Harmon had to give those security guards credit. Watching live video for long periods was not as easy as it sounded. Well, it wasn't difficult, but it was boring. Several times he found himself nearly nodding off and had to conduct a few stops just to keep himself conscious. By the time the sun was coming up, she still hadn't moved. Worse was that the bulge in her stomach that represented Aaron Jakeman wasn't moving either. It was almost six o'clock by the time she finally sat up, with some difficulty, and wiped the sleep from her eyes. She took a look at the time, then made an absent minded attempt to pull down her shirt. She laughed a bit before standing up and stretching her back, rubbing her no doubt sore stomach from the sides as she seemed to have a short conversation with her unconscious prey.

Then she went to the bedroom for several minutes. Harmon attempted to switch the feed, but could get nothing. The room was too dark or the camera wasn't working because all he could see was black. That was a problem. It became immediately worse when she came back out through the living room slowly massaging her now flat firm stomach and checking out her reflection in the vacant screen of the television before pulling her shirt down and fixing herself. Then she was out the door and Harmon was on the road back to the station, his mind racing. Had she just stepped in there and digested him entirely in a few minutes? Why had she waited? As much as he wanted to rush over and find out what if anything was left in the room, he needed to get back for shift change. On a slow night, being late would make it look like he'd been sleeping and he didn't want that sort of reputation in a gossip ridden town like Dunwich.



Shift change took longer than expected. He'd forgotten about the mandatory training on Implicit Bias that was starting now. An hour later, he slumped into his car, his head sore from rolling his eyes he supposed. Or perhaps it was from watching that screen all night only to be thwarted at the last moment by a simple error on his part. After scutinizing the angle once more, he'd finally realized the camera in the bedroom must have been facing the wrong way. It was difficult to tell with the lenses being so small. He started out towards Aaron's house, but on his way past the school, he saw something that stopped him; Aaron's car pulling into the parking lot. He quickly turned in and pulled up as the young man was gathering some materials from the back seat.

“Aaron?” he called, rolling down the window, “You're up early.”

Aaron looked up, “Yea, setting up a few things for the start of the week. You're a bit late, aren't you Bill? You just getting off shift?”

“We've got more mandatory training on how to walk and breathe. Sort of like you teachers, eh? We missed you bowling on Thursday.”

“Yea, I was staying late to help Joe Burgman with his paper, then I was a bit tired so I went home after that.”

“How'd it go last night?”

“How'd what go?” Aaron asked.

Harmon smiled slowly, “Does that mean not well? I thought you were finally going out on a date with the gas station girl.”

“Oh, Chelsey? Gee, I'd like to, but I haven't seen her in a while. She works nights, so she's hard to get a hold of.”

Harmon stopped smiling.

“So what did you do last night?” he asked.

Aaron seemed to pause in thought, “I...slept? I dunno. Why so curious?”

“Oh, guess the rumor mill was pumping out some horse crap,” Harmon shook his head, “For some reason I heard you two were getting together. Too bad. I think she likes you.”

“Really?” Aaron perked up, “Where'd you hear that?”

“I stop at that station every night for coffee,” Harmon grinned, “Where do you think I heard it? Anyways, I'd better get back home. I'm beat. See you around.”

“Yea, I'll be there for bowling this week. Take it easy, Bill.”

As Aaron waved him goodbye, Harmon tried to guess whether or not he was lying. It seemed unlikely. Aaron Jakeman couldn't lie in a game of cards. It was possible for some reason, he just didn't remember. Besides, anyone who had just been through what he had would not be coming into work like nothing had happened, even if he were trying to hide or deny it. The stress of being constricted inside a hot dark stomach for eight hours would have had him sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling in shock, or running through the woods sucking fresh air and screaming to anyone who would listen.

He called Mr. Richter as soon as he got home. The older man agreed that Aaron was most probably not lying. He suggested a memory lapse due to shock. The only other explanation would be some complex body snatcher scenario wherein Chelsey had somehow digested and remade him entirely in the space of those eight hours then released him into the world. Anything was possible, but that was reaching, Harmon thought. In any case, the next step was to securely apprehend Chelsey for interrogation.




It worked out that Harmon had the night off. As he had told Mr. Richter, he had frequented the gas station where Chelsey worked for long enough that she would feel comfortable around him, making a team extraction unnecessary. He was certain that with a little coaxing, he could get her to come in willingly. It wasn't as though she had committed any specific crime. If all went well, they could question her, get some answers and run a few tests before deciding whether or not she represented a threat to public safety. If not, she would be back home within the week. If so, well...they would cross that bridge when they came to it.




Harmon pulled up to the gas station in his black silverado and got out. He was dressed in blue jeans and a grey t-shirt. He kept an omni tool on his belt and a hidden Ruger LCR holstered on his right ankle for emergencies. He had yet to use the pistol, but the pliers had come in handy quite often. Ironically, both sprang immediately to mind as he approached the glass doors to see a small group of young men gathered closely around the gas station counter, one of them edging around to the back side as Chelsey shouted at them to leave.



“I told you to get out of here,” she shouted.

“What are you gonna do?” the ring leader snapped back.

Harmon entered the doors just as Chelsey leaned over the counter to swipe at the freckled youth and the three boys turned in unison, eyes going wide like deer caught in the middle of a dark highway.

“Chelsey could I get a pack of Marlboro Reds, please?” Harmon asked, stepping up to the counter and deliberately ignoring the boys.

The boy who had been trying to get behind the counter rejoined the group and the three stood dumbly for half a minute as Chelsey rung up Harmon's cigarettes. When he paid, he turned around and leaned against the counter, staring down at the boys. They were high school age, still short and skinny; likely not half his weight.

“You know, Joe,” Harmon said, “I just spoke with your English teacher today. It sounded like you were struggling in class. Don't suppose you have any studying to do tonight.”

“Not tonight,” Joe Burgman stammered, “But I could—

“I'd hate to see you fail after all the extra hours he's putting in to get you caught up. Would look even worse to your mom and dad if they found out you were hanging around the gas station, bothering Ms. Irons. Wouldn't you boys agree? Phil? Ronald?”

The boys collectively hung their heads, trying not to make eye contact.

“So head on home then. You're lucky I'm off duty tonight or I'd give you all a ride in my cruiser and your parents would tan your hides.”

“Sorry, Ms. Irons,” Joe mumbled.

The others did the same as they shuffled out the door. Chelsey smiled warmly at Harmon, or Bill, the name everyone in town knew him by. She leaned against the counter and sighed.

“Every generation people say kids are getting worse. I think they're the same.”

“I would tend to agree,” Harmon nodded, “They didn't give you too much trouble before I got here, did they?”

“No,” Chelsey shook her head, “Pisses me off, but it does make it more fun watching them cower whenever you come around. So what's up? Just the cigarettes?”

“No, I'm bored on my night off. Been sitting up watching videos of fat people falling down on my smart phone. Then I thought, who else likes watching fat people fall down?”

Chelsey laughed, “Okay, which ones? I'm pretty sure I've seen them all.”

“Here,” Harmon pulled out his phone.

They watched a couple videos of overweight bikers and joggers variously tripping, rolling and breaking things as they tumbled to the ground then lay prostrate with their arms at their sides. Then, Harmon played a different video. As it started he watched Chelsey's smile fade before her eyes drifted up towards his.

“This one's not quite as funny. Just popped up on my phone, if you believe that. Strangest thing I've ever seen. How about you?”

“What is this?” she whispered.

“I was thinking I would ask you that very question when I got the chance. How long have you known me, Chelsey? Five, maybe six years now? I know you've got two jobs. Well so do I. Job one is being a cop. This is job two. If I were wearing my hat for job one, I think I'd have to try to arrest someone for something like this...but I'm not. While I'm working at job two, I can make decisions for myself. We can talk and figure things out. You cooperate with me and give me the run down, then I talk to the bosses at the agency and give them your side. The world keeps turning,” Harmon laid a card on the table with his real name on it and an official symbol emblazoned next to his picture.

Chelsey had gone pale and stood up, backing away from the counter. Harmon didn't reach for his weapon. He didn't even move. He just kept staring at her until she responded.

“How...how did you find out about that?” she asked.

“There are a lot of people who make more money than me whose job it is to locate and classify strange things and strange folks. I'm just one of the shmucks they send to talk to them.”

“So you talk. Is that it?”

“That depends. They've never seen anything like you. They'll want you to come in, I'm sure. Take a few tests. Find out if you're dangerous. Not to sound cliché, but we're the good guys, Chelsey.”

“So I'm the bad guy? Jesus, Bill! How long have you been doing this?”

“Long enough to be able to tell you're not a bad person. You're just a person I'm asking to talk to. Is that alright? Come on, we talk just about every night when I get my coffee.”

“Is this for real? Are you serious? You're some government agent posing as a police officer?”

“I'm not posing, Chelsey. I've worked here legitimately for as long as you've known me. I collect a pay check and pay my mortgage. I'm just on call for the other job, but it does take priority when it comes up.”

“I need to sit down,” Chelsey looked around, “Can we go in back? I need a coffee, too.”

“Sure,” Harmon nodded, following her into the back room where a small table and two chairs sat next to a refrigerator bedazzled with stickers and magnets.

Chelsey poured herself a cup, then went to the cabinet and found another mug which she washed out before pouring some coffee for Harmon which he accepted politely as they both sat down. She took a few sips then placed her mug on the table.

“How was Aaron when you saw him today?” she asked.

“Fine,” Harmon replied, “A bit fuzzy, though. He doesn't remember a thing from last night.”

Chelsey nodded, “That's good.”

“How did you do it?” Harmon asked, taking a sip from his coffee.

“I took it. I didn't want him to be afraid of me, so I took it away.”

“You took his memories? How does that work?”

“I would have to show you,” Chelsey said, looking up from her coffee, the color returning to her cheeks.

“Well that's off the table,” Harmon shook his head with a weary grin, “So you'll have to try a little harder to explain. I need to know what you are. How did you get to be like this? How can you open your stomach and swallow a man whole without bursting?”

“It's easy with Aaron. He likes me, so he trusts me, because he wants to. With anyone else, I would have to use something else first.”

“Something else...” Harmon cleared his throat, shaking his head suddenly, “Like...what?”

“The stuff I put in your coffee,” Chelsey said, “To keep you from moving.”

Harmon reached down for his ankle holster but Chelsey pushed the table into his chest, overturning his chair and toppling him to the floor just like in the video of the fat man breaking his chair they had just watched. Harmon reached again but his hand felt numb. He turned over, his head swimming, his boddy suddenly sluggish and heavy. He felt like wet cement and groaned as the tall young woman leaned over him and hooked her arms under his, dragging him towards the walk in cooler.

“I don't know what you expected me to do for you,” she said as she half carried him into the cooler, “but I'm not going to just turn myself in for some creepy spy cop because he has a video of me belly dancing. Aaron is fine. That video might as well be nothing based on that fact alone. You're acting like I'm some sort of monster.”

“What...what are you...doing?” Harmon mumbled, trying to make his head stop spinning.

“You think I want to do this? I've kept this hidden for so long and you set up cameras and spy on me and now you're what? You're going to throw it all in the open if I don't go to some lab and let them run experiments on me? Well guess what? I'm not coming with you. You're coming with me!”

Chelsey propped him up on his knees, resting him against the racks facing the cooler doors and stood in front of him. She untucked her shirt, then opened it and rolled up her undershirt to reveal her long muscular stomach and deep cavernous navel which was already yawning hungrily. She unbuttoned her pants and pushed them down, then looked at Harmon self consciously, a hint of pink touching her cheeks.

“I've never hurt anyone,” she said softly.

She took a step towards him. Harmon screamed internally at his arms and legs, commanding them to move or twitch or do something, but they remained limp and useless as her now undulating stomach drew closer to his face. A gentle hand came to rest on his head and he looked up sleepily.

“Don't...” he rasped.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

Her other hand drifted to the back of his neck and she drew him against her, taking a deep breath at the same time that lifted her ribs and stretched her navel even wider. Harmon could do nothing as his face plunged into the darkness, her soft damp skin enfolding him, her stomach muscles rolling against him over and over again like the slow waves of the evening tide. Each time, he sunk deeper and deeper. He could hardly believe what was happening, much less react. A woman had drugged him, dragged him into a gas station cooler and was forcing him face first into her stomach. His entire life, travelling the states and then the world, serving overseas, joining the agency...all the things he'd seen and the battles he'd fought...all ending here in a woman's voracious belly button. As he lost consciousness, the image of her lying on the floor with him curled up and squirming inside her massive belly, his stocking feet wriggling almost comically from the mouth of her navel, mocked him as he thought his final epitaph might very well be bon appetit.

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