The Image
Written by: paperwaster
Alma was always dragging him places and most of the time he didn’t mind, but Martin had a paper due next week and three chapters of Joyce to read before his 8 a.m. class.
“This had better be amazing, because-“
“It is.” Alma said, her excitement unaffected by his mood. “Scotty has the most amazing pictures from NASA.”
“So send me a copy in an e-mail.”
Alma rolled her eyes and pushed open the lab door so she could make sure he went through first. Scotty was there, bent over photos that he had spread out over the black, smooth surface of the lab tables. The florescent lights highlighted his emerging bald spot.
“It took you long enough to get here.”
“Martin dragging his feet slowed us down.”
Martin knew they could go on for hours like this and he needed to get back to his dorm room which was on the other side of the campus. “Come on, let’s see your little specks of light or whatever they are.”
“This is special Martin. When I saw it, I thought of you straight away,” Scotty said.
Martin felt some of his irritation fading, Scotty was always so sincere, so caught up in his work.
“I thought Martin’s the one who could really see it. You’re the only person I know who could put it down in words, the right kind of words so that people will understand.”
“Understand what?” Martin asked.
Scotty picked up one of the photos and handed it to him. “Look at it.”
Martin looked down at the photo expecting it to be just like all the others Scotty had ever shown him. Little specks of light or streams of colored dust. It wasn’t.
“What is that?”
“That’s what I was hoping you’d be able to tell us.”
Martin looked again and felt his legs begin to go out from underneath him. Scotty pushed a stool underneath him so that his butt hit the seat instead of the floor.
“Someone did this with photoshop or whatever. It’s been altered.”
“No, it hasn’t. Look at the seal,” Scotty said with a grin on his face. “That’s genuine NASA image my friend. Besides the guy who sent me these through the mail doesn’t even know how to do e-mail.”
“Come on, my grandmother can do e-mail.”
Alma lost her cool. “Stop being such an ass Martin. It’s not a fake.”
“Come on Martin,” Scotty goaded, “tell me what it looks like.”
“I can tell you what it looks like, but it can’t be.”
“Why not?” Martin asked.
“Someone has watched 2001: A Space Odyssey too many times. It’s a joke and I don’t have time for games, not today.”
Martin handed Scotty the photograph and left.
As he walked across campus, Martin tried to get the image out of his mind. No matter what he tried thinking about, his thoughts drifted back to what he had seen. He knew he had seen something like it once before. Then he remembered what it reminded him of and it seemed more impossible than ever. When he had been home over Winter Break his hugely pregnant sister had shown him and anyone else who didn’t move swiftly enough, her sonogram. That was what the thing in the photo had looked like. A baby, a cross between an infant and Yoda.
That should have been the end of it, but two days later, it was still all Martin could think about. He had tried calling Alma a couple of times, but she wasn’t taking his calls. So he decided to talk to Scotty.
“Are you looking for Dr. Maher?”
“Yes.”
“Got a job offer, couldn’t even finish out the semester.”
“Thanks.”
Martin headed straight over to Alma’s dorm, only to find himself staring at another empty room.
“Hey Martin,” the RA said. “You didn’t hear?”
“I guess not.”
“Alma’s Dad passed away in the middle of the night, she might not be back for a while.”
“I’ll call her at her Mom’s then.”
Martin saw the man in the dark suit and glasses standing across the street when he left the dorm. He knew there was no point in running. So he crossed the street to talk to him.
“We made a mistake.”
“Alma’s Dad died in the Fall.”
“I’m sure you’ve seen enough movies to know what happens next.”
They walked towards the sedan with tinted windows.
“I’m never going to understand Joyce am I?”
“Son, no one’s ever done that.”
The man opened the door and Martin stepped into the nothingness.
