Journal Entry No. 12
journal entry no. 12, march 22, 1992
well, one case down, who knows how many more to go with my new
partner. it was a successful effort. we solved the mystery. well,
she's good, really good at solving problems like this. she
minor details that we shouldn't miss. she takes a serious attitude
toward tracking down and preserving the evidence that might solve the
case. i can't force her to believe in the things i do, but she seems
to respect my hunches, to give them some consideration.
she won't substantiate the time loss, though. 'time can't
disappear, it's a universal invariant,' she said to me. even after
she saw how the watches had stopped... my watch, peggy o'dell's
watch, she still refuses to believe.
i almost thought i got her to buy my theory about why and how the
kids got lured to the forest. that the alien ship would summon them
there, abduct them, do tests on them, give them those distinctive
marks on their backs.
i thought she might believe, i thought she took me seriously. but
when she wrote up her report, she wouldn't back me up. she hadn't
actually seen billy hold teresa in his arms, offer her up to the
light in the sky above. she saw the light, she heard the wind
whipping around us, but she never actually saw what miles, sr. and i
she even sat on the other side of the two-way mirror through all
billy's hypnosis session. she heard him tell how he and his
classmates were gathered up in the forest so that the aliens could do
tests on them. she heard about the implants. we have one, a real one.
she heard billy say that the light gave him orders, orders to
his classmates to the forest. and when the session was over, i could
feel her skepticism rear its ugly head. i just knew she was on the
other side of that mirror, arguing with herself, convincing herself
that there was just not enough physical evidence to convict this
young man of murder. science had failed her.
billy would probably be remanded to a psychiatric facility, where
would get the best of care. several years later, he would be
pronounced fit, like so many others: schizophrenics, manic-
depressives, alien abductees...
she told me, honestly, painfully, before going off to a meeting
section chief blevins (to report on the status of my work), that she
couldn't draw any conclusions. that what she'd seen could not be
substantiated by her science and she just couldn't say otherwise.
i couldn't believe she took the time to tell me that. i really
appreciated that and it gave me a lot of respect for her, even if she
she gave blevins the implant, the only thing to survive the fire
our motel. billy had described it as a communication device, a
summoning device. the material it's made of couldn't be identified
by our lab.
now all the paperwork we filed is missing in oregon. just
disappeared into thin air. i want to call her, i want to tell her.
i've been writing this to keep from giving in to the temptation.
and talk about temptation. what was that, when she came over to
room and slipped off her robe? she was so trusting, so innocent
about it all. she was in nothing but her bra and panties and i was
trying so hard not to seem interested in her, aroused by her. i
didn't want dana to think that her new partner was a perverted
jackass, with no sympathy for her very palpable fear concerning those
but it was difficult, really difficult. she felt so good in my
arms. for the few brief moments that she hugged me, relieved, yet
shaking, i felt so protective of her. i never wanted to start
feeling that way. we're partners and we take care of one another,
but this felt different.
she seemed so tiny in my arms. i felt so masculine, so
for her fragile femininity. it only lasted less than a minute, but i
couldn't ignore the impulse, the feeling that she needed me there
beside her as more than just a partner.
but, like i said, the feeling was short-lived. i probably was
carried away by my emotions, feeding off the comfort she took in my
very plausible explanation for those bumps on her back.
i invited her to stay, to relax for a few minutes. and then i
her all about samantha and i forgot about those totally inappropriate
feelings i'd had toward her. i tamped them down deep, to a place
they won't peer out of every single day.
not *every* single day, no. maybe the majority of them though, if
have to be honest with myself. yet just now, as i type this into my
journal, i am acutely aware how affected i was by her simple trusting
her willingness to doff her robe in front of a man she barely knew
meant something to me. she trusts me. she doesn't think the worst
of me. i have to live up to that trust. i have to give her the
respect she deserves by not making the moves on her. ever.
that determination to honor her hasn't prevented my subconscious
from allowing me to dream about her. i've woken up in the middle of
the night, portions of my dreams still fresh in my mind. and a fine
erection to go with them.
can't do much about that. as long as i keep my hands off of her
during our long hours together, i'll be alright. i can't stop myself
from wanting her; i shouldn't have to. i'm just a guy like any other
guy. well, at least heterosexual guys.
she's beautiful, i've noticed that, i've included her in my
nocturnal sexual fantasies. the images are not going to go away and
i wouldn't want them to. but i can stop myself from getting involved
with her. i can prevent myself from making the same mistake twice.
it's 11:20 now. i think i'll take a chance and call her anyway.
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