With no other option left, and with a back up unit at least five minutes away, Lieutenant Charles Dubois reluctantly knew it was time. He had hoped that it wouldn’t be necessary to use Unit 40 that often, on his first day in the field no less.

     Crouched in the rear of his vehicle he activated the release. With the most distinct of metallic noises Unit 40 unfolded from his transportation mode, docked with the rear of the police cruiser. The back-end of the vehicle instantly raising a foot once relieved of Unit 40’s massive weight. The unfolding process quick and to the point. Within moments what was an awkward mass of mechanical limbs hanging from the back of the vehicle detached, unfolded, powered up, and took the form of what could be described a very tall metal man.
     Since France was one of the last countries to utilize the drone program, and since Paris was one of the last police forces to use the machines, a crowd of onlookers was inevitable. People shouted in excitement. Charles had seen this all before, he had trained through numerous unloadings with the drone, and was less impressed. Besides, his mind was on other things, he wouldn’t be activating the drone if it weren’t a dangerous situation.
     â€œI need everyone to clear the area!” He shouted over the mechanical sounds and street noise. “I need everyone to clear the area immediately” He continued. No one was listening to him. Instead, they were watching in marvel the first of these new police machines they had heard so much about.

     The sound of gunfire changed this slightly. Charles spoke into his wrist-com, “Unit 40, activate cog one.” This is the command that gives life to the machine, the command that gives it self-awareness and reason.

     With a flash in the robotic eye the drone turned to Dubois. In a voice both spoken through an external speaker, and also relayed through the wrist-com the drone spoke to him for the first time in a real field situation.

     â€œThis is not a drill or test, Mr. Dubois?”

     â€œAffirmative Unit 40. First task, crowd control!” Charles couldn’t believe it, he couldn’t believe he was talking to the machine like it was a coworker, and he couldn’t believe that a small part of him was relieved to hear that familiar voice he had heard so many times training.
     A block away a small gang of young men had cornered themselves in a stoop after firing on an officer. Dubois didn’t know much more. The radio call had gone out, it was a random stop and search, the officer had noted that these were suspected gang members, and then a shot, and radio silence.

     It was just moments ago when Charles was driving down Rue de la Paix, his work day almost over. He would soon be home and the drone and its host vehicle would be in night storage, plugged-in recharging. A few minor incidents for the day, a few tickets issued. Nothing that he needed backup for, nothing that constituted just what he was about to head into.
     Since the worldwide economic collapse, the larger cities such as New York, London, Berlin, and Paris had witnessed unparalleled gang violence orchestrated by older men with eyes toward business, often soldiered by young violent men who didn’t know any better.

     The idea behind the drone program was simple: save police lives, while also placing more firepower on the streets. Unit 40 was no exception. He stood at least seven and-a-half feet tall. His shoulders were about four feet across. The machine had a cold metal finish and a blank imitation of a human head. The form of a human, coupled with the movement of coy insect or spider. Unit 40’s motion was rather graceful for such a large machine.

     Unit 40 turned toward the squad transport, the crowd of onlookers still hovering nearby. He activated his external speakers.

     â€œEvacuate the area, evacuate the area.” This automated message continued three more times in at least three different languages. Some of the people near dispersed. Others, more curious of the machine, just backed off a bit.

     â€œUnit 40, lets move in,” Dubois shouted to his partner. There was no need for his raised voice other than his excitement of going into a potential gunfight. The wrist-com on his sleeve not only recorded the entire incident for police records, but also relayed all of his commands to the drone–whether it was in operational mode or plugged into the transport.
Dubois secured his helmet, and removed the safety on his pistol. He moved forward, as did the drone behind him. Another shot rang out into the air, followed by shouting. Dubois glanced back at the drone, “Unit 40, take lead, walk me up the street and provide cover.”

     In an instant the drone was walking in front of him, providing a moving wall of limited safety from oncoming fire. As they made their way forward Dubois glanced down at the drone’s feet shuffling across the cobbled Parisian street. It was ironic to see these shock resistant hyper-polymer feet stepping across the ancient stones, the small inter-moving treads compensating for loose spaces between the bricks. Old and new, both built by the city, at one point or another.

     A shot rang near, bouncing off the drone’s right shoulder. Dubois snapped back into the moment crouching behind the machine, just as it released its rifle from a storage clamp. It aimed toward the assailants–an automatic response programmed into the drone once it is struck by gunfire.

     Dubois had a flash of worry that the drone would overreact.
“Scan for hostages!” Dubois shouted at the machine. It stopped its forward motion and studied the street, the stoop, and the men. It scanned for any heat signatures not holding some type of metal.

     In an instant, months of training with Unit 40 flashed though Charles Dubois’ mind.
He thought of the first day he went down to AI storage after volunteering for the program. He thought of his reasoning for picking this drone over the others as well as his reason for moving into this new branch of the force.

     Dubois had been a cop for almost fifteen years. He had seen two partners come and go. One was killed in the line of duty; the other forced to leave the department over some dishonorable acts. Dubois had seen his beloved Paris become more and more violent. And he had grown disillusioned with his day-to-day routine. “So why not drive around with this big hunk of metal–at least this way I’ll never have to worry about losing a partner again.”

     Dubois remembered back to the first time Unit 40 qualified for weapons discharge. There was controversy over the idea of giving one of these things–one of these machines–a weapon. The first morning Dubois and the drone trained for weapon firing he had to cross through a crowd of protestors in front of the police complex, he had to endure people on and off the force criticizing decisions that weren’t even his. He was just a soldier doing his job, as was the drone–even though the drone decimated the target platform that day including what would have included marks for two hostages, three assailants, and small automobile.

     Unit 40 assessed there were no innocents in between the assailants and his line of fire. The drone raised the rifle. An onslaught of bullets and shouts came from the doorway where the young men were held up. They were using automatic weapons and apparently terrified by the appearance of the drone. It seemed unstoppable as it calmly took its time aim–even though under fire.

     Then Dubois spotted something. On the ground, trying to slump away, was one of the wounded officers from the earlier confrontation. Instantly he darted to a doorway himself. He was in the front of a sex-shop; the block had quite a few. Behind him was metal grating covering the glass door. Apparently those inside were afraid of the ruckus spilling into their establishment.

     As soon as he was covered by the doorway he called into his wrist-com to the drone, “Unit 40, I’ll lay down cover fire, make your way forward about twenty feet, recover the downed officer. Carry him back to a safe distance from the targets.”
An automated voice rang out over the speaker, “Affirmative.” The drone straitened up, hulking its way toward the fallen officer.

     Taking a chance, one of the pinned-down hoodlums in the doorway opened fire on the drone. The bullets bounced off, the back being equally as armored as the front of the machine.
Dubois took the chance to fire a carefully aimed shot. His bullet struck the young man somewhere in the leg. The leg just came out from under him, as it had carried his weight. He hit the ground with a thud and a scream, as his assault pistol popped out of his hand. More bullets rang out from his companions.

     Now, the bullets weren’t aimed at the drone, they were raining down on top of Dubois’ shabby location. The pink and blue neon that lit the front of the shop was shattered by stray gunfire. Charles had to duck further into his cover as the bullets sprayed around him.
A round tore up his arm and through his wrist-com. It stung like holy hell, like a burn and a cut at the same time. His arm was a mess of blood and a few sparks. But it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as his quick realization that he was now cut off from the drone. He was now cut off from his “Partner”.

     Charles grabbed the metal grating of the sex-shop door with his good hand. He shook and rattled the door pleading to be let in. More bullets struck close by. Charles could see faint movement behind the counter inside, someone who was afraid or unwilling to let him inside into further protection.

     â€œAnd where was that damn robot anyway?” he thought to himself, “Was it standing at the other end of the dead radio just awaiting further instructions, or was all that money and training they had put into the AI going to save him now?”

     Another bullet struck nearby, some shouting followed, he returned some blind fire around the corner. A flash went through is mind of his morning before coming to work, of sitting at the café with his wife, pleasantly arguing about the vacation they never seem to take. Would that be the last breakfast with his lovely, annoying wife?

     The young men were changing positions. He’d soon be in real trouble.
Signal lost. Radio silence. Unit 40 made this realization the microsecond it was fact. The drone also snapped forward into its next protocol a fraction of a second later. It moved into what was called “Cog 2”. This level of intelligence for the AI meant that it was now fully capable of making tactical decisions and judgment calls.

     Unit 40 set the wounded officer near their parked squad transport. With no effort he beamed a signal to the antenna array in the car. The signal would in turn be relayed to the nearest hospital that officers were down, and to send ambulance services immediately.

     Then with crashing steps of metal and rubber on concrete the drone made its way back to the firefight. It came around the corner, registering that the assailants were now moving into different positions. In a fraction of a second the drone calculated a new game plan and raised its rifle from its ground trained safety position.

     Mark four-six-eighty degrees. A quick mathematical equation and one shot fired. The rounds that Unit 40 had switched to at Cog 2 were called Slicer rounds. Slicer ammunition is not meant for bringing back targets whole or living. Under the assumption that his partner may be dead or dying the drone made the choice for this brutal ammo.

     One clean shot and the micro-wire slugs tore the hoodlum cleanly in half.
Charles Dubois struggled to take steady aim holding his pistol with his torn-up arm. The young thug was advancing on him ready to gun him down while he was helpless. At this point Dubois heard the unmistakable sound of his automated partner running up and the firing of what sounded like a Slicer round. What was left of the young punk fell before him.

     The third member of the party turned and ran the opposite direction of the drone once he saw the devastating blast that had cut down his friend. The drone turned to take aim, then ceased realizing bystanders were in the area.

     The young man that Dubois had wounded lay on the street writhing in pain. Unit 40 hulked over to his location securing the firearm that lay near. The drone then made its way back over to Charles. As it reached him it ejected a small medical kit built into one of its legs. The large machine snapped its rifle back into its clamp and then removed a cold press from its med-kit.

     â€œI am pleased to see you are conscious Mr. Dubois. I will place slight pressure on your wound to slow the bleeding.” The generic voice called though its front directional speaker.

     There he was, being taken care of by this large bulk of a machine. Dubois still wasn’t sure he liked this. He wasn’t sure it felt right. For a quick moment he feared that the large mechanical hands of the drone would crush his arm while trying to slow the bleeding.

     â€œThanks for, uh, thanks for getting to him before he got to me.” Charles said to the huge man-like machine in front of him. Its cold, black, near-human face stared back at him silently and blankly. One of the lenses in its upper right temple adjusted.

     â€œIt is in my programming Mr. Dubois, you are my partner.”
     They had gotten to him in time. The officer was now being loaded in the ambulance and would recover. Charles Dubois stood at the edge of the street drinking from a plastic water bottle. His arm had been patched up by a field technician and he was going to be fine. He stood there, listening to the sound of the sirens as the ambulance sped away. Before him, red, blue, and yellow lights reflected off the damp street and the reflective surface of the drone. It stood silently near the rear of the vehicle having just stood down to Cog 1. As soon as the coroner van was finished and the area was clear, it would fold itself back into transport mode, reconnect with the vehicle, and transfer its awareness to the terminal in the front of the vehicle.

     Dubois would stop by the hospital, get double-checked for his arm, and maybe take a day off. He couldn’t help staring at that large machine in front of him. He marveled that something made of metal, plastic, and programming just saved his life. Maybe he’d take a day trip with his wife tomorrow. He owed her at least that.

     ROOOOAARR! The sound of an out of control car and revved up engine filled the air, followed very quickly and disturbingly by the sound of a CRASH and broken glass. A small passenger car had just slammed into Unit 40 at top speed. The legs of the drone were knocked out from under it as it’s head and its torso snapped awkwardly across the hood of the car.

     The moment was over as quickly as it started. There was a silence as the shocked crowd on the street realized what had just happened. Then Dubois heard one of the most eerie sounds that had come in his career. The sound of broken automation as the damaged drone struggled to check its surroundings.

     â€œWhat in gods name have you done?” Dubois shouted, rushing over to the mess of car, smoke, and machine. Dubois flung the car door open, pulling out the driver, an elderly man, ranting hysterically about machines not having the wrights to police over man. “What in gods name have you done?” Dubois said coldly in his face. The old fool continued sobbing that man had finally gone too far, giving authority to machines.

     Disgusted, Dubois let go his hold on the man and rushed over to the fallen drone. Unit 40 now lay on the ground, parts of it twitching, hydraulic fluids spilling to the street below. The lenses in its face-plate staggering, clicking and moving at random.

     Charles Dubois locked the old man in the back of another squad car. He then called in a clean up crew to the site. With some effort he forced open the connector hatch on the drone and plugged it back into the vehicle’s power supply.

     As the drone lay silently on the ground, plugged into what was essentially life support from the vehicle Dubois again thought to himself about that machine just saving his life. He then thought that later, after the drone was taken to the police complex for repairs, he would return home and take a few days off, instead of one.

    It wasn’t a very nice thought, but sitting here, listening to the other kids talk about their previous night Claire couldn’t help thinking it again. Lately it was a thought that had drifted in and out of her mind.
    She was actually… kind of angry with her parents. It’s not like they were starving, it wasn’t like she was one of those poor orphan children in one of those old black and white movies. She knew there were other people in the world that had it worse than she did. Her family had a small house, she had her own room, and she knew that elsewhere there were people, other teenagers, who probably didn’t even have that.
    But, when she was sitting in class, or at lunch break, and the other girls were bragging about where they went in their cars, or what they bought shopping, or the fun they had the night before, it had a grating effect on her. And the effect brought forth these feelings of resentment.
    Claire sat there, twisting her bangs in her fingers, listening to the others, going on and on about some dance club they had gone to downtown. And the thought kept creeping in that she was mad, she was mad that she never got a car, mad that she didn’t even get to learn how to drive. She was mad about always having to wait until the end of the season so her mother could get her clothes on sale, and she didn’t like that the one thing she always had, that no one else did, was a feeling of being left out.

    â€œWhy do you always walk down the middle of the street?” Paula asked.
Claire continued walking up the suburban street contemplating her answer. She felt like every house they passed looked pretty much the same. Each had four windows in the front, a driveway, and some type of SUV in the driveway. Every house had a well-groomed lawn, and in the distance she could hear one of those lawns being watered by a sprinkler.
    â€œI’m tired of the sidewalk. We’ve walked up and down this same sidewalk for three years now. Now that we’re almost seniors I’m tired of it.”
Claire could tell Paula didn’t exactly understand her answer.
    â€œDon’t you get tired of it? I have them memorized by now. There’s a chunk missing, three houses up, in front of that guy’s driveway, it looks like a triangle…”
Paula and Claire kept walking. As they got near to the house Paula walked over to look, and sure enough, the triangular crack was there.
    â€œIt could be worse, we could be freshman all over again.” Paula said.
“Yeah, you have me there. Can you imagine?”
    The two girls giggled in horror of the idea. Every so often a car would drive up behind them and HONK not knowing why exactly the two girls were walking in the middle of the street.
    Giggling once again, Paula grabbed onto Claire’s book bag dragging her to the side of the street near some parked cars.
    â€œOh my god, I thought they were going to run us over…”
“Out here in the burbs? They had enough room to go around us, besides I’m sure they weren’t in that big a hurry.”

    Claire stabbed at her asparagus with her fork. She sat at the small table in the kitchen poking at her dinner while her mom had dinner in the front room with the television. As the sounds of some terrible sitcom drifted in from the other room Claire contemplated the coming weekend.
    â€œMom? Do you think you or dad could drop me and Paula off somewhere downtown on Friday?”
    â€œDowntown? What in heavens kind of business would you have downtown?” her mother replied. Claire thought to herself, “Must have caught her during a commercial break…”
    â€œI want to go to a dance club, everyone from school goes down there on Friday nights.”
    â€œI don’t think so dear. It doesn’t seem safe downtown. Besides, your father is so tired from driving when he gets home from work, the last thing he’ll want to do is get right back in the car and drive back downtown.”
    â€œPaula and I could take a bus?”
    â€œNo.”
    Claire new that one wouldn’t work.

    These were the best years of her life? If that was the case she just couldn’t stand to think what comes after high school. Senior year would suck. College would suck. Working would suck. Everything just seemed so melancholy. Claire desperately needed some kind of escape. And then it came.
    RING! It was the digital chirp of Claire’s cell phone. Her father had it got it for her in some kind of family plan. Looking down at the screen she saw it was Paula. Not that she needed to look down, if her phone was ringing it was either Paula or Sabrine. Her two best friends… Her only two friends.
    â€œHello?” she said falsely-cheerfully into the phone. An excited Paula was at the other end.
    â€œHey, what’s going on?”
    â€œJust homework. Working on history.”
    â€œWill your parents mind if Sabrine and I stop by? We want to show you something crazy she found.”
    â€œI just need to finish up first. Are you two walking from her house or yours?”
    â€œMine.”
    â€œYeah, I’ll be finished, good. Come on over.”
    Claire hung up her phone and went back to her homework.

    The evening sky was a bluish black. By the warmth in the air Claire could tell that summer was coming. They were at the end of their school year. Soon she could have many more nights like this. Sitting on the porch, talking with the girls, relaxing.
    â€œSo what did you want to show me?” Claire asked them. She couldn’t help noticing they were both acting a little more secretive than usual.
    Sabrine smiled. It was one of her trademark features. Along with her bleach blonde hair, she was known as the girl who always had a smile on her face. Claire often teased her, it was to hide that she was up to no good.
    â€œI was going through a box of some of my parents junk in our basement and I found this.”
    Sabrine dug through her bag revealing a cassette tape and a paperback book. The cover of the worn paperback read WALKING THE ASTRAL REALM.
    â€œI think my mom bought it at a garage sale, it’s been sitting in the basement ever since.”
    Claire took the book from her. She could feel a hint of dust on her fingers as she flipped though the pages. A musty smell–a used-book smell–was at the tip of her nose.

    â€œWhat is it about?”
    Paula cut in, “The best part is the tape!”
    Sabrine shot Paula a look for interrupting her, “I thought I was going to tell her?”
    â€œSorry, keep going.”
    â€œIt’s a book and a tape that teach you how to Astral Project. If you listen to the tape while you fall asleep, you’re supposed to be able to leave your body…”
Claire crinkled her nose. There was a pause, and then it came out. Laughter.
    â€œYeah right. You two don’t actually believe this would work?”
Just then they were hit with bright white light. Claire’s father was turning into the driveway in his car.
    Sabrine took the book from Claire’s hands and sheepishly stuck it back into her bag. With the CLUNK of the car door shutting Claire’s father was walking up the driveway toward them.
    â€œEvening girls.” He said. His suit was slightly messed from a long day at work, and Paula was almost certain she smelled a hint of bourbon in the air as he passed.
    â€œHi Mr. Murfield.”
    â€œHi Claire’s dad!”
    â€œClaire, don’t stay up too late, remember you still have school tomorrow.”
    The girl’s silence ceased as he entered the house. With the CLICK of the door shutting behind him Sabrine quickly removed the cassette from her bag again.
    â€œYou have to give it a try.”
    Claire took the tape from her.
    â€œI guess they couldn’t put it on CD huh? Or get it on an Ipod.”
    â€œIt’s older than that!” Sabrine said defensively.
    â€œThey probably don’t even make them anymore because it’s such a scam!”
    â€œIt’s not.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œRead the book, it’s all scientifically figured out, they’ve done a lot of research.”
    â€œSo, people research all kinds of stuff that isn’t real!”
Paula interrupted again, “It’s real! Tell her Sabrine, tell her what happened.”

    Sabrine’s signature smile faded to a much more serious look.

    â€œI tried it out. The first night nothing happened. I just fell asleep. But then the next night, I listened to the tape again, and I was starting to fall asleep, and then the next thing I knew I was in my next door neighbors kitchen. No one was there except for me. The lights were off, or they were kind of greenish or dull or something, and I looked around, and I realized I was really in my neighbor’s kitchen. I just got really scared. It was really freaky, so I just kneeled down on the floor and started crying. I remember the tiles were cold, and then I woke back up in my bed.”

    There was a silence as Claire took all this in. She had known Sabrine since they started high school and she knew Paula almost her whole life. Neither of the girls were really the type to make something like this up. Or try to play tricks on her…
    â€œMaybe you just got carried away, maybe you were dreaming it?”
    â€œNo, this was different.”
    â€œWell it sounds scary, you want me to do it?” Claire asked with a hint of wry.
    The girls laughed an uneasy little laugh. Then Paula spoke, “We copied it, so we can all try to do it at the same time. Maybe it won’t be so scary if we do it at the same time?”
    â€œWe’ll all just need to go to bed about the same time.” Sabrine added.
Claire sat there on the porch, studying the plastic cassette in her hand. Why not? She thought. She sure can’t go anywhere in the physical world–not with her mother forbidding anything that might be remotely fun. Maybe now she could at the very least see where all the other kids from school are getting to hang out? Maybe she could get there through other means…

    Claire’s head rested softly on her pillow. There was no light in the room except for the flicker every so often from a scented candle, which she removed from the bathroom. The book suggested lighting incense or something like this. She thought it strange that the book said only to use this when trying to project. That the smell would be something she would teach her mind to associate with the process of projecting. Right now the only thing the odor of the candle reminded her of is trying to cover up when her father would leave something unpleasant in the bathroom behind him.
    Sitting next to her bed on the nightstand was an beat-up portable stereo with cassette deck. The only reason they kept it around was to take on camping trips. Usually it was left on a shelf out in the garage. Claire had to be discreet about taking it into the house and her into her bedroom so her parents wouldn’t ask questions.
    With some nervous delicacy she slid the tape into the player. She pressed play, laying back and looking at the ceiling. After a brief silence accompanied only by the creek of the old cassette player the author or announcer came on.

    â€œWelcome to you. Welcome to the wonderful world of OBE or Out of Body Experience. This book and this audio program will be your guide into the wonderful and fantastic world of Astral Projection, or as some call it, The Out of Body Experience. If you at any time become frightened, or scared, please discontinue use of this tape as you are not quite ready for walking in the Astral world. But, if you are ready, and confident, and prepared to walk farther into the Astral Realm then please continue to listen.”

    So far this didn’t sound too bad, Claire thought to herself. It sounded pretty basic, just like the book suggested, nothing to worry about. But will it really work?

    â€œSoon, you will no longer hear my voice. I will still be talking to you, but it will be on a subliminal level. Mood enhancing music, made specifically to help you on your journey will soon start. Relax your mind, calm your breathing, and let go. Let your mind relax, but at the same time, let the music, and the words I will be saying guide your mind, and your consciousness along the path. You may not feel or experience the results at first, but be patient, and most importantly relax. Relaxation is the key to Astral Travel.”

    There was a brief silence. Claire lay in her bed listening hard to the tape. She kept telling herself that relaxing was the key. She kept telling herself not to try so hard at listening. Suddenly she thought she heard something. A light sound was coming from somewhere. Not really music, but some kind of sound. Was it coming from the tape? As the sound grew ever so slightly, she could tell that yes, it was coming from the stereo.
    Subtly, a strange almost hypnotic music began to play. She laid there in bed feeling more and more drowsy. The music would build, and then fade. Almost like waves coming in from the ocean. It music reminded her of something older than her, her mind started to wander, she wondered about who made the music, did they make it on a synthesizer? Was it recorded in the 70s? The book looked like it was printed in the 70s.

    Below her was the oak tree, the one that was planted in her front yard. The tips of her toes and the bottom of her feet dangled just over the top of it, almost being tickled as they brushed across the top leaves. She was floating, a kind of hovering, maybe even flying. Her body was as light as it could ever be, and she felt very alive. Perfect. Elated.
The nighttime breeze blew with her, through her, she was now just a few feet above the tree in her front yard. Instinctively she pulled and fought to rise up. And she did! She rose higher into the nighttime sky. The tree was below her, her house next to it and the black of the late night was above her. She had never felt this good.
    Claire looked over the rows of houses in front of her. From up here she could actually see into the distance all the way toward downtown. She could see the twinkle of all the streetlights between her and the skyline on the horizon. She could see the buildings so far off, raising into the night. That’s where the other kids from school were probably hanging out right now. But she didn’t care. This was better, this felt better, she was really here, she was flying in the air above the oak tree.
    Her brown hair shifted with the breeze illuminated only by the moonlight above. Her nightgown fluttering with her every slight move, whether it was up, down, left, or right. She was really there. She was floating. It was real.

    Glowing red numbers, 12:32. She awoke. Her bed was all around her. The clock-radio on the nightstand glowed the numbers 12:32. The tape was no longer playing. She was once again in her bedroom. But it had happened, she was sure of it, just moments ago she was not in her bedroom. Everything seemed so foggy, she was on the edge of sleep and so tired. She was relaxed, but tired. Time to go to sleep.

    The classroom always felt so hot this time of year. So suffocating. All that Claire and most likely the other kids in the classroom wanted was to be outside playing around, enjoying the weather.
    As the teacher went on and on about some boat trip that Roosevelt and Churchill took together her mind wandered. In and out, she surely appreciated the relationship between the US and Britain during WWII, but right now all that she could think about was the night before.
    The leaves and branches felt so real on the bottom of her feet. And the way the night breeze felt on her face–it had worked! She wouldn’t have believed it this time yesterday but last night it worked.
    â€œMiss Murfield! Miss Murfield? What is your opinion on the matter?”
Claire snapped out of her daydream.
    â€œI’m sorry. I’m sorry I drifted off for a second.” She said. The class laughed.
    â€œWell that was most apparent,” quipped the teacher, “I don’t know what it is with students this time of year…”
    The teacher kept going on about the importance of the lecture and Claire paying attention to it, but she couldn’t help notice something.
    The words Collidor Passing were doodled in her notebook. She didn’t remember writing that down. Did it have to do with the lecture? Claire wasn’t even sure Collidor was a word.

    â€œI fell asleep.”
    â€œI laid in bed for half an hour and nothing happened, except the music creeped me out so I turned it off.”
    The girls were gathered at their normal spot at the lunch tables.
    â€œWhat about you Claire? Did it work?” asked Sabrine.
    Claire looked up from her pile of notebooks and her veggie-burrito, “You know, I’m not positive, but I think it kind of worked.”
The other two girls looked both impressed and surprised.

    â€œReally? What happened? Where did you go?”

    â€œIt wasn’t really like I went anywhere, it just felt like I was flying, out in front of my house.”
    â€œWow.”
    â€œOh my God… That is so cool.”
    Claire suddenly found herself feeling a little more comfortable about talking about it. “Yeah, it was pretty cool.”
    â€œYeah, well, we’ll all have to try again tonight.”

    The smell of the candle was in the back of Claire’s sinuses. The strange music from the cassette was playing softly through the room. The posters and shelves on her wall flickered and moved slightly with the flicker of the candle. Maybe she was too excited from the night before? Why wasn’t it working? She was probably thinking too hard. And the comforter from her bed was too much, it was too much weight, she felt too warm. Aggravated, she pushed it down. Now she was only covered by her sheets.
    This was better, she could feel the nighttime breeze blow in from the window, it reminded of her of the way she felt up in the air the night before.
This calmed her. The music continued, sometimes almost dropping out completely. The shadows of the shelves on her wall danced. With each flicker of the candlelight the details of it all changed ever so slightly.

    She was moving fast. And this time she was high above the ground. Below her was a two-lane highway. She recognized it. It was the way to the college town nearby where most of the kids from her high school ended up going to college.
    Her hair rippled as she soared through the air. If the night before she was floating, tonight she was flying. Her body felt so light within, like her adrenaline was flowing through every bit of her. She felt so incredible again.
    Below she could see a car driving across the distance of the highway. It’s headlights illuminating the path in front of it. A single speck of light in the otherwise dark open plains.
    She wanted to see it, to be closer. Willing her body downward, she was in control now. She came up behind the car, it was moving at least 65 miles per hour. That meant she was moving at least 65 miles per hour. She knew if she wanted to move faster she could. She felt as if she could do whatever she wanted. This was living.
    She reached the car, she saw some young teenagers inside. They were cramped together and the stereo was playing. They were talking with each other, holding cans of soda.

    And then she was awake and alone in her bedroom, her body sweating slightly. Claire looked around her room. She knew she had made it back. She wanted to keep flying, but tonight was enough. She could always try again tomorrow.

    Collidor Passing. Collidor Passing. What did it mean? And where did she hear it before? The words kept going through Claire’s mind like the lyrics of a song she couldn’t get out of her head. She even asked Paula during their free period if they had heard it before in a song or something.

    â€œNo, I’ve never heard that. It doesn’t even make sense.” Paula said.
    â€œYeah, who knows where I heard it.” Claire said.

    But Claire kept thinking about it, maybe it was a term the narrator was using in the subliminal part of the cassette tape? That made sense. It would explain why she kept thinking of those words. But what did they mean, and why did it keep entering her thoughts?
Paula continued looking through tabloid magazines while Claire searched through the paperback looking for the term Collidor Passing. She searched the glossary, and the terms and definitions. She couldn’t find anything remotely close to those words.
    â€œDo you want to rent movies tonight?” Paula asked between gazing at pages in her Celebweekly.
    â€œNo, not really.” Claire barely responded, her nose still in the book.
    â€œIs that book really working for you? I’ve given up, all that tape does for me is put me to sleep.”
    â€œIt kind of works, I’m just curious what the book has to say.”
    Claire looked up from the book for a moment. She didn’t know why she had just lied to Paula. In fact the book and tape didn’t just kind of work, they worked very well. And she wasn’t slightly interested in what the book had to say, she was almost obsessed with unlocking more of its secrets. She wanted to fly again so badly but for longer, and in more control.
    â€œSabrine’s dad said he would give us a ride downtown tomorrow night, if we want to go to the dance club.”
    â€œReally?” Claire asked. Not really caring that much about it.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œCool.”

    As she lit the candle on her nightstand Claire thought about a few moments before when her parents asked why she was going to bed so early.
    â€œI’m just tired from studying for finals.” She said. Why did she lie again? She didn’t have to. She could have waited to go to sleep, but she wanted to try again so badly. She felt she was so close to mastering this newfound ability.
    Paula and Sabrine were most likely at Paula’s house this very moment. They were probably popping popcorn and getting ready to watch a scary or a cheesy movie. Claire felt kind of strange about blowing them off. But she was eager to fly again, to separate from her boring life, and to be out there somewhere free.
    Claire sat down on her bed, removed her robe and then she saw it. Collidor Passing. Upon seeing it she felt as if her hear skipped a beat. For this time, it was written in lipstick, her lipstick, on her arm. And most shockingly of all, it looked as if she wrote it.
    How could she have done that? Was it when she was washing her face in the bathroom? And why wouldn’t she remember having done it?
    Claire hurried back into the bathroom at the end of the hallway. She washed and scrubbed the words from her arm. Looking down she saw her make-up bag, and the tube of lipstick sitting on the basin. There was little doubt in her mind now that she had done it.
As she crept back toward her bedroom she could see the blue dancing light come from the television in her parents room into the hallway.
    â€œGood night, dear.” her mother said.
    â€œGood night mom.”
    Claire went back into her room. She couldn’t understand the words and why they kept coming up, why she kept bringing them up…
    She sat in bed for what seemed like a very long time. No tape, no music, no attempts at projecting. She just sat there, frustrated and worried.
    After a while she heard the television down the hall turn off, and she knew she was the only one awake in the house. She continued laying there, thinking about the car she had seen on the road the night before. She thought about the oak tree, and how magnificent downtown looked from where she was a few nights before.
    She would try again. Maybe the answer she was looking for was somewhere in that astral state? She had to try again. She was on the verge of something, she could feel it, it was if her body was telling her that.
    It took quite some time for Claire to settle down and for her body and mind to become relaxed enough to attempt projecting. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed because she had covered her clock radio with a t-shirt, not wanting the illuminated numbers awaking her from the dream state again.
    Claire pressed play on the cassette player. Soon her ears were filled with the familiar blur of the music and sounds. Her breathing was becoming more and more soft and regulated. She would be on her way soon. She was sure of it. She just had to focus on her breathing. Focus on being calm.
    She felt her chest rise, then fall, rise, then fall. She could feel air pass through her nose and into her chest; she would let air pass out of her mouth. The smell of the candle, it seemed more and more strong. The shadows on the walls flickered.

    The skyscrapers of downtown were passing slowly below her. There were many cars, lights and people on the streets between, but from up here, it seemed so silent and peaceful.
    She was flying again. The air seemed much more chilly then the nights before, it bit at her face and eyes as she soared through the dark sky.
Where should she go? What should she do? She was far more in control now than she had felt before. Where she went was her choice. Claire willed herself downward, like the night before, only with more speed and skill.
    She passed between buildings, she flew by streetlights, ahead of her was a cafe. She stopped there, just feet above the ground. There were a few sidewalk tables, all empty, except one.
    Sitting at the table was a couple. They drank from a bottle of wine, and a candle flickered on their table. Claire wanted to see them better, she thought about flying closer–and then, was closer. No flight, no movement, it was as in a dream. She thought of where she wanted to be and she was there.
    The couple talked, laughed, the man fed the woman a piece of bread from her plate. Claire was moved. She hovered there watching. And then she noticed something. The flicker of the candle. It reminded her of the candle in her room. Why couldn’t she smell the scent from it anymore?
    Something was wrong.
    She wanted to go home. She wanted to see and smell the candle in her room. She couldn’t. She wanted to be there in her room. She thought of being in the room, and was not. She was still here, invisible on some street downtown.
    Panicked Claire willed herself into the air. She had to fight with every bit of herself to keep rising into the air. Every now and then she would drop to the gound, struggling for momentum. She landed in a park, near a highway, on a rooftop, near her school, and finally near her home.
    Claire hovered through the air reaching the oak tree in her front yard. In front of her was her bedroom window. She passed through it. She was in her room, still floating, and in front of her, there it was…
    Her body. It was so strange for her to be looking at herself. Claire hovered closer. She watched in front of her as her own chest moved up and down breathing. Calm, asleep.
    Why couldn’t she get back in? Why couldn’t she get back into her body? Claire hovered closer. She studied her face, the point of her nose, and the paleness of her skin.
And then her eyes opened and were looking back at her. It was one of the most disturbing things Claire had ever witnessed. For she knew, she had not opened those eyes.
The eyes looked back at her for a second. And then her face moved. Her mouth twisted into a smile. It was unlike any smile Claire had ever seen on herself. She had never smiled like that. Why couldn’t she just get back into her body?
    And then Claire saw her lips move, and speak back at her.
    â€œI am Collidor, I was passing near. I take this body for it is vacant.”
Claire screamed back at her body and at that face, but nothing came out. She continued to sob and scream at the intruder but no sound came from her.
    Her face looked back, the grin grew. The joy on the face was unreal. It wasn’t hers.
    â€œI am Collidor, I shall use this.”
    Collidor Passing… the words that had haunted her the past few days. Frightened, Claire was starting to understand. She understood why she had written those words in class, she knew why they kept going through her head, why she had written them in lipstick on her arm. Her body was trying to warn her. Her body was trying to tell her that while she was out, while she was out in the world flying, something else was trying to get in.
And it did.

    The body in front of her rose. It seemed as if it was looking around the room for the first time. The body… Claire’s body. It was still hers, she wanted it back, she wanted to go with the girls to the dance club the following night, she wanted to go through senior year, and go to college, and get a crappy job. All those things now seemed so far away.
    What could she do? The body in front of her rose to its feet. Eerily Claire watched herself go to the door and walk down the hall. Where was it going? Where was she going? What was it doing with her body.
    Claire willed herself downstairs, like earlier there was no flying, she just arrived where she thought, where her own body was already digging through the kitchen drawers.
    What was this thing doing? Then with sheer terror Claire knew what it was searching for. Across the room, with a small reflection of light she saw a large kitchen knife held in her own hands.
    Claire screamed and pleaded with the thing, with Collidor, whatever it was. But no words came from her mouth. She felt as if real tears streamed down her face. She screamed and screamed and nothing came out.
    Claire watched in terror as her own body walked back up the stairs and toward her parent’s bedroom door. The knife still held in its hand. Claire tried in her mind to plead with the being. She begged for it to let her body go. She screamed for it to spare them. To think days ago she was angry with them for such trivial things, to think she would never see them again, never eat dinner with them, never say goodnight to them again.
    And then she saw her very own hand on the doorknob, opening the door. Claire floated there hopeless in her hallway as her body moved into the dark of her parents bedroom.
    What could she do? What could she do…

     A small little smile lit up on her face as the bartender clinked glasses. “So what will that be, Sugar?” The slightly larger, older man next to her asked. “Whatever you’re having is fine with me.” Slightly larger. Slightly Older. Slightly more weathered, He ordered their next round of drinks. “A grasshopper for the lady and a beer for me.” He then looks at the woman with a smile. She glances back at him with attractive youth. She questions him with just a hint of innocence, “So how long have you been in the oil business?” The man peers at her, removes his pipe and begins to tell his tale. “Well actually I’m not really in the business anymore. I still own the company and advise on the board but I’m retired now. Made enough to enjoy life early. ” He speaks with a little of the south in his voice. “I’ve spent the last ten years on expeditions and safari. I like to hunt.”

     The room is active and the mood is right. The girl seems amused. “Wow, that’s really exciting.” She says as she un-crosses and re-crosses her legs. “Bartender, how bout another round?” The girl sits there for a while biting at her straw thinking. Definitely thinking, her mind fluttering with thoughts of a defenseless old drunk and a house full of treasures. “I bet you have a lot of great trophies.” she spouts out.

     “Little thing, I have some of the most beautiful trophies in the world. I took up taxidermy as a hobby. I have exotic creatures from one part of the world to another. From the normal to the bizarre…” The old man pauses a second. He carefully times his delivery, “You wouldn’t like to come and see them would you?” A chain reaction hits, the bartender cracks a smile and turns the other way. The girl cracks another small little smile and says with a hint of seduction. “I’d love to…”

     As the two make their way through the bar and the crowd the old man places his arm around the young girls thin waist. Soft. There’s nothing in the world like that feeling of a woman under your arm he thought to himself.

     Four footsteps hit the porch all at once. The pretty young girl glows with anticipation. The graying man has the giddy smile of a much younger man. “So there’s no Mrs. Big Game Hunter you come home to?” The man turns with a strait face. “No, I spend most of my time alone or traveling these days.” The door opens. The barrier broken.

     “Wow, your place is huge…” escapes from her mouth. The two make their way through the house. They pass stuffed deer, foxes, buffalo, animals of all shapes and sizes, animals from all over the world. All stuffed. All dead. She plans a carefully seductive look, “So when are you going to show me your more exotic stuff?” He chuckles, “I thought you’d at least want a drink first, Sugar.”

     “Oh, I’ll take a drink for sure.” She flirts back. The man takes her cue and removes two bottles from the refrigerator. She sizes up the kitchen as he digs through a drawer. “Damn, I forgot I lost my bottle opener. I’m gonna run upstairs and grab one.” And he was off, racing up the stairs past all his stuffed creations and away from the plotting girl.

     “This is my chance!” She moves quickly for a chest in the hallway. Looking in hall closets, under furniture, on walls, anywhere that might hide a potential score or income. Nothing. Nothing good to steal. Maybe the painting in the front room. Her quick high-heel steps take her into the front room. Her thieving hands examine the quality and age of the piece.
“So that’s were you’re hiding you pretty little thing.” The old man’s vice comes from behind her. “Oh, hi, I had to see this painting!” The girl steps toward him, angling her body just right. “So where are your best trophies?”

     A large smile hits the old mans face. “In my study. Up there I keep the best part of my collection. It’s my man cave, I keep all my treasures up there.”

     Thoughts click through her head like moving gears. “Why don’t you get the drinks and I’ll meet you up there.” She tosses her jacket down revealing her shoulders and the form fitting dress that caught his eye just hours before. He chuckles with a squint, “One thing I’ve learned in my years; Never argue with a beautiful lady”.

     As he enters the kitchen the girl rushes through the hall and up the stairs. On her way she passes tiger heads, fish, animals grotesquely frozen in time. She thinks to her self, “I’m going to need something to knock him out with…” As she passes the bathroom she picks up an old cast iron door-prop in the shape of a rooster. Antique and heavy. “This will do.” She conspires.

     “Did you find the study, dear? I’m on my way up.” She hears as she arrives at the double oak door. “This is it. The study. His valuables… That stupid old man.” She opens the double doors, walks in and turning on the light. As the room illuminates a shriek comes from her mouth.

     All around her, covering the walls, hanging, reaching out are the stuffed and preserved legs, arms, torsos, even heads of many other women. Many other cute little things. His best trophies. His treasures. All connected to the walls timeless, frozen and looking back at her.
The Iron doorstop crashes slips from her hand and crashes to the floor. She turns to pick it up and finds the old man in the doorway.

     He smiles with a knife in one hand and taxidermy tool in the other. “You see, you cute little thing… in all of the jungles and all of the forests and on all the hunts I learned one thing. Always let your prey feel like it’s the predator…”