From the depths of his soul he pulled up the words, dredging them against their will, forcing them from his heart through the pen to the paper – words that did not want to be spelled – words that would revolt before being spoken aloud. Raw emotion filled his pages. Counting on a rewrite, he emptied his soul, pouring his guts into his characters: rage, fury, tenacious fighting, and love, compassion and loyalty. He mulled and lingered over words that failed to fully rummage through his soul. He wanted to taste the kisses of his characters, himself and Diane. He wanted to feel her skin and all its irrelevant imperfections. He wanted to lay his head on her chest and become her heartbeat. And then after a time, sit back and absorb her unique and individual spin of life: her thoughts, her values, the whys of her views. He wanted to feel her describe an ordinary walk in an ordinary park, or sit silently with him, smelling the coffee.
 
  Setting his alarm for 4:30 in the morning, an arbitrary compromise that proved unnecessary since he was already awake, he resolved to begin each day with a shower, breakfast, and then writing until at least noon each day. Anxious, he skipped breakfast, scratching out a tentative character list and brief synopsis, laying aside his previous work. A stomach cramp advised him that he’d missed both breakfast and lunch, and was on the verge of missing supper as well. He had finished the first chapter, knowing that he would move it to somewhere in the middle. And the last chapter was nearly completed. His stomach would have to wait.
 
  Hour after hour, day after day. Hardly sleeping, barely eating, he hammered out his tale, switching to writing directly to his computer after filling two notebooks, returning to type those handwritten pages only on the few occasions that he felt the plot ideas slow. Ignoring the red and blue underlines as he furiously pecked away, engaging as many as six fingers at a time, he backed up to do repairs only while mulling issues of flow and continuity.
 
  Dr. Felicia Robison and Colonel Marcus McBain, he of the United States Guard, the name given to the reorganized United States military after the Great Conflagration of the 2050s. She, a molecular biologist from the State of Mississippi Valley, South, what formerly contained the largest parts of seven of the historical fifty. Reconstruction necessitated by the diminished population.
 
  Dr. Robison was the medical doctor/researcher who determined that the invading aliens were descendant hybrids of past earth abductees. She discovered how to combat them. Assisted by Colonel McBain, the two saved the earth from mass abductions.
 
  Felicia, the story’s main protagonist, met with the Colonel in her effort to bring attention of the coming invasion, never reaching the necessary level of government. She and McBain quickly discovered love interests in one another to such a depth that astounded Jerry, even as he wrote. Jerry bared his soul, facing fears of rejection head on as he offered himself to Felicia. Digging deep, McBain donned a Captain America persona. As a team, they led the nation to victory, one heroic battle after another.
 
  In the chapter of abductions back in the 1950s and 60s, Jerry felt the screams of the abductees. Terror froze him to the state of bare consciousness, the aliens’ talons piercing his characters’ bodies once laid prone on examination tables. Jerry allowed them escape to unconsciousness only after having experienced their pain and hopelessness. Many of them did not survive to be of any value to the aliens. But enough did for their purposes.
 
+++
 
  “Dear Diane,” Jerry wrote, emailing her for the first time in months. He grimaced at himself, discovering dozens of unopened emails from her. “I have no excuses. I’ve been stupit.” (a phrase from the days when they were equals.) “I know you’re busy, but thought WTHeck, maybe you’re between projects. If you care to, it’d be nice to hear what you thought of the attached synopsis.
 
  “Hoping to see you some time, Jerry.”
 
  He attached both The Abduction Wars and another file containing the entire manuscript.
 
  Diane called the next day. “Jerry! I’m so glad to hear from you. I’ve really missed you. Listen, I cried, I laughed, my arms got sore from the fighting! And then I cried some more.”
 
  “So, you’ll edit it for me?” Jerry asked.
 
  After a brief pause, Diane said, “No, Jerry, I can’t. It ….”
 
  Before she could utter another syllable, Jerry spoke over his constricted throat, “That’s all right. I understand.”
 
  “No. You don’t. I can’t edit it because I can’t see anything to change. Serial, Jerry, nothing. I love it. I could only do it harm. I can’t wait to see the movie.”
 
  “I … uh … you’re not just …”
 
  “I’m not just anything. What are you going to do with it?”
 
  “The usual, I guess.”
 
  “Jerry, I’m coming back to see my parents in a couple weeks. Could I see you?”
 
  “A couple weeks? Yeah, sure,” Jerry said, old familiar depression invading his tone. “See ya then,” he added as he pressed his red telephone icon, wanting to stay on the line, to feel her voice, to smell her fragrance, to try and sense her presence. Afraid to hear a single negative utterance about their dead, or at least dying relationship, or worse, that she’d met someone, he cut short her call.
 
  He hated himself for what he was becoming: torn between bitter resentfulness and ecstatic joy at Diane’s success. He hated that he was the least bit aggrieved. He wished he’d been able to shower her with accolades, and then not have to endure her placatings, that she not feel her platitudes to him necessary. He was glad he had no one to talk to, not at all sure he could force words through the constriction in his throat. Wiping his tears with a paper towel, his gaze at Diane’s glamour shot on the back cover of one of her books broke away only as he hugged it to his chest.
 
+++
 
  Diane changed Jerry’s title page and formatted the manuscript the way Agent Skinner required. In a folder with her name on it, she hand-delivered the manuscript she’d printed to Skinner’s secretary who promised to get it to the agent right away.
 
  Two days later he called at her apartment at 12:15 AM. “Hope you’re not asleep. Sorry if you were. When did you write like this? It’s different. When did you learn to write men like that? Look, I gotta tell ya. You just hit the Holy Grail of jumbo jackpots. Not only is this a hot genre right now, but Holy Guacamole, Girl! I laughed, I cried, and my arms got tired fighting! Who knew that all those alien abductions were real?” Skinner spoke as though it was a work of non-fiction. “This is block-buster. We advertise, tour, and wham, we’re off to the movies! We’re talking all out, full feature, high budget 3D mega-vision, world-wide distribution, TV series, sequel after sequel, toys, clothes, the whole shebang. Lucas and Spielberg will be fighting to rent your basement. As soon as we show it to Wasserman Publishing we’ll be talking about your six figure advance.”
 
  “Uh, can I come see you tomorrow?” she asked.
 
  “Honey, you just made me rich. I’ll come see you!”
 
  “I’ll be there before lunch, all right?”
 
  “You bet, Your highness, Queen of Literatureland.”
 
+++
 
  “… And that’s why I did it, Adam. His name is Jerry Grinnell.  You’ll like him.”
 
  “Not yours, huh?” Skinner frowned, pausing a moment. “No matter. It’s still great!  Get ‘im in here. He has to sign or else!”
 
  “Oh, he’ll sign,” Diane promised.
 
+++
 
  “Diane, you know the risk you took? Are taking?”
 
  Diane looked at him blankly, unsure where he was going, whether he was saying that he might have accused her of stealing his work.
 
  “I mean, did Skinner look at you funny? Say anything about your other stuff?”
 
  “Holy cow! No! Are you serious? You mean he might have thought that I stole my books from …”
  Jerry bit his tongue, dismissing every unfair accusation he might harbor concerning Diane’s risk. He knew that it was a generous act of kindness. He also knew that it was something he would have happily done for her. Every charge of angst lived no more than a second, replaced with heartfelt gratitude.
 
  “But no. He totally believed me. Like totally. We have an appointment with him the day we get back. Whenever we get there.
 
+++
 
  Diane, as difficult as it was, absented herself from the area during Jerry’s meeting with Skinner. She wanted no part of distracting Jerry from his moment, his justly deserved success. Only after hearing from the secretary that it was done and getting a full report of Jerry’s reaction, did she hit send on her email.
 
  Jerry received the email on his smart phone: “with 16,466 commas in less than 120,000 words, that comes to one every 7.29 words – and only three generations and two species, if aliens count. Yours, Diane.”
 
  Jerry texted back: “I wanna murry you.”