Alien Reincarnation in Midtown Manhattan

Ever dream you were reincarnated?

Ever wonder if you were an alien in a former life?

Brendan Ardini would have laughed in your face if you answered yes. Most people would. But Brendan was a typical New Yorker: busy, sophisticated, short-tempered, brash, always in a hurry, even when he wasn’t in a hurry. And to Brendan, sleep was often "optional". He worked on Wall Street every day, worked late and sometimes weekends, kept up with the Dow, stocks, and other commodities. He wasn’t a trader but in sales and marketing, a smooth-talker in a smooth-talking international financial firm. If Brendan ever had a dream, it was about big Christmas bonuses, and joining a start-up company with a big name family backing it. Until one night, Brendan had a dream that he had been an alien. And that he had been reincarnated.

What happened to set him off that evening? He wondered later. Well, nothing really... unless he counted that crazy girl he’d run into.

He had worked late on Friday evening, took the subway to his Mid-town apartment. And then he went to work Saturday morning, just to get things finished up for the week. While at work, he discovered he had just closed a huge ten million dollar deal, called his friends to arrange a celebration, then realized he had several hours to kill until they met at the Irish pub around 66^th St. in the Upper East Side. Elated and feeling spontaneous, Brendan decided to take a detour on the way home and stop by Central Park. For once, he found he didn’t mind all of the joggers and tourists. And maybe his step was a little lighter that day, and maybe it was the fantastic summer sunshine, but Brendan found himself ambling around the park, way more north than usual, past the Guggenheim and to the duck ponds around 95^th St, maybe 100^th.

There was a New York Times newspaper sitting on one of the benches when Brendan stopped for a rest, unused to the exercise. And, though the paper wasn’t "The Wall Street Journal", he picked it up and looked at the headlines.

Brendan read on, picking out crucial elements in his usual hurry:

"...three weeks after the first wave of murders, several bodies were discovered late last night by tourists near The Pond in Central Park, but so far, police have released no information about any suspects in these crimes. No statements have been made linking the previous murders with yesterday’s homicide..."

Brendan wasn’t the type to get a chill over this kind of thing, but it was disturbing. He was probably sitting not far from the spot where the victims had been found. The Pond was pretty remote by Central Park standards, at the north end of it, with fewer pedestrians and tourists, but Brendan’s favorite spot when he needed alone time. He put the paper down, looked around. It was pretty quiet, breezy, fabulous weather. Why would anyone murder someone here? Unless the bodies had been dragged to the area... and with that, Brendan stopped thinking about it because it was too unpleasant to bother with today.

He sat a while thinking about his good luck, how fantastic he’d been throughout negotiations over the ten-million dollar account. Rodriguez and Kowalski would order a big round of Tom Collins and listen in angst when he told them about how sweet it was.

Brendan was so preoccupied thinking that he didn’t notice the girl heading past him until she was nearly in front of him. She passed him on the path, and stopped. And then she turned her head around and stared at him. Stared wide-eyed. And craned her neck as she walked away, still staring at him.