By Paul Cwick

Greg read aloud from the small booklet he held in his hands:

"The CGP-2963 IR night vision goggles are precision-manufactured to meet military specifications and provide optimal vision capabilities at night and other low-level light conditions… This system’s advanced circuitry enables normal viewing during changing light conditions… See where nothing could be seen before…"

He lowered the booklet and looked down at the goggles in the cardboard box.

"See where nothing could be seen before…" he repeated, with a growing smile on his face. He still wasn’t sure if this was going to work or not, but it was worth a try. At this point, he had few options left to him. And if it did work…! Then the rest of his plan might work too…!

Greg inserted some batteries into the goggles, and slipped them on, adjusting the head strap. He switched the goggles on and looked around him, around the room. He then walked over to the window and opened it, and looked around at the world outside. It was a very strange sight. It almost looked like a grainy black-and-white photograph, except that the light and dark areas weren’t where you might expect them to be. And there were no shadows, which made everything appear to be somewhat flat, almost two-dimensional. But it was possible to clearly see people through the goggles, and that was what Greg wanted. The images were not quite as distinct as what Greg had been hoping for, but they were better than he’d expected. It would be sufficient to tell him if a naked woman were approaching him!

So they work, he thought, relieved. Or at least I think they’ll work. They’re supposed to read temperature rather than visible light, and since a human body (even an invisible body) gives off heat, then theoretically, the goggles should allow me to ‘see’ Cat. Of course, I won’t know for sure if they work or not until I actually put them to the test when Cat comes sneaking around…

Greg took the goggles off and looked at them. I sure hope these work on an invisible person, he thought. No, no they have to work, he hastily reassured himself, they just have to!

Greg decided to try out the goggles the next morning. That night, when he went to bed, he placed them on the night stand, within easy reach. He doubted that he would need them during the night, but just having them close at hand gave him a sense of security.

The next morning, Greg shaved, brushed his teeth, combed his hair, went through all the routine of a normal work day morning, but on this particular morning, he did so with an unusually high level of nervousness. There remained a fear in the back of his mind that the goggles either wouldn’t work at all, or that they would somehow fail him at a critical moment. Nevertheless, he tried to put these fears out of his mind as he continued his normal morning routine.

Finally, he was ready to leave. He held the IR goggles in his hand, ready to put them on. His heart was pounding and his palms were sweating. Okay…okay…relax, he told himself. Take a deep breath… Okay. Now…

Greg put the goggles on and picked up his briefcase. He switched the goggles on, opened the door and stepped outside.

He closed and locked the door behind him and looked around him. The old familiar hallway looked strange through the goggles, but Greg didn’t even think about that. The only thing that Greg was interested was that the goggles showed no one else in the hall. Okay, so far so good, he thought. He then turned and headed down the stairs.

In the apartment lobby, he spotted a couple of people. The goggles were hinged so that they could be raised to allow normal vision, and Greg raised them for just a moment. When he saw that the people approaching him were just some neighbors of his, he relaxed and lowered the goggles again, still scanning left and right and occasionally behind him as well. The neighbors gave him strange looks of course, but their reactions were the furthest thing from Greg’s mind at that point.

He stepped outside and started walking to the parking lot. He continued to scan the horizon, but he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. A wave of uneasiness came over Greg as he began to wonder if the goggles really would detect an invisible person after all. Theoretically they should, of course, but how could he know for sure? How could anyone know? Somehow, Greg doubted that the manufacturers of the goggles had ever put it to that particular test.

He hurried to his car, jumped in and drove off. When he arrived at work, he again put the goggles on and scanned the horizon, looking for signs of an approaching stalker. Still nothing. Greg quickly hurried inside the building.

The rest of the morning, the uneasiness remained in Greg and continued to grow. He was afraid to venture outside, unsure as he was as to whether the IR goggles were a workable solution to his problem. Suppose they don’t work? he wondered. I’d better start thinking of something else, as a backup plan…

Greg’s thoughts were interrupted by Marie, his admin assistant, telling him that Mr. Henson wanted to see him.

Henson? Greg thought. What does he want? Then the events of the previous day came rushing back to Greg in a torrent. The luncheon with the clients. Cat’s disruption of the lunch, making Greg look like a fool in the process. The clients had no doubt complained to Henson about the luncheon, and now Greg was being called on the carpet for it.

Slowly, Greg rose from his chair and walked to his boss’s office as though he were marching to the guillotine. Sure enough, Henson had heard about the disruption of the lunch. He was not pleased. In very quiet, measured tones, Henson carefully and thoroughly read Greg the riot act. He reminded Greg that he held a position of responsibility: he was representing the company. If he were to become unreliable or disruptive for any reason, then his value to the company would be greatly diminished. He would become a liability, rather than an asset. Henson expressed sympathy for whatever personal problems Greg may be experiencing, and had no intention of interfering in them. But once those problems began to interfere in Greg’s work, then it became Henson’s concern. Henson again strongly advised Greg to seek psychological counseling under the company’s health plan, stating that if he didn’t, and if Greg were to experience another "episode" such as the one on the previous day, that Henson would have no choice but to take action.

Henson asked Greg if he understood. Greg nodded.

***

"Aren’t you going to work today?" Norma asked her husband, Nick. "Are you sick or something?"

"No, I just thought I’d take a few days off. I have some vacation time accrued, I figured I might as well use it."

Well this is unusual, Norma thought. Nick was normally the hard-driven, Type-A, workaholic type, the kind who was even reluctant to call in sick. It was therefore strange to see him lounging around the house in a bathrobe on a weekday morning.

"Oh." She said simply. "What do you think you’ll do today?"

"Well, I—" Nick began. "I thought I’d maybe go to the library. Do some reading."

Norma said nothing, but she knew what Nick was up to: he wanted to go to the library to try to find evidence to support his crazy theory about Greg having telekinetic powers or something. She shook her head in bewilderment. She couldn’t understand how someone as intelligent and level-headed as Nick could come up with such a crackpot idea.

"How ‘bout you?" Nick said suddenly, stirring Norma from her thoughts. "Aren’t you going to work today?"

"Um, no…" she said hesitantly. "I—I thought I’d take some vacation time, too. Maybe spend some time with some old friends I haven’t seen for a while."

"You mean like Greg. Right?"

Norma looked at her husband. He had her number just as surely as she had his. It was time to lay their cards on the table and they both knew it.

"All right," she said. "Look; we both know that we’re both thinking the same thing. We’re thinking about Greg, right? Okay, fine. Now you have that goofy idea of yours about psykookiness—"

"Psychokinesis." Nick corrected her.

"Whatever. And I just happen to think it’s a bunch of horseshit."

Norma caught the look of surprise on her husband’s face over her choice of words, and she broke into nervous laughter.

"Seriously, though," Norma went on, as she regained a straight face. "I really don’t think it’s all that complicated. It’s probably something a lot simpler than that, and I just don’t think it’s going to help things any to go off on a tangent with some hokey theory."

"Well, what about what happened at the mall? Can you think of a simple explanation for that?"

"Well…no…" She said, then paused for a moment. "But I still don’t see what that has to do with Greg. I mean, you think there’s a connection there, but I don’t."

"Well, we’ll see," Nick said. "I’m going to check the back newspapers anyway. See if that was just an isolated incident or if similar things have happened at other places around here."

He paused, catching another look from Norma. "Well, what have I got to lose?" he said, almost pleading.

"Well," Norma said. "I still think you’re wasting your time. I mean, Greg is the one we should be concerned about, not wasting time on some wild-goose-chase of a theory."

Nick flashed her a dirty look; she ignored it. "I just think," she went on, although it sounded more to herself than to her husband. "That, whatever is going on with Greg, if I can at least get him to talk to me and confide in me, a lot of the mystery about this whole thing will disappear."

***

For the next two days, Greg kept a very low profile at work. His nervous tension was at an all-time high, and he lived in fear of saying or doing anything that might be considered grounds for action on Henson’s part. And also for the next two days, Greg repeated his routine with the IR goggles, wearing them as he walked to his car from his apartment, from his car to his office, then reversing the sequence in the afternoon.

By the end of the second day however, Greg’s nerves were really coming unraveled, as he was by then convinced that the goggles didn’t work, and that the invisible Cat was, in fact, following him all along, toying with him and biding her time until she felt like striking.

On the third morning however, as he walked to his car, Greg thought he glimpsed something moving off to his right. He froze in his tracks. What was that? he thought. Did he see something move? He couldn’t be sure. He scanned the entire area again. Wait, there it is again! Is that…? My God, I think it’s—I think it’s her!

There, in the goggles, Greg saw a faint, indistinct image of what appeared to be a person moving between some parked cars. He raised the goggles away from his eyes for just a second, and looked in the direction where he saw the figure.

There was no one there.

He lowered the goggles to his eyes again. The figure was still there, only now much closer and it was coming straight towards him.

Greg stood rooted in one spot as he watched the figure. As it came closer, Greg could tell that the figure was definitely female, and that she appeared to be naked, thus eliminating whatever doubt may have remained in his mind as to her identity. Greg’s pulse began to quicken and a smile came to his face as he watched the figure, marching right up to him, so boldly, so arrogantly, completely unaware that she was being watched.

The figure was about thirty feet away from Greg when it suddenly stopped dead in its tracks. For one single second that seemed to stretch into hours, each one watched the other and each knew that they were themselves being watched. The figure in the goggles then crouched low, like an animal that had been cornered, and instinctively shrank back. Greg was unable to see such details as facial features, but he had an intuitive feeling that the features of the figure were now contorted into a snarl of pure savage fury.

Greg took a step forward, towards the figure, which then immediately shrank back. The figure tried to cover itself with its arms as it scurried away, trying to get out of Greg’s view, ducking behind the corner of the apartment building. For a moment, Greg considered pursuing the figure. Give her a taste of her own medicine, he thought. But then decided against it. She was well enough away from him that she couldn’t sneak up on him and attack him without his knowledge, and that was his primary concern. Greg then turned and quickened his pace to his car, looking alternately where he was going, and looking behind him to see if the figure was following him. The figure seemed to make a couple of half-hearted efforts to follow him, only to duck back behind the building once it realized that Greg could see it. The last time Greg looked back, he caught a glimpse of the figure flashing him the classic single-fingered salute.

Greg hastily unlocked and opened the door of his car and jumped in, tossing his briefcase onto the seat beside him and quickly locking the door. He pulled the goggles off and started the engine, gunning his way out of the parking lot. When he hit the expressway, he began to laugh. It works! he thought. It works!! I’ve got you now! The stakes are even for a change. Greg’s laughter continued to grow in volume as he began to realize for the first time in months, that he now had an edge to match Cat’s. Now they were even! At long last, now they were even!

Greg arrived at work, in higher spirits than he’d felt in months. He parked his car, got out and briskly strode across the parking lot, holding his briefcase in one hand, and the IR goggles in the other. He was almost to the front steps of the building when he was approached by a short, bespectacled man in a gray fedora.

"Oh, excuse me," the man said. "Mr. Novak?"

Greg stopped and turned to face him. "Yes?" he said.

"I wonder if I might have a word with you for a moment?"

Greg looked the man up and down as he approached. He was short and stocky, built roughly along the lines of a fireplug. In addition to the fedora, he also wore a cheap gray suit with a striped shirt, tie and suspenders. The eyes behind the thick lenses were bright, inquisitive…and altogether untrustworthy. He looked for all the world as though he’d just come from a road-company production of The Front Page.

In spite of himself, Greg chuckled. "Who the heck are you supposed to be? Walter Winchell?"

The little man laughed good-naturedly. "I’ll take that as a compliment." he said, and reached into his pocket for a business card. "Let me introduce myself, friend." He handed Greg the card with his name on it…and then just as quickly snatched it back again, placing it back into his pocket before Greg had a chance to read the name.

"Sorry friend, these things cost money. You understand."

"So what do you want?" Greg’s good humor diminished slightly. Who the heck was this guy? He seemed strangely familiar to Greg, and yet he couldn’t quite place him.

Almost as though he’d read Greg’s mind, the little man said. "I’m a reporter, friend. Freelance journalist. I just want to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind."

A reporter! That was it! Greg knew he’d seen this guy before! "Hey, wait a minute!" Greg said, his mood changing abruptly. "Now I know who you are! You’re that obnoxious little jerk reporter who kept pestering me at Jeremiah’s that night!"

The little man smiled broadly, as though he’d been paid a high compliment. "Ah! You remember me! Great! Then you won’t mind answering a few more questions I have. A kind of follow-up, if you will."

"Yeah, I remember you! I remember what a pain in the neck you were!" Greg turned and started back to his office building. "I don’t want to answer any of your questions!" he said. "Now beat it!"

"Aw, come on friend; let’s let bygones be bygones—"

"Look, will you get out of here? I told you, I’m not answering your questions!"

"Oh, now wait a minute, friend—" the little man followed Greg.

"Stop calling me ‘friend!’" Greg stopped to face the man. "I’m not your friend!"

"Sorry, friend. Look, they’re just a couple of harmless little questions, that’s all—"

Greg froze in his tracks. Slowly he turned to face the little man and eyed him narrowly. "What’s that supposed to mean?" he said.

"Just what I said: I know what’s going on with you." the little reporter repeated when he saw he had Greg’s full attention. "I know that you’ve been experiencing some very strange things over the last several months. Unusual troubles plaguing you, things that, if you were to tell anyone about them, they’d never believe you. Am I right or am I right?"

"What kind of things?" Greg asked, through narrowed eyes.

"I know about a certain woman’s strange disappearance at a nightclub. About certain unusual incidents that may have taken place in a doctor’s office or at a health club. About a certain, shall we say, ‘disruptive incident’ at a shopping mall. I know about all these things. I keep tabs. I see connections where others don’t. And the one common connection to all these strange events is you, Mr. Novak. You have been definitely placed at the scene at virtually all of these places when these strange events took place."

"So what are you driving at?" Greg was by now sure he didn’t like this strange little man…nor did he trust him.

"I can smell a news story a mile away," the reporter went on. "And I know there’s a hot one here. I happen to be very skilled at tracking down news stories that other reporters pass by without a second look. Stories that other reporters have dismissed as being too far-fetched, too crazy. In fact," the little man smiled broadly, "Just last week, I made headlines all around the country, with my exclusive story about a man who claimed he had been taken hostage aboard a UFO, and had solid, conclusive evidence to prove it!"

Greg stared blankly at the little reporter.

The reporter’s smile faded slightly. "Surely you’ve read it?" he said, looking hopefully at Greg. "You must have read it! It was in all the tabloids…" he trailed off, helplessly.

Greg rolled his eyes. Not only was this guy a pest, he was also a nut. Greg turned away again and started walking.

But the reporter still wouldn’t give up. "Now, wait a minute, friend. It so happens I have the solution to your problem!"

Again, Greg stopped and turned to face the reporter.

"Now look, why don’t we help each other?" the reporter said. "You help me and I’ll help you. You help me by giving me your story, the whole story, from the beginning. All the details. Exclusive. Under my byline, of course." The little reporter flashed a brief, toothy smile. "And I’ll help you."

"How are you gonna help me?" Greg asked, suspiciously.

"Very simple. Now you know and I know that all the strange occurrences I’ve mentioned have all had one thing in common: they’ve all been centered around you primarily, correct? So we can rule out a random pattern; there is definitely a planned, intelligent design to these strange occurrences. And to what purpose? To torment you, specifically. Correct? Okay. Now let us just suppose…that these strange occurrences are the work of one individual person. Now, if this were the case, then this would have to be a person with a, shall we say, rather unique advantage, one which allows them to do these things without detection, and therefore without consequence."

"What kind of advantage?" Greg asked. He didn’t know what this reporter knew, if he knew anything, and it was time to find out.

"Let’s just say ‘an advantage,’ for now," the reporter said. "Since we are speaking hypothetically, are we not?" Another toothy smile. "I have an idea as to what kind of advantage this might be, but for the time being, we’ll just say ‘an advantage,’ one that is further aided by the fact that no one would ever believe in it."

In spite of himself, Greg’s attention was focused on the reporter’s words. He tried to feign disinterest, but the look on his face clearly showed that this reporter was so close to the mark, it was downright spooky.

The reporter went on. "Now this…person…is free to act with complete impunity because she—" the reporter caught himself. "Or he—has, among other things, the advantage of anonymity. Correct? He or she can get away with these things because no one knows who is doing them or how. Except you, perhaps. But even if you know, you can’t tell anybody! Because if you did, if you told them the whole story, you know that no one would ever believe you. Correct?" He looked at Greg, expectantly, but Greg remained silent.

The reporter answered his own question and went on. "Correct. Except me. I think you’ll find I’m pretty gullible if you try me!" Another brief toothy smile. "Anyway, now suppose…just suppose this…tormentor of yours lost that anonymity? Suppose that we were to make public this person’s identity? And let us further suppose that we could prove beyond any doubt the nature of this person’s unique advantage? Beyond any doubt, so that the police and other authorities and the public at large would have no choice but to believe it and would have to take it seriously. Now let us just imagine what the consequences of that might be."

In spite of himself, Greg’s mind flashed on such a scenario. For one hopeful moment, he imagined Cat somehow being stopped by the police and a brief mental picture flickered into his mind of an invisible Cat being packed away in a straitjacket.

"Now I ask you," the reporter continued. "Do you still think that this—tormentor—would be able to enjoy this advantaged position over you for very long? Would he or she be able to continue these torments for any length of time before the full weight and power of both public scrutiny and law enforcement would finally bring such torments to an end?"

Greg eyed the little reporter narrowly as he thought over his words. What was this guy really after? Was he really on the level? Did he really know the score about Cat? He seemed to. And he seemed sincere about wanting to help Greg. Maybe he could use this guy’s help after all. Maybe…

The reporter smiled; he could see by the expression on Greg’s face that he had him. It was now time to drive his final point home. "Yet all this could only come about by means of information. Information which only you can provide me, and which only I can disseminate through the proper channels."

"What channels?" Greg asked, the suspicion in the back of his mind rearing its ugly head again.

"The media, my friend; the media. Newspapers. And if they won’t carry our story—"

‘Our’ story? Greg thought.

"—then we’ll just have to spread the word by other means."

"Such as?"

"Well, the tabloids, for one. Then—" he caught the look on Greg’s face. "Oh, now wait! Don’t dismiss the tabloids too quickly, my friend! A lot of people read them and it’s a very effective way for getting a news story out quickly and—no, now wait! Don’t walk away! Wait!"

Sure enough, Greg had turned and walked away from the kooky little reporter for the last time. The reporter continued to follow Greg right up the steps of the building, stopping only at the front door.

"You might as well help me, Mr. Novak!" the reporter cried after Greg. "Because with or without your help, I’ll get the story anyway! Just as sure as my name is—"

Greg closed the door behind him. Tabloids! he thought in disgust. That was all he needed at this point: to have his name plastered all over the supermarket tabloids! As if he weren’t in enough hot water with his boss as it was! Greg could just imagine what Henson’s reaction would be to find Greg’s name featured in a crazy supermarket tabloid story about an invisible woman. After that, he could kiss whatever credibility he had left as a sales rep good-bye.

Besides, Greg didn’t need help from any dorky little reporter. He now had the IR goggles. With those, he could now begin to enact his own plan…

* * *

Despite his encounter with the reporter, Greg was in a very good mood the rest of the morning. The IR goggles had worked! Now, for the first time in months, Greg no longer felt like a helpless victim. He now felt that he had an edge now, and that the game was now being played on a field that was, if not exactly even, at least tilted more in his favor than it had ever been before.

His high spirits remained throughout the rest of the day. He was even downright cheerful as he plunged into the backlog of work that still remained on his desk from his time in Seattle. By about a quarter after four, Greg felt deliciously happy for the first time in months. He leaned back in his chair, stretching, with his eyes closed. Life is good, he thought. He pulled open his desk drawer and looked down at the IR goggles lying safely within and he smiled. With them, he now had no reason to live in fear any longer; they nullified the advantage that Cat had over him. Never again would she be able to sneak up on him with her unseen torments. Now he could see her coming from a safe enough distance to maneuver away from her. He now had the luxury of coming and going as he pleased, without having to live in fear of his invisible ex-girlfriend.

Greg’s thoughts now began to drift the subject of dinner for that night, trying to decide which restaurant he might try when his thoughts were startled by a familiar voice immediately behind him.

"You think you’re so smart, don’t you? You’re real proud of your new little toy, aren’t you?"

Greg turned and saw his new IR goggles floating in mid-air. He swallowed hard. How the hell did she get in here? he wondered. Dammit, he always knew this building needed tighter security! He swallowed hard as he stared, wide-eyed at the floating goggles.

The goggles bobbed around in space as Cat’s voice spoke again, in a mocking tone that barely concealed a deeper-seated anger.

"You always did love your little expensive toys, didn’t you Greg? Too bad you never learned to love people as much. That’s your whole problem: You love things rather than people."

The goggles now swung in an arc directly towards Greg’s face. He ducked his head aside and reached for the goggles to try to grab them away, but they suddenly veered off in the other direction. "You’re pathetic, you know that?" Cat’s voice sneered. "You think that, now because you have this fancy little toy you can get one over on me. Well, you’re wrong! Think again, smart guy!"

The goggles flew high up into the air and then came crashing down against the desk. Fragments of glass, metal and plastic flew in all directions. The remains of the goggles floated up into the air and came crashing down a second time and a third. Fragments scattered in all corners of the cubicle, until all that remained of Greg’s proud new purchase was a nylon head-band, some twisted bits of metal and countless minuscule splinters of glass and plastic.

After the goggles came crashing to the desk for the last time, Greg suddenly became aware of the presence of several other people in the vicinity. With great difficulty, he tore his eyes away from the remains of the IR goggles and looked up to see what appeared to be the entire workforce standing at the entrance of his cubicle, looking in, wondering what all the noise was about. They simply stood there, staring. Greg could do nothing more than stare back.

The silence was absolute. Greg could hear the pounding of his own pulse in his ears. The silence was finally broken by the voice of Mr. Henson, calling him from outside the cube.

"Greg, may I speak to you in my office please?"

Greg answered weakly, then turned to the entrance of his cubicle. With leaden feet, he marched through the mob of people (which parted like the Red Sea at his passing) outside the cubicle, to Henson’s office. He felt as though he were walking the last mile to the gallows.

When he entered the office and closed the door, Henson regarded at him with a pained look in his eyes and with a quiet voice, said simply:

"Greg, go home. Now."

Greg opened his mouth as though to say something, but Henson spoke again. "Please." he said. "I don’t want to know what happened in Seattle. I don’t want to know what happened now. Just—" he paused. "Just leave. Take sick leave. See a doctor. Do something. But for now Greg, just—just go home."

Greg started to say something again, and again Henson cut him off.

"Please!" he said, in a tone that was both forceful and patient, firm, but controlled.

Greg didn’t try to speak again. Instead, he lowered his head, turned and walked out.

***

Twenty minutes later, Greg sat alone in a corner of the small café across the street from the office building. He stared into the cup of black coffee on the table before him, and tears of rage and frustration rolled down his cheeks. His eyes then drifted over to the knife, fork and spoon that lay on the paper napkin by his elbow, and he found himself wondering how sharp the knife was, when his thoughts were interrupted by a voice from behind him.

"Greg? Greg, are you all right?"

Greg slowly turned to see who spoke to him.

It was Norma Stiles.

------------------------- 

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