“Clyde, you really gotta ease off on him with that.” The man turns to me with a blank expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My head tilts, and I prop my hands on my hips. “Stop playing, silly fucker.” “He likes it.” “I don’t think he does.” Clyde drops the pretense with an annoyed grumble as he reaches for the book I unpacked and placed on the bedside table for him. It’s a compilation of firsthand accounts of alien abduction and, hilariously, exactly the type of literature I’d expect Clyde to consume. “Well, then he needs it.” “What?” He doesn’t look up—just opens the book as
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