There's another one standing underneath the street lamp. She's the third one this month. I've started to pay attention, noticing the way they stare up at the bulb as if it's the sun and they're a plant basking in its warmth.

It's not always a woman, a week ago, it was a man. He stood beneath the light in his three-piece suit, a briefcase clutched in his hand. I found the briefcase odd, after all, it was almost three in the morning. The workday was long over and a new one was hours away.

They never see me. Not that I expect them to. People overlook homeless people in the park during the day and that makes us nearly invisible at night. Besides, my bench is nearly one hundred feet from the street lamp, far outside the bright pool of light that the woman currently occupies.

She doesn't make a sound. Her body is almost statue-like, straight and tall, with her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. It's a windless night, and the sound of crickets is deafening.

I slide forward on the bench, feeling the hard metal rails press against my thighs. I try not to crinkle the day old newspaper, for fear of spooking her. Although, something inside me tells me I should. The voice screams in my head.

Get her attention! Don't let her stand there!

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from shouting out a warning. The minutes tick by and I know it's coming. The air is thick with the promise of it. But, I'm afraid. Afraid to get involved. Afraid she might see me as the enemy and whip a can of pepper spray from her Gucci bag. My eyes still sting from the phantom memory of the one time I intervened with an argument in the park. I don't relish another round. 

So, I say nothing.

There's one other reason I don't speak out. It's because I think they know it's coming too. I think they're here looking for it.

The man had smiled. Smiled! Right before it happened. He had looked insane, grinning like a clown with his face turned toward the night sky. That face is burned in my memory. That's why when his photo turned up in the newspaper, I recognized it right away.

Missing. 

He was missing alright. Although, vanished into thin air is the phrase I'd use. I should know. I saw it happen and the slow churn in my gut told me I was about to see it happen again.

The woman doesn't smile. In fact, she turns her head and stares in my direction. The sharp angles of her face look pale and drawn. There's apprehension in her eyes and in the way she purses her lips. The air lodges in my throat. Even though I know she can't see me in the dark, our eyes meet.

I don't turn away.
I watch.

Her hands tremble slightly, and I almost want to reach out and take it. Pull her away, out of the light and into the dark, where it's safer.

Then, the light flickers. She jerks her head up, and for a second the crickets go quiet. I hold my breath. Nothing moves.

The light blinks out, plunging her into a black void. I strain my eyes, trying to catch any glimpse of her. A minute goes by. There's an unearthly silence. The kind of quiet that fear breeds in. It multiplies until you're gripped in its icy fist trying to suck in one last breath of air while tiny dots dance in front of your eyes..

Lungs aching, I allow a small gasp. The sound seems to trigger the light. It bursts on, illuminating the cracked pavement where children and dogs walked hours before in the sunshine.

The woman is gone.

Nothing of her remains. The crickets resume their endless song and a light breeze rustles through the trees. I crumple the newspaper into a ball and tuck it under my head as I lay flat across the bench. 

Blood rushes in my ears, and my leg jiggles in a nervous rhythm. My mind screams for me to stay put. Don't get involved. But, I stop listening.

At my feet is a half empty bottle of whiskey wrapped in a paper bag. I take a long swig, enjoying the burn as it washes down my throat. Bottle in hand, I lurch from the bench and slowly approach the streetlamp.

The light beckons me with invisible fingers. I just want to see what happens. I want to see if whatever lurks in the darkness wants to take me too.

I stand underneath the bulb, swaying lightly from the liquor coursing through my system. A strange current electrifies the air. I can feel it sizzling against my skin.

I feel alive!
I smile.

The light winks out. All of a sudden I can't breathe. Airless, I gasp, trying to suck in oxygen, but there is none. My lungs burn and my body spasms. The darkness is infinite and it’s killing me. I can feel the life drain from my body like a deflating balloon. Terrified, I try to fight it, but I don't know how.

Consciousness fades and I long for my bench. The haven in the park that I'd never see again.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

"Mr. Bauer?"

My eyes snap open and I take a painful gasp of air. A white tiled ceiling skates by, and I realize I'm rolling, strapped with restraints to a stretcher.

"Mr. Bauer, I'm glad you're awake."

"That's not my name," I mumble straining my neck to look up at the pale woman walking next to the stretcher. She holds a small tablet and scrolls her finger along the surface.

Two metal doors swing open and I'm wheeled into an atrium. Floor to ceiling pods are stacked end to end. They're filled with people, still and unmoving. Their vitals ping and glow on a small screen attached to each pod.

"Where am I?" I moan.

"Liberty station. We're already in orbit, sir. You're being transferred to your survival pod."

"I don't understand."

The woman looks concerned and pats my shoulder. "I know how disoriented you must feel. But, you're safe now. I believe you are the last one we're taking."

I pull against the restraints. "What are you talking about?"

The woman rubs the bridge of her nose. "I'm talking about the end of Earth. The sun will cease to emit energy in 100 days, killing all life on the planet. You are our final candidate for the recolonization. Don't worry, your memory will return after we've arrived safely at our destination."

"No, that's impossible. I don't understand."

"Dr. Wilson!" A young man in a white lab coat rushes over. "He's not the one. There's been a mistake."

Dr. Wilson frowns and scrolls through her tablet. She grows quiet, then sighs. "Not again. Prepare him for the return."

They whisk me away, out of the atrium and back into the corridor. "I'm so sorry, sir. We'll have you returned in no time."

"No! You can't send me back."

The young man shakes his head and removes a long needle from his jacket. "Count back from 10. Don't worry, you won't remember a thing."

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

I wake up on my bench. Morning sunshine burns my vision. I turn and heave onto the pavement, feeling my stomach churn. A jogger curses and dodges out of my path.

"Get a job, man!" He yells over his shoulder.

I fall to my knees a black hole in my memory from the night before. An empty whiskey bottle the likely culprit. Yesterday's newspaper lies crumpled beneath my feet. I pull it out and see the missing photo of the briefcase man.

I study his photo and scan the rest of the page. I freeze. There, buried near the bottom is a headline.

Conspiracy or Fact? Famed Scientist Dr. Emily Wilson's Sun Research Has the Industry Buzzing.

Something niggles in the back of my head. The feeling passes and I laugh crumpling the paper and tossing it into a wastebin.

I settle back on the bench. I wonder if there will be another person under the streetlamp tonight? Maybe this time, I'll intervene. Maybe this time, I'll stand there myself.

The end