"Burden of Proof," by Emily Papp

“Name?”

“Addison Monroe,” she answered quickly.

“Full name,” the facilitator corrected uninterestedly.

“Addison Fae Monroe,” she answered, fighting to keep a similar tone from her own voice.

The sound of the questioner scribbling notes on his clipboard was all the response she was awarded. Her stomach growled loudly, though if the man across the table heard, he made no indication. Seeing that he was still tied up in his note-taking, she glanced surreptitiously at her watch.

3:30 p.m.

In a small house in the suburbs across the city, Addison pictured her daughter, Annie, waking up from her afternoon nap. The mere thought of the three-year-old was enough to bring a smile to Addison’s face. But there was no time to consider her at the moment. The man across the table was shuffling through the small stack of papers in front of him.

He slid a booklet across the table, straightening the rest of the papers in his hands as he stood. “You have two hours to complete the questionnaire, but you may leave whenever you feel you have completed it to the best of your ability,” he explained in the same flat tone he had used before, “Please be as honest as possible.”

Addison patted down the pockets of her jacket as he turned to leave. “Sorry, but do you have a pen?” she asked quickly.

He sighed in obvious annoyance, but produced a nondescript pen from his shirt pocket. “Two hours,” he reminded, and in another second he was gone, leaving Addison to the questionnaire before her.

Two hours, Addison remembered with an internal scoff as she crossed the plaza outside the building just an hour and fifteen minutes later. The questionnaire might require some thought, but it certainly did not require such a stretch of time. Addison did not know anyone who had ever needed the full allotted time. But, then again, she had never known anyone who was infected.

The infections, as they had been dubbed by higher authorities, were the reason for these tests. According to official government statements, the infections had started six years before, though Addison imagined they had been going on much longer—simply without the government’s detection.

Infections, Alison mused to herself—it was such an inane sounding word for the gravity of the situation it addressed. According to official government statements, the infections had started six years before, though Addison imagined they had been going on much longer—simply without the government’s detection. It as something the likes of which Addison had only ever seen in the worst of her nightmares—something she never could have imagined was actually possible.

Aliens. Extra-terrestrials. Addison’s preconceived notions about such beings were only based on the movies and books to which she had been exposed as a child. But these aliens were much scarier than any Addison had ever encountered in the world of fiction. Unlike the battle-like attacks she had always seen portrayed in movies and books, their invasion and infiltration had been silent, subtle. There had been no War of the Worlds-esque ships invading the atmosphere, no laser guns, and certainly no crop circles. Instead, this invasion took place over a long period of time as the alien life forms fazed themselves into human society—taking over one body at a time in a manner that was nearly undetectable.

Even now, after all these years of research, the only way to tell if someone was infected was still somewhat subjective. This was where the tests came in. Once an alien took over a body, they generally lived different lives than the person had before. There were usually noticeable in changes in attitudes, values, habits, etc. A drastic change in any of these in any person was cause for suspicion of infection.

A nearly-silent, hydrogen-powered Vespa drew her back to reality with a jolt as it sped past her, nearly hitting her. And despite her annoyance, she was glad for it. The Crotans, as the aliens had been dubbed by the government, were a threat to be certain, but a cranky toddler was almost as terrifying and Addison knew if she did not get home soon that was exactly what she would have on her hands.

As if on a cue, one of the new the metro trains glided silently into the plaza, the unobtrusive tracks in the ground quickly turning on and off their electric current as the train passed smoothly over them. Addison moved towards the set of covered benches that marked where the train would stop and less than a minute later she was boarding the train, the RRS (Rapid Retinal Scanner) which was placed just over the doorway automatically recognizing her and charging her account for the ride.

The trains were smooth and comfortable for the most part, but even so she found the forty minute ride out to the suburbs seemed to take longer than normal. She reasoned it was because she had been forced to take a seat facing backwards—something that always seemed to make her a bit nauseous—but she knew that it was the afternooon’s test that was putting her in an off mood. She knew the tests were necessary, but it still irked her to be forced to take an afternoon off of work just to take a test in an uncomfortable room to prove that she was still her.

Her bad mood lightened considerably, however, as she got off the train and walked the two blocks to the livable—if a bit outdated—apartment complex where she lived with her mother and Annie. The garden-level apartment smelled slightly musty but Addison hardly noticed anymore. By the time she had pushed the door open, the only thought on her mind was the toddler on the other side.

Annie, for her part, was oblivious to her mother’s return—her small attention wholly devoted to a set of brightly colored block. It was not until Hannah Monroe—Addison’s mother—greeted her daughter warmly that Annie finally noted her arrival.

“Mommy!” Annie said exuberantly, her brown eyes twinkling with the natural energy that only young children were capable of.

“Hello, baby!” Addison greeted, all the weight of her day immediately lifted from her shoulders as she picked up her daughter and hugged her close, “How was your day?”

“Good, good, good,” Annie bubbled, her grin spreading from ear to ear, “We saw monkeys! At the zoo!”

Hannah chuckled, as she crossed the room. “Why don’t you let her tell you all about it while I start dinner?”

Much later that evening, far after they had put Annie to bed, there was a loud knock at the door. Addison and Hannah exchanged confused looks, and when the knock was repeated, Addison crossed the room hesitantly, peeking through the peephole. All she could see were the letters NADA plastered across and ID and badge.

She opened the door a few inches, “Yes?”

“Are you Addison Monroe?” the man asked bluntly.

“Yes, I am,” she confirmed, the confusion obvious in her voice, “And you are?”

“I am Agent Joseph Donovan. I’m with NADA,” he explained, “I’m here to inform you that you are suspected of being a Crotan. I’m going to need you to come with me.”

The room she now sat in looked almost identical to the one she had occupied earlier in the day, but while those blank walls and simple furnishings had only seemed drab and boring before, these now seemed sleek and intimidating. Addison imagined this was mostly due to the fact that instead of quietly filling out a routine questionnaire, she was now handcuffed—“A simple precaution,” Agent Donovan had assured her—and faced with not one, but two nameless NADA officials, both of whom were large and intimidating in their dark suits. The one on the right placed a recording device in the middle of the table and pressed a red button.

“Date: March 16th, 2065. Time: 10:15 p.m.. Interview conducted by myself, Agent Michael Jeffries, and my partner, Joel Cossack,” he said to no one in particular. He then turned to Addison, addressing her directly, “Addison Monroe, you have been brought here for questioning by the National Alien Detection Agency under the suspicion that you are a member of the extra-terrestrial race known as the Crotans.”

“I know,” Addison said quickly, “Agent Donovan informed me, but—”

“I am required to say that at the beginning of this session,” Jeffries explained coldly, “And now that formality is out of the way, I am allowed to tell you that I know what you are. And you won’t live to see this time next week.”

The blunt threat seemed to wake her up from the daze she had been in since Joseph Donovan had rung her doorbell nearly an hour before. A chill of fear ran down Addison’s spine and an overwhelming sense of helplessness washed over her.

“You may have her face, Crotan, but you are not Addison Monroe,” said Agent Cossock that was, if possible, even more unfriendly than the first’s, “Addison has been gone months, maybe years. You killed the person inside this body so you could use it instead.”

“No, I’m not. I didn’t. This is all a mistake. You have to understand,” Addison pleaded.

“That’s what they all say,” Jeffries said to Cossock, as if in reference to a clever inside joke.

Addison was struck silent as the feeling of helplessness threatened to overtake her completely. All she was able to do was shake her head.

“Don’t believe us? Let me show you the evidence,” Cossock said. He laid out the test she had taken four years before next to the one she had taken just that afternoon, “The inconsistencies are too obvious. Didn’t you even try?”

Addison stared wordlessly as he opened both books and began reading, “Question 42: ‘What is your biggest goal in life?’ Today you said, ‘To be a good mother.’ Four years ago, you said ‘Have fun, or die trying.’

“Question 53: ‘Where do you see your career in 5 years?’ Today you said, ‘Working in a small publishing firm.’ Previously you said, and I quote, ‘Work is for old people with no personalities.’

“And there are plenty more here. I don’t need to read them to you,” he said, sliding the booklets across the table to her, “All the ones marked in red are the ones we find suspicious.”

Addison began flipping through the pages of both books. Over three quarters of the questions were marked red. Though she knew that both she and her life had changed drastically when Annie was born, seeing all these answers in her own handwriting showed her just how different she was today. Her attitudes had changed on everything from politics to religion to personal values. She realized with a sinking feeling just how suspicious all of this must look.

She took a deep breath before turning her attention back to the agents across the table, “Gentlemen, I know how suspect this must look,” she began, trying to sound calm and reasonable, “but let me explain. My life circumstances have changed drastically since the last time I took your test. And as a result, my whole world view has changed as well. There’s nothing sinister going on here, it’s just life teaching me a lot of lessons over the last few years.”

“Our rating procedures have been designed to account for normal personal development and growth,” Jeffries explained, “This is far beyond the scale of such changes. These tests are evidence that a completely different identity is now inhabiting that body.”

“No. Please understand—”

“—but there are procedures we must abide by. According to the laws governing NADA, you must be given a fair hearing before a panel of NADA and government agents within a week of questioning,” Jeffries explained, “You are also awarded the assistance of one agent—in this case, I think, Agent Donovan, since you are already acquainted—as you attempt to gather information and evidence to prove that you are not infected.”

“And when will this hearing be?” Addison asked.

Cossack tapped away at a PDA for a few seconds before answering, “8:00 Friday morning.”

“But that’s only one day to gather evidence!” Addison exclaimed.

“Well, if you truly are innocent, then it shouldn’t be a problem,” Jeffries said smugly.

The interview ended abruptly then. Addison was released into the custody of Agent Donovan, who drove her home in the same stony silence as when he had brought her downtown. It wasn’t until he pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex that he finally said something.

“Considering the late hour, I would suggest you try to get some sleep. We can get started tomorrow morning. I will be here at 9:00 sharp,” he said, and after Addison nodded he continued, “Oh, and I’m required to inform you that you will be under surveillance all night. Don’t try to run.”

Back inside her apartment, Hannah was awaiting Addison’s return with obvious worry. Though Addison was exhausted, she dutifully recounted the events of the night to her mother. They agreed that Hannah would take Annie to a motel for a while so that Addison would not have her underfoot while she gathered evidence.

Though the worry was obvious in her eyes, ever the optimist, Hannah assured her daughter, “Don’t worry, honey. You’ve done nothing wrong. This will all work out.”

The next morning, Hannah and a very sleepy Annie departed, leaving the apartment to Addison as she faced the task ahead. Though it had seemed overwhelming the night before, the morning brought a sense of sheer determination that drove her to overcome. By the time Agent Donovan arrived, she had the entire living room floor covered with the few boxes full of paraphernalia from her youth which had long been shoved in the back of her closet.

The knock on the door echoed through the whole apartment. “It’s open!”

Agent Donovan let himself in and greeted her curtly, “Hello. I see you’ve already started looking for evidence.”

“Yes,” Addison said, “Now I must admit I don’t really understand why you’re here.”

“I’m here to help you, kind of like an attorney in a criminal trial,” he explained.

“All right then, Agent, let me run my ideas past you,” she said.

“Yes, please do. And please, call me Joe,” he said.

She searched through the piles of papers and things around her until she found the stack she was looking for—a stack pages covered in the same chicken-scratch handwriting—and handed it to him. “Look, the same handwriting. Those pages span the last seven years,” she explained.

Joe didn’t even glance at them, but set them aside. “No good, tried it before. Writing is a physical action, and since the Crotans have no physical bodies, studies indicate that they learn such actions from the muscle memories of the body they take over,” he explained, “It proves nothing.”

“What about having my mom testify?” she asked, disappointed that her first idea was so easily explained away.

“Have you always lived with her?”

“No, I ran away when I was seventeen. I didn’t come back until about three years ago,” Addison explained.

Joe shook his head sadly, “Then that won’t work either.”

Addison pondered for a moment, glancing around the living room for inspiration. Her eyes landed on a stack of old journals. “What about my writing?” she asked, “My handwriting isn’t evidence, but what about the fact that almost all of my writing over the years has used the same style tactics, language, et cetera?”

He didn’t even need time to contemplate. He shook his head again, “Sorry, if you were a Crotan, you would look through old journals and writings to get an idea of whose life you were stealing—research, so to say.”

And so they fell into a routine—Addison would come up with some new idea, and Donovan would explain exactly why it would never work as a defense. As her ideas became more and more outlandish, she became more and more frustrated as they were each shot down.

“Fine! I don’t get it!” she exclaimed in exasperation after working for over two hours, “How am I supposed to prove that I am who I say I am?! Because obviously all of my ideas are worthless.”

Donovan sighed, “That’s just it, Addison. You’re not supposed to be able to. It’s an impossible task.”

The world seemed to slam to a stop in the moment “So what, then, the hearing’s just a sham?” she demanded, “Why have it at all then?!”

“Because the American people don’t like punishing people—even for being extra-terrestrials—without the assurance that they’ve sat a fair trial of some sort,” Donovan explained, “I’ve never once had a client prove themselves human.”

“And how many clients have you had?” she asked, the helplessness beginning to set in again.

“Over two hundred in the last three years,” he admitted with a sigh.

“Well maybe I’ll be your first.”

The rest of the day passed slowly for Donovan as Addison persisted in exploring every possible defense strategy. He tried to tell her time and time again that while her determination was admirable, it did not matter what they tried, she would still be convicted. Finally around 6:00 that evening, Addison told him he could leave, as he wasn’t helping in any way.

Donovan’s departure did not mark the end of Addison’s search, however. She was determined to find a way to prove herself innocent. She had a daughter. She could not afford to have herself imprisoned indefinitely or even executed. Annie deserved better than that.

She worked tirelessly in the night, only pausing for an hour to make a trip to the local hotel where Hannah and Annie were staying. If the worst should happen the next day, she wanted to know that she had spent one last precious hour with her little girl. She returned to the apartment and back to her work, Annie weighing heavily on her mind. It was then that finally she stumbled upon an idea that she thought might be her saving grace.

“Let this hearing come to order. This Alien Conviction Council has come together today to hear the case of Addison Monroe,” said the head council member the next morning at promptly 8:00, “Is the accused present?”

“I am,” Addison said as she stood, her voice sounding tired. Agent Donovan, who stood next to her, placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“You are charged with being a member of the alien race known as the Crotans,” the same man said, “How do you answer this charge?”

“Not guilty.”

“Then the burden of proof rests with you. Many inconsistencies have been noted in your tests. It is your duty, then, to convince this council that you are indeed the same being that filled out this test four years ago.”

“I object,” Addison said confidently.

“Excuse me? To what?” The confusion was obvious on the council members’ faces.

“To this hearing. To the task set before me,” she answered, and though Agent Donovan tried to shush her, she continued, “You have presented me an impossible task, and I object.”

“The task is far from impossible,” another woman on the council argued with a cold laugh.

“Oh really?” Addison questioned, “Then why don’t you prove that you are the same person that you were four years ago. Go ahead. I’d like to hear your arguments.”

“Well, that’s just… Of course I am… ridiculous,” she rambled, obviously thrown off by Addison’s direct confrontation.

“In fact, I’ll go as far as to say that it is impossible for anyone to prove that they are the same person they were in the past because we are not the same people that we were then. If our physical bodies can’t be used as evidence, then there is no feasible way to prove we are the same people,” she continued, “I admit it. I’m guilty of not being the same person that filled out that test. Life changes people, sometimes drastically. Are you the same person you were in college?”

Several of the council members shook their heads slightly, looking intrigued at Addison’s arguments.

“So then, using your own logic, you have just admitted that you are, in fact, a group of body snatching aliens.”

“Enough of this! We are not the ones on trial here, you are!” said the head councilman,

“Well maybe you should be!” Addison argued, “Forcing people to prove their innocence in this way is not only unfair, it’s unattainable.”

“If the accused has no real evidence to present, then I call a vote,” the same man said, ignoring her accusations, “All those who believe the accused is guilty?”

The man raised his own hand. The head councilman glared at the others, obviously trying to intimidate them into voting with him, but when it was clear it would do no good he continued dejectedly, “All those who believe she is innocent of the charges?”

The other four council members raised their hands confidently. There was no denying the verdict. Addison couldn’t stop a small smile of victory from creeping up.

“This is ridiculous! Of course she’s guilty!” the head councilman argued loudly.

“How can you be so sure?” another woman on the council challenged.

The councilman opened his mouth to retort but found no words. “You’re free to go,” he sighed, clearly defeated.