The Courting

Epilogue

Things would never be completely back to normal, but the world was trying its best to function as it did before The Courting--That's what the headlines called the event. Many questions still went unanswered about the event, and the world would never really know what happened in those three days, or where those 85 women were taken. That's exactly how many were reported "abducted". Kimberly included. In the entire population, only 85 women were taken. No one knew why that number. And in all the world, Kim had to be one of them. Of course, if Angelo hadn't helped her the way he had, she would have still been here on Earth. The drug wore off almost immediately after the final minutes of the abduction. All the surviving women became lucid again, not remembering anything that happened, and finding themselves in a world of chaos, with death all around them. Nobody was charged for their crimes in those three days. So Angelo, although he could still see their faces whenever he closed his eyes, was absolved of all his murders. The government couldn't arrest half the world for crimes they were influenced to commit. And though Angelo hadn't been drugged like the women, his actions were understandable given the circumstances. Other men around the world had committed similar crimes, either out of frustration and anger or simply accidents. There wasn't even a court hearing. Everyone just wanted to forget and move on, as impossible as that seemed. It took weeks for the streets to be cleaned up, for the bodies to be taken away and buried. 46 million people died in those three days. Considering the circumstance, that number seemed pretty low to Angelo. About 30 million of those people were female (young and old), the rest were male. About 15 million people were badly injured, and those who lived in America were taken care of free of charge, as if it mattered. A lot of those people didn't even want to be alive anymore--their mothers, wives, husbands, siblings stripped away from them. Many committed suicide. Had to be in the millions, if Angelo recalled correctly. He'd considered suicide, as well. But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to do it. For some idiotic reason, he believed that maybe the aliens would bring his wife back some day. When they were finished doing whatever they were doing with her. It was idiotic, all right. Nobody knew what the aliens wanted those women for. People had their theories though. The most popular theory was that the aliens wanted the strongest women they could find for breeding purposes. That made the most sense. Drug the women on Earth, get them to battle it out, and scoop up the winning bunch. Then put some prime male sperm in them and watch them make puppies for the aliens to play with. It sounded sick and outrageous, but it did make some sense. Another theory was that the aliens themselves were having sex with the women. Angelo didn't particularly like this theory for obvious reasons.

So while he couldn't bring himself to put a bullet in his head, or treat himself to a gourmet dish of barred soap, Angelo did have the wisdom to admit himself into a mental ward (also free of charge) for a couple weeks. He thought maybe they could help him move on. They couldn't. No shock there. So Angelo returned home. His doctors allowed it, knowing themselves that they couldn't offer much real help. Even the doctors needed help. Everyone was affected the same. Everyone lost someone that night.

***

Angelo couldn't sleep that night. He went downstairs to fill his glass with gin for the seventh time that evening. The bottle was almost empty. He reached the kitchen eventually, floating on blurry vision, watching the black shadows overlap each other as his eyes searched the room. He didn't want to turn on the lights, though. He liked the darkness, it let him forget that there was a world out there. The kitchen smelled awful; in three weeks he hadn't cleaned up the mess in the sink. The breakfast sat in a rotted heap, with dry vomit over it, and bugs would occasionally swarm the sink like immigrants, eating their fill and dancing around the old, fart and puke-smelling eggs and stale bacon and toast like they were celebrating some secret holiday. But he hadn't been able to bring himself to clean it out yet. He stood over the sink in the dark. The breakfast seemed to have a personality; sitting there like a kid afraid of his parents. There was a legion of ants roaming underneath the eggs. They wiggled around in the shadows like they were working the graveyard shift.

Angelo twisted on the faucet. The water ripped to life. The ants scattered about, fleeing the water storm. Most of them couldn't and were drowned instantly. It was, in a way, their own version of "The Courting", and Angelo was the sinister being in the sky. He dumped the eggs, bacon, and toast in the trash can. Then washed the plates. The room almost immediately smelled better. He refilled his glass with gin, then went over to the window of the front door. The sun was showing its first signs of entry in the outlines of the clouds. He watched the sky pass by slowly, just like he did most nights, thinking about Kim and where she was. If she was even alive. If she was still in love with him, if the drug had worn off for her, of if she was still infatuated with whatever had been waiting for her up there. He took a sip of his gin and let the alcohol take him one step closer to forgetfulness. It wouldn't last though, he knew. When morning came, so with it would sorrow. He wondered if he would ever be able to forgive himself for what happened. Not just for the deaths, but for helping Kim. If he hadn't tried to love her, to win her back, she'd still be here and they would be in love. Instead, he'd fallen prey to the same drug she was induced with. Except, his was self-induced.

In his little villa home, Angelo sipped gin and watched the parking space bumper where his wife had once stood, cursing, as he would the for the rest of his life, the sky that wooed her.