and like with everyone else, she had asked a lot. Instead of Noah’s comfort or Vanessa’s guidance, Aly went from a blind-spot to snow-blind, from inside to locked in, every edge rough, every end loose, every side vulnerable.

Aly offered, “What use do I hav e of him? What point would there be to make here? He’s a stranger. He’s made it clear I’m nothing to him.”

“I believe that,” Maggie swallowed.

“I’ll bet you do.”

Maggie shrunk back. Adam froze.

Aly felt the seam – whichever piece it was inside the woman that was unraveling. Her father had left a mark on Doctor Margaret Stone. She thought of Vanessa.

That makes three of us.

“Manipulative,” Maggie whispered. “I can only imagine what your mother was like.”

Aly didn’t care if the woman wanted to drag her fa ther through a field of glass or spit a thousand venomous insults in her face, but the doctor had approached one of two people she had no right to touch.

Past tense.

Your mother was. Maggie had found her way into Aly, beneath her skin, – charring her wounds, blackening her lips. Her calm disintegrated to ash.

It hurt.

“You know nothing of my mother,” Aly enlightened, eyes narrowed, voice low. “You are nothing compared to my mother.”

“So you think,” Maggie said.

“He loved her,” Aly lied. The last one hurt them both.





~

After the interview, a small blonde man with a shuffling gait retrieved her from the room. After having her sign an official witness transcript on his clipboard, he led her to Greg’s office. Her hands were folded behind her back as she analyzed his space, moving around the room.

A flat screen was placed between tall bookshelves that covered the room, except for a large window with the panels to a heating and cooling system and a vertical column of framed awards, degrees, and diplomas. He had a curved desk in the center, his chair stationed in the elbow. One end was weighted down with papers, a printer, pencil stands, an adjustable lamp – while the other was barren, except for his laptop and his gangly arms. There were no pictures.

This place looks like it belongs to a CEO. No wonder he’s always here.

“So,” she mused, “Any other haphazard teenage daughters I don’t know about?”

He scratched his head, brow furrowing. “Not that I’m aware of. Why are you asking?”

“I just figured, considering Docto r-Margaret-Whatever acts like you broke her heart, called her fat, kicked her dog, and lit her house on fire.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Most people don’t find that kind of imagination charming.”

Aly shrugged. “I’m not most people. So, what’d you do? Abandon her and your unborn child in your rent-due apartment with only a message saying ‘you’ll figure it out, looks like we made our choices’? Or just deport her grandparents and leave her in the woods for the New‘Squatcher-HazeWeek?”

“That’s a lot. I mean, you're being a little… intense.” He scratched his beard, carefully selecting his words.

He stood as he spoke, gesturing for her to follow him. As they left the room, he shut the lights off and locked the door. Ignoring everyone who nodded or stared whenthey passed, he didn’t stop until they sat along the chairs in the front lobby. Suspicious, Aly sat.

Quietly, he continued, “I'm not exactly sure what your mother has said.”

“You left us. What was there to say? She said you worked, but I was her job – notexactly profound, but fair enough.”

“Alyson, she had the opportunity to come with me. She didn't want to.”

She blinked. “What?”

He sat, removing his cap and rubbing its red impression on his forehead.

“I was researching at a local university. Just before she was impregnated with it, I transferred to Albany, and was commuting. I don't know if you're really old enough to understand this now, but that distance... it drove a wedge, and when I got a major opportunity just outside of Ketchikan, she didn't want to come. She hated my work. She thought I was ridiculous. Vanessa told me to go.”

Impregnated with it.

There it was. Years of abandonment, desperate for a proper father to return and complete a hole-ridden family, and that's what she was. An it, something impregnated. He spoke like it was a dirty word, a foreign cuss that didn't sit well in his mouth. He never considered leaving a child, or a wife. He ran across the world, and thinks he was left by a woman who didn't respect him.

The world had either become very still, or shifted poles entirely. She wasn't sure whether to be angry at his implications and rebel in disbelief, or let herself shatter and cry. She felt numb in her concentration, far away but listening close.

At an extensive pause, she broke through the wall with a whispered prompt. "Why?"

He sighed, squinting at the ground. He never had enough words. This man was her flesh and blood, but he had no idea who Alyson Glass was beyond the teen with his last name. He debated whether or not she was old enough to understand a break up, but left her in the cold to half-raise herself. He disliked her glorification of Vanessa, but a mother was all she had. It suddenly wasn't difficult to understand the pain in her mother's eyes when Aly spoke of her dreams of his return as a child, a full-family home with the wholeness she saw in Francesca and Giovanni amongst Lauren and Vincent.

The guilt felt like a stain, a shameful scar, memories that marked her imperfection. At nine years old, she had caught her mother sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floors of Aly's bedroom, tears rolling down pink cheeks as she uncovered her secrets. A box that once held a floral comforter had been slide from beneath the depths of her twin bed. The evidence was beneath the tightly packed cover of a childhood blanket, a baby blue fleece covered in stars and clouds, yellowing with age.

A mustard bug catcher, stickers of butterflies covering cracks in the transparent plastic. Inside, a size-medium child's tee shirt was rolled and packed. The loopy script of "Always Grandeur in Ashland, Alaska" was centered above a cartoon mountain, a small, colorless insignia on the white shirt. Red and blue marker covered the back, imprints of signatures from the last day of third grade. Aside from dollarstore wildlife documentaries and children’s versions of Jack London classics, significantly below her reading level, it was the only gift she received in her father's clumsy everyother-Christmas routine.

No birthdays, never an overnight. Packages and irregular halfhour visits without warning during dinner hours after staying a weekend with his aging parents in Glens Falls. He asked about school and watched television, only speaking with Vanessa after Aly was shooed from the room. Her mother called her in for a goodbye before he slipped off to Albany International, merely a few words. Not once had she braved more than a handshake. Not once had he offered an encouraging embrace.

The father she had waited on for years sat before her, shifting uneasily, searching for the words to explain to a child. She wanted to correct him, inform him of her rapid and painful shove into adulthood, the bitter spiral downward into self-parentification and shaken independence. She had curves, she had scars, she read Dickens and Orwell and Bronte. She had been shattered, exposed, and stripped of flesh, a girl utterly motherless. She was forced into a town where she didn't belong, and falling in love with a boy she should never have met. She had a New York state driver's license and knew the bitter taste of disease. She buried her parents.

Aly didn't live with her father; Aly lived with Gregory Michael Glass. Because of a name on a paper certificate, but not because he had anything to offer. His words didn't mean anything, and she was tired of feeding into the masochistic fantasies of her childhood. There were no dreams of Daddy, no hopes for an epiphany of how worthy she could be, or how much Aly hoped her mother secretly needed him as much as she did.

He doesn't deserve to break me apart. Not from mom, not from Noah.

"Am I an infection or a child, Greg?" she demanded finally, exasperated. She couldn't watch him stand and pace and sit again. She knew he was drawing blanks.

The first man too empty to lie.

"A chi-" he blurted, stopping. He stared at her, considering the exhaustion and muted frustration on her face. She wondered if he could see that she was strong. The level stare in her eyes held no emotion, and she struggled to stay unaffected. He added suspiciously, "What did you call me?"

"What did you want me to call you?" There were plenty of words she had it mind, but like Greg, she wasn't in the business of telling anyone what they needed to hear.

"That's disrespectful," he said, sounding unsure of himself.

"Something like that," she agreed, observing the hot red mark burning down the center of his forehead. He couldn't meet her gaze. She wouldn't make him.

"Alyson, you're under my roof. I'm with you constantly. I'm standing right here. I'm obviously listening," he pleaded, desperately.

She smiled at the thought of pointing upwards at the cove lights and the waterlogged, tiled ceiling and muttering, ‘Office's roof.' Still, she felt the taught weakness. "Yes, I see that."

"Don't be sarcastic," he snapped. "Look, why I'm trying to say is you have my attention."

"That's all, then?"

"Damn it!" he yelled, turning heads and luring alarmed stares. Lowering his voice, he leaned down to her seated eye level, shaking his finger in her face as though she was a misbehaving toddler. He dropped a file on her lap, scattering pictures across her knees. "This acting out, these false reports. It needs to stop right now. What the hell are you doing, Alyson?"

She clenched her jaw, her eyes squinting into an angry glare.

"I'm not a child. I'm not attempting to entertain you and whatever sick fancy you have with that animal. I told you what happened. I was with my friends, completely independent from you and thoughts of you and your sick need to mess with people, and we saw something. The next day we returned and we found evidence. I reported it. I offered what we had to the proper authority on oddities in the woods. That's what people do when they discover something they can't identify." Her voice was dark, a tone deeper, angered. She curled each syllable in her mouth, a foreign menace, speaking each selected word with the cold execution of scolding.

He stood back and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking deep breaths and swallowing repeatedly.

"This is my job. My life's work. I know that doesn't mean anything to you, but it's my everything. This is a cut-throat field, and if you insist you’re not a child, then you should comprehend how negative it is to be made a fool by one."

"You're making a fool of yourself," she snapped, scooping photographs back into the manila folder and waving it in front of his face. "This is the evidence that you actually have. Pure proof that you aren't a completely lunatic, and because you're so arrogant, you won't even consider it."

"Of course I consider it!" Greg spat, ripping it from her hands. "Don't you think it's a little odd that you have been in Alaska less than a week and you have found more 'evidence' than most of our organization in as long as you've been alive? Or how about the fact that trained scientists, Ph. D. level field biologists, have deduced it as a hoax. Even our internist thinks it's fake. In science, there's something called too good to be true, you ever heard of it? Maybe next time you and whatever the hell you call friends pull something you won't go so overboard. Maybe try a little more vague, huh? Leave something to the damn imagination."

"Noah, Luke, and Owen are all natives from this res and-"

"Res? Res? You have their slang now? That isn’t even factitiously accurate-"

"Shut up for one second," she demanded. "Their ancestors have been reporting this stuff for over a century. An elder actually told us where it would be. Somewhere, according to you, you don't even go because it's unlikely."

"You've been hanging out with Locklear, huh? That's really funny, no seriously, you have me laughing." Throwing the folder into the trash, he splattered yogurt and used tissues. "Did he happen to tell you that his brothers were caught altering the results of a quarantined investigation?"

She paused, attempting to gauge the legitimacy of his words. She felt her lips move slowly, unable to slam a response. Her words stumbled as she replied, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"We have them on motion-signaled cameras, Alyson. The elders and the organization have been trying to mend ties for months because of what those boys did. We've been working with those ancestors for decades. You've known that child for less than a week, and the boy already has you out of your mind. I'm not the one 'messing' with people, Alyson. Three teenage boys? They probably think it's the funniest damn thing in the world. The Locklears are a bunch of hooligan drunks, and Noah's no exception. You see this? The chances of it not being completely planted are nonexistent. It looks exactly like the other crap. I'm shocked you didn't see this. Considering you obviously know everything if you're going to come in here and tell people three and four times your age how to do their job. Do you understand what seasoned professionals mean? A damn long time. I-"

He continued to speak, his voice low, angered, and controlling. Blood pounded in her ears as he reached across her, snatching a remote from the top of a stack of Forbes and flicking on a flatscreen. He scrolled through a standard black and white menu, pulling up a file slideshow almost identical to hers. Each slide was a punch in the stomach, and by the time he started the video she struggled to breath. She turned away, a thousand doubts rushing into her throbbing head. He stopped, confused at the tears brimming her lids, and seemed confused.

"I..." Greg paused, scrutinizing her, "I didn't realize you were so convinced. I am sorry. I'm pulling the files. No one needs to know about this. You're a minor, so it's relatively unaffiliated.I shouldn’t think it will affect lifelong credibility, although any further reports… well, that I can’t say."

He moved passed her, retreating like a kicked dog that won the fight, down a curving hallway. In his wake overwhelming waves of Pinesol flooded her burning nose. He left the images of faux print casts and profile silhouettes labeled ‘John Locklear’ scrolling.

Of course it was too easy. Him, me. Us. Always laughing.

She suddenly wanted to blame Noah, to pin the humiliation and lies on his head. Everything was always so funny, so easy. Was she a joke? Was that ease calculation?

No.

She couldn't deal with it. She knew in the core of her chest she hated Greg. For leaving her, for stringing her along, for snapping her in half when she made herself strong enough to break. For shaming her, for weaseling inside her head, for trying to make himself a martyr in the face of her pain.

Aly longed for her mother, an embrace, the perfect words to heal her wounds. To have a lock of hair tucked behind her ear, a joke that harrowed and weakened sorrow, or shared dreams of wandering the whimsy of Paris.

Her mother's choices to condemn Greg's passions as ridiculous weren't unfathomable. Despite the separation, despite her overworked absence, despite allowing Aly to idolize the figure of the vacant father, despite dying when she was needed most, Aly desperately loved her.

She knew what her mother would do. She would weed doubts into Greg's doubts. Aly would lay in the grave she dug herself until Vanessa lifted her out, a spineless rag doll, and dusted her off. She would help Aly into her coat like she couldn't find the arm holes, smear away tears that smeared mascara, and dare her to find the truth.

A dare made the brave.

Aly rose from her chair, breaking into a run for the lobby doors. As though she were still in Kingsley, she expected the buzzing stickiness of a hot night to greet her. Instead, the pressure of a temperature drop followed her into the street. The sky was nearly black without city lights, instead bathing Ashland with the glow of the moon and the stars.

Tears still falling, pain and loneliness swelling and clenching in her chest, she slowed to a stop. Adjusting eyes grasped for her target along the road, scrutinizing the shaded storefronts. With the cool ground more solid with each step, she was walking.

In the distance, she could see the flicker of Yazzie's fluorescents.