Unidentified (10 page)

At this, Evans looked off. She imagined he was making the connections now, starting to see why she’d brought up Abu Ghraib. She recalled the men’s bodies, naked and bruised. She recalled the awful gasping for air, the sputtering of water from their mouths. Muslim men stripped as she stood there, a woman. This was a precise measure of humiliation and she’d known it. She remembered helping hold one of the men as they poured water over his face as he was leaned back in a chair, a rag stuffed in his mouth. The memories washed over her with the same chill as the cold water they’d used to waterboard those men. She could smell the sweat and piss of the dank dry room. Officially, they had never done any of these things, but that didn’t matter. Officially or not, these were the images that greeted her mind at night when she finally closed her eyes.

She looked up at Evans, hardly able to believe she was saying this, “There are no pictures. No evidence. Not like Abu Ghraib. But we humiliated those men. Stripped them naked and made them crawl like dogs. We did … horrible things.”

She stopped, taking in a deep breath as she tried to will tears to remain locked inside her eyes. “I try to tell myself that I was young and stupid and just following orders. But … I wanted those assholes to suffer. We lost Greg, Eric, and Dante. Three good men. And I wanted those … I wanted them to pay for it.”

In spite of her best efforts, a tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away immediately then forced a smile as she glanced at Evans and said, “Bet you wish I would have told you this during one of our sessions.”

Evans swallowed, then said simply, “Have you told anyone else?”       

“We should have been court-martialed. But we didn’t make the news, so we got away with it. And that, right there … that’s the world we live in. The real world. I wish there was more to this life. But I don’t think there is. There’s just us, people. And we’re capable of doing truly awful things.”

She made no effort to hide the self-loathing and bitterness in her voice. What was the point of that? At any rate, there was the answer to his question.

“We’re also capable of doing some amazing things,” he said softly.

Anger boiled inside her as she shook her head and said, “But there’s no justice. My partner was a good man. A good husband and father. Hell, he went to church every damn week. We called him Agent Saint Dale. But some suspected home-grown terrorist, just a stupid kid we were chasing, pulls a gun and does Dale in.”

She glared at Evans, suddenly angry at him for her vulnerability. “I should have died that day. If there was any justice, if there was anyone watching out for us like Dale always tried to tell me … I would have died … not Dale.”

She meant it. How many times had she wished it? Seen it playing out in her mind? Had she just been a yard ahead of Dale instead of a yard behind him … She pictured again the bullet hitting her chest instead of Dale’s. That’s how it should have been.

Evans reached out to her, taking her hand. She felt the touch of his hand on hers. When was the last time someone had held her hand?

“Hey,” he said. “You can’t think that way. We all make mistakes.”

“I’ve made more than mistakes,” she spat back. But she didn’t pull her hand away. Instead, she stared down at their touching hands. Taking in a deep breath, she then added, “All I’m saying is, yeah, there is evil in this world. And it’s us.”

Another tear slipped out of her left eye, but she made no move to hide it or wipe it away. It was followed by a tear in her right eye. Evans reached out slowly and with his free hand wiped away first one, then the other tear. As he did so, she looked into his eyes. He was close now. She could feel her heart beating faster. In that moment, she felt more naked than she’d ever been in her life. They sat there fully clothed, but she had just exposed the dark cloud that hung over her at all times. Evans didn’t move away from her. He wasn’t appalled or angry or repulsed. He was touching her! She hadn’t expected this.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the act of emotionally disrobing before this man, but the room spun around her. She closed her eyes to steady herself, feeling his hand on her cheek, the other hand holding hers. Some part of her mind still capable of a semblance of objectivity in this state recognized what she did next as some sort of mix of instinct and choice.

She leaned in and kissed Evans.

CHAPTER TEN
             

She drew in a sharp breath. Her heart raced. Her eyes opened, trying to lock on anything familiar. It took her a second to recall where she was. Stephanie sat up in her bed in her room at St. Jerome. Only a dim yellow light from one of the outside lamp posts leaked through the window. Rain drops rolled down the glass, casting indistinct moving shadows on the wall by her bed. Her eyes darted to each corner of the room quickly. She was alone.

She wasn’t even sure she’d had a dream. She’d just woken up suddenly as if a nightmare had simply intended to visit her, leaned down by her bed, and whispered in her ear. It had been enough. The familiar but always unwelcome feeling of being watched washed over her. She twisted around in bed, again checking every corner from where she sat. Her whole body ached as if her muscles had been all strained or overexerted somehow. But she had been nowhere.

She placed a hand on the cold cinderblock wall next to her bed. The cold on her hand reminded her of the table. The cold metal table. The image of those eyes—those big solid black eyes like an abyss—flashed into her mind involuntarily. They were coming for her, she was sure of it. They would come for her even here. There was nowhere she could be safe. Slowly, she moved her body around so it pressed against the wall. She gathered her legs up in front of her, wrapping her arms around them. There was no point in laying back down; she might as well wait.

What did they want with her? Why her? Why was she taken so many times? Why couldn’t they explain what they were doing? If they were here to help her, to help all of humanity, why couldn’t they simply tell her what they needed to do? Why did they have to treat her like some animal, some lab rat? If they could look into her mind and speak to her so directly, why not give her the knowledge she needed to understand what was happening to her?

Unless … they didn’t want her to have that knowledge.

She swallowed, wishing she could run, but she knew the door was locked. She was in a fucking mental hospital. It’s not like they were about to believe her if she banged on the door and told them, “aliens are coming to get me.” Hell, she wasn’t even totally sure she could believe it herself. But here she was. Part of her sincerely wanted to believe she was simply crazy. Wouldn’t it be so much easier if I was just batshit crazy? She wiped away a tear knowing all too well she wasn’t crazy, not at least in the sense in which the hospital staff thought she was crazy.

Or her father. Fuck him! Why couldn’t he just believe her? But he was a conventional man trying to preserve a conventional life. She was sure he just desperately wanted everything to get back to normal. She pictured him at his desk at the bank, filling out paperwork with people applying for a small business loan or refinancing their mortgage, the whole time squirming under his skin as he worried about what they must be thinking of him due to his crazy daughter who believes she’s being abducted by aliens. She wanted to hate him. But no … really, she wanted him to hold her. She too wanted everything to go back to normal, but part of her did hate him for not believing her, for abandoning her here.

She sat there for a while, staring at the opposite wall. She lost track of time as thoughts about her father, her mother, her friends who hadn’t bothered to come by and see her, tossed and turned in the choppy waters of her mind. She had no real way of knowing how much time was passing. When the slight tapping sounds began, she knew what was happening. Her heart raced, her palms were wet with anticipation. But she clenched her teeth and thought, I’m not going anywhere, assholes. Let’s get this over with.

When the bright light burst through her window, she wasn’t surprised. But she noted it was red now. It had always been blue before. The red light swung up from the floor and filled the room. As it crept over her body, she could feel the tingling, the coldness, the numbness. She gripped her legs tighter to her chest and closed her eyes and waited.

***

In the waiting area, Eliza, the 55-year-old nurse on duty that night, sat at the desk. The small TV on the corner of the large metal desk played commercials as she waited for a late night movie to resume. She didn’t even know what movie it was exactly, but it was something to keep her awake while she looked over some paperwork before she had to do her next round of checking in on patients.

Other than the din from the TV and the drizzle of the rain outside, the place was quiet. She looked down at the charts for one of the patients. But as she did so, the lights flickered. The TV blipped and rolled and then returned to normal. She looked up, unconcerned. The building was quite old. Maybe the storm was getting worse? She looked back down at the chart, but again the lights flickered. This time the TV emitted a sudden burst of loud static. She looked over at it, startled. She’d never seen it do that before!

She stared at the TV for a second, wondering if it might do it again. It didn’t. She looked back down at the papers in her hands. The lights flickered again and this time the TV went to static permanently, the speakers blaring as if it were at maximum volume. The noise hurt her ears. She reached out and hit the power button, but it wouldn’t turn off. She pressed it several times as the lights flickered off and on sporadically. Giving up on the power button for the TV, she got up and moved to the side of the desk. Finding the power cord for the old TV, she pulled it from the wall.

Silence. The static rang in her ears still, but the place was quiet again. Only the rain outside and the usual slight hum of the fluorescent lights could be heard. But something about how the TV had just behaved filled her with unease. She wondered what she should do. As the lights flickered again, she made up her mind.

She picked up the phone on the desk and dialed. She waited while it rang several times. The lights dimmed for a second, but didn’t go out all the way as before. Finally Will, the custodian of the place, picked up.

“Yes?” he said with a croak that made it clear he wasn’t thrilled about being woken up.

“Hey, Will,” she said, “It’s Eliza. Sorry to call so late, but the power’s doing weird things here.”

“It’s just the storm,” he said.

“That’s what I thought, then the TV did something strange,” she said.

“Did what strange?”

She felt foolish. She shouldn’t have called. It was fine. The TV was probably broken. It was old. She was about to open her mouth to apologize for bothering him at all in the middle of the night when the lights went out, and this time, they stayed out!

The phone line was dead. She looked over to the emergency lights that should have kicked on the moment they lost power. But they too emitted no light. Setting the phone down, she began digging noisily in the desk drawers for the flashlight. She knew there was one in there, but it had been ages since she’d used it. Now she couldn’t recall which drawer it was in. And who knew if it actually had good batteries in it anymore?

She found it at last in one of the drawers. Clicking it on, she was relieved to find that it worked. She looked down at the desk, thinking she should grab her cell phone out of her purse and call Will back. If the emergency lights were out, it had to mean …

A scream bounced off the walls of the old building and echoed in the darkness. Eliza stood petrified by the sound of the scream, a chill running down her body. It came from some far recess of the place, and it was the sound of unrestrained terror that sent a sudden shaft of ice into Eliza’s heart as she heard it.

She moved to the main hallway and began walking. She wasn’t far when the second scream reached her ears. This time, she knew who was screaming. With all the activity lately, with the local police and the FBI there, she knew just where the screams were coming from. She’d heard her scream before.

Eliza ran as fast as her bad left knee would allow her to. As she approached Stephanie’s room, she slowed so she could fish the keys out of her pocket. As she did so, her flashlight dimmed and went out. Eliza cursed as she smacked it. A dim beam emitted from it again. She found the keys and unlocked Stephanie’s door.

Swinging the door open, she pointed the dim flashlight in. First she trained it on Stephanie’s bed, but found it empty. Then she swept it around the back wall. The light fell suddenly on a figure in the back left corner opposite the bed. It was Stephanie. She crouched in the corner, her head down.

“Stephanie?” Eliza said. “Are you okay?”

Slowly, Stephanie looked up at her. She locked eyes with Eliza, but her eyes seemed completely vacant. It was only as Eliza moved the dim flashlight beam up to follow Stephanie’s head that she noticed something behind Stephanie. She moved the dim beam up the slender grey body to the large grey head. It looked down at Stephanie.

When Eliza moved her lips to speak, the thing’s head jerked up suddenly and its large black eyes locked on her. She felt a sudden rush of uncontrollable panic. Stumbling backwards, she screamed as she fell into the hallway, the flashlight clattering to the floor. It went out and she was plunged into blackness again. But all her focus was on getting away from whatever was inside that room with Stephanie. As Eliza struggled to her feet, her bad left knee biting sharply with pain, she heard the door to Stephanie’s room slam shut in the darkness.

***

Evans felt lightheaded. Was this really happening? Mitchell pressed her lips against his. He responded instinctively, kissing back. A rush of heat came over him and he reached out his right hand, gently taking hold of her head. He had not kissed a woman in over two years. He had not touched a woman at all, in fact. They parted for a second, looking into each other’s eyes. The question between them in that moment was clear. Proceed or not? Throw caution to the wind or call it a night?

They both stood quickly, eyes locked on each other. Mitchell didn’t move for the door the moment she stood, as part of Evans had expected. Some part of Evan’s mind that was not yet thrown off by his low tolerance for alcohol or the sudden rush of desire observed all of this as it happened from a relatively objective perspective. This was wrong. He knew it was wrong. Two weeks ago, Nicole had been his patient. But another thought occurred to him: there was no denying that she was attractive. And even in all of his professional distance, that simple recognition that an attractive and compellingly confident woman had walked into his office remained from his first impressions of her. Working together in this capacity, the relationship had deepened, evolved, undergone an unexpected metamorphosis within the constraints of the case and the pressure to resolve this quickly. And now, tonight, this new openness unlocked something even deeper.

Mitchell kept her eyes locked on him. Again, he noted she had not moved to the door. She was breathing quickly with the sudden rush of excitement. It was the smallest thing that pushed Evans over the edge. She was breathing through her mouth ever so slightly. She licked her lips to remoisten them, and then for a split second lightly bit her lower lip. That subtle gesture was all he needed. He reached out and pulled her close to him and they kissed again. She reciprocated with surprising force, kissing him hard, her arms wrapped around him tightly, fingernails biting his back. For so long, Evans had forced his mind to remain always analytical, coolly detached from the moment, in hopes of always making an intellectual decision. Now, thoughts rushed through his brain like: she knows what she wants and will likely take the lead here; she hasn’t had a relationship in about as long as I have; we’re not thinking clearly; if anyone finds out, this could be serious trouble for us both.

But there was no time for that. Nicole was pulling his shirt up. They parted long enough for Evans to pull his dress shirt off like a t-shirt. With the top button undone, it wasn’t too hard. Next, his white undershirt went off, tossed aside by Mitchell. She pulled him close and kissed him again. Her shirt was already partially untucked from when she’d shown him her scar. He pulled it out the rest of the way, but pulling it over her head like he had done with his wasn’t exactly an option with her fitted women’s dress shirt. Before he could make a move, she was already unbuttoning her shirt, still kissing him in the process.

Mitchell’s cell phone rang.

They froze, faces inches apart. The phone rang again. Both Evans and Mitchell glanced at the alarm clock sitting on the end table. It displayed 3:09 AM. Something had happened!

“I should get that,” she said, softly.

“Yeah,” Evans agreed.

Mitchell backed away from him and grabbed her purse that sat on the floor next to the door. She reached down and grabbed her phone, answering. She stood, phone pressed to her ear.

“This is Agent Mitchell,” she said into the phone, her voice all business now.

As she listened, Evans waited. She stood there, shirt hanging open, eyes focused on some invisible point far off as she took in what was being said. Conflicting thoughts within Evans's mind battled for his attention. He knew this was probably the best thing that could have happened. He knew there must be something incredibly important going on for Mitchell to get a call at 3:00 AM—there was that time again; 3:00 AM. And yet, he couldn’t keep from looking at Mitchell and thinking of what could have happened—what would have happened. A very real part of him that he’d silenced for a long time now screamed with fury and desire. If only her phone had been silenced. If only the call had come just a little later. If only. But he knew, this was for the best. It just didn’t feel like it right then.