Janie and The Gray: Part 22

I just sat there. What else could I do? Janie was scared. It made sense. I almost killed her.

Any other action would have been seen as a threat. She would've emptied that pistol in my chest. She almost did anyway. I could see it in her eyes.

Quick and heavy footsteps in the hallway.

Enslaved by aliens in a factory for nine months? Nothing. First night of freedom in relative safety? Kaboom. It was all wrong.

I flashed back to that little office at Womack that always smelled like mints and coffee. Me — medicated, blurry. Major Kessler sitting behind a desk rambling about the same shit — occasionally pausing to ask me a question or pop one of those red and white mints in his mouth.

I wondered what he would say. Would he identify the new environment as a stressor in the diathesis–stress model? Or maybe just a dissociative episode triggered by precipitating factors?

The front door slammed closed.

I sprang to my feet, bounded up the stairs, made it to the door, and slowly inched it open. I heard her running west.

I had to go after her. I had to make her understand. She needed me.