Emine Yilmaz felt her cell phone buzz, and peered down at it beside her salad.  It was David, her boyfriend of four years.  According to the text, he would be working late again, and her lips thinned as she read the short sentence.

            “What’s David up to these days?” Tilda asked from across the table, glancing down at her own phone.   Emine swiped the message away irritated.  He was always working late these days.

            “Dating his job apparently,” Emine muttered, dropping her phone into her purse.  Tilda’s eyebrows lifted.  Tilda was naturally curvaceous and milky pale, with long dark brown hair that framed her face giving her an appearance of either a Gothic teen or a high fashion model, depending on her wardrobe decision.  Today it was high fashion model with her tall pumps and form fitting baby pink dress.  She probably had a date later.  Emine was an avid runner with a fit body, dark tan skin, and black short hair that curled at her chin line.  Her family had immigrated from Istanbul when she was seven, which was when she had met Tilda.  With her bubbly personality and dark humor, Tilda had become her best friend.

            “Harsh.  Is he working late again?  Isn’t that a good thing?  Overtiiime,” she said in a sing song voice before sipping on a margarita.  

            “Yeah, but isn’t this how it starts?” Emine asked feeling cynical, leaning back in her chair with her glass of red wine, watching people come and go on the street near their table.  She took a long drink, thinking about David working late at the law firm, which was packed with gorgeous secretaries and far too eager interns.  It was a balmy afternoon in Florida and people were everywhere, walking down to the beach in their swim wear or eating at restaurants.  Having a long lunch was their monthly tradition amidst their busy lives.  Their families were very close, and both were welcomed into the other’s home as a surrogate child.  After childhood, their families made an effort to keep them together, and by luck they hadn’t be separated past high school.  They’d never admit that they’d purposefully gone to the same college, and pursued jobs in the same state. 

            Tilda was finishing a residency in pediatric oncology, while Emine was waiting on her acceptance letter to join a cancer research team at MD Anderson in Houston, TX.  Though it would be a dream come true, the thought of moving so far away made her queasy each time she thought about it.  They’d gone to the same medical school, and at one point had become roommates.  After Tilda’s mother, and then Emine’s father had been taken by cancer within a year of one another, the pair were eager to choose their specialties.  Kicking cancer’s ass one person at a time.  She glanced over, seeing Tilda’s wary expression.

            “How what starts?” Tilda inquired slowly.  Emine wouldn’t meet her eyes, knowing how ridiculous the accusation was.  Her silence dragged on and Tilda gasped suddenly.

            “Emine!  No!  Oh my god Em, don’t be so dramatic.  David is the best thing to ever happen to you.  Don’t you dare go pretending like he could ever muster up enough evil in him to cheat on you.  Jesus H. Christ Emine.  Eat your damn salad and stop it,” Tilda scolded.   Emine winced at her words, knowing she was right.  Knowing she was being childish.  She hated feeling so needy, but compared to her appearance, David’s law firm was pure tits and ass.  She’d brought him lunch once to his office and had felt like she was suffocating in a sea of cleavage.   She knew better though.  David loved her.  She and David both just had busy lives.  She knew she was just feeling a little neglected ever since David had been promoted from law clerk to attorney and given several major cases.  The pressure to stay later, and push harder was strong.  It was making both of them stressed out.

Emine shoved a forkful of greens into her mouth, and a woody stem stabbed her in the teeth.  Gagging loudly with disgust, Emine grabbed her napkin and deposited the half eaten blob of foliage into it.  She looked down at it and grimaced at the brown twig nestled among the spinach.

            “Look at that!  Just look at it!  What am I paying for?  I bet they grabbed a handful of leaves off the bushes out front!  Do you see this?” Emine demanded, picking out the twig and holding it up for Tilda to see, but Tilda wasn’t listening and suddenly Emine had forgotten about anything other than the shining, humming, black orb that hovered in the air, inches in front of Tilda’s face.  They stared at it for many long moments.  The humming that it emitted vibrated the insides of Emine’s skull.  She found the words through her stupor, dumbfounded by the strange object out of place in a Miami café. 

            “What is it?” Emine asked.  It was no larger than a grapefruit, smooth all over.  Tilda shook her head, and reached up a pale hand. 

            “Wait!” Emine cried, but Tilda’s fingertips had already brushed its smooth surface before the words could register.  Tilda gasped, her eyes widened, and as just as quickly as the orb had appeared, it vanished into thin air taking Tilda with it.  Emine lunged across the table, knocking the drinks on their sides and spilling their contents across the tablecloth, her hands reaching into the empty space.  When they grasped at nothing, Emine gaped wildly at the empty chair and then a guttural scream.

            “NO!  TILDA!” Emine shrieked, jolting upright in her bed.  Her breath escaping in hard rasps as if she’d been running, and perspiration trickled down her face intermingling with her long dark hair plastering it to her neck.  She wanted to cry.  She wanted to scream until voice was gone, but she had done all this before.  Numerous times.  It had accomplished nothing.  Tilda had been gone for three years.  It was still hard to accept that she wasn’t coming back.  David rushed into the room, already dressed in a crisp blue suit, closing in beside her, his face awash with concern.

            “The nightmare again?” he asked, brushing stray hairs out of her eyes, and tucking them behind her ears.  Her eyes met David’s.  Her husband, David Smith.  Her sweet, caring husband who knew every dark corner of her mind and didn’t judge her for an inch of it.  Her husband who had said nothing when she quit her job when the anxiety had taken her ability to leave the house, and took care of her.  David was a textbook Ken doll.  Tall, with blonde hair, muscular arms and good taste in clothes, he dominated the court room as the powerful attorney he’d become over his career.  Of course her mother, Miray Yilmaz had never approved.  David wasn’t what her mother had envisioned for her, and she let Emine know of her disproval with subtle hints about eligible men back in Istanbul that her friends were trying to set up with respectable women.  She usually told her mother to date them if they were so great, and her mother would drop the subject.  She registered the question he’d asked and looked away.  Emine nodded in response, staring numbly at the end of the bed. 

            “The third anniversary is tomorrow,” Emine said in a whisper, almost too afraid to admit it.  David said nothing.  She was terrified.  People could say what they wanted, but she knew it had happened.  There were recordings of the events everywhere.  A thousand people had vanished out in broad daylight and still there were those who thought it was a government hoax.  With dread, Emine pulled her covers close to her.  Each anniversary had taken another thousand, meaning that there were three thousand people who had evaporated. 

Worse were the ones who had returned.  Dead.  Always the same.  Always naked and dead in plain sight.  Found by a child, a dog walker, a jogger or a mom with her baby in a stroller.  Hundreds of people had resurfaced but not a single one had been returned alive.  No word from them for years after they vanished, and suddenly there they were, naked and lifeless on the pavement, staring up at the sky.  Though their causes of death varied as much as their races, ages and economic status, they were always clean as if someone had painstakingly washed them down before returning their bodies to their loved ones.  The day had been named the Harvest, a title that inspired anxiety in all who heard it.  David sat beside her and smoothed her shirt down her back where the sweat had bunched it against her skin. 

            “What are you going to do today?” he asked.  She frowned.  He was like a broken record and it annoyed her.  He asked her this question every single day.  She’d suffered from crippling depression after Tilda had gone, and with each anniversary of the event, her anxiety mounted until she was unable to leave the house.  When David left, she worried for hours feeling ill until he returned, much earlier than his firm would like out of concern for her.  She knew she was dragging him down, and she hated herself for it.  She’d lost the ability to work and she hated herself for that too.  David was sympathetic, and told her constantly that agoraphobia and PTSD were nothing to be ashamed of, but yet he pushed her.  He pushed her and pushed until she got angry with him.  He reminded her of the lines from her therapy sessions and encouraged her to do the exercises they gave her.  The fact that he had more of an investment than she did into her wellbeing also bothered her.

            “Research,” she answered, and the sigh he emitted made her tense up.  David believed everything she said.  He was intelligent and had seen all of the videos.  He’d known Tilda, and was devastated for Emine when she’d disappeared.  He knew that it had happened multiple times now, but still didn’t approve of her research.  He thought it was unhealthy for her to dwell on the events, but she couldn’t control herself.  She had to find the answers, and the reasons for the disappearances.  Three thousand families were torn apart because of what happened.

            “Em, you know Dr. Dawski says that lingering on what we can’t change,” he began but she whipped her head in his direction, the rage instantly boiling inside of her.

            “Dr. Dawski can kiss my ass!  How does he know that I can’t change anything?  If I can figure out the link between the people who were taken, then I can figure out what’s causing this.  If I can figure out what’s causing this, then I can warn people!  Maybe I can prevent this from happening again!” she cried, feeling her face redden.  She shouldn’t have to justify herself every time she wanted to research the events.  It was perfectly normal to want closure.  How many times had they fought about this?  She’d lost count.  Why did he bother?  David stared at her, obviously trying to choose his words carefully.

            “Honey, but you don’t know that it is going to happen again,” he said and she grit her teeth to trap the sentences that immediately came to mind, but the words slipped through in an angry rant regardless.

            “What do you know?  Do you really think the Harvest is going to be over after only a few thousand are taken?  Do you think they’re just going to give up?” she hissed.  “Don’t be naïve!  We need to figure out how to stop this!  To stop them from hurting more people!” she barked, slapping her hand down onto the bed in frustration. 

            “Who’s they?” he asked, exasperated.  They’d circled this argument thousands of times.  She knew he only wanted to help.  He wanted her to forget this ever happened, but wanting that was like wanting her to transform into a squirrel.  It would never happen.

            “I don’t know!  Aliens!  God!  The government!  People aren’t just vanishing themselves!” she snapped.  He put both of his hands up in defense.

            “Sorry, sorry!  Em, I just…this always makes you so anxious when you do your research.  I don’t know if it’s worth it.  What if you don’t find anything?  Is it really worth it to stress yourself out more than usual for nothing?” he asked softly.  She blanched at him.

            “For nothing?  You think trying to find out what took my friend…no, my best friend in my entire life is for nothing?  Do you know what we’ve been through?  What we’ve done for each other?  The sacrifices we’ve made?  She’s practically my sister David!  I owe her every ounce of my sanity if I can find out what took her and how to bring her back.  So does everyone else out there who lost someone!” she growled.  She was done.  She didn’t give him time to answer and stabbed a finger in the air towards the bedroom door.

“Just get out!  If you’re not going to support me in this, then just go to work and leave me alone!” she shouted, clenching her teeth together and boring holes into his brain with her seething glare.  David took two steps back; his face pained for an instant and looked at her for a long time before answering.  The tension hung thick in the air, practically ringing in the silence.  When he did speak it was quiet.

            “Please don’t ever accuse me of not supporting you again.  I’ll be home at seven,” David said softly and crossed the room, shutting it behind him with a barely audible click.  Emine groaned.  Feeling guilty for her outburst, she fell back against the covers, regretting shouting at him.  He meant well, but he needed to let her do this.  He knew that.  It was the one thing that made her happy. 

            No not happy.  Happy was the wrong word.  Peace.  It gave her some sense of peace, and a sense of purpose.  She needed to be doing her part for Tilda.  Wouldn’t Tilda have done the same for her?

            As soon as the front door was shut, and the lock turned Emine pulled herself from the bed.  She put a pot of coffee on, and went to the guest bedroom of their condo.  The guest bedroom was her war room, though from looking at it, no one would ever know.  It was decorated in white furniture, shelves adorned with beach shells collected by her and David before the Harvest.  From before when life was simple.  She kept the room light and airy because she needed a reminder that her life had been like this once.  Content.  Within the drawers, under the extra blankets she kept her research.   Her research consisted of three thick folders of theory. 

            The first folder was filled with religious scriptures about end times, mostly texts from the bible, detailing the rapture, about the many that would vanish from the earth, leaving others behind until judgment when Jesus returned.  There were other similar religious texts woven in there, but it focused heavily on Christianity.  She’d printed every interview from every one of the religious victims who had lost their loved ones and blamed it on the rapture.  She had every forum discussion and every print out from the bible itself.  Though it contained a lot of research, she didn’t believe.  She was certainly not Christian, but looked at the texts from a theoretical standpoint.  She wasn’t overtly religious, but she was fairly positive that Allah would not do something like this.  Her mother, who was religious, didn’t believe in the event at all.  When asked about it, her mother would wave her hand dramatically and scoff, calling the whole thing a load of superstitious nonsense; a fact that had driven a decent sized rift between them.  She’d watched Tilda grow up with her own children, had treated her as her own, but when the disaster struck she ignored the truths that were right there in front of her.  No doubt it was a defense mechanism, but it still stung.

            “She’s off chasing a new man, fickle as she is,” Miray would say, scowling through the whole conversation.  Emine knew what she meant.  She didn’t have to say anything else about it, as the implication of her American marriage hung in the air.  These days the statement didn’t even bother her.

After the death of her father, Emine’s mother had become bitter and angry.   Her brother Hadwin was still been at home at the time, and took up the responsibility of taking care of their mother.  Emine married David, and she avoided talking to him about eventually inviting her mother to live with them once Hadwin left for college.  David was well aware of her mother’s feelings about him, but he said nothing on the subject.  Not ever.  Timing was terrible as it often was in life.  The disappearances coincided with Hadwin’s departure for New York during the same month.  With Emine’s decline, there had been no discussion and no implication of what would become of her mother.  Emine was barely able to care for herself, let alone provide anything for her mother.  Miray therefore stayed put in her small home that she owned, but the resentment became greater, and the steely edge of her mother’s voice sharpened.

            “Mother, you know Tilda disappeared.  I saw her with my own two eyes!  Does what I saw count for nothing?” she’d ask, on the verge of tears each time.  Talking about Tilda was so painful.  No amount of time had made it easier.  Yet she was finding herself in another conversation that she endlessly circled with yet another person who felt that they knew better.  She couldn’t pin point why her mother’s denial hurt her so much, but it stung more than anything else.  No matter how many times she’d asked, this question was always met with total silence.  Her mother would sigh and thin her lips, never answering.  She’d look away from her daughter and not reply.  The most Emine had ever purged from her when the subject was pressed was,

            “You hide in your house all day Emine.  You quit your life long career in the blink of an eye.  You were on the brink of success and now you spend your days researching conspiracy theories in dirty pajamas and relying on your husband to care for you.  What do you think I believe?” she’d said to Emine.  The silence from that conversation had lasted for three months before Emine dared to surface again.

            Her three aunties back in Istanbul were far more superstitious than her mother.  They adamantly believed her.  Emine spoke with them over video chat almost every week, but most often they sent her notes and goodies in the mail.  They were terrified by the incidents, as they weren’t isolated in America only.  No one that they knew personally had vanished, aside from Tilda but they were worried all the same.  The fact that Emine had directly known someone to have vanished, troubled them deeply.  Almost as if it were contagious, they covered their house in blue evil eye beads, and sent several to Emine in the mail on the anniversary each year.  She didn’t put much faith in the eyes, but hung them up around the house in hard to spot areas all the same.  What could it hurt?  If someone discovered them, she could always blame it on a cultural tradition.  Sometimes around the anniversary, without even realizing she’d done it, she’d fasten a blue eyed bead around a golden chain under her shirt, perhaps subconsciously wishing for the extra protection.  Even if she didn’t believe in that sort of thing.

            She fingered the blue bead absentmindedly while she set the folder of religious based theories aside, sipping her coffee and making herself more comfortable on the floor.  The next folder was a compilation of people who felt exactly as her mother did; so afraid of the truth that denial was the only answer.  She’d collected pages upon pages of posts on denial.  Too many Americans were convinced that the disappearances were a government hoax to distract the population from the devastating election that was taking place at the time of the first disappearance, and the next one that was coming up. 

Both parties were detested by the general public, with ridiculously radical ideas.  After a previous election in which Donald Trump, self proclaimed Republican had run, anything was possible.  People were fascinated with the businessman/former entertainer and his ability to tear down the veils of political correctness.  His tangerine appearance and reportedly small hands soon became the butt of many a joke.  Never before had an election campaign strayed so far from the path of normalcy, and it had never righted itself again.  Each election period had brought far more outspoken candidates, with ideas so outlandish that election years were looked upon as sporting events.  Some even began likening it to a reality show that they dubbed “Who’s Gonna Run This Bitch?” after a popular comedians joke made way back when.

After the Harvest, the slogan for every candidate focused solely on promising the safe return of the missing Americans with a different viewpoint for each one.  Fear had soaked through daily life like thick oil, saturating every aspect.  New candidates were like little matches, igniting the terror in gargantuan bursts each time they opened their mouths.  

Police precincts were overtired from investigating and reinvestigating, only to come up cold on each person gone missing.  How could you trace the steps of a person who vanished into thin air?  Crime was on the rise. 

When some of the missing were returned back to the ground, dead and clean as the day they were born, some of the candidates took new approaches.  Terrorists were responsible, and with that came promises of bombing other nations, specifically the Middle East.  Others were convinced that aliens had abducted everyone, and that theory brought promises of NASA advancements to wage war against the otherworldly beings. 

But the majority of the remaining Americans, who believed in neither theory, were convinced that we were being distracted.  That below the widespread tragedy that occurred once a year was a deep seeded layer of deception.  Those people feared new reform, drastic government control and the rise of pharmaceutical companies taking over our lives.  They would tear down any argument or video regarding the events.  Any cell phone video taken of a person vanishing as they grasped the black orb in their palm was immediately discredited because of the potential to tamper with it.  Any person who swore that they witnessed an event was deemed unstable.  There was no good news to be had.  Every answer brought more fear.

Emine stared down at the last folder dubbed “Aliens”, which contained the little credible information she’d been able to scrounge up tying alien abduction to the disappearances.  The same videos that were called hoaxes were also tied to extraterrestrial life.  They weren’t contained within this folder of course, but Emine had watched hundreds of recorded video depicting people going about their daily lives before evaporating after touching an orb.  Sometimes during her research she put them all on repeat and watched them for hours, slowing them down, analyzing the moments when they began to vanish, looking for clues, or similarities between the people. 

Emine didn’t know what to believe, or how much her heart could handle believing.  The thing that troubled her the most was the connection between all of the victims.  There wasn’t one.  Or at least no one on the internet had found a concrete connection that she couldn’t pick apart.  Each day she felt the anxiety filling her like an invisible, poisonous gas, damaging her from the inside out.  She spent at least an hour each day, vacantly staring off somewhere, wondering where Tilda was, praying that she was safe, and begging Allah to not return her dead as the others had.  She wasn’t even very religious but she had lost count of the days she had spent on her knees, absorbed in prayer to any higher power, pleading and sobbing for her friend and everyone else to return unharmed.  Often she felt so alone in this endeavor that everything seemed hopeless, fruitless, and not worth the pain that she’d endured.  On the worst days she wondered if killing herself might bring her to where Tilda had gone.  The returned ones were dead after all.

She wasn’t sure where to begin this day of research, and the argument with David had made her tired.  The coffee wasn’t helping.  Emine gathered the folders into her arms and dragged herself back to her bed.  She lay under the covers, and pulled out her phone.  Perhaps there would be new videos today on the internet.  Lying on her side, she rested the phone against her pillow and watched video after video unfurl, the faces flashing before her eyes.  The images didn’t hurt anymore.  They no longer reminded her of Tilda.  She didn’t need to watch a video to remember the look of surprise that had crossed her face seconds before she’d vanished.  Had it hurt?  Or was the sensation itself shocking?

There was no way to make a connection between any of them.  The videos were in different languages, climates, and cultures.  The activities were as different as the people, and the only thing that connected any of them was the event itself.  She queued up another video, which depicted an older teenage boy skateboarding for his friends.  He’d just made a jump and landed with a flourish to the uproar of his friends, when they all fell deadly silent.  The black orb hovered in front of the boy’s face, resonating with a low hum.  The image on the screen flickered with interference. 

“Shit!” someone gasped.

“Jacob!” a girl cried.

“Don’t touch it!  You know what’ll happen!” one of his friends shouted, his voice shaking.  The video vibrated as the hand that held the phone recording it shook.  The boy before the orb smiled eerily.

“I want to know where it goes,” he murmured, looking up at them. 

“Stop messing around!  Jacob, don’t!” a girl yelled from behind the phone, revealing it’s holder as feminine. 

“Don’t!  I mean it!  Stop!  This isn’t funny!” she screamed in a panicky high voice, but continued shooting footage.  One of the other boys approached him, reaching out to him as if trying to talk a jumper off of a ledge. 

“Common man, stop it,” the boy said, his voice wavering too.  “Get away from it,” he said, almost touching him.

“But it came for me,” Jacob whispered, grinned slyly at them all, reaching up a hand.

“JACOB NO!” the girl screamed.

“See you on the other side,” he said, winking and grabbed the black ball, popping out of existence, surrounded by the screams of his friends. 

“JACOB!  JACOB!” the girl shrieked, hurling the phone to the ground, obscuring the vision into a patch of dark grass.  Emine didn’t need the screen to know that he wasn’t coming back any time soon.  She could hear their hard footsteps racing to the empty spot where their friend was just standing only moments before.   The girl was crying, and his friends could be heard calling people on the phone.  One was telling the police.

“He touched the orb!  He touched it on purpose!  He’s gone!” one of the boys was shouting, terrified.  Emine was so enthralled with this new video of someone willingly, knowingly going that she didn’t hear David entering the bedroom.

“Emine?  What are you,” he began, but he instantly saw what she was up to.  Had she been watching videos for over eight hours?  He cross the room in a few swift movements and leaned down to face her.

            “Give me the phone.  Just give it to me.  I can’t stand it,” he uttered softly, a look of irritation intermingled with defeat on his face.  Emine narrowed her eyes indignantly and pushed herself away from him.

            “You don’t own me David, I can do as I wish,” she began but her body ached.  She found that she was starving and had a terrible urge to pee.  Had she been there in the bed this whole time, or was he home early?  One glance at the clock showed it was the former.

            “I’m not going to let you continue on this path of self-destruction Em!  What kind of husband lets his wife do that?” he said in a pained voice.  She scoffed.

            “Let me?  Let me?  You’re not going to let me do anything!  I don’t need your permission!” she snapped.  His hands balled into fists at his sides, obviously trying to contain how furious he really was.

            “Look at you!  Your eyes are bloodshot, and you’ve been crying!  Did you shower today?  Did you even eat?  How long have you been lying there on your phone watching people disappear?” he asked, his voice rising with anger.  She knew he was right, but she was determined to win the argument.  She sat up in the bed straighter, lifting her chin in defiance.

            “That’s none of your business,” she hissed.  Unable to contain himself any longer, David was beside her in an instant, grabbing her by the shoulders.  All pretenses of simple frustration replaced with desperation.

            “Em!  You are my wife!  You are my business.  Do you want to be one of them?  Is that it?  Do you wish you could disappear too?” he asked his face so filled with anguish that it hurt to look at him.  She hated how much she was hurting him.  It was her fault that he felt powerless to help her.  He was right though.  Deep down, she did want to vanish.  She wasn’t sure if she wanted to vanish into nothingness or just go wherever Tilda was.  The last thread that had been holding her together snapped.  Instead of resisting, she threw herself into his embrace sobbing.  She cried so hard that her throat hurt, and her chest ached.

            “I’m so lost!  I’m so lost,” she gasped.  Her whole body hurt.  He held her tightly, stroking her hair.  “I don’t even know who I am anymore.  I don’t know what to do anymore.  I need to find Tilda,” she whispered.  It seemed like hours before he released her, and the room was silent again.  He looked at her for a long time, stroking her shoulder comfortingly and then he spoke.

            “We need to get you help Em,” he murmured into her hair, hugging her again.  She looked up at him.

            “But I have Dr. Dawski.  I already see a therapist David,” she answered annoyed, wiping her eyes.  He shook his head.

            “Obviously Dr. Dawski isn’t what you need.  I think it might help if you talked to other people like you,” he said, and she drew away sharply.

            “Like me?  Crazy?  Is that what you mean?” she asked, feeling the tension rising again.  He shook his head hurriedly,

            “No, not at all!  A support group Em!  A support group is what I’m talking about.  Other survivors who you can talk to about your experience, and your…research,” he added.  She fell into a stony silence.  She hated how he pushed her.  Was he pushing her because he wanted to help?  Or was it because he was embarrassed to have a lazy, do nothing, psycho for a wife?  Almost as if he had read her thoughts he took her hands in his.

            “Em, I love you.  I just want you to feel better.  I want you to be able to go outside and enjoy life again,” he said, feigning a smile.  She knew she believed his words, and the fact that she did brought the pain back into her chest.  He looked exhausted.  He didn’t need this.  His job was stressful enough without having to worry about his wife at home withering away under her anxieties.  She was bringing him down, dragging him by the ankles into the pit of darkness where she had made her home.  It wasn’t fair to him.  She loved him with all of her heart, and in that moment she made a decision.  A selfless decision in her mind, and it was the only way.

            “David I want a divorce,” she uttered, withdrawing her hands and looking down at the floor.  David stiffened, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.  Her body went cold all over as the words left her lips, as if they were taking the warmth from her.  There was a pregnant pause before she saw him shake himself.

            “That’s ridiculous.  Why would you even joke about something like that?” he asked, and Emine could hear his voice waver slightly.  She’d hurt him, and she couldn’t take it back.  She cleared her throat, determined.

            “I’m not joking David.  Being with me isn’t good for you.  You can’t help me, and I can’t help you anymore as a wife,” she answered.  David let out a hollow laugh that brought her out of her resolution.  He was laughing?

            “It’s ridiculous Emine.  What would you even do?  I pay all of your bills.  You can’t even bring yourself to go outside.  How are you going to find another place to live?  How are you going to work?” he asked, his eyes darkening with anger.  She saw something there that she didn’t recognize.  This was a line that she realized she might never uncross.  He rose from the bed, straightened his suit and tossed a business card onto the bed beside her.

            “That’s the support group I was talking about.  You’re going tomorrow, even if I have to drag you there myself.  We’re going to get passed this Emine.  I am going to make you get passed this.  I hope one day you decide to accept more of a responsibility into your health than I do,” he said coldly and left the room before she could respond, throwing the door behind him with a bang. 

            Emine lifted the card, hearing his footsteps echoing back to their guest bedroom.  She stared at it blankly, feeling numb.

            “The Last Ones, a Support Group of Harvest Survivors” it said in white text on a light blue background.  A white dove was flying off behind the words, obscuring the wording a little.  She let out a sound of irritation, tossing the card to the floor and went to use the restroom before heading to the kitchen.  Sitting over a bowl of cereal Emine brooded over the interaction with David.  He wasn’t going to let up on her.  It was a quality that most wanted in a husband, but right then to Emine it was a threat.  He had said that he would make her go to the support group even if he had to drag her there.  He had said tomorrow.  The anniversary of the Harvest!  Was he insane?  He was going to keep interfering with her research, and he was going to continue to meddle into her mental health until he achieved the goals he wanted.  She had to leave, but therein lay the most difficult problem.  Actually getting outside.

            She could take a Xanax to calm down, but getting anywhere might be harder while on the medication as she had little to no tolerance for it.  It hit her harder than most people and she wanted to be alert during her travel.  And where would she be going anyway?  Looking down into her cereal and realizing that she had no real friends, she decided that her mother’s house would have to suffice.  She’d hunker down there for the day.  Just for the Harvest, and then she could face David and talk about their relationship.  There was no way she was going to allow him to keep her out in broad daylight.  Yes, it would be her mother’s house.  The last place he’d look.  And yes, she was going to take that Xanax.

            Emine packed a backpack with a change of clothes, some toiletries and stared down at the little pill in her palm.  She considered how much of it to take.  The dosage was higher than average.  Dr. Dawski didn’t skimp on any mood “aids” that she thought she needed to do the homework he’d given her.  She thought about going outside, and a shiver ran down her spine.   Grabbing her bag, she downed the whole Xanax.  If she was fast she could make it to her mother’s house before the effects really got to her and sleep it off.  She just needed to take the edge off before she left the house. 

Emine’s stomach twisted as she passed the guest bedroom where David slept.  She didn’t really want to divorce David.  She loved him with all of her being, in that cheesy sort of way described in movies.  He completed her; he complimented her, etc, etc.  The thought of potentially not seeing him again made her stomach turn into knots, but there were some things more important than David.  This was a matter of life and death.  Her best friend was somewhere out there and always closer to being found dead lying naked on the ground one day.  She had to prevent that from happening if she could.  Behind the door, a snore broke the silence and Emine sighed. 

            Standing before the front door, Emine took several calming breaths.    It was just a door.  Just a door that led outside.  She thought back to her sessions with Dr. Dawski, and how he’d made her write down everything that she feared beyond the front door.  She’d scribbled a hasty list at first, but it grew longer the more she thought on it.  It morphed into not so much a list of things she was terrified of, but things that she greatly disliked.  Separated, the items on the list were small but all together they were overwhelming.  Coupled with her fear of witnessing another human being harvested, she’d never wanted to set foot out the front door again.  Emine stared at the door, reached up a shaking hand and gripped the handle.  She turned it and flung the door open, letting the hot night air bathe her face.  Emine stepped outside and closed it behind her, leaning against it as she took in the surroundings of the street.  She’d almost forgotten what it looked like in her neighborhood.  Gorgeous manicured lawns adorned the condos all down the street, with cars faded from salt spray. 

            The smell of the ocean filled her senses and it brought her back to the day Tilda had been harvested.  The air had been balmy and salty then too.  Emine stepped off of the front porch on wobbling legs.  Her breath felt shallow all of a sudden, her face growing hot.  She continued down the driveway, her vision tunneling around her.  She just had to get to the bus stop.  Get to the bus stop outside of the neighborhood and take it to her mother’s neighborhood.  It wouldn’t take more than half an hour, but that was thirty grueling, long minutes exposed.  She reached the end of the driveway and it was even harder to breathe.  Lightheadedness took over, and she had difficulty getting off of the curb.  An explosion from down the street knocked her to her knees cowering with her hands over her head.  She peered under her arm to see a dog running from one yard to another, sniffing trash while knocking the cans over.  Emine wasn’t afraid of dogs, but she couldn’t handle one right now.

            She pushed herself into a standing position and forced her legs to move, but with each step they were becoming like blocks of ice.  There was no sound on the street and she knew it must be deep into the wee hours of the morning.  She stumbled her way down the road away from her condo towards the next street, which she remembered had a bus stop.  Her vision had narrowed to straight in front of her as if she were a horse with blinds on.  Had to keep moving.  Had to get to the bus stop.  Her breath was coming in hard, painful rasps and her hands were clenched at her sides.  Emine stumbled to the ground again, but this time was unable to stand up again.  It was too much.  She could hear Tilda’s gasp of surprise over and over playing in her mind like a broken record. 

            Peering through her hands out into the street, her breath flying in and out of her in a hitching rhythm, she could see Tilda.  Tilda was right there in front of her, staring at the orb.  It was between them, and close enough that Emine could grasp it.  She had to stop this.  Had to grasp the orb and go in her place, but her limbs were like sludge, heavy and worthless.  She wasn’t fast enough.  Tilda gasped, and vanished again.  Emine was unable to speak.

            The Xanax kicked in like a wave of calm that washed over her.  Like hands enveloping her comfortingly.  Like downy pillows waiting for sleep.  A warm bath, surrounding her.  Her breathing slowed.  Her lids felt heavy.  She breathed even and steady.

            Emine sat on the sidewalk breathing slowly, coming to her senses.  It was hard to remember what she was doing there.  A nagging anxiety poked somewhere in the back of her mind, but it wasn’t strong enough to bother her.  Bus.  She remembered.

            In a haze, Emine stood and walked as if in a dream toward the bus stop.  She blinked and a loud sound surrounded her.  An irritated voice shouting, bombarding her with muffled questions.  Her eyes were heavy, but soon the sound was clear.  Her mother.

            “Emine Yilmaz!  Answer me!” Miray demanded, her angry face coming into focus with tight knit eyebrows slanted down into a furious scowl.  Emine yawned, pushing herself up on the couch in her mother’s living room.  The yawn only seemed to irritate her mother further.

            “Did you hear what I said?” she shouted, now speaking in Turkish.  She was in real trouble when the Turkish came out.  She waved a hand at her mother, as if she were a bothersome fly.

            “Mama, calm down.  Do you want the neighbors to hear?” Emine asked, wincing under the sound of her mother’s voice.  Miray’s eyes bulged.

            “You care about the neighbors now do you?  You didn’t seem to care so much when you passed out on my front doorstep after banging on it in a drunken stupor!  You’ve already alerted the neighbors to your shameful behavior!” she practically shrieked.  Emine shut her eyes tight, hoping to shut out her mother with them, but it was to no avail.  She grabbed a couch pillow and covered her face with it, lying flat on her back.  Miray snatched it away, followed by a protest from Emine.

            “Would you stop shouting at me?  I wasn’t drunk,” she groaned, taking another couch pillow and repeating the action.

            “I took too much Xanax.  I was having an episode,” she mumbled under the pillow.  There was a long pause, and her mother lifted the pillow away from her face gently.  When Emine raised her eyes to meet her mother’s, there was concern and frustration painted all over Miray’s face.

            “What happened?” she asked, her voice lowering dramatically.  Emine rolled into the couch so that she didn’t have to look at her.

            “David and I had a fight,” she said, unsure about how much she wanted to admit.  You could never tell your mother everything about your marriage.  Mother’s had limits to which they could forgive and forget, and the process took much longer.  She wasn’t angry with David, and didn’t want her mother to think any more badly of him than she already did.  Her mother’s expression was cautious, and she said nothing.

            “It wasn’t his fault, it was mine.  He’s just trying to help mama.  I am too stubborn to accept his help,” she admitted, feeling her insides turn painfully thinking about how David must be feeling this morning upon finding her gone. 

            “I told him I wanted a divorce,” she said before she could stop herself.  She didn’t want to tell anyone this.  Her mother’s eyes widened, and she sat beside Emine.

            “What has he done?” Miray asked, taking her daughters hands in hers tightly.  Emine shook her head.

            “That’s just it mama.  He’s done nothing to deserve it.  He wants me to get better, but I’m too afraid.  I’m bringing him down and holding him back.  He would be better off without me,” she murmured.  She stared at her knees dejectedly and it wasn’t until her mother released her hold on her with stiff hands did she look at Miray.  The expression on her mother’s face was stony and angry again, like a wall of steel.  Emine drew away from her, startled by it.

            “Emine, I do not know the person who sits here beside me.  Who are you?  The daughter that I raised was smart, bright and bold.  She had big goals, and a successful future ahead of her.  The girl sitting beside me is a weak, diseased worm.  She hides her head in shame and does nothing to help anyone.   Where did my daughter go?  What happened to her?” her mother asked, venom filling her voice.  Emine felt cold.  It was as if she’d been pierced by a frozen knife, and all of her insides were freezing one by one.  Her mother’s words hurt.  Emine gaped at her, unable to comprehend or say anything.  The silence filled the room as if it were something tangible. 

            “I want you to leave my house.  Leave, and do not come back here until you are something that resembles my daughter.  Not this, gaunt, malnourished, unwashed, shell of a creature that you present me with now.  Come back when you know yourself again, and can act like the responsible adult that I raised,” Miray spat, rising from the couch to show Emine the door.  Emine was stunned.  Too stunned to move.  Miray crossed the room and ripped open the front door.  Emine couldn’t move, she couldn’t think.  She knew that her mother wasn’t the best source of comfort, but she hadn’t expected her to kick her out.  She couldn’t go out there.  Not today.  Emine stared at the open front door with a mixture of terror and confusion roiling within her. 

            “Now Emine!” her mother barked, and Emine startled where she sat but didn’t move to get up.  She hugged herself, and averted her eyes.  She couldn’t.

            “I can’t mama.  Not today.  Not today.  Not on the Harvest,” she muttered, and knew instantly that she shouldn’t have.  It was the wrong thing to say, the worst thing to say in front of her mother.  Miray was beside her in an instant, grabbing her by the arms and jerking her towards the door.

            “I will not have you in my house, acting like a crazy person.  Today is just like any other day!  There is no Harvest Emine!  Stop acting out for attention!” she grunted, pulling on her, trying in vain with her limited strength to eject Emine from the house.

“No!  No I won’t!  I can’t!” Emine shrieked, on the verge of hysterics.  She couldn’t go out there.  Not on the Harvest.  As Miray yanked on her shirt, grabbing her forearms to get a better grip she suddenly stopped, staring hard at Emine.

            “You’re trembling.  Emine you’re shaking all over,” she said deadly serious.  Emine felt the tears spilling over her eyelids, and she wanted to vomit.  She sank to the floor when her legs could no longer support her, and a sob escaped her lips.  She could feel her mother’s hands on her back, rubbing it in circle.

            “Let’s go into the bathroom.  Come now,” she said softly, helping Emine stand and walking her down the hall.  Her mother helped her sit on the toilet lid while she dabbed her forehead with a cold cloth.  They were silent together for a long time before Miray spoke.

            “I want to know what is happening in that head of yours Emine.  What is happening to you?” she asked quietly.  Emine stared at the blue tiled floor, tears slipping down her cheeks.

            “I just want to know what happened to Tilda.  I need to help her somehow.  I need to know what happened to her,” Emine whispered.  Her mother stiffened.

            “We’ve been over this.  She did not vanish Emine.  You know that as well as I do,” her mother said sternly.  Emine straightened, feeling ill but furious.  She was sick of this.  Sick of her mother denying that this ever happened.

            “I don’t know why this is so hard for you to believe mama!  I am the way that I am now because I saw Tilda vanish right in front of me!  I saw it!  I don’t know what else I can say to make you believe me, but she has been gone from my life for three years!  Isn’t that enough to help you understand?  She’s gone mama!  Tilda is gone!” she screamed, rising to her feet and holding onto her mother’s dressing gown for dear life.  Miray’s eyes were bulging with disbelief but Emine didn’t stop.  Tears flowed down Emine’s cheeks, hot and filled with shame.

            “Mama I am desperate!  I am in so much pain!  A pain that is made so much worse when my own mother calls me a liar and tries to throw me out of her house!  You are my mother!  When have I ever lied to you?” she wailed, gripping her mother’s gown so hard she thought she might pull her down to the floor with her.  Miray was startled and shaken.  She grabbed at Emine’s hands, trying to pry her off her clothes.

            “Emine stop it!  I will hear no more!” she shouted, peeling Emine’s fingers away, but Emine persisted harder than she intended to.

“Why?!  Why will you not hear it?!  Why am I the only one who has to endure this?!” she screamed in her mother’s face.  The forcefulness of her accusation, stilling the room in an instant; the ringing of her shout was pinging around them.  Her mother pursed her lips, then thinned them, forcing back some emotion.  She turned her eyes away from her daughter.  When she spoke, her voice was soft and breaking.

“I cannot believe this, I just can’t.  Tilda…Tilda was like a daughter to me.  I watched that sweet child grow up loving you, and I had two daughters.  I can’t bear it.  I would rather believe that she walked out on her family than know that she is gone,” her mother murmured.  Emine stared at her mother incredulously.  She felt rage boil within her. 

            “Then you’re just as crazy as I am!” Emine fired back, releasing her mother to stagger back away from her.  There was a silent standoff between them for what felt like hours.  Miray wiped her eyes, removing the tears that had begun to form and stormed out of the bathroom. 

            “Collect yourself and I will drive you home,” her mother uttered as she left down the hall.  Emine sank back onto the toilet lid, and felt the turmoil within rolling like waves.  She heard the front door open, and moments later the car started outside.  Emine debated locking herself in the bathroom and refusing to come out.  Her mother’s willpower was stronger than hers.  How long would she wait in the car for her before she came back to remove her from the house by force again?  Or worse, how long until she went to fetch David himself to retrieve her.  That would be a sight for sure. 

            She sighed, splashed her face with water and entered her mother’s kitchen, rifling through the cabinets.  She groped at the pantry contents until she found the hidden bottles of wine her mother meant for cooking.  Emine, uncorked the bottle with a loud pop and began gulping down the contents.  The wine was dark red, bitter and very dry but she swallowed mouthful after mouthful, the liquid spilling out the sides of her lips.  She gasped for breath and drank more as if it were life giving water.  When she’d drained almost all of the bottle she stood still, waiting for the effects to hit her.  She paced the kitchen, hearing the rumble of her mother’s car in the driveway.  She squatted on the floor, putting her head between her knees and breathed.  She couldn’t go out there, she just couldn’t.  It was the Harvest.  A horn blared outside of the window and Emine lifted her middle finger high above her head from her crouching position.  Finally, a warm sensation began to spread through her brain, putting her into a slight haze.  The buzz wouldn’t destroy her anxieties but at least she’d be able to get in the car without panicking. 

            Emine stood in front of the door, hands on the knob and breathed.  She walked herself through the exercises and words of encouragement the therapist had given her and swung the door open hard, forcing herself to leave.  She practically sprinted to the car, and strapped herself into the seat before putting her head between her knees again to avoid looking out the window.  Miray said nothing, but Emine caught the skyward eyeroll that she’d been given.  Emine still wanted to throw up.  She felt faint and a deep sense of dread hung heavy over her head like a full rain cloud.  It was harvest day and none was safe, regardless of the drama in her life. 

            On the days of the Harvest, there had never been any warning.  It did not happen at the same time of the day or in the same parts of the world each time.  Your chance of encountering one of the black orbs was one in over seven million, but she had encountered that one person.  Who’s to say that she wouldn’t be one of those people out of the millions?  Although the initial number of people reported to have vanished by the news was always dramatically higher than it was in actuality.  By this point, people were taking advantage of the phenomenon and using it as an excuse to skip town, only to be caught by their credit card usage months later.  The FBI was keeping close tabs on which disappearances were legitimate, and a list was published each year of the confirmed one thousand people missing, not tied to any kind of crime. 

            “We’re almost there,” Miray said softly, and Emine sat up to look outside, prepping herself to go into the house.  They were pulling onto the street of her neighborhood when she saw David.  He was running down their street frantic, his face white as a sheet.  She felt a stab of regret, seeing how upset he was.  He didn’t deserve any of this.

            “Mama, stop the car.  I see David,” she muttered, and when the car stopped halfway down the street Emine got out, resisting the terrible urge she had to run into the house.  He saw her and they locked eyes from opposite ends of the street.  A look of relief washed over him and he raced towards her.  Miray hung back in her SUV waiting to see if she was needed any further.  When they were close enough to hear one another, he shouted,

            “Where the hell have you been?  I thought you’d been taken!  I thought you’d vanished!  I’ve been looking everywhere!  Why are you outside?!” he shouted, the irritation apparent as he marched towards her, clearly winded and out of breath.  Had the Harvest already taken the place?  Had another thousand vanished?  She shook her head.

            “I went to my mother’s house!” Emine called, trying to ease his concern but his face dropped.  He knew how much she’d avoided her mother over the years.  The implication of the seriousness of the situation sank in, and he slowed down.  She hurriedly closed the gap between them, eager to go inside.

            “You went to your mother’s house?” he asked eyeing the SUV, and she nodded uncomfortably.  Behind her, Miray’s car crept to a halt in front of their house, but inside her mother pretended to be lost in thought, scrolling through her cell phone.

            “Did it happen again David?  Are more people gone?” Emine forced herself to ask.  She needed to know.  Her stomach was filled with fluttering insects that were definitely not butterflies.  She found a hand placed on her stomach as if to calm them.  David blinked at her.

            “What?  No, not that I’ve heard.  Emine we need to talk.  Send your mother home and we’ll go inside,” he urged.  She hesitated.  If things didn’t work out, she’d have to venture out here again and she didn’t want to.  Maybe this was her clean break.  If she could end this now, she could give him a chance at a new life without the dragging chains of her illness clapped around his ankles.  She could go with her mother.  But even then, the thought of doing so clenched at her heart.  She loved David with every fiber of her being.  They’d been through so much together, and his willingness to put up with her problems proved how much he loved her.  He’d proposed after Tilda had gone.  After she’d lost control of her mind.  But couldn’t he give this love to someone else?  Someone who deserved it much more than she did?  She swallowed the pain, crossing her arms over her chest so tight that it hurt.

            “No David.  I can’t do this to you anymore.  I love you more than anything, but you don’t deserve this.  You should be with someone healthy.  Someone normal!  I meant what I said last night,” she began, hearing the wavering in her voice and hating it.  The tears came unbidden and pooled there in her eyes.  She looked away from him, and then his hands were gripping her by the shoulders again, his face contorted with anguish.

            “Em, stop it!  I made a vow!  A vow that says that I love you through the good and the bad.  A vow that I intend to keep!  And so did you!  Stop pushing me away right now!  I will always love you, no matter what!” he said, and she saw that he was crying too.  A wave of emotion flooded her, and she wanted to throw her arms around him, seek the comfort of his embrace as she had done for years.  Maybe he was right. 

            The low hum stopped her dead in her tracks.  Her insides turned to ice.  Her eyes widened with terror, and she froze.  Tilda’s gasping face appeared before her eyes again as she vanished.  Emine’s mouth gaped open as she spotted the black orb hovering between their bodies.

            “David,” Emine breathed, but to her horror he hadn’t seen.  He was still looking into her eyes, imploring her to see reason.  She couldn’t find the words to warn him.  She had to tell him!

“Em, I will always love you,” he repeated as he attempted to pull her into his arms. 

“No!  Wait!” she blurted, unable to say anything else.  She resisted, and his body moved forward, the orb brushing his shirt.  His eyes widened, a breath escaping his lips with surprise.  Emine threw her hands out instinctively, grabbing his arms and like a gust of wind she felt his entire being sucked away through her fingertips.  One second he was a tangible, solid person and the next he was just gone.  The warmth of his arms was still on her palms.  Emine stood stock still, her arms still out in front of her.  She brought her hands to her face to stare at them in disbelief. 

“No…” she felt her mouth utter.  “No, no, no…” This couldn’t be happening.  Not David too.  A fresh wave a nausea coursed through her that had nothing to do with the wine.  She could hear the door of the SUV swing open and slam behind her, the hurried footsteps of her mother rushing towards her, and then the only sound left was her screaming.