Unidentified (4 page)

Mitchell grabbed another photo and slid it over to him. This one was of the back of Stephanie’s neck where a slight lump could be seen just to the right of the spine. “Local police took this photo this morning. She claims she’s had it for a few months.”

“What does she say it is?” Evans asked.

“Something they put in her. But otherwise she doesn’t know,” Mitchell shrugged and took the photos back. “All she’s said is it hurts sometimes. And when it hurts, it’s usually because they’re close.”

Evans sipped his coffee thinking. Then he asked, “Any evidence of childhood trauma?”

“That’s what I need your help finding out,” Mitchell smiled. “There are other cases in the area. A year ago, a young boy went missing. He had been abducted several times. He had similar markings on his body. He was always taken at night. And initially he was always returned to his home. But then he started being dropped off further and further from home. The abductions became more frequent. Then one night, he was just gone.”

“He claimed aliens were abducting him too?”

Mitchell nodded. “According to a therapist who performed hypnosis on him, he had repressed memories of his abduction experiences. It fits the scenario established by other cases.”

“Yeah,” Evans stared down at his coffee, thinking. Then he looked up suddenly as a new question occurred to him, “You believe this?”

Mitchell shook her head. “Like you, I think there’s a logical explanation for all of this. But I’ve done my homework. And, as far as alien abduction cases go ... this fits all the criteria. On top of that, over the past five years, there have been eight people between the ages of nine and nineteen that have gone missing in the area. There was also a local drunk that went missing, but it's hard to know if there was any legitimacy to his claims of being abducted. All the same, there have been numerous people who claim to have seen UFOs or alien beings. Something’s going on up there.”

She looked down at the files, then her coffee. Evans waited, watching her. She seemed lost in thought for a moment. Finally, she looked up, leaning in closer. She spoke more softly now.

“Is it possible that a person or a group of people could be using the suggestion of UFOs as a means to kidnap these kids?”

Evans raised his eyebrows, considering this. “Now that’s a big claim. Got anything that might substantiate that?”

“Right now, it’s just a theory. I need your help getting to the bottom of this. Stephanie’s case fits the M.O. of abductions. I want to know if someone could be behind this,” she paused, looking at him. “And if so, I want to stop them.”

Evans noticed the creased lines that seemed to appear out of thin air around Mitchell’s eyes. Were they always there? Or did they just appear now that she frowned slightly with the gravity of the case at hand. She must understand the boldness, the complexities, of her theory, he thought. But she’s committed. Evans sat back in his chair, letting out a sigh. He looked off and considered his options. Did he have time for this? Did he dare get mixed up in this? It wasn’t technically kosher for him to be working so closely with a patient he’d just been seeing, even if their work was officially concluded. But another thought nagged at him. Was this exactly the potential credibility he needed? The FBI calling upon him.

“Nicole,” he said softly, “It’s not …“

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “This really mucks up our patient-therapist relationship. But we’re both professionals here. I wouldn’t be asking you if I didn’t honestly believe you could help me break this case wide open. There’s something going on here, and we can help this girl. We need to help this girl.”

Evans nodded, then sighed. “I’ll need to check my schedule,” he said. “Maybe I could come up next week.”

Mitchell shook her head again, “It’ll be too late. We need to talk to this girl before anything else happens.”

“You think she might vanish too?” Evans filled in the gaps. “Like the boy?”

“It’s happened before,” she said. “Look, I know I’m asking a lot. But I need your help to stop this.”

Evans pressed his lips together, still tasting the bitterness of his coffee on his tongue. “When do we leave?”

“How quickly can you pack?” Mitchell asked, without missing a beat.

CHAPTER FOUR

Water rained down on her. It was quite hot, though never hot enough. Stephanie stood under the cascade of the shower. Her right hand pressed against the tile wall as she steadied herself. The cold of the tile seemed to reach into her skin and crawl up her arm. For a brief moment, her heart raced, feeling some unknown and yet familiar panic. She withdrew her hand and wrapped her arms around her chest. She was alone at home, safely locked in the bathroom in the shower she’d used for years. But suddenly, she felt the uncontrollable desire to cover herself, as if even here, she was being watched.

She reached a hand back and touched the bump on her neck. It was tender and sore. Staring down at the water that made its way down the drain, she wondered when she would have the will power to do anything other than stand there. She wasn’t even sure how long she had been standing there already, simply letting the shower run hot water over her. It was getting harder these days to keep track of time. At last, she managed to force herself to move. With effort, she carried out the required tasks to accomplish a proper shower. But it was as if invisible weights were tied to her arms. Every movement felt difficult and slow.

Turning the flow of water off, she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around herself. Heading to her room, she tried to find something to wear. But making decisions seemed so difficult as well. Finally giving up, she settled on a rather uninspired and ratty tank-top and jean shorts. It wasn’t like she was about to set foot out of the house. Comfort in the summer heat seemed to her the only relevant criteria at the moment.

She pulled the shorts on. As she ran her fingers around the waistband, she felt a sudden sharp sting on her back. Moving to the mirror in the corner, she twisted her body so she could try to see what was causing the pain. She pulled back the waistband for her shorts and panties. Right at the waistline were three red marks in a triangle. These marks were new! She touched the marks and felt the surge of pain.

Drawing closer to the mirror, she tried to twist for a better view. Not quite able to get a better look, she tried to adjust the mirror. As she did so, for a split second her eyes caught something in the room behind her. It was one of them! She screamed, spinning about to face the intruder. She stumbled back, running into the mirror and knocking it against the wall. She caught herself in time to keep from falling into the mirror and causing serious harm. But her eyes searched the room.

The empty room.

But she’d seen him—it—whatever they were. She’d clearly seen the slender shape of grey shoulders, the thin neck, leading up to that oblong head. But it was those eyes—completely black eyes—that truly made her skin crawl. They were like shark eyes, only much larger.

She frantically looked about the room, not daring to move. On the dresser sat her collection of teddy bears. Her room was as she always recalled it. It couldn’t have been her imagination, could it? The door to her room opened, causing her to jump again. She screamed again. Her mother rushed into the room, her eyes wide, her face white.

“What is it?” Dorothy asked.

Stephanie looked at her mother, dumfounded. Slowly, relief washed over her. She stood up straight, trying to control her breathing. Her heart pounded inside her rib cage. With every beat, her hands shook and pain shot through her head. A distant ringing in her ears took over.

“Stephanie? Are you okay?” her mother approached her. “Sweetie, what is it?”

Stephanie fought to formulate words. Finally, she whispered, “I … saw something.”

She only noticed she was crying when the tears slipping down her face tickled her neck.

***

Northbound on 93, Mitchell sat behind the wheel of her black Accord. Dr. Evans sat in the passenger seat, his cell phone pressed to his ear as he looked out the window. “No. I understand, Cindy,” he said into his phone. “It’s just that the FBI has requested my help on an active investigation that's time sensitive.” He paused, listening. “I know. Just please, call my appointments and clear my schedule for the next two days.” Another pause. “Thank you, Cindy. I’ll call if anything changes. Yeah, that’s fine. Okay. Bye.” He hung up and looked over at Mitchell.

“She’s a good receptionist,” he explained. “Just hates surprises.”

Mitchell smiled. “Sorry to put you through this.”

“It’s fine,” Evans waived off the apology. “I was thinking I should get out of town for a while anyway after that so-called book signing. How long were you there?”

“Caught just the end,” Mitchell said.

“Oh, so definitely the best part,” Evans chuckled.

“Not everyone there seemed too thrilled with your work.”

“Haven’t found my fan base yet, you might say,” Evans shrugged with a wry smile. “Anything that bumps up against the label of ‘paranormal’ tends to elicit strong feelings one way or another. From the few that bother to actually engage. Most are more comfortable ignoring such things.”

“So I guess the book isn’t flying off the shelves, huh?” Mitchell ventured a friendly jab.

Evans smiled and shook his head. “Nope. Maybe it will once I go to the UFO convention in Roswell.”

Mitchell glanced over at him. Was he serious? He’d said it seriously enough. “Really?”

“Kidding,” he grinned. “I’m especially unpopular with UFO enthusiasts.”

Mitchell laughed. “I would think so, after reading your book.”

This seemed to surprise Evans. He grinned, his head cocked to the side, looking at Nicole with a sort of amused wonder. “You read my book?”

“How could I not? My FBI appointed therapist wrote a book about paranormal activities, including UFO abduction cases. After all the reading about abductions and sightings I did last year, I had to see what my own therapist might say about this.”

“And?” Evans held out a hand.

“I hired you, didn’t I?”

Evans chuckled again, shaking his head. “Maybe writing that book was worth it after all.”

“What’s the matter? Not a bestseller?”

“An understatement,” he said. “Acknowledging how powerful the subjective experience can be for people who claim to encounter the paranormal often manages to make me some enemies on both sides. The challenge of holding a middle ground position, sometimes. One camp would like me to get my patients to as quickly as possibly dismiss these absurd superstitions, the other camp is insulted that I don’t actually believe any of this paranormal hokum.”

“Well, maybe this case could give you something interesting to write about next,” she offered. “Who knows?”

He nodded, smiling.

“By the way,” Mitchell said. “If you reach below your seat you’ll find a case file.”

Evans complied, bringing up the case file with the FBI insignia on it. He flipped it open on his lap and looked down at the papers. It was a thick folder with several printed reports, photos and other documents. He began leafing through it.

“That’s everything we have on Tommy Ferguson,” Mitchell explained. “The fourteen-year-old boy who went missing last year. For about two years he had been experiencing what he and his parents believed to be repeated alien abductions. He had only limited memories of these experiences. But they always happened at night. In the months before his disappearance, the abductions seemed to become more severe. He experienced larger periods of time he could not account for. Hours. According to his parents, he seemed perpetually on edge. He had frequent nightmares and unexplained marks on his body.”

Evans listened as he continued to look through the papers. He stopped on several photographs and looked at them more closely. The first was of Tommy, just a young boy with curly hair and a bright smile. There was also a picture of a slight bulge on the back on Tommy’s neck. And a third of red marks on Tommy’s lower back in the form of a triangle.

“The last two times he went missing,” Mitchell continued. “He was gone for more than eight hours. Once he was found about twelve miles from home, naked and incoherent. Then, April of last year he just vanished one night.”

Evans looked up. “Where are his parents now?”

“Moved. They believe their son was taken by aliens, but not everyone in town is so sure. I guess they didn’t feel welcome anymore. Or maybe they just needed a fresh start. Either way, they’re gone. They’re in Texas now.”

“You’ve done your homework,” Evans said, looking back at the files.

“I’m in contact with the local chief of police,” Mitchell explained. “In Tommy’s case, the FBI wasn’t called in until he went missing. I’m hoping that by getting involved earlier, we can have a different outcome this time.”

Evans looked over at her, considering her words, but he didn’t speak. Mitchell wondered what he might be thinking, but didn’t press him. He went back to the files and began reading one of the abduction reports. She let him read in silence, her mind turning to her own thoughts. Switching lanes, she buzzed around a slow car that insisted on being in the left hand lane. Time was ticking away.

***

The sun had dropped beyond the horizon, only its glow still reached across the sky. But with every passing minute, light faded and the darkness of a new night crept over the land. Long shadows morphed from mere spectators of the dying day into the true darkness of night. Having exited off of 93 North on exit 32 that led to North Woodstock or Lincoln, Mitchell consulted her phone for directions for the first time since setting out from Boston. Now, her Accord turned off the road and headed up the driveway to the Clark residence. Stopping in the circle at the end of the drive, Nicole parked the car. She looked over at Evans. “Ready to start our investigation?”

“Lead the way,” he said.

They got out of the car. Looking over to the house, Mitchell saw a man in his fifties step out of the front door. He eyed them cautiously. Stopping, he crossed his arms, not leaving his porch. This must be Stephanie’s father, she noted. Mitchell approached, Evans following her.

“Mr. Clark?” she said as she drew near to the steps leading up to the porch.

“Yes,” Tim Clark answered. “And you might be?”

His tone wasn’t exactly friendly, but this was nothing new to Mitchell. She plowed ahead, moving right up the steps to him. “I’m special agent Nicole Mitchell with the FBI.” She produced her badge, showing it to Tim. “This is Dr. Alan Evans, a psychiatrist who is assisting me with this case.”

Tim dropped his arms from their crossed position. His eyes bounced between Mitchell and Evans. Dorothy stepped up to the screen door and looked out, observing the exchange.

“Chief Wilson said you’d be coming.  But I figured you’d be here tomorrow,” Tim said.

Mitchell smiled politely. “Time is of the essence, Mr. Clark. I was hoping to speak with Stephanie.”

Tim looked to his wife with weary eyes. Looking back, he gestured to the door. “Come on in.”

Dorothy swung the screen door open. Mitchell and Evans entered the house. Mitchell introduced herself and Evans to Dorothy, who greeted both with more warmth than Tim. Dorothy showed them into the living room and promptly inquired if they would like any tea, coffee, water, soda, or something to eat. Mitchell turned these down, as did Evans, though she wondered if he did so only because he was following her lead. They each took a seat in one of the two individual recliners that faced the sofa. Mitchell noted the layout of the room. The television stood in the corner. It wasn’t particularly large; she guessed only thirty six inches. It was not the focus of the room, but rather the two recliners and the sofa that faced each other. Between them stood an dark wood coffee table. Books sat scattered on them. By the looks of it, a couple of them were period romance novels. One was a rather thick biography of Woodrow Wilson.

Dorothy excused herself to fetch Stephanie as Mitchell and Evans took their seats. Tim stood behind the sofa and said nothing. Evans, who had a dark leather messenger bag with him, set it next to him. From it, he produced a black leather notebook and a pen. Mitchell noticed that from the notebook hung a crucifix. The thin chain of the necklace was closed in the pages of the notebook, apparently functioning as a bookmark. Evans flipped to that page. With the pen, he began making some quick notes. Mitchell wondered if this notebook must be where he kept personal notes, research, and other such things. She seldom saw him on his smartphone and wondered now also if Evans simply preferred old-fashioned things like pens and notebooks over carting around glowing screens. He had always had a legal notepad and pen during therapy, but she’d never seen this sleek black notebook during any of their sessions in his office back in Boston.

Dorothy walked back into the living room with Stephanie in tow. Both Mitchell and Evans stood and Mitchell repeated her introductions. Both Evans and Mitchell shook Stephanie’s hand, but the girl’s handshake was limp. Her eyes wandered between them and she seemed she might have preferred not to be bothered. Mitchell recognized the worried look in her eyes, the slouched shoulders, the dark rings under her eyes. Here was a victim.

At last, everyone took a seat. Stephanie sat between her parents on the sofa. Mitchell noted this protective arrangement. The outsiders were relegated to separate seats, the family sat snuggly together on the sofa. Dorothy, who sat to Stephanie’s left, had her arm across Stephanie’s back, her hand resting on Stephanie’s right shoulder.