Unidentified (5 page)

“Stephanie, I know you’ve been through a lot already,” Mitchell began softly. “And you talked with Police Chief Wilson. But I’m hoping we can talk a little. Is that okay?”

Stephanie nodded, but she didn’t make eye contact. From the corner of her eye, Mitchell watched as Evans observed Stephanie, notebook and pen at the ready.

“Can you tell me what happened last night?” Mitchell asked.

Stephanie looked down at the floor for a moment before speaking. Finally she said, “I remember I woke up in the middle of the night. Not really sure why. I just suddenly was wide awake. And ... scared.”

Evans jotted something down in his notebook.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Mitchell asked.

“No. Nothing like that,” Stephanie shook her head. “I don’t remember having any dreams. I know I was asleep because I went to bed around a quarter to one. But the next thing I knew I was awake and it was almost three.”

“What happened next?” Mitchell pressed forward.

Stephanie pursed her lips together and pushed a strand of dark hair out of her eyes. “There was this light. And my whole body went numb. Like there was this pressure all over me. It was like my whole body was suddenly cold. But it was like the cold started from here,” she said, moving her hand over her heart. “I never felt so scared before. I couldn’t move. It picked me up.”

“It picked you up?” Mitchell glanced over at Evans who looked up from his notebook with wide eyes.

“Yeah,” Stephanie nodded. “I know it sounds … It’s never happened like this before.”

“It’s okay. After that, what happened?” said Mitchell.

Stephanie looked down at the floor again. She said nothing for a bit. Her mother and father kept their attentive eyes on her.

“Stephanie,” Evans suddenly spoke up. “I know it can be really scary to talk about what happened. But we’re here to help you.”

“It’s,” Stephanie began, but paused. “I don’t know. I can’t really remember. There was the light. Then … ” She shook her head as tears gathered in her eyes. “I was on the road and that woman was there. She seemed so scared.”

Mitchell leaned in a little closer. “Focus on that light. Can you recall anything that happened after that?”

Stephanie thought for a moment, then shook her head again. “You know when you have a really bad dream and you wake up and you can’t really remember what the dream was even about? But you have this feeling inside; it just stays with you for a while.”

“Yeah,” Mitchell said earnestly. “I know the feeling.”

She could feel Evans glance over at her and figured she knew what he was thinking.

“It’s like,” Stephanie continued. “That’s all that’s left. Like they took everything else. But they leave this void … and in that void there’s only fear.”

“Fear?” Mitchell prompted Stephanie to continue as she seemed still slow to put into words what was in her mind.

“Yeah. Like the whole world is different somehow,” Stephanie said. “Darker. Colder. Like there’s something lurking behind you at every moment.”

Mitchell nodded, for lack of anything better to do. This was a bleak statement for anyone to make, but to hear a nineteen-year-old say this with a sense of both familiarity and matter-of-fact detachment was chilling. Next to her, Evans quickly jotted more notes.

“I think,” Stephanie carried on without prompting this time. “I think they’re always watching me. And I hate it. I hate feeling like this.”

“I understand,” Mitchell said softly. It seemed somehow like the thing to say, but she knew it was a lie. Mitchell had never known anything like that. Solitude, loneliness, isolation? Yes. She knew those feelings well. But then, she’d never been kidnapped before.

“We’re here to help you,” Mitchell went on. “That’s why we need you to try to remember everything you can.”

Stephanie shook her head, wiping away tears from her eyes. Dorothy looked up at Mitchell with an apologetic expression. Mitchell suddenly decided on a new approach. She reached down to her own bag and retrieved a picture of Tommy. She held it out for Stephanie to see.

“Do you know this boy?” she asked.

Stephanie blinked back more tears before managing to focus on the picture. She stared at it for a moment. Her mouth dropped open slowly, her jaw seeming to go slack. Stephanie began to shake, slowly at first, but with increasing intensity. Her eyes moved past the photo, past Mitchell, and became unfocused, staring off at nothing in particular.

In a very soft voice, Stephanie suddenly spoke, “Tommy. He’s with us. Tommy is with us. He’s ours.”

Evans, who had looked down to make more notes, looked up suddenly. Mitchell let her hand that held the photo drop without thinking about it.

“What did you say?” Mitchell asked.

Again, Stephanie spoke softly, eyes still far away, “Tommy is with us. And in three days, Stephanie will join him.”

A chill ran through Mitchell. What the hell was happening to this girl? Mitchell’s mind raced. Was this a sick joke? But only moments ago this same girl had been crying quietly and struggling to recall what happened to her just last night. Now this? This might be a sick joke, but Mitchell felt sure that Stephanie wasn’t in on it. If anything, she was about to become the joke’s twisted punch line.

“Steph? Honey?” Dorothy whispered.

Suddenly, Stephanie’s eyes rolled into the back of her head, showing only white. Her head slumped to her right and her body went limp. She collapsed against her father, who immediately wrapped an arm around her.

“What happened?” Dorothy said, her voice quaking. “Stephanie?!”

Dorothy sprung to her feet, moving out of the way so Tim could gently maneuver Stephanie’s now limp body onto the sofa. Laying Stephanie down, Tim turned to Mitchell.

“I think you should leave now,” he said with a soft but clear voice that left no question that this was not up for discussion.

Mitchell and Evans both stood, their eyes still on the collapsed girl.

“Is she okay?” Mitchell asked.

“Check her pulse,” Evans suggest.

“It’s happened before,” Tim explained. “She’ll be fine. She just needs to rest. It’s the stress. Now, please, just leave us! It’s been a very long day.”

“Mr. Clark, I need to see Stephanie’s room,” said Mitchell.

“The police have been through it already,” Tim said. “Now please, leave.”

Mitchell looked into the man’s eyes. She nodded. Producing a business card from her suit jacket, she handed it to Tim.

“This is my cell phone number,” she said. “I’m staying in town. Please call me if Stephanie remembers anything else.”

He took the card, looking down at it. “And what good will that do?”

Mitchell frowned. What was this man’s issue? Did he think he could protect his daughter on his own? Did he have something to hide? Did he, like Tommy’s parents before him, believe that Stephanie was in fact being abducted by extraterrestrial beings?

“Mr. Clark, I don’t believe in aliens,” Mitchell said flatly. “I believe someone—a person—might be behind this. And if so, I’m going to stop them.”

Tim’s frown lightened. He nodded. “Okay.”

***

As Mitchell walked out of the front door of the Clarks' place, headlights headed down the driveway towards them. She walked down the steps, and Evans followed behind her, his notebook still in hand. A blue pickup truck parked in the circle driveway and a man with short black hair got out. Mitchell wondered if this was a relative or family friend. The man immediately spotted them and smiled. He strode up with an ease and confidence and stuck out his hand.

“Good evening,” he said in a Brazilian accent which Mitchell recognized from her exposure to her Brazilian neighbors in Somerville. “You must be the FBI agents.”

Mitchell shook his hand, saying, “Actually, I’m the FBI agent, and Dr. Evans here is a consultant.”

“So this is pretty serious, huh?” the man said. “Forgive me. I am Diego Silva. People here call me Pastor Diego.”

“Special Agent Nicole Mitchell,” she said.

Diego shook Evans’s hand next, who simply gave his name as “Alan Evans,” with no further credentials or explanation.

“Nice to meet you,” Diego said to him. Then his eyes jumped to his notebook, and the crucifix hanging from its pages. “That’s a nice crucifix.”

Evans blinked then said, “Oh, this was a gift. I’m not religious.”

Mitchell wondered at his answer. She’d never seen him so suddenly made uncomfortable in conversation. Something about being introduced to a man that goes by “Pastor Diego” must have prompted the reaction. She had no idea of Evans’ religious affiliations or lack thereof, but then she’d only known him as her therapist and then read his book. His religious views hadn’t come up in either place, but his reaction seemed a little odd, almost defensive. It was at least preemptive in its effort to establish his non-affiliation with religion. All of this flashed through Mitchell’s mind, but was suddenly forgotten the moment Diego spoke.

“Good,” Diego smiled. “Neither am I.”

“But you’re Pastor Diego?” Evans said, seeming as confused as Mitchell.

It didn’t seem quite possible, but Diego’s seemingly genuine grin grew bigger and he leaned forward a bit. “Ah, yes,” he said. “The mystery of it! Well, I was just stopping in to check on the Clarks.”

“It may not be the best time,” said Mitchell. “Stephanie seems to have had some sort of episode.”

The smile on Diego’s face faded now. “Episode?”

“We were asking her about what happened last night. She fainted.”

Diego nodded, but his eyes wandered off as he become lost in thought. “Poor girl,” he mumbled.

“Does Stephanie attend your church?” Evans ventured to ask.

This brought Diego back out of his thoughts. “Her parents do. But I try to keep up with how families in our church are doing.”

“And how has Stephanie been lately?” Evans continued.

“She was always a bright girl, outgoing,” Diego offered. “But this past year … things have changed for her. But she’s been away at college. Hard to know exactly how she’s been.”

“Pastor Diego?” came Tim’s voice from the house.

Diego looked up, his eyes growing bright and the smile returning. “Hi Tim. I hope it’s okay if I stop by. Just wanted to see how things are going.”

Tim nodded, but the slight creases on his forehead and locked jaw didn’t exactly scream, come on in. Diego didn’t seem bothered by this. Instead, he turned his attention back to Evans and Mitchell.

“Well, I hope you find what you are looking for,” he said.

“So do I,” said Mitchell.

Diego turned and headed up the steps of the house. Evans and Mitchell turned and headed to her car. They got in and Mitchell started the engine. She pulled out of the driveway and onto the road and for several minutes neither said a word. They just drove in silence, watching other cars drive by and the headlights hit the trees along the winding mountain road. Both were lost in thought, processing what they’d just experienced. Finally, Mitchell broke the silence.

“What just happened back there?” she said.

“With Stephanie?” Evans looked over at her.

“She said, 'Tommy is with us. And in three days Stephanie will join him.'”

Evans wrinkled his forehead in thought. “Could be a message from her abductors, I suppose. Or it could have some other significance.”

Mitchell drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, thinking. Finally, she said, “How likely is any of that?”

“No way of knowing for sure at this point,” Evans said, looking out the windshield. “But if there’s any validity to what she said, I think we were just given a deadline.”

He glanced over at Mitchell, who stared forward, driving.

“Three days, huh?” she said at last. “Guess we’ve got some work to do.”

CHAPTER FIVE

She still stared out the window, lost in thought. Evans looked down at his burger and wondered if he should have ordered something else. They sat in a booth at the Woodstock Station, the restaurant for the Woodstock Inn and Brewery on Main street in North Woodstock. Mitchell’s chili and pint of summer seasonal beer brewed in-house sat before her untouched. Evans took a drink of his diet soda. His movement seemed to break Mitchell out of her distant stare.

“Sorry,” she said. “Eat.”

She took a long sip from her beer. Evans picked up his burger and began working on it. He might have mistaken Mitchell’s awkwardness as relating to the fact that until recently, she had only known him as her FBI appointed therapist. But he could tell that wasn’t the case. She was lost in her own world of thoughts, pouring over every syllable of the conversation they had had with Stephanie, he felt sure.

She began to work on her chili, then said, “I called ahead and booked two rooms at a motel just outside of town.”

“Oh, great,” Evans replied. “When did you have time to do that?”

“Before I talked to you.” She grinned, eyes narrow.

“Confident I’d say yes, huh?” Evans shook his head, but smiled.

“I read your book. I knew you wouldn’t turn this down,” she shrugged.

Evans laughed, but wondered just how well she had him figured out. He couldn’t help but feel that the tables were being turned on them. It had been his job to listen to her, observe her, and try to understand her and help her understand herself better. Now, Mitchell’s investigative instincts seemed to be coming through. She’d been observing him as well all along. He just hadn’t been aware of it until now.

“Right, my book,” he said. “Then you know every case I’ve worked has conclusively indicated deep psychological issues are the root of most claims of the paranormal. And the rest are just plain misunderstandings.”

“I wanted to give you a shot at a different kind of case.”

He watched her return to her food, her eyes wondering back to the window, looking out past the parking lot, houses, trees, past even the mountain peaks that stood overlooking the town no matter what direction one turned.

“You’re sure someone’s behind this?” he prodded.

Her attention returned to him. “Healthy and well loved fourteen-year-old boys like Tommy Ferguson don’t just disappear,” she said. “Someone takes them. You looked through the files I gave you. Does anything in there indicate deep psychological trauma?”

“No,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t any.”

“We put that boy’s parents through the ringer. They were clean.”

Evans nodded and took another bite of his burger.

“So you really believe psychological trauma can explain strange lights in the sky?” Mitchell asked.

Was she testing him? Was she playing with him? Or was she honestly asking. One thing Evans was sure of was that Mitchell had careful defenses, and one of them was a rather good poker face.

“We’re only starting to understand how the subconscious copes with fear, trauma, and pain,” he offered.

“What about when a group of people see a UFO? What is that, a shared hallucination?”

He smiled at this, still unsure if she was testing how carefully he understood the UFO phenomena or if she was honestly curious. “It’s not unheard of. It’s called ‘Folie à deux,’ or shared psychosis. But most UFO sightings don’t qualify since generally people suffering from shared psychosis have to live together in isolation. A bunch of people seeing lights over Mexico City doesn't quite fit the criteria.”

“So what explains groups of people seeing UFOs?” she asked.

“Power of suggestion, for one.”

“And who’s making the suggestion?” She said, her eyes narrowing.

“Hard to say,” Evans admitted. “There are cultural influences. There could be other factors. Often times, individuals who claim to have experiences with the paranormal have some sort of vested interest in it. So it becomes a bit of a chicken and the egg issue. Other times, people just see something they can't explain and their imaginations run wild.”

“What about when people get UFOs on video?”

“Most such videos have been debunked as hoaxes or mistakes,” Evans smiled. “But I guess the real question here is: what do you think?”

“Of the videos?” she asked.

“Of the UFO phenomena as a whole.”

She looked away, thinking, then spoke. “I think that people desperately want to believe there’s more to this life than just living on a big rock floating through space that’s filled with too many people more interested in fighting over stupid superstitions than solving world hunger or finding the cure for cancer. I think, deep down, everyone wants there to be more; anything more.”

She stirred her chili for a moment, looking at it. Looking up at Evans she asked, “What do you think? And don’t give me some vague clinical bullshit. What do you really think?”

Evans sighed. “There’s probably life out there somewhere in the universe. It’s just so incomprehensibly vast. When we really consider the idea that even if our planet is the only one in our entire galaxy capable of supporting life, there are still billions of other galaxies out there. Billions upon billions. Think about it. Even if just one galaxy in one hundred million had a planet that could support life, that means there are still countless homes for life elsewhere in the universe.”

Mitchell soaked this in, stirring her chilly some more. Evans chuckled lightly and shook his head. “Now, whether or not life on any of those planets ever evolved to a state of intelligence is another question. But I guess it’s possible. I’m not a biologist. Just a neuroscientist turned psychiatrist.”

“So there has to be life out there,” Mitchell pushed.

“Sure seems like it, right?” He shrugged. “But, one thing is for sure. We have never, nor will we ever, make contact with any such life forms.”

“Never?” she raised her eyebrows.

“Our galaxy is something like one hundred thousand light years or more in diameter. That means all of the stars at the other end of the galaxy could blow up right now. We wouldn’t know for another hundred thousand years or so. That’s information traveling at the speed of light. If Einstein was right, nothing can travel faster than the speed of light. That means that unless there’s life very, very close by in our galaxy—like really close—it’s just impossible that they would ever be able to reach us, or us them.”

Mitchell smiled, and for a brief moment he thought he saw a twinge of sadness in her eyes—or was he projecting his own feelings on her?

“Well, fuck! When you put it that way …” She laughed. "Guess we are all alone. Even if there is life out there."

She ate more chilly, thinking. “Then what explains all of these UFO stories?” she asked.

Evans considered this, then said, “I think you nailed it. We all want to believe there’s more to our existence here."

“So UFOs are ... what?” she asked. “Just another form of religion?”

“For many, it occupies the same psychological and emotional space.”

Mitchell frowned, seeming unsure of how to take this. Evans pushed aside his plate that still had fries on it; he suddenly didn’t feel so hungry. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good conversation like this, particularly with a woman—though he cautioned himself on thinking along those lines too much. He leaned forward.

“Think of it this way,” he said. “We cannot escape our perception of reality, so we constantly run the risk of confusing our interpretations of reality with how the universe really works. We experience things we cannot explain, and we filter them through our past experiences in order to make sense of them. For some people, when the mind is deeply traumatized, their filters become skewed. It distorts everything they experience. But the problem is that, while you and I might understand that their perception is skewed, for them, what they experience is quite true, at least on an emotive and experiential level … a primal level, you might say.”

“Makes sense,” she said and ate more chili.

“You’re not convinced, though.” Evans sat back.

“Not yet,” she admitted with a slight smirk. She looked up suddenly. “Hey, what’s the deal with the crucifix?”

Evans repressed a slight laugh. Had he gotten too close to something? Why the sudden change in subject? He reminded himself that things were different now. She’s not your patient, don’t treat her like one.

“My mom gave it to me,” he explained. “She raised my brother and I Catholic. Our dad wasn’t around. The church meant a lot to her.”

“But not to you?” she asked.

Sonofabitch, she’s good, he thought. She could pick up on what his choice of words implied with a quick ease. He settled for opening up more—or did he actually want to open up more?

“It did at one point,” he said. “But my mom developed early onset Alzheimer's. I watched her mind slowly fade. She become a totally different person. Towards the end, she had a good day; she remembered me. She thought I was still ten, but she knew it was me. She gave me the crucifix that she had worn every single day as long as I could remember. And she told me to always keep it with me.”

Mitchell smiled warmly. “I see,” she said softly.

“How about you?” Evans asked. “You’ve never brought up religion in our sessions.”

Her warmth faded as her eye sank back to her unfinished chili. “My religion is catching bad guys.”

***

Blackness surrounded her. She felt cold. Her hands reached out feeling along the metallic floor until she felt a wall. Stephanie slowly raised herself up. She stood, feeling the cold air around her. The place was pitch black. No matter where she focused her eyes, she could see nothing. Dread and panic threatened to take over her body.

A bright flash of light stunned her. She cowered against the wall. The light flashed again. She tried to look around, but the sudden intensity of the light made it nearly impossible to see anything. Her eyes couldn’t quite adjust quickly enough. The light flashed again, and this time she could at least determine that it came from overhead somewhere.

A loud boom caused a scream to involuntarily leap from her throat. It was followed by metallic creaking. Then, another flash.

As the darkness returned, Stephanie spoke: “Hello?”

Another flash.

“Is there anyone there?”

She slowly moved forward, keeping her left hand on the metal wall next to her as her guide since the flashing was too disorienting. She kept moving forward without any sense that the wall changed, curved, or bent in any direction. How big was this room? Where exactly was she? But at least she seemed to slowly manage to get away from the source of the flashing so that with each subsequent flash, the intensity of the light was diminished by distance. She was starting to be able to see a little better. But the metal walls and floor were themselves black, so only the occasional seam made them noticeable at all.

She moved further, keeping her eyes focused on where she last saw a seam in the wall up ahead. When the next flash came, something stood before her! She registered the big black eyes in that brief second. She screamed! But as she did, she felt the clammy cold fingers of another being wrap themselves around her arms. There was another one behind her! She pulled with all her might against those hands, screaming. The being before her stood perfectly still, staring at her with those black eyes. She fought. But suddenly she felt her whole body go limp. It was as if they’d thrown a switch and she was no longer in control. Her heart raced. The being before her reached out to her. She wanted so desperately to scream, to fight, to run.

***

Stephanie jerked suddenly, waking herself at last. Cold sweat covered her body and face. She was in her own room, and her own bed. She looked around the room. The window was shut in spite of the heat. A fan ran in the corner and her alarm clock read 3:02 AM. As her mind reoriented itself, she recalled going to bed. It was a dream, right? Just a dream.

She swallowed, noticing how dry her throat felt. There was nothing to it, she needed a drink. She would much rather have stayed in bed and done all she could to go back to sleep. But now that she was aware of her thirst, it nagged at her. She tried swallowing saliva to see if she could get just enough moisture in her throat to make it bearable, but it was useless. It wasn’t just her throat’s dryness, it was thirst. She needed water. She threw back the thin sheet on her bed, the only covering she could manage in the heat, and headed for the bathroom.

Once in the bathroom, she found a glass she’d left there for exactly such occasions and filled it up in the sink. Bringing it up to her lips, she drank deeply, surprised at just how thirsty she had been. But as she drank, a long creaking sound from somewhere in the house caught her attention. She paused mid drink. Her eyes locked on the bathroom door she’d left partially open. There was only blackness beyond it.

Lowering the still half full glass of water, she kept her eyes locked on the partially open door. Another long creaking sound travelled through the house. Was someone up? Certainly someone must be awake. But as much as she tried to convince herself that there was a reasonable explanation for the creaking, something about the quality of the sound, how long each creak lasted, stirred panic within her. She could feel a chill in her chest as her heart raced.