Free Crazy in Chicago by Norah-Jean Perkin

the phone shook Cody from the folds of the warm doze into which he’d drifted only moments before. He straightened, then blinked groggily. It took a moment or two before he realized he was at his desk in the newsroom, this morning’s edition of The Streeter laid out before him, anchored at one corner by his untouched coffee.
    Muttering, he reached for the phone. Falling asleep at his desk. It wasn’t even nine-thirty in the morning. You’d think he was ninety, not thirty.
    He raised the receiver. “Walker here.” He listened for a moment. “Yeah. Oh. Okay. I’ll be right there to get it.”
    Â  It was Jack in the Streeter ’s library, or morgue as they liked to call it. Cody had asked him less than thirty minutes ago to dig up paper and computer files about alleged alien abductions and UFO sightings in the Chicago area, as well as files on SUFOW and any other local UFO groups he could find. He’d already pulled at least fifteen files, as well as a list of websites.
    Cody stood up in his cubicle and stretched. Unlike the majority of general newsroom reporters and lower-rung columnists, he had a little privacy. Sure, the walls were only industrial green baffles, but it gave the illusion of privacy. He squinted up at the overhead fluorescent lighting. The lighting was just as sickly though.  
    At least it wasn’t blue!
    Cody frowned. Where had that thought come from? He’d seen or thought he’d seen an eerily familiar streak of blue light yesterday. More than once, too. It had bothered him. Okay, maybe it had scared him. Insomnia and nausea were bad enough. He didn’t need to start seeing things, too.
    He rolled his shoulders and groaned, then headed out of his cubicle into the main newsroom. With so little sleep, each day he felt more off kilter than the day before. Today had been the worst. He usually drove to work, but this morning he hadn’t been able to bring himself to unlock the car and get in. Each time he’d started towards it, something had stopped him. He couldn’t explain it. He just knew he couldn’t get into the car. He’d ended up taking an el train, stuffed in between scores of commuters, and had arrived at work late. None of that had helped his equilibrium.
    He lumbered through the newsroom, half-heartedly nodding and responding to the greetings and quips thrown his way.
    â€œHi, Cody. How’s it going?”
    â€œHey, Cody. Seen any flying saucers lately?”
    â€œMornin’, Cody. Found a cute alien to date yet?”
    It hadn’t taken long for the news that he was writing about UFOs and extraterrestrials to hit the grapevine. Skeptical staff members had made him the butt of jokes, sarcasm and witticisms for the last week. It didn’t matter how many times he pointed out that this was just a story, one he neither believed nor disbelieved. And he just wasn’t up to his usual witty comebacks.
    He thought of Roberta and smiled. Roberta who was as much an enigma as the question of whether aliens did or did not exist. She was cute, and warm, with a practical, fresh charm that made him think she’d come from outside Chicago. How did someone like her end up working for a fringe group like SUFOW, and worse, for that distasteful man, Garnet Jones? Was it the pay, or was it her strong interest in the subject, an interest sparked in college?
    Like last night. Cody frowned. Roberta had driven them home from Allie and Erik’s apartment. Though Cody hadn’t suffered another nausea attack, the thought of driving his Corvette had made his stomach turn. During the rather jerky drive home, Roberta had suggested, first cautiously and then more insistently, that perhaps his insomnia and nausea attacks were related to his disappearance a year ago.
    Cody had rubbed his head and sighed. “I don’t see how that’s possible,” he’d countered. “Except for amnesia, I had no real ill effects