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All of his street possessions were in a heavy-duty plastic trash bag. He had it slung over his shoulder and, dead on his feet, he trudged down a sidewalk somewhere on the south side of Chicago. The street people leered at him from out of the shadows: he hadn't gotten to know all of them yet, but he was working on it. Putting himself into this set of circumstances probably wasn't one of his better ideas, he mused.

A flash of movement in the alley alerted him to trouble in the making. But it was too late. An arm snaked out and grabbed him by his dirty denim jacket, roughly pulling him into the alley. Fists flew at him, pounding his face. The brick wall of the alley shifted crazily as he swayed sideways, trying desperately to stay on his feet. Knees buckling, he went down under a hail of blows. The bludgeoning quickly drove him to numbness, but the sharp sting of a blade in his chest gave him a brief point of focus. It was the last thing he remembered before unconsciousness claimed him.

* * *

Amie Callahan was, to put it kindly, unique. She was also pretty. And stubborn. And lonely.

It was early in the morning, and she found herself sitting in front of her vanity, ready to reestablish her defenses for this day. And in a ritual she had been locked into for the past five years she proceeded to do just that. Taking a Tai Chi breath, she began her ritual with a light foundation on her skull, face, ears and neck. Satisfied, she carefully applied a stark white Goth makeup over the foundation. Powdering the makeup to knock off the sheen, she admired herself. She looked like a ghost. Or perhaps a corpse. Amie always enjoyed speculating, and her mood of a particular day would dictate whether she would be a ghost--at last freed from her physical body but fully aware in her new spiritual form--or a corpse--lifeless and unaware, doomed to eternal death in her coffin. She always took the time to admire herself at this stage because, as her face took on an otherworldly look, she slipped into her own private world where she would be safe.

Pleased with her appearance, she next applied very dark shadow to her eyelids and around her eyes, feathering the edges so her eyes looked gaunt and deeply set into her cleanly shaved head. Lightly tracing her fingers across her crown, she found her smooth skull beautiful in a Goth sort of way.

Face makeup complete, she turned to her face jewelry. She began by putting a large decorative pin through her right ear. Next she put a decorative rosette into her lower cheek, followed by a safety pin through her right eyebrow. She preened, turning her head, first one way, then the other. Not yet finished, she looked at her nose rings lying on her dresser table. There were seven large rings, four of them silver, along with three smaller gold ones. Amie fussed over which to wear and finally settled on the largest ring she owned. It was big and thick and dirty silver, it had a cruel-looking barb at the bottom, and it dripped over her upper lip. If she chose the wrong food, the ring made eating difficult. But she loved that ring, and she wanted to wear it today. First, she removed the ring she had worn the night before while she slept. Although it was a keeper, it, too, was thick. Then she carefully worked the small post of the dirty silver ring through her nose. She loved the way this ring felt, the way it hung from the bottom of her nose, the way it set off her face. It set her apart from everyone else and made her look fierce and dangerous.

She flipped open her contact lens case--the case that held her favorite contacts--the alien eyes. The contacts completely hid her iris and pupil, masking them with a silver orb that made her look inhuman. Alien. Unapproachable. Weird. And frightening. She had a lot of work to do today and probably wouldn't even leave the house. She'd sit at her computer until her work was finished, and the way it was piling up she knew the work wouldn't let her go until early evening, at the latest. There was no one to put off with her face jewelry and makeup. No matter. She felt naked with nothing on her face. Her extreme face-look was as necessary to her as a shirt and pants were to someone else.

Tipping her head back, she deftly placed the contacts in her eyes--first one, then the other. She blinked to help seat them against her eyeballs. She looked at herself in the mirror. Two perfect silver marbles stared back at her. Perfect. The perfect look. She was, once again, herself. And once again she felt very safe.

And now for the final touch... Damn! She looked at her forehead in the mirror and suddenly realized she shouldn't have put on her makeup first!

She carefully scrubbed the makeup from her forehead, taking care not to make the erased area too large, but carefully removing the makeup down to the bare skin. She wet a wash cloth. Then she picked up a small plastic envelope and tore it open with her teeth. Inside was her new temporary tattoo. Amie smiled inwardly at the reaction this was sure to cause. She positioned the tattoo with the print side down on her forehead. Making sure the tattoo was lined up correctly, she dabbed the back of the tissue paper backing with the wet cloth. The tattoo was a barcode, the kind of code one would see on a package or a book that's meant to be laser-scanned at the super market checkout counter.

She peeled the tattoo backing from her forehead, gleeful to see that the barcode had "printed" perfectly through the tissue backing. She giggled. What a statement this would make to the world. This "being" who was looking back at her from the mirror was a mere "thing"--a truly worthless thing who lived her life from day to day with no particular goal in mind and no real purpose in life. This was Amie's statement, her philosophy of life, and for the first time in some months she was pleased with this latest addition to her "look" she seemed to be constantly experimenting with. Dipping her makeup brush into her Goth makeup case, she carefully blended the stark white paint around the barcode so the tattoo looked permanent.

There was a rumbling under him like he was on a wheeled cart of some kind. The movement around him was rapid, focused, intense. Gurney! God! Jesus help me! He hurt. Sweet Jesus, he hurt. He tried to raise his arm, but when he made the effort, he felt himself slowly drifting away...

Amie made her living by working at home. She was a medical terminology transcriptionist and she was a good one. She never lacked for work, and under her particular set of circumstances, it was the perfect job for her. She refused to give up her makeup and face jewelry, and that fact had lead to many problems when she had tried to get regular jobs. Her supervisors simply wouldn't put up with her. And even though Amie knew she could have taken every supervisor to court for discrimination, she didn't. It was her brother-in-law, Tom Nottingham, who managed to get her this best job of all jobs. She loved him for going to bat for her. Her past job history was horrible. Not one supervisor would write her a decent recommendation. If Tom hadn't stepped in, Amie would probably be living off the kindness of Tom, and Amie's sister.

She sighed deeply at this thought that came to her from nowhere. She thought she'd squared all this away long ago. Apparently she hadn't.

She saved the file she'd been working on and pressed "Talk" on her ringing cell phone. "Yeah?" she said, almost irritated at her sister calling her in the middle of her work.

"Amie, what'cha doin'?"

"What do you think? I'm working. I've got a boat load of work to finish off today before I can hang it up and shut down." There was a peculiar upbeat tone to her sister's query that instantly put her on alert.

"Well...when do you think you might be finished?"

"You mean with today's work?"

"Yes. Will you be finished soon enough so you can go out with Tom and me tonight?"

"Out?"

"Yeah, out. We thought we'd go to that nice bar you like so much. Our treat."

Amie's sister, Mary, was especially chipper today. It made Amie nervous when Mary was like that. "What's up your sleeve, sis?"

"Nothing," Mary said with an all too innocent tone to her voice.

"Oh, really?"

"Really."

"Well..."

"Just say you will, Amie. I haven't seen you for a good three weeks. I miss you."

Amie smelled a rat. "There's something more than just wanting to see me, isn't there?"

"Uh..."

"Mary, speak plainly. Stop dancing. You know I can't stand it when you do that."

"Well, there's this...this...guy I want you..."

"No!"

"Amie, what would it hurt? He's a nice guy and I know you'd like him."

"No!"

Mary sighed audibly. "I'll tell you what... Tom and I will be at the Rose and Crown at 7:30 tonight, waiting for you. Please, please, please don't wear that ring in your nose. Back off on the makeup and keep the nose ring at home. Please."

* * *

The only change Amie had made to her appearance before showing up at the Rose and Crown was to wear her black Spandex top instead of her loose T-shirt. She embellished the skin-tight top with her barbed-wire necklace. It's red barbs looked terrific against the black neck and shoulders. She was, after all, a mere "thing". It was important this new man they insisted on introducing her to would understand that. She was sure he would after he saw her.

She discreetly smoothed her hand down her breasts before she caught sight of her sister and brother-in-law sitting across the room. There was a strange man sitting with them, and he appeared to be nervous. She now realized she was nervous as well.

When she approached them she saw Mary's face register panic. Mary had spotted the barcode on her forehead and Amie instantly felt sad; her sister had no way of knowing it was just a temporary tattoo. Suddenly feeling rotten for driving Mary to panic, Amie fought to keep her hand from flying to her forehead to hide it.

"Amie," Mary began as Amie sat in a chair across from this new man she was to meet, "I'd like you to meet Geoffrey Taylor. Geoff is a computer analyst at the firm."

Amie nodded awkwardly to Geoff. Geoff, in turn, nodded awkwardly back. She could see he wanted to be open and understanding, but his eyes showed extreme discomfort at her appearance. Amie put out her hand. He took it. "Happy to meet you, Geoff," Amie said with as much warmth as she could find within her.

"And you as well," he said politely as he grasped her hand, then quickly let it go.

Amie was not good at playing the social games others seemed to be successful at. She hated it when Mary and Tom tried to introduce her to people. She hated it when they stuck their noses into her life.

And she hated being alone.

Amie smiled. "I suppose you're all looking at my new barcode tattoo," she said lightly, as if the nose ring, ear pin, safety pin, cheek rosette, alien eyes and extreme Gothic makeup weren't even there. She looked at Mary, apology in her eyes for being so inconsiderate. "It's only a temporary tattoo, Mary," she nearly whispered in abject apology. "It will come off if I scrub it with baby oil. I just tried it for a new look."

Visibly relieved, Mary cleared her throat. "Well, then, let's order, shall we?"

* * *

I am not a thing, you bastard! I'm a woman! A woman!

The being ignored her raging and approached her as he had approached her so many times before, and with a deft movement of his thin white fingers, he shoved a long, thin needle up her nose. She felt the familiar crunch as the probe deposited its tiny silver seed into her brain. She screamed until her screams woke her.

There was a loud pounding on the door. She tried to come awake. The pounding was insistent. She sat on the edge of the bed. Looking across at her vanity mirror, she realized she must have fallen asleep the night before without even undressing for bed: she was still in full makeup and she was fully dressed.

When her feet hit the floor she realized she still had her boots on.

The memory of the dream surfaced, and she felt herself tremble with fear, even as she stumbled to the door. "All right, all right, All right! I'm coming!" she yelled over the pounding.

She put her hand on the door. "Who is it?" she growled, not about to open the door to a stranger and too tired to look through the door's peephole into the hallway.

"It's Tom, Amie. Let me in."

He sounded angry. Tom seldom became angry. He was the easiest-going guy Amie knew. "Okay, okay," she said and opened the door. "Tom," she said, bleary-eyed, "why in the hell didn't you call my cell instead of pounding on the door?" She stood, barefaced in her makeup, perplexed why he would come by so early.

"I tried. Your battery must be dead."

"Probably." She yawned as he followed her into the house. "Kind of early for you, Tom."

"I know. I've got something on my mind this morning, Amie."

She didn't like the sound of this already. "Yeah?"

"Sit down, Amie."

Amie sat down as Tom took a chair across from the coffee table, turned it around and sat on it backwards, leaning his arms on the chair back. He was glowering at her.

"You're mad because I showed up last night in full makeup. Mary told you to come over this morning and give me hell. Right?"

Tom looked at her. "You're so damned clueless, Amie, I can't believe it."

"Well, he wasn't that great a guy. If he would have been, we would have had a better time," she said defensively.

"Damn it, Amie! You're screwing your whole life away! You're just flushing it down the crapper!"

"Ahhh..." Amie leaned back against the couch. "The crapper of life...."

"Amie...my God, you're a pretty girl. The first five years Mary and I were married I knew you without your makeup. These last five years I've seen you only as a Gothic freak!"

"Soooo...?"

Tom put his hands to his face. "God, I don't know how to get through to you," he mumbled through his fingers.

"I'm not asking you to get through to me, Tom. I love you to death, but I'm not asking you to get through to me. Mary gave up a long time ago. I don't know why you still try."

"Amie, doesn't it make you sad that people are giving up on you? That your own sister has given up on you? Your parents gave up on you. You have no more friends outside your immediate family. Even your aunts and uncles avoid you like the plague."

"Given...up...?"

"There's not enough of you left to believe in, Amie. You're gone...you're just...you're just gone." He looked at her sadly. "I don't even know what to say to you anymore..." His voice came out strained and faint. He shook his head.

She suddenly felt bereft. No one had ever said it quite the way Tom had said it just now. "Given up on me?" She sucked in her breath. "Well...I didn't realize...I mean...I..."

Tom stood up and reached for her shoulders to comfort her. She waved him away and began to sob.

"Amie, I didn't come here to upset you. I--"

"I had another one last night, Tom," she said abruptly through her tears.

"Dream?"

"They're not--"

"Dreams," Tom finished. "They happen, but not in real time," he said indulgently, having heard this story so many times before.

"They're real, Tom," she whispered. "And I can't take it anymore. He stuck another seed up my nose." She shivered outwardly and felt her nose. It was sore.

"Amie," Tom said, trying to understand. "Amieee..."

Amie put up her hands. "Don't placate me, Tom. If you've come to bawl me out about my behavior last night, be my guest. I don't care anymore."

Tom gave her a look that nearly chilled her. "I told you that I have not given up on you, and I haven't. I came by this morning because...because..."

"What, Tom? Because what? Spit it out."

"I need your help at the hospital," he said rapidly, as if he had to say it or he'd burst.

"I can't help you at the hospital. The last time I tried, they threw me out on my ear. You know that."

"This time, Amie, you will be going in without your makeup and without your face jewelry."

"No!"

"You will, Amie. You are going to show me that face I haven't seen for the last five years. And by God, if I have to, I'll call Mary and we'll hold you down and clean you up! And then, my most dear friend, you are going to go and do something noble. I am going to take you to the hospital where you will save a man's life."

"Save...?"

"Go into your bedroom and clean up your face. I'm going out to the car to bring in some decent clothes Mary sent along. When I come back I want to see your face. No makeup. No stinkin' face jewelry. And no goddamned ring in your nose!"

"Tom, I can't--"

"You can and you will. I have not and will not give up on you, Amie," he said through clenched teeth.

Amie's heart began to pound.

In the doorway he turned back to her. "Put on one of those nice bandanas you occasionally wear when the three of us go out together. And get out the baby oil; rub that stupid barcode tattoo off your forehead. The bandana might not cover it."

He stalked out the door and Amie stood, rooted to the floor. Suddenly, her cuckoo clock struck the morning hour with seven ear-jarring cuckoos. Numbly, she walked into her bedroom, and for the first time in five years took off her mask.

* * *

She sat in Tom's car, shocked at what she had just done to herself. She rubbed her fingers over her face, her nose. She needed her nose ring. She looked at Tom as she punched down the panic that was threatening to surface.

"You okay?" Tom asked as he put the car into drive and backed out of the parking space.

"I'm okay," she said quietly, subdued.

"Your nose is bleeding."

Amie dabbed it with a tissue, then looked at him again. "Still?"

"No, I think you got it all."

Amie held the tissue to her nose, hoping the bleeding would stop totally by the time she met the doctor.

"So it was the same dream?" he ventured, careful not to say too much.

"With variations, but pretty much the same dream, yes."

Tom sighed loudly.

"I shouldn't have told you. I should have just let it go."

"There's something wrong with your nose, Amie. That's why it bleeds. Those nose rings are heavy. You wear them to bed. You thrash around in the night and... Dear Jesus, I give up."

Silence hung between them...

"It isn't that I don't believe you, Amie. I know you truly believe you are tortured by aliens--"

"Stop!" she yelled much too loudly. She put her head in her hands. "Just...just stop, Tom. Pleeease...."

"I'm sorry, Amie. It's just that I want to see you healthy again. Healthy like before Samuel died. I want you to rid yourself of your demons. I want to get my sister-in-law back healthy and whole. I want that awful white makeup to stay off your face." He looked at her...carefully...as if he was afraid he had said too much, now.

"What have I done?" she whispered. "I promised myself I would do this to remember Samuel by."

"Amie, you made that rash promise when you were still in horrible grief after Samuel died. Samuel would want you to get on with your life, now; not hide your face from those who love you the most."

She began to sob quietly. He put his hand on her shoulder as they drove to the hospital.

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