Unidentified Familiar Objects

The husband did it.

The husband always does it, right? Or the boyfriend, the fiancé, the lover…you get the gist. A woman goes missing, and you almost never have to look farther than the man closest to her. 

I just had to prove it. 

Sky Hawking is an unusual woman to go missing. Eighty-six, happily married with two adult daughters, five grandchildren, and four great-grandchildren all within walking distance. A former eighth-grade teacher, she taught science to half the town before she retired. She’s still an active member of her church and the proud president of a book club. No known enemies, no scandals…no reason to disappear. Definitely not the case a detective expects to cross his desk.

But cross my desk it did. And even though I’ve never investigated a missing persons case for someone quite so elderly, I don’t expect it to be any different than the hundreds I’ve solved in my decades-long career.

Her husband did it. His name is Clark, and I’m going to prove him guilty. 

I sit in Sky’s empty home now, a cardboard box open on the couch next to me. I was sent here to collect evidence, to look for even the tiniest of clues that would explain Sky’s disappearance. I turn my head slowly left and right, studying the one-story ranch.

And wow did this woman love aliens.

Oversized black eyes stare at me from every inch of the place. Aliens beam from greeting cards. Dozens of ceramic alien figurines cover the mantle and shelves. A needlepoint of a UFO abducting a cow hangs over the fireplace. There’s posters. Books. Wallpaper. I had no idea the world even contained such an array of alien-themed items. 

I should find it unsettling. Odd. Grotesque, even. But instead, I’m strangely comforted. I stand and slowly walk to the wall. A faded movie poster for “Invasion of the Saucer-Men”, featuring grotesque bulbous-headed aliens, is taped there. I shrug, but I have to start somewhere. I place my hand on the poster, the paper crinkling under my fingers, and close my eyes.

I’m in a purple Barracuda, the interior a spotless bright white, top pulled down. It’s night, and warm summer air carrying the scent of popcorn wafts over me. A teenage girl sits in the car’s passenger seat, straight brunette hair loose, wearing a mint dress. I recognize Sky, though she’s obviously much younger in this memory, “This isn’t anywhere near accurate!” She exclaims, gesturing forward. We’re at a drive-in, I realize, playing the same movie from the poster, “It’s like they didn’t do any scientific research at all!” 

“You picked it,” I turn as I hear a voice, expecting to see Clark. They were high school sweethearts, so if she’s here it makes sense that he would be too. But no one is behind me.

“Of course I did! You know how much I love aliens! But half the science is wrong!”

“It’s a movie. You can’t expect them to sacrifice spectacle for authenticity.”

Sky pouts, “I could figure out a way to have both.”

There’s a chuckle, “I know you could. Did you hear back from any of those colleges yet?”

“Not yet,” Sky works her lip, suddenly looking anxious, “Am I wrong, Clark? Should I dream bigger than being a science teacher?”

“Are you kidding? It’s all I’ve ever heard you talk about,” Clark’s voice softens, “You’ll be the best teacher this town has ever known. And who knows? Maybe one day your students can make movies that are both entertaining and scientifically accurate.”

She smiles, and the memory fades.

Hmm. Nothing there. 

Did I mention I have a superpower? I can summon the memories associated with any item just by touching it. I can’t change the past, obviously, but I can observe it. It’ll take some time, but if I touch enough items in here I’ll be able to find out what Clark did to Sky. 

The poster holds no clues, but I still place it in my box and shuffle to the bedroom. I’m greeted by a bright bedspread with aliens and tropical flowers, a shelf of vintage science fiction novels, and a lamp in the shape of a flying saucer. I open the closet and flip through the shirts until I come to a white one hand-painted with smiling green alien heads. I pull it out, inhaling the musty scent as I close my eyes. 

Sky is maybe a decade older, about six months pregnant, wearing the painted shirt. She’s sitting at a kitchen table, and I realize she’s in the same home I’m standing in now. A stack of papers is piled in front of her, and she’s marking them with a red pen, “Hey,” She says tiredly, glancing up.

“Hey yourself,” I hear Clark’s voice again, though I still don’t see him, “Late night?”

“Yeah. Took me forever to get Jean to sleep. She’s too excited for her new sister to come.”

“That makes two of us. Do you have much more to do?”

“Maybe half an hour,” She glances at the stack of papers and sighs, “Maybe more.”

“Then let me help you. I’m sure I can remember eighth-grade biology.”

She relents after only a moment, passing over half the stack, “You don’t have to remember anything. The rubric is right here.”

“Perfect,” Clark says, “I love your shirt, by the way.”

Sky brightens, “It’s great, isn’t it? One of the kid’s moms painted it for me!”

The memory ends, and I frown as I place the shirt in my box. I sit down on the bed for a moment, thinking. Nothing there either. No tension, no cracks that would suggest an upcoming fracture in their happiness. But they were still young in that memory. Plenty of time left for that to change.

I make my way slowly through the home for the next several hours. A pair of tiny alien socks triggers a memory of a newborn baby girl being cradled by Sky. A cheap alien necklace brings a memory of winning a ring toss at a carnival. A children’s storybook about a lost alien proves to be a favorite Sky loved reading to the girls. Almost every alien figurine in the living room is a gift from one of Sky’s students. A particularly strange statue, half alien and half orange-tailed mermaid, is a souvenir from a family road trip to New Mexico. 

I watch the girls grow up, go to college, and start families via alien shirts, snow globes, and shot glasses. I watch Sky age via alien novels, pins, and collectible mugs. I wait for drama, for a falling out with Clark, but it doesn’t come. 

“It doesn’t make any sense,” I murmur, putting a glass suncatcher in the shape of a moon in my box, “They look so happy. What am I missing?”

I walk to the bathroom, taking care not to trip on the alien rug. I open the medicine cabinet and note that Clark uses the same brand of razors as I do. But then my eyes fall on something else. A gold ring, exquisitely crafted, with a few small diamonds sparkling on either side of a large teardrop emerald.

My pulse quickens. Nothing in the house has been valuable so far, but the ring looks expensive. Could this be it? The item that changed everything? I pick it up and I’m swept away in another memory.

Sky is much older now, brunette hair gone entirely white. She’s in another green dress, though this one is closer to olive than mint. She’s seated at a fancy restaurant, candlelight flickering on her face as she looks up from the menu, “Clark, are you sure we can afford this?” she murmurs, “We’re on a fixed income, remember?”

“It’s okay, Sky,” Clark has been present in every memory, though by now I know I’ll only hear him, “Not everyone gets to have a fifty-fifth wedding anniversary. We have to celebrate.”

The tension eases from her face, “Fifty-five years,” She murmurs, “Can you believe it? It went so fast.”

“It seems like just yesterday I was picking you up for the movies, getting threats from your dad not to have you back late.”

She laughs softly, “He loved you, even back then.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I think he must have been able to tell what kind of life you would give me. And he approved.”

There’s a peaceful moment of silence, and Clark clears his throat, “I, uh, I got you something.”

“Oh, Clark, really? We said no-”

“I know, but I was passing a jewelry store and, well, you had to have this.”

Sky gasps when she sees the ring, the same one I’m holding now, “Oh Clark! You didn’t!”

“Flip it over.”

Sky turns the teardrop upside down, and she studies it for a moment before a laugh bursts out from her, “Oh my! It’s an alien!” 

Clark laughs too, “The clerk told me that emeralds are a traditional fifty-fifth anniversary gift. But if I’ve learned one thing in our time together, it’s that I can’t give you a gift if it isn’t an alien.”

“It’s so perfect! I love it!”

The memory ends, and I brush a tear from my cheek before placing the ring carefully in my box. That memory was recent, and they still looked happy. 

Am I wrong? Is Clark not responsible for Sky’s disappearance? 

Suddenly exhausted, I return to the living room and sit back down on the couch. My evidence box is heavy now, but what is it evidence of? As I lean backwards, thinking, my hand brushes a stuffed alien that I didn’t notice earlier. 

I’m in a hospital room, the lights dim, the scent of bleach overpowering in the air. Sky is stretched out on a bed in front of me, breathing shallow and eyes closed. A glance at the monitors reveals erratic heartbeats. Two women are on the other side of the bed, looking like Sky did a few decades before. Her daughters, I assume. They’re both crying quietly as Clark speaks, “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s all going to be okay.”

“We found this in the gift shop,” One of the women places the stuffed alien at Sky’s side, “We thought you’d like it. A little reminder of home.”

Sky doesn’t reply, but one of the monitors suddenly starts beeping as the line measuring her heartbeats flattens out. Clark cries out as medical staff swarm the room.

The memory ends abruptly and I’m left on the couch, my face soaked from tears.

Confusion grips me as I try to process what I just saw. 

Sky is gone. But she didn’t disappear. 

She died. 

I watched her die. 

A few minutes pass, and there’s a gentle knock at the door, “Come in,” I choke, still lost in my confusion.

The same two women from the hospital enter, though they stop abruptly when they see my tears, “Dad?” The lead one asks, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“She’s gone,” I whimper back, “I was trying to find her, but she-she’s already gone.”

The pair share a worried look, “Not again,” One murmurs, “We need to get him out of here.”

“The doctor said this was normal,” The first forces some cheer into her voice, “And look, it’s not all bad. At least he remembered to pack a box for the move.”

I look at the box next to me, stuffed with evidence of Sky.

No, not evidence. Memories. And not just hers. Ours.

Our memories.