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She would collapse at the first hard blow, writhe about, try to escape, thrash forward to wherever her arms were secured. I typed this into an Email and sent it as acknowledgement. During the next few weeks a good many other images arrived, and I came to know the woman’s body and the man’s mind rather well. The pictures had all been taken in the same two expensively and stylishly furnished rooms: a living room and a bedroom. In one of the living room pictures the woman’s body is pressed against sliding glass doors leading to a balcony, a glimpse of a river below, but nothing to distinguish the city, though something says north rather than south, and for some reason I thought New England rather than Midwest. It was only idle speculation. Except for a single seven shot sequence that arrived in one Email, the images were random. I assumed that the man who identified himself as her husband was going through photographs he had on hand and sending whatever happened to strike his fancy. She. It was hovering at about tree level and?for the life of me?I couldn't quite figure out what it was. It didn't seem to be an airplane?at least?not an airplane such as I had ever seen before. So I just stood there shivering on the porch and staring at it. Finally I could stand it no longer. "I'll just walk over there," said I, "and this mystery explore. " After some thought I added (in POE-etic fashion): "Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore. `Tis a blimp and nothing more." Having decided this I turned back into my house, grabbed a sweater off the back of a chair, and headed out the door and down the street towards the mysterious light. As I drew closer I began to be a trifle frightened. "What if it's one of those alien flying machines you read so much about in the Fortean Times and other places," I muttered, only half-believing it. "Well, Cassie," said the Voice of Reasonable Greed, which always sounded like John Huston, "If it is, and if you can bring back proof.
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