Unidentified (7 page)

“Them?” Mitchell asked.

“The …” O’Conner pointed up. “You know … aliens.”

Evans looked up from his notebook now and Mitchell could see the hint of bemusement in his eyes and in the way the right corner of his lip curled up ever so slightly.

“You believe in aliens, officer?” He asked.

O’Conner looked from Evans back to Mitchell, possibly regretting having brought the subject up. “Now I know what you’re thinking, but I’m no gullible yokel. I believe in what I can see. And for a long time, I thought all this talk about UFOs was absurd.”

Mitchell wondered how long ago her mind had changed. Had it been after the Tommy Ferguson case or maybe during?

“But …” Evans prompted her.

“But then I saw something,” O’Conner said, her voice low but with no hesitation. “About a year and half ago, I was on a speed trap. From where I parked, I could see Linden Pond. Must have been about two hours into my shift there, I saw lights in the sky out over the pond. There were three orbs of light. One came down and silently went into the pond. The other two circled around and around. The next morning, we got a call from Frank Simmons. He’s got a farm about a mile away from there. One of his cows had been killed, drained of every last drop of blood and cut up. Local vet didn’t know what to make of it. The cuts were made with surgical precision. Several organs were missing, including the genitals.”

Evans nodded.

“So this was before the Ferguson case?” Mitchell asked.

“Yes. I believe you read about it in our files,” O’Conner said.

“I don’t recall you seeing lights, though.”

“I never filed an official report. But there was a report made about Frank’s mutilated cow,” O’Conner explained.

“I see,” Mitchell said.

“If you’re wondering,” O’Conner continued. “I didn’t come to really believe there might be anything to all this UFO business until after we investigated the Ferguson case. As a matter of fact, the last few years, there’ve been a lot of cases of lights in the sky and other such strangeness.”

“And people report them to the police?” Evans asked.

“Sure they do,” O’Conner replied. “Not every time, and not always officially, but most folk want to talk to us about anything suspicious so we can keep an eye out for it too. These are our friends and neighbors, after all.”

“Is there any chance we could take a look at your files on those cases?” Evans said.

***

Located on Lost River Road, the North Woodstock Police Station was a small single story building with white vinyl siding. Inside, in one of the small rooms used for meetings and the occasional interrogation, Mitchell sat at the table. She checked her phone, seeing she’d missed a call from Anthony. He was probably checking into how things were going. She’d call him back later.

Officer O’Conner walked into the room with a large file box. She set it on the table.

“This is every case we’ve had in the last six years,” she said.

“Thank you,” Mitchell said as she stood and looked down at the box.

O’Conner turned to head for the door.

“Officer O’Conner,” Mitchell said, turning to her. “It’s good to see you again.”

O’Conner stopped at the door, looking back. “Likewise,” she said. “I was sorry to hear about your partner.”

Mitchell just nodded.

“You need anything else, you just call,” O’Conner continued—for which Mitchell was glad. “I’ve been through all of these files myself trying to make sense of just what the hell is happening around here. So, if you have any questions, I’m happy to help.”

“Thank you,” Mitchell said.

“Hopefully things turn out differently this time,” O’Conner said before turning to head out the door.

Mitchell turned back to the box on the table and stared down at it. It was, in fact, a pretty full box. What the hell is going on around here? She reached into the box and pulled out one of the folders. She sat back down and began looking through the files inside the folder.

Evans walked in a moment later with two cups of coffee. He set one down on the table near Mitchell then took a seat across from her.

“Thanks,” Mitchell said, not looking up from the case file. “Where do you want to start? I’m familiar with most of these since last year Jeff and I …”

She drifted off. At the sound of her own voice saying her partner’s name out loud, it was as if a vice had suddenly squeezed her heart. Just a year ago, they had been in this same room, poured over many of the same case files. Now he was gone. She stared down at the case files, but her eyes were unfocused.

“You okay?” Evans asked, looking around the file box between them.

“Yeah,” Mitchell shook herself out of it. “I’m fine. Let’s get to work.”

She laid the file out on the table and began explaining to Evans. “This one is just some lights seen hovering out near Paradise Road. It later appeared over Pemigewasset River that cuts right through town.”

“How about you tell me what you know, and we’ll take it from there,” Evans offered.

Mitchell closed the folder before her and grabbed another one. “This one’s someone claiming they saw a UFO on their street and then shortly thereafter, Big Foot came out and waved.”

“You serious?” Evans chuckled.

“Well, not about the waving part,” Mitchell smiled.

She set that folder aside as well and then pulled out the next. This proceeded for a while. She paused and opened folders and read enough to jog her memory before giving Evans a quick summary. Sometimes he would have questions, other times they would just move on. They spent a good while discussing the case of a local drunk who’d claimed to have been abducted. Evans also took particular interest in the case of some tourists who had stayed in town and gone hiking in nearby Lost River Canyon. One had gone missing for two days. The other two claimed a UFO had abducted the man. He turned up later, but the consensus seemed to be that all three had been stoned out of their minds while hiking. As this went on, they drained their coffee cups.

One case involved a detailed explanation by a local woman in her fifties who claimed to have been taken aboard a ship and examined about three years ago. It fit the UFO abduction scenario. Evans even remarked that it seemed to fit it too neatly. Almost any of the details, the saucer ship, the lights, the grey beings, the examination, the missing time, the telepathic communication, could have been lifted from any number of other UFO stories—actually reported or in TV shows and movies. Either this woman was describing a genuine experience many others shared or the suggestions of such an event were so strong that familiarity with UFO folklore filled in the generic details, he pointed out.

Finally, they reached case files that were new to Mitchell. They opted to divide them and they both began to read. After a bit, however, Evans stood and announced it was time to return the borrowed coffee. He headed out of the room. Mitchell poured over a case file that told of another mutilation of local livestock. This time it was a goat, but the details were similar: the goat had several internal organs taken. There was no blood at the scene of the crime. However, marks on the animal’s neck indicated where blood might have been drained from the goat. What’s next? Mitchell wondered. Did the Chupacabra decide to visit the White Mountains? I mean, I guess everyone needs a vacation. She grinned, imagining a tabloid article titled, “Chupacabra Seen Skiing the White Mountains.”

She set the file aside and grabbed another. This new one appeared to be about a local resident seeing alien beings on his property. As Mitchell began to read, Evans walked back into the room. Mitchell’s jaw dropped as she read the details of the case. Evans noticed this and stopped where he stood.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s a report from last year,” Mitchell said.

“About Tommy’s case?”

She looked up at Evans. “I think we need to go pay Pastor Diego a visit.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Nestled behind the brewery and restaurant in North Woodstock stood a small old church building. Its steeple that housed a bell had a cross on its top that reached up to the sky. Its white siding contrasted with the red doors to the church. Beyond it, trees swayed in the growing summer breeze. Clouds rolled in over the tree covered mountains that surrounded the town. The air felt heavier and more humid. A storm was coming. Mitchell’s Accord pulled into the paved parking lot to the church that separated it from the deep red building of the brewery just to its right. Pastor Diego’s blue pickup truck sat next to the church building.

Mitchell got out of the car, looking around. The street curved just after the church and headed off into a small residential area. Everything was quiet. Mitchell couldn’t help but wonder if living in a place like this would ultimately be peaceful for her or unsettling. Would she get restless and miss life in the city? It was so much quieter. At the moment, it felt welcoming and soothing. But would she eventually be aggravated by the quiet?

“I guess he’s in, huh?” Evans said, as he got out of the car and looked over at Diego’s truck. “I thought pastors took Mondays off since they work Sunday.”

“According to Officer O’Conner, he’s here pretty much all the time,” Mitchell said.

They walked up to the front door. Mitchell tried it but found it locked. They headed around the side of the building and tried the red door that faced the parking lot. That one they found open. Stepping in, they found the place quiet with few lights on. The side door and the front door both lead into a small foyer which gave way to the small sanctuary. Though the walls were white, with no lights on, the place was dim. The stained glass windows limited the amount of sunlight that could come in, and as more clouds rolled in, the mid-day sun became occluded.

Mitchell proceeded to the entrance to the sanctuary and looked around. Rows of wooden pews led to the front of the church where a simple podium stood. Behind it were two rows meant for a small choir and an ornate table with the words, “In Memory of Me.” A large stained glass window overlooked the sanctuary from the front, displaying an artist’s rendition of Jesus praying over a rock.

“An interesting choice,” Evans remarked.

Mitchell looked over at him and saw that he too was taking in the sight of the stained glass window. They stopped at the front of the sanctuary and looked up at the glowing glass portrait.

“Why is that?” she asked.

“Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, praying,” Evans explained. “Suffering really. He knows he’s about to be betrayed by Judas, tortured, and then crucified. Most protestant churches stick to a clean cross with no suffering Jesus hanging from it. This church, however, didn’t go for that.”

“It’s been here a long time,” Pastor Diego’s voice echoed in the empty sanctuary.

They turned to see that he now stood at the back of the sanctuary. He smiled and walked towards them.

“I merely inherited this place when I was given this post,” he said.

“Given this post?” Mitchell said. “You make it sound like a military assignment.”

Diego grinned and nodded. “Maybe it is.”

“That’s also an interesting bit of decor,” Evans pointed out, gesturing to a small wooden table that sat off to the left side of the podium.

Mitchell hadn’t noticed it until now. She glanced over and saw that on the table stood several pictures in frames of people, including a picture of Stephanie. Now that is interesting!

“They’re reminders for our congregation to pray,” Diego said. “I mean, everyone has something they could use prayer for. But these people in particular need every prayer we can manage.”

Mitchell turned back to Diego and said, “Pastor Diego, we’d like to talk. Do you have a moment?”

Diego indicated the front pew to his right. “Please, have a seat. How may I help the FBI?”

Evans and Mitchell moved to the pew and sat down. Diego quickly fetched a folding chair from a short stack of such chairs that sat leaning against the wall near the front pew. He unfolded it and set it so he could face the two of them and took a seat.

Wasting no further time, Mitchell dove in. “About a year ago, you called the police to report an incident.”

“Yes,” Diego nodded.

“What was that incident, exactly?” she asked.

Diego looked down at the floor, thinking. He sighed then said, “I was asleep in my house. I woke up. I’m not sure why I woke up. I’m usually a very heavy sleeper. But that night, I woke up around three in the morning. And I was just … uncomfortable. No … uneasy. So I got up and went downstairs. That’s when I smelled something.”

“What’s that?” Mitchell said.

“Sulfur,” Diego stated. “I thought I had some kind of leak in the house, so I checked the kitchen. That’s when I saw lights in the field. So I walked outside and I saw them. They were standing maybe fifty meters away, close to the fence. There were lights and these … beings.”

“Aliens?” Mitchell asked.

From the corner of her eye, Mitchell could see Evans look over at her, his mouth open as if to say something—probably to protest her leading question. But Diego was too quick with his answer.

“Yes,” he said. “I guess.”

“What did they do?” she carried on with the interrogation.

“They just stood there and stared at me with those … big black eyes … soulless eyes,” Diego said, looking off, lost in the memory. His words came slowly, his voice soft. “They never came any closer, and I didn’t approach them. After a bit, they vanished into their bright lights and the lights shot into the sky. I thought I’d been out there for only a few minutes. But when I got back into the house, I saw the clock on the stove said 3:42 AM. I was out there for almost forty minutes.”

“In the police report, it says you didn’t call the police until two days after this happened. Why?” Mitchell asked.

Diego licked his lips and looked down. “That night I saw those things … That was the same time that boy, Tommy Ferguson, went missing.”

Evans’ eyes grew wide and he glanced at Mitchell. She, however, continued to look right at Diego. She’d instantly recognized the date in the report, but she had wondered if Diego would admit to this connection.

“What made you call the police when you did?” she asked him.

“I knew the Fergusons,” Diego explained. “They occasionally came to our church. When I heard that their boy was missing, I forgot all about this, until … they told me about Tommy’s experiences. That’s when I realized that I probably should speak to the police in case there was in fact some connection.”

Mitchell nodded, then said, “Pastor Diego, where are you from?”

“Brazil.”

“How long have you been here?”

“In the States? Eight years. But in New Hampshire, only three.”

“You don’t seem like the usual small town pastor. What brought you here?”

At this, Diego smiled. “You might say I was called.”

“Do you say you’re called?” Mitchell continued the interrogation.

“I believe and hope there is a reason.”

Mitchell looked over at Evans now, giving him a slight nod to indicate that if he had any questions he should go ahead and ask them. She felt almost as if she might as well have said, “your witness.” Evans picked up on this and dove in.

“Pastor Diego,” he began, “what do you believe you saw that night?”

“You mean, do I believe in aliens?” Diego cut right to the heart of the question.

“Sure,” Evans said.

Diego’s eyes seemed distant and heavy to Mitchell. Yet he smiled slightly. It struck her as a knowing smile that masked secrets and hidden pain. What exactly was this man’s story? Why was he here?

“I believe God is infinite,” Diego said. “That creating is so part of God it must be like breathing for us. Might God have made other races on other planets? Maybe … probably.”

Evans raised his eyebrows and nodded slightly. Mitchell wondered if this was what he had expected Diego to say. Her experiences with religious types left her with the impression that generally pastors and clergy had a distinctly egocentric view of humanity. Human beings were created in the image of God and thus the pinnacle of all creation. And given that the Bible didn’t directly address life on other planets, this seemed a good enough reason for many religious people to dismiss the notion that God might have made life elsewhere in the universe. Of course, the Bible also didn’t directly address black holes or quantum particles, as an ex-boyfriend of hers had pointed out during a lively discussion at a holiday party with a religious guy he had worked with at the time.

“But,” Diego spoke slowly, looking at Evans. “you’re asking me if what I believe I saw that night were aliens.”

Diego leaned forward in his chair, which creaked. He looked from Evans to Mitchell, then back before speaking.

“I’m a man of faith, Dr. Evans. Maybe that makes me biased, or maybe it makes me particularly sensitive to certain things. What I encountered that night was not of this world.”

“Why do you say that?” Evans asked.

“Because the entire time I looked at them,” Diego said, his eyes locked now on Evans. “I could feel their hatred. They were surrounded in light, but it was as if they were … sucking all hope and joy right out of me. I’ve experienced many things in my life. But that night, I looked evil in the eyes. And it looked back at me … and it knew me.”

Evans simply stared back at Diego, possibly unsure of how to respond. A slight chill ran up Mitchell’s spine at Diego’s words. But she told herself he was being over dramatic. Evil is not a person that it might know anyone, she reminded herself. Things were getting off track, and ultimately none of this superstitious bullshit would actually resolve anything. It was time to go.

“Thank you for your time, Pastor Diego,” she said and stood.

Evans, whether done or not followed her. As she walked down the center isle of the sanctuary, she heard the creaking of Diego’s chair as he stood.

“You know,” Diego said, louder now so he could be heard, his voice echoing off the high wood ceiling. “since that night …”

Mitchell stopped, looking back. Evans did so as well.

“I wake up almost every night around 3:00 AM,” Diego continued. “It has become my private prayer vigil for people like Tommy and Stephanie.”

Mitchell nodded, unsure what she might be expected to say to this. Turning, she headed into the foyer and out the side door. She’d had enough of that place for one day.

***

Evans walked outside, finding that Mitchell was already behind the wheel of her car. She’d gone after Pastor Diego unapologetically. But then he wondered if this was simply how every interrogation was handled. He walked to the passenger side and got in. Mitchell wasted no time.

"What do you think?” she asked.

“Well,” Evans stalled, trying to gather his thoughts. “He seems sincere.”

“Yeah,” she said halfheartedly. “He does, doesn’t he? Hmmm.”

Evans eyed her carefully. “You think he’s a suspect.”

“Suspect might be too strong of a word. Let’s just say suspicious.”

She started the car and put it into reverse, backing out of the parking spot. She pulled out into the street and took a left, heading to Main Street.

“Where to now?” Evans asked.

“I want to see the spot where Stephanie was found,” she answered.

She took a left onto Main Street and headed out of town. As they drove, the wind picked up, darker clouds rolling in. Evans looked out at the sky and wondered when Mitchell might slow down. They had skipped lunch in their digging through the files and then going to talk to Diego. And now they were headed to yet another location. But he sensed Mitchell’s drive, her urgency. All the same, he was growing quite hungry. They drove for a bit in silence, both lost in thought. He ran back through what Diego had said.

The man seemed sincere enough, but Evens wondered about his story of seeing alien beings. Was there anyone in this town that didn’t believe in aliens or hadn’t seen a UFO? But he reminded himself that just because O’Conner and now Pastor Diego seemed to think there might be something to all of this that didn’t mean the whole town shared such experiences and beliefs. It was just a lot to take in so quickly.

Eventually they reached a spot where Mitchell pulled over, but Evans, lost in thought, hadn't tracked where exactly they were now. Mitchell looked down at her phone where she had a map pulled up. She had marked a spot on the map. She closed the app and looked up at him.

“We’re here,” she said. “I guess.”

Opening her door, she got out of the car. Evans followed her, starting to understand why she was single. On the one hand, he admired her tenacity. On the other hand … he was hungry.

Mitchell walked up the road a bit then stopped to look at tire marks in the road. “So the woman was coming from that direction,” she pointed up the road. “… saw Stephanie in the road here, and slammed on her breaks.” She looked back in the opposite direction. “So where did Stephanie come from?”

“Hard to say,” Evans replied. “She could have been walking on the road for a while or just have come out of the woods.”