A black cloud shrouded the city and loomed overhead as I made my way up the vacant street toward King Street Station.  The emptiness felt unusual as if a disaster was pending and everyone knew but me.  I was apprehensive crossing the street that crosses over the railroad tracks going against the flashing red DO NOT WALK sign, but the street was deserted.  Not a soul could be seen in Chinatown or as far as Pioneer Square.   
 

It was 5:00, later than I usually left but not late considering most of the commuting population to downtown Seattle worked an 8 to 5 shift.  I watched the charcoal entity as it hovered above downtown.  A hole broke free where I could see blue sky beyond.  The seagulls circled lazily around the Smith Tower in the distance, the sun reflecting their white bodies and contrasting against the gray skies.  I hurried across the street.   
 

As I stepped onto the sidewalk I caught a glimpse of a black man as he ducked into the alley way beside the train station.  He was the only soul I had seen since I left the goldsmith building.  It was Christmas eve and understandable that many people didn’t commute to work today but I had to find out what happened.  I had a half hour before my train was scheduled to leave so I skulked into the alley to see if I could find the illusive single soul in the midst of this huge metropolis.  He saw me and motioned for me to come to him as I entered the alley.  I sauntered over to him as he ducked into a doorway. 

He said “It’s gonna rain, did you see that?  You can hide from the rain here in the doorway with me if you like”.  I looked up into his face wondering what was wrong with him, why was he talking so simple?  Suddenly, I saw the most vivid hazel green eyes I’d ever seen.  Never had I imagined a color like that before and they sparkled with life; life I had never seen.  His face was kind and intelligent and I knew now that what he was saying was code, but code for what and why would he need to use code out in the alley in downtown Seattle.  I looked at him and he knew what I was thinking. 

As he chatted about the weather he wrote on the door with a pencil he had pulled out of his pocket.  He wrote, “They’re here, everywhere, and they can hear everything that we say.  As long as they know that we don’t know, we’re ok”.  I didn’t stop him to ask who he was talking about I just motioned for him to follow me to the station to catch the southbound train.  He followed.  We chatted casually about the dark clouds and impending storm. 

Meanwhile my mind was racing ahead trying to figure out what was happening.  We sat down on the bench inside King Street Station.  The building was deserted.  But as I looked around I noticed how beautiful and timeless the train station was.  I didn’t usually take the train but today I was leaving on a sabbatical for three months to South America to explore the jungles there.  My luggage was waiting for me at the airport. 

King Street Station had been remodeled a few years back by a high tech mega millionaire with money to burn.  He remodeled and fixed it up and added high rent offices.  What a lovely way to spend your day here in such an ornate environment.  Lights and crown molding covered the dome ceiling giving the impression of old Rome.  The floors were green marble and the doors out to the train platform were authentic 1800s style openings with antique brass fittings and ornate molding.  The light was beautiful in the station.  I longed get my camera out of my bag to capture the beauty but I denied myself like a hardcore dieter trying to lose that last five pounds. 

I turned to my companion.  “I’m Abbey, what’s your name?”  “Stanley, Stanley Scott at your service ma’am”. He smiled a smile as bright as the summer sun and his emerald eyes sparkled like tropical ocean waves. “Nice to meet you Stanley”, I said. “Call me Stan and may I call you Abbey?” “Yes, thank you for asking”. 

We waited silently for the train to arrive, enjoying the company and not feeling the pressure to fill in the void or cover up the silence that is so often uncomfortable between strangers. 

Stan’s hands were strong and muscular but his physique was thin and athletic like a diehard bicyclist.  His complexion was tawny brown like the hills of eastern Washington in August, taking on a velvety glow, imperfect, only by the five o’clock shadow that gave rise to the black forest of whiskers.  Stan was married.  I noticed the simple gold band on his left finger. 

My mind drifted back to my home in North Seattle.  Not too long ago I had been happily living out my life with my loving husband and animal companions in a nice house in a wonderful old neighborhood; that all changed three months ago when the FBI took my husband way and he disappeared right after that.  They told me he had died in duty in a foreign country but they couldn’t find the body.  I knew in my heart it wasn’t true.  Mitchell was somewhere on a top secret mission missing me as I long for his company.  I didn’t tell anyone what I believed I just passed the time, waiting for his return.  I couldn’t bear to remove the ring he had placed on my finger nine years ago, so I didn’t. 

Stan watched me while I was lost in thought of the life I used to have.  And as if he could read my mind, as if we were on parallel planes he said his wife had passed way last summer and he couldn’t bring himself to take off the wedding ring they had purchased by selling their prized possessions. “It had been four months since she died of cancer.  It was a long horribly lonely disease”, he said, “and I wish to God I could stop it from taking other lives.  I wouldn’t wish that kind of death on my own worst enemies”.  A tear glistened in the corner of his eye as he lost himself in the memory of his grief. 

Just then we heard the train pulling into the station outside.  I put my hand on his shoulder and said “I’m so sorry for your loss”.  My eyes welled up as I told him how my husband, Mitch, had passed away in September, just two months ago.  We got up and reached to hug each other, two strangers covering their grief and loneliness if only for the moment. 

I followed him as he made his way to the door.  We stepped out onto the platform and like the previous two hours before, we didn’t see a soul anywhere.  Not even the conductor could be found.  The train was empty, void of any living thing.  I saw fear in his eyes as we boarded the train.  We walked forward to the business class section where complimentary laptops were attached to the seatbacks in front of us.  He sat down, immediately setting up the computer.  I sat next to him and followed his lead, not knowing why.  I still wondered who ‘they’ were, that were here.  He began to type.  His fingers flew through the words as I tried to keep up. 

“As long as you don’t show them that you know they’re there, we’ll be ok.  They can’t see us and we can’t see them but they can hear everything.  Their hearing is like that of a robin on a freshly mowed lawn.”  He went on to tell me that they had landed from somewhere else in this universe this morning.  In the beginning they were solid beings but our atmosphere began to bread down their temporary bodies and by 3:00 they were all invisible. 

He lost me after speaking about aliens and outer space.  I’m thinking ‘this man is crazy.  What have I gotten myself in to and how do I get out of it?’  Then I remembered the empty streets, and him and I were the only souls left in the whole city as far as I could see.  I furiously typed into my computer “Where is everyone?  What did they do to them?”.  He said, “They ran and I don’t know what happened to them after that.”  The impact of what he was saying finally hit me.  We were alone and we needed to do something, but what? 

The train began to move and we stopped typing.  It was much too much for me to digest what he was saying.  I had only to surmise that he stayed by pretending to be ‘simple’.  They must have felt that he was no threat to them.  For some other odd reason I was flying under their radar also.  I heard nothing of what happened this morning, saw nobody running, and had no idea what was happening except what Stanley Scott, a beautiful complete stranger, was telling me. 

The ride to the airport was quiet.  Stan still had not told me why he was still in Seattle when nobody else was.  I felt like he was there for me specifically and there was a reason why I hadn’t heard about what happened this morning.  I was somehow a part of somebody’s plan. 

I looked at Stanley, a man I barely knew, and remember a time in my life when I would have been excited for the adventure and the mystery of what was happening but now, I thought, I’m just tired and a little frightened. 

Stan dozed off in the seat next to me.  We had to do something about communication.  We couldn’t ride the train back and forth forever.  Sign language, that’s it!!! I thought.  I pulled up a website on my computer and studied the signs.  I would have to wake Stan up so he could learn it too.  Luckily, I had learned quite a bit in school so most of what I was reading was review. 

I watched out the window as Stan slept.  There were no cars on the freeway, and very few cars on the surface streets.  In knew I wouldn’t be catching my plane tonight but what I didn’t know was whether I could even get my luggage from the airport. 

Stan aroused from his nap and looked at me.  I pointed to my computer screen where I had written ‘Do you know sign language?’.  He nodded and signed that his best friend in grade school was deaf.  I sighed with relief as we had established a means of communication beyond this automatic train. 

I told Stan about my trip to South America.  I told him about my life, my loves, and my conscience.  He was a wonderful listener.  His beautiful eyes were in rapt attention and hung on every word I said.  As well as he listened, he didn’t share anything about himself.  He was waiting for something. 

I looked out the window again and saw droves of people running east on Interstate 90.  They were too far away to see faces but they were frightened beyond comprehension, frightened like a herd of deer after the first shot is heard on opening day.  My mouth dropped open and I started to cry.  What was happening?  He signed, “If you want to live you have to pretend to be simple like me; unaware of your surroundings, unbothered by the terror all around you”.  I stopped and signed, “Thank God you stayed behind!”