"The shadows is now casted on another"
By Jack Crowder the Third

	Aeriel came back into the bedroom ten minutes later. She wore a robe, loosely
tied at her slender waist, and carried a tray with their supper on it; a
breast of chicken roasted and bread. Josh sat up against the headboard and
Aeriel leaned against the footboard. The tray was between them. She handed him
a plate. It was nearly midnight and they were both starved. Josh loved to
watch her -- the way she seemed to take such pleasure from a simple meal. The
way her robe parted to reveal her taut, perfect body.
	She noticed him looking at her and said, "What are you thinking, Josh
Hughes?"
	"I was thinking how much I never want this to end. I was thinking how much I
wish every night of my life could be just like this."
	Her face became very grave she was absolutely incapable of hiding her
emotions. When she was happy her face seemed to light up. When she was angry
her green eyes smoldered. And when she was sad, like now, her body became very
still.
	"You mustn't say things like that, Josh. It's against the rules."
	"I know it's against the rules, but it's the truth."
	"Sometimes it's better to keep the truth to yourself. If you don't say it out
loud, it doesn't hurt so much."
	"Aeriel, I think I'm in love--"
	She slammed down her fork on the tray. "Jesus, Josh! Don't say things like
that! You make me feel so damn hard sometimes. First you say you can't see me
because you're feeling guilty, and now you're telling me you're in love with
me."
	"I'm sorry, Aeriel, but it's just the truth. I thought we could always tell
each other the truth."
	"All right, here's the truth. I'm married to a wonderful man I care for very
much and I don't want to hurt. Which he comes home tomorrow from his last
assignment. But I've fallen desperately in love with a West Point student
named Josh Hughes. And it hurts like hell every time I let myself think about
it." Her eyes welled with tears. "Now shut up and eat your chicken. Please.
Let's talk about something else. I'm stuck in the registry all day with
Michael and his wretched pipe. I want to know what's happening with the rest
of the world."
	"Well, we just got a new head of  West Point this week. His name is Scott
Winston."
	She finished the chicken, leaned back and watched Josh while he ate the rest
of his chicken. When he was done she stacked the dishes on the tray and set
the tray on the floor next to the bed. She turned out the lights and lit a
candle on the bed stand. She took off her robe, and she made love to him in a
way she never had before: slowly, patiently, as if his body were made of
crystal. Her eyes never strayed from his face. When it was all over she fell
on to his chest, her body limp and damp, her warm breath against his neck.
	"You wanted the truth, Josh. That's the truth."   	

	Josh Hughes vanished without explanation from West Point on the third Friday
of December. A secretary named Sabrina was the last member of the staff to see
him before his abrupt departure. In a rare indiscretion, she revealed to other
staff members that Hughes's last telephone call had come from Winston.
	Hughes spent the last hours in the cramped disorderly bedroom overlooking
West Point's Square.  He had wanted to contribute to the world around him. He
had gotten a phone call to meet with Winston. Hughes varied his walks
according to his mood. Sometimes he preferred to jostle along a busy shopping
street or through the buzzing of crowds. Other nights he left the main
thoroughfares and roamed the quiet residential streets, now pausing to gaze at
a splendidly lit example of the area's architecture, now slowing to listen to
the sounds of music, laughter, and clinking glass drifting from a happy
cocktail party.
	Tonight he floated along a quiet street through the dying twilight. Winston's
car was waiting for him at the station. It sped, top down, through the rolling
green countryside. The day was cool and breezy, and it seemed everything was
in bloom. Hughes sat in back, one hand holding his coat closed and the other
pressing his hat on his head. Wind blew over the open car like a gale over the
prow of a ship.  He debated whether he should ask the driver to stop and put
up the top.
	The car turned into the drive. Hughes pulse quicken as he stepped from the
car. As he approached the door, it opened and Winston's man Mikes stood there
to greet him.
	"Good morning, Mister Hughes. Winston has been awaiting your arrival most
eagerly."
	Hughes handed over his coat and his hand and stepped inside. About a dozen
men and a couple of young girls were at work in the drawing room, some in
uniform, some like Hughes in civilian clothes. They spoke in hush,
confessional tones, as thought all the news was bad. A telephone rattled, then
another. Each was answered after one ring.
	"I hope you had a pleasant trip," Mikes was saying.
	"Marvelous," Hughes replied, lying politely.
	"As usual, Mr. Winston is running late this Morning," Mikes said. Then he
added confidently, "He sets an unattainable schedule, and we all spend the
rest of the day trying to catch up with it."
	"I understand that, Mikes. Where would you like me to wait?"
	"Actually, the Head is quite eager to see you this morning. He asked that you
be shown upstairs immediately to catch up with him upon your arrival."
	"Upstairs?"
	Mikes knocked gently and pushed open the bathroom door, Winston lay in his
tub, a cigar in one hand, the day's second glass of whisky resting on a small
table within easy reach. Mikes announced Hughes and withdrew. "Hughes, my dear
man," Winston said. He put his mouth at the waterline and blew bubbles. "How
good of you to come."
	Hughes found the warm temperature of the bathroom oppressive. He also found
it hard not to laugh at the enormous pink man splashing about in his bath like
a child. He removed his tweed jacket and, reluctantly, sat down on the toilet.
	"I wanted a word with you in private -- that's why I've invited you here to
my lair." Winston's pursed his lips. "Hughes, I must admit from the outset I
am angry with you."
	Hughes stiffened.
	Winston opened his mouth to continue, then stopped himself. A perplexed,
defeated look dawned over his face.
	"Mikes!" he bellowed.
	"Mikes, I believe my bathwater has dropped below one hundred four degrees.
Would you check the thermometer?"
	Rolling up his sleeve, Mikes retrieved the thermometer. He studied it like an
archaeologist examining  an ancient bone fragment. "Ah, you're right, sir. The
temperature of your bath has plummeted to one hundred two degrees. Shall I
warm it?"
	"Of course."
	Mikes opened the hot water tap and let it run for a moment. Winston smiled as
his bathwater attained its proper temperature. "Much better, Mikes."
	Winston rolled onto his side. Water cascaded over the side of the tub,
soaking the leg of Hughes's trousers.
	"You were saying, sir?"
	"Ah, yes. I was saying, Hughes, that I was angry with you. You never told me
that in your younger days you were quite good at chess. Beat all the comers at
your High School games, so I'm told."
	Hughes, thoroughly confused said, "I apologize, sir, but the subject of chess
never arose during any of our conversations."
	"Brilliant, ruthless, gambling -- that's how people described how you play to
me." Winston paused. "Your hand-to-hand combat skills are as well amazing."
	Winston turned his gaze from Hughes and stared at the ceiling. "In 1250 B.C
the Lord told Moses to send agents to spy out the land of Canaan. The Lord was
good enough to give Moses some advice on recruiting these spies. When you
leave my sight, you will be given a Questionnaire. I assure you, you want to
fill that out. Time you get out of the Library and come back to the world,
Josh."
	Before Hughes had a chance to ask a question, Winston had vanished below the
waterline.
	When he departed from the bathroom, Mikes led him to a small living room of
sorts. Hughes took his seat on a comfy couch and took the small booklet from
Mikes. Removing the blue inked pen from his pocket, Hughes opened up the
booklet. What followed was questions more like orders.

•You must be able to speak at least 2 non-European languages.
•You must have a distinguished career in the military or a federal
intelligence agency (like above, CIA, NSA, etc.)
•Be a U.S. citizen, born in this country.
•Must have a high security clearance, and not have comprimised that clearance
even once in your entire career.
•Must have good recommendations from your superiors and the unanimous
nomination of those members who are called upon to judge your record.
•Must be willing to maintain absolute secrecy about your work, even from your
family or spouse.
•Must bear understanding that you are part of the order, and in the interest
of National Security, you must be willing to sacrifice yourself and the ones
close to you if necessary.

	After agreeing to the above terms, he turned the page to greet a ton of math
problems to science. Finally, he closed the book and took a long yawn. When he
opened his eyes: Winston was sitting beside him.
	"You have ended your training here at West Point, Hughes, you will be
transferred to a Manhattan branch. West Point shall take you there on request
or you can go on free will."

	Alas, the bus had stopped and off stepped Hughes. The cold air of New York
smacked against his face as he looked around the location. Why was he to be
dropped off in a Park? He walked toward the address on his Transfer papers.
"504 Battery Drive." Sounds like a bad pun. But at last, he stepped inside the
building. He looked at what seemed like a guard. "I'm--" The guard stopped
him. "Take the elevator, level two." On hearing this, Hughes walked to the
elevator and clicked B2. Then he blinked, since there was another roll of
numbers for levels.
	The door opened behind him, with the deep voice of a male talking to a pair
of Agents. Hughes didn't make a move but watched from the open doorway. The
man in which John's eyes were pinned upon wore the same attire as the two
older agents in front of him, the features of the man placed a good fifteen
years or so in age to the male on the left, and even a tad of an animal feel:
A bear. Often rookies would compare him to this mammal, although the character
could be compared to many other animals. Depends what mood he was in, then
again, he was never in the mood.
	"Kay, make a memo of this and send it to our lovely kiddies: Congratulations
to all of you on your recent LOTTERY Jackpot win. Oh, you didn't? Please
excuse me. My mistake. It was the only reason I could come up with to explain
why lately you've all been behaving as if you don't need your current jobs. I
can't solve every problem guys...but I am getting a little tired of having to
solve the same ones over and over again.  I know that some of you like to push
the envelope a bit...but later on, this is gonna bite you on the ass.  Just be
careful and behave, willya?  The baby-sitting is getting on my nerves."
	The speaker turned and looked at the elevator door. "That the new victim?"
His heavy eyebrows looked at the two agents before him. "Dubb, you get the
ball rolling on the memo, I am going to have the ol' one-two coffee room chat
with, sparky over there." The male approached Hughes and gestured back the way
he had come with a sweep of the arm, and then walked right beside. 	
	 "You can call me Zed." the male said finally. "My job is to coordinate the
watch of nearly eight hundred aliens from twenty stories underground. My job
is also to find people qualified to help me do it,and at this point, I’ll bet
you can guess why you’re here." Hughes blinked again, almost choking on the
air in his throat. He brought his hand to his chest and lightly tapped it.
	"You don’t have to say yes or no just yet," he said as they walked, "but it
would help to know that you’re interested, at least."
	"Interested.. yes.. very."

	The juices ran through his mouth, the sandy texture of the flesh falling
between his teeth. His teeth dug once again into the rough skin, ripping it
open and swallowing the skin. The apple felt much like his life, tough on the
outside, yet so tender in the inside. Jamie Hall had lived an interesting
life, indeed. A full blown Navy Seal Special Operative Lieutenant and Medical
Doctor for the service.
	His neatly amber brown hair curved against his forehead, leading down the
Ray-Bans which rest on his nose. Slight glare beamed from the glasses as they
follow down his narrow nose and to his mustache. He took another deep bite out
of the apple as the hair followed down both sides of his mouth to a full
beard.
	Enlisted in this line of work with the tag of Operative Gee, he had taken to
the Division of Mental Health for the MiB Special Services Divisions. Just
coming off an run about Mission Gee was rather tired, and now all he wanted to
do was rest here. He rested the back of his head against the head rest, he
threw the apple at the can and folded his arms. He closed his eyes tightly..
letting this sweet mood sweep him away. Suddenly there was a siren in the
Medical area and the crew sprang back alive. Gee stood and poked his head
outside his office.
	"Tee!?" Gee ran into trauma one after they brought Tee in. "This can't be
happening!" Fear came over Gee at the thought of  losing his partner. "Rice
what's going on? What happened?"
	"Gee stand back. Let us do our job. Go in the waiting room and when we get
her stabilized I will come talk to you."
	"I can't. I can't leave Tee. I have to be with her."
	"Please Gee. Your only delaying care......"
	Just then the monitor started to beep.
	"Damnit she crashing. Ok Charging 200.... Clear.....  nothing, ok Charging
300......Clear.......damn, ok Charging 360...... clear........ok again
Charging 360......Time of death 13:23."
	"No Rice you got to keep trying." Gee ran towards Tee's body and started
giving her CPR.


	"Gee...Gee! Gee...............Gee wake up!" Rice started to shake Gee. "Wake
up!"
	"Huh? Rice, Tee can't be dead. She just can't be!"
	"What are you talking about? You must of had a dream or something."
	"Well I wanted to wake you up for we have a newbie coming down here to get
his marks erased. I know your evil mastermind and how you love to take away
one's life. Up to it?"

	Opening the room's door with Zed at his side, Josh Hughes died. His life, his
being, his name died. Although those memories will always be part of him. He
will always be part of those memories. Along with him died "Scott Winston," no
record of him exists anywhere on this globe. He only exists in name of a few
nimble minds. When Josh opened that door, an era of his life drifted away
forever. Then a new one greeted him as he shook Gee's hand. A new one in a
shape of a letter. A circle with a line cutting into it: Q.