[WP] You keep on being drunk dialled/texted by someone who claims they're a secret agent or superhero (it's very hard to tell with their rambling). However, their obscure messages make terrifying sense when you see the news the next morning.

“It is 3-fucking-am,” my wife grumbled from her side of the bed.

I reached for my ringing phone on the side table. “It’s him babe, I gotta take this.” She sighed loudly and pulled the covers over her ears.

“Hello,” I whispered as I trudged out of the room and into the hallway. I’d left the light on so I could easily find my way to the small sitting area by the stairs. I settled into my favorite recliner.

A familiar scratchy voice replied, “Hello Alex Valdez, this is special agent Ryan. You are a resident of the Open Skies gated community in Las Vegas, Nevada. How have you been?”

“Cut to the damn chase. What do you want?” I demanded. I had never been so forward with him before, but I'd been receiving these same calls for three days straight. Each time, the man on the other end of the line described himself as an FBI agent while randomly sprinkling in information about my life.

He began to laugh. I felt a jolt of electricity travel down my spine. “Ok, let’s just get to it. I’m not really…I don’t have any affiliation with law enforcement. I just need you to listen to me.” His voice cracked. “In the morning, there will be a story about a commercial airline flight that mysteriously disappeared over the Spring Mountains, the range that runs through Southern Nevada. They won’t find any remains.”

I pushed my hand through my already messy hair. “Sure, whatever. Is that it?”

“I’ll call again for further details.”

The line went dead. I made a note of the date and time, then returned to bed. It was impossible to sleep. I stared at the nighttime sky through the window until it slowly began to brighten. Around 8 am, my wife slipped her hand into mine. “Make me coffee,” she pleaded. I turned to give her a kiss, then headed to the kitchen.

Before preparing our breakfast, I checked the news app on my phone.

“Holy shit.”

There it was – “Flight Vanishes in Nevada”.

I folded over on the cold tile floor. How the hell could he have known? Was it because he was responsible for this? Was I now somehow complicit?

My phone rang. “Alex, you there?”

I didn’t say anything.

He pressed on. “I’m sure you’ve seen the story and aren’t so happy with me right now. Just give me a second, ok? Things are stressful right now. Oh, and check your garage. We’ll talk soon.”

I pulled myself off the floor and slowly walked to the small door next to the kitchen pantry. When I opened it, I sank back down again. “This sick fuck,” I muttered.

There were at least fifty people crammed in the space where my two cars usually were parked. The group included the pilot, co-pilot, and two stewardesses whose pictures had been prominently displayed on the news article I had seen earlier. They all seemed to be in some sort of stupor, but they were still breathing.

Enough was enough. It was time to call the police.

“Alex Valdez.” This time, the familiar scratchy voice was coming from behind me. I took a deep breath.

When I turned, two people dressed in black suits were standing in my kitchen. The one in front was a lanky 30-something year old with tired eyes. He immediately perked up when I looked at him. “Is it too much to say that I missed you?” He wondered with a bemused expression on his face.

The woman standing behind him rolled her eyes. “Get a move on, would you? We’ve got over fifty aliens to transport and L is the only one who can identify the one we need to question.”

I noticed that she pointed to me when she was talking. “Who is L?” I asked.

“Allow me to get you reacquainted.” A bright red light flashed.

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