Simone shoots up in bed, clutching at her chest. Fragments of a nightmare clinging to her consciousness. The darkness of the hotel room is broken only by a single beam of light, cast by a nearby street lamp, streaming in from the window. Simone allows her breathing to settle before leaning against the headboard of the bed.

Had she been hallucinating? Was the alien visage under that yellow rain slicker just a figment of her imagination? She hadn’t been that drunk, had she?

Simone positions herself on the edge of the bed and drops her feet onto the floor. Reaching across the bed, she turns on the lamp. She teeters a little as she gradually stands up. Striding carefully to the bathroom door, she examines her reflection in the outer mirror.

“You’re a mess, Simone. No wonder, the husband took the kids and ran. Pull yourself together,” Simone mutters softly to herself.

Studying herself for another minute longer, Simone pulls down the bottom of her leather jacket and then pushes up at her bosom. Puckering her lips, she laughs playfully, and then shoots a raspberry.

“Ha ha. It’s not all bad, though,” she laughs. “I’ve still got my beach body.”

Tousling her curly black hair, Simone reaches for the door knob. She utters a loud gasp as she catches a hint of movement behind her. Whirling around, Simone watches the amorphous shape rise up from the sofa and stroll in her direction.

“Oh, hell! I am definitely drunk. This is not happening,” Simone says in a harsh whisper.

The distortion moves even closer. Simone gauges the distance between herself and the front door to the hotel room. She realizes this is a moot point because whatever is in the room is between her and the door; and getting closer still.

Simone’s feet feel like lead and she is unable to move. Opening her mouth to scream, Simone is only a little surprised when the amorphous unseen blob increases its speed and a silencing hand is pressed against her open mouth. Simone releases another long gasp as the alien creature from the diner uncloaks before her eyes. One of the alien creature’s mottled muscular hands is pressed against her mouth, the other cradled at the base of her skull.

Simone stares at the creature in complete shock. The creature removes the hand at the nape of her neck and presses a single clawed finger to its oddly shaped mouth.

“Sssh,” the reptilian alien says through sharpened teeth and clicking mandibles. “Don’t scream. I will not hurt you.”

Simone narrows her eyes and nods her head up and down. The alien creature waits a few beats before removing the hand from her mouth. Simone follows the hand, up to the muscular forearm and bicep. Eventually, she raises her eyes to the creature’s face. Yellowish-green skin, the texture of maybe snake or alligator skin, covers its entire body. Tiny spots interrupt the smooth coloring, and protrusions of hair erupt near the edges of the creature’s hairline. The rest of the creature’s hair is drawn back in what appears to be dreadlocks. Silver-colored metallic beads are placed strategically on each braid; giving it the appearance of an Old World Egyptian—with a side of Rastafarian. But the creature’s face is the most fascinating.

Large round eyes stare back at Simone. The color of those eyes almost a golden brown. Large mandibles protrude on the side of the creature’s mottled face. Folds of loose flesh support the mandibles, surrounding a mouth full of catlike teeth.

Simone finds herself staring fixedly at those strange teeth. Wondering what it would be like to be bitten by such a fearsome gathering of toothy weapons. Would it be like a shark bite? She had seen a shark attack once. On a field trip with her students. They were at the beach when a young surfer was attacked. The children had screamed at the sight of all of that blood. The school later banned trips to the beach—forever. Would it eat her with those tiny teeth? Would it grind her bones and pulverize her flesh between those deadly incisors? Simone really doesn’t want to find out. However, the science major in her is strangely fascinated by the idea.

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The creature tilts its head to one side and seems to study her as much as she is studying it. The silence in the room grows so thick that it could be cut with a knife. Simone grows uncomfortable and fidgets with her increasing anxiety.

“What do you want?” she asks in a soft voice, her eyes never leaving the creature’s face.

“You were ill,” the creature responds. “I watched over you until you were better.”

Simone is unsure of how to respond to this revelation. She scrunches her face and raises a brow.

“Well, thanks,” she finally replies.

The alien creature takes a step back and gives her a little more space. Simone shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

“So…What are you?” Simone queries the creature, her eyes sliding over its body.

The creature tilts its head again before answering. The way the alien appraises her, strikes Simone as no different than how a car enthusiast might appraise a new automobile on the showroom floor.

“I am yautja,” it finally replies. The round eyes continue to stare into Simone’s.

“So, you are an alien? You’re not some kind of hybrid government project gone awry? You’re really from—” Simone points to the ceiling. “Out there?”

“Yes. I am alien to your world,” Crank says.

Simone’s face becomes almost one big smile. She actually takes a step closer to Crank, causing him to bristle.

“Do you have a name?” Simone inquires.

She refrains from touching the creature—wanting only to reassure herself that this is no hallucination. An alien. How fascinating. And so much like a human. Notwithstanding the face.

“I am Crank,” Crank says matter-of-factly.

“Crank,” Simone repeats. Again, so human. Not what she was expecting at all.

Simone eases to the side and Crank watches her every movement. One of her heels catches in the carpet and Simone nearly goes over. Crank reaches out an arm and Simone grabs for it. She clamps onto the arm and studies it carefully. The mesh crisscrossing over the taunt flesh, the rippling muscles underneath.

“Simone, you have got to get out more,” Simone mutters under her breath.

She unconsciously squeezes the flesh of Crank’s forearm. Now, she is sure this is no dream. Flesh, in a dream, doesn’t feel warm or indent at the pressure of a finger. Crank is very real.

“Thank you,” Simone says, meeting Crank’s eye.

Crank simply nods. She uses him as a leaning post as she removes first one high-heeled boot and then the other.

When both shoes are off, Simone releases Crank’s arm and stoops to pick them up. She carries her shoes in one hand and moves toward the bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she tosses the boots on the floor and draws her knees up to her chin. She stares at Crank without speaking. Crank says nothing, and only stares back. Simone’s complete lack of fear is puzzling, to say the least.

“Why are you here?” Simone finally says. Her voice is a casual whisper.

Crank takes a moment to think. Why is he here? On this planet? In this town? In a room alone with this ooman female? None of the answers Crank can come up with seem like the right thing to say.

“Curiosity. And…A new way of life,” Crank responds. “If my kind knew I was here…As I suspect they already do...They would send hunters to kill me. And to silence any oomans with knowledge of my existence. Our culture is very different than that of oomans. Our traditions are almost never broken. All transgressors are dealt with immediately and severely.”

Simone drops her knees and leans forward. She speaks slowly and with measured pronunciation.

“Again. So why are you here?” She inquires a second time.

Crank’s mechanical voice is strained as he takes another moment to compose his thoughts. He regards the ooman female sitting across from him, on the bed, with genuine interest.

“I grew tired of the old ways. I wanted to see what there is to see. I wanted to simply exist,” Crank says imitating Simone’s measured speech.

“Wow,” Simone mutters almost inaudibly. Suddenly, a light switch seems to click on and she bounces on the edge of the bed. She loudly claps both hands together.

“I’m hungry! Do you think they have room service? They better have room service!”

Crank shakes his head more out of usual yautja habit, rather than in negative response. Simone leaps off of the bed and goes for the phone.

“I’m gonna order us something to eat,” she says and points at the sofa. “You sit there. I want to hear all about your homeworld. Do you have women there? I mean, females like you? I mean, not just like you—but…”

Simone continues to talk as she flips through the phonebook, looking for a Chinese take-out or other restaurant. Crank stares at her while rooted in place. Even for an ooman, she is very strange.