Unidentified (8 page)

He looked around. The road cut through the woods. There were trees going on endlessly lining the road from either side. There was no way of really knowing where Stephanie might have come from.

Mitchell headed to the side of the road and then walked into the woods. Evans followed her to the edge of the road and then looked out at the woods. I hope the FBI pays their consultants well, he thought, looking down at his shoes. I probably should have negotiated my fee first, right? He followed her into the woods.

“Might I remind you that it’s tick season?” He called after her.

“Don’t worry, I can check you for ticks later,” she called back to him.

He was taken aback as he tried to determine if this was simple humor or if there was some other undercurrent of flirtation or innuendo meant to be associated with this remark. He opted to just move on.

“What do you expect to find out here?” he said.

Mitchell stopped, looking around at the vegetation around her. “Any indication she might have come through here,” she said. “And what direction she came from.”

She stooped and looked at the ground closely. Evans caught up to her.

“Was there any mud or leaves on her clothes?” he asked.

“Not according to the report. But her clothes were on inside-out,” she said, standing back up. “I’ve noticed that’s common in UFO abduction cases. Why is that?”

“Well, from what I’ve read, it’s because subjects are stripped for examination. Presumably, in the process, the aliens peel their clothes off, which end up being inside-out. Then they put the inside-out clothing back on the people before returning them.”

“So these beings that travelled here from some other galaxy don’t know how to deal with clothing?” Mitchell frowned.

“Well, in their defense, in most abduction accounts they’re usually naked themselves, or maybe it’s deliberate. When you consider just what is involved in most alien abduction accounts, it’s like everything they do is designed to inflict the maximum amount of terror and humiliation.”

Mitchell turned and moved further into the woods, looking about. “Designed, huh? Coming around to my theory that there’s someone behind this?” She remarked.

“I still strongly suspect emotional trauma as the real issue. But I have to admit that there is something quite perverse about abduction stories,” he said, moving after her.

“Snatching people out of their beds at night is pretty perverse.”

“That’s the tame part. Abductees claim to be subjected to humiliating medical examinations. These aliens seem keenly interested in human sexuality and reproduction. There are many stories of alien beings having sex with human abductees. There’s a particularly famous case of a Brazilian farmer who was abducted and then made to mate with a strange alien woman. There’s plenty of other stories of sexual encounters with aliens too. But it all seems a little unnecessary since other stories claim that eggs are extracted from women and semen extracted from men.”

“Ugh,” Mitchell said, turning to face him with an amused look. “Alien happy ending?”

“Pass,” Evans grinned. “But it does bring up the question: why bother with sex if they can extract the genetic material they need by other methods? Unless, of course, the sex is the point in those cases.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, everything about the abduction experience seems designed to be cold, horrifying, and degrading. Darkness, paralyses, nakedness, metal examination tables, sharp utensils, and this strange focus they have on sexuality.”

“So they’re interstellar perverts?” Mitchell shook her head.

“At least that’s the modern mythology we’ve created,” Evans said.

“Mythology?” Mitchell raised an eyebrow.

“In ancient Greece, we had the gods and goddesses, and heroes—half god, half human—brought about by sexual relations between gods and humans. There were supposedly good gods like Zeus and mischievous gods like Hermes. In medieval times, we had goblins, trolls, demons, succubus—all kinds of horrors. In fact, alien abduction stories share many similarities to the succubus narrative. Both come at night while we sleep, cause paralysis, have a sexual interest in their victims, and cause a lot of terror.”

“So then we’re after a succubus now?” she said.

“All of these things have served as a means to make our fear of the unknown tangible,” Evans tried to explain. “Our minds constantly work to assimilate information that will help keep us alive. It is, in fact, what our brains are hardwired to do. There’s good evidence in neuroscience that our brains have evolved specifically to glean as much survival information as possible from every situation. In fact, this may well be why storytelling is such a natural draw to us. The human brain latches on to the narrative and empathizes with the characters as a means to glean valuable survival information should it ever find itself in a similar predicament. And stories commonly serve as a means to make sense of our fears—thus the popularity of horror movies. But when we suffer trauma, this effort to find a means to make sense of our fears can have unintended side effects.”

“Really think all alien abduction cases can be explained this way?” she pressed.

Evans smiled, enjoying the challenge. “Now I didn't say all cases, but consider this: it was not until our modern technological age that alien abduction stories really took off. We were deep into the Cold War. The space-race was upon us. It’s quite convenient that every abduction story seems to describe technology that is very akin to the existing technology of its day. Compare abduction stories from the 60s and 70s to those of today. While these beings supposedly have far superior technology than our own and travel impossible distances to reach Earth, there are simply too many gaping holes in any UFO scenario that tries to claim these are, in fact, beings from another planet. And that’s without getting into the theories that claim aliens are inter-dimensional travelers.” He couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“At any rate,” he continued. “Our brains can often fixate on new information and try to fit things into a particular pattern, especially if we become preoccupied with some new info we perceive as a threat or as exciting. With UFOs, it’s known as the ‘space-flight effect.’”

“Which is what?”

“In the late fifties, there was this period of about a month after the very first couple of man-made satellites were launched that everyone was obsessed with space. It was finally setting in for people that space was our new frontier for discovery. And in that month that followed those two launches, the reports of UFOs shot up by a factor of seven.”

Mitchell nodded, continuing to look about.

“You know,” Evans added, “in 1961, the case that started the modern alien abduction era took place not far from here.”

“You mean that couple?” Mitchell asked.

“Betty and Barney Hill,” he nodded. “Chased by a UFO down the highway.”

“What about Roswell? That happened before the Hills case.”

“Ah, Roswell. 1947, actually, well before the Hills’ case, but Roswell wasn’t an abduction case. They merely found the wreckage of a crashed UFO,” he smiled. “Allegedly. But you should know better than me, right? You work for the government.”

She smiled. “We can’t figure out what politicians have engaged in campaign finance fraud, so don’t think that anyone has told us where Area 51 is.”

“Campaign finance fraud?” Evans scoffed. “That’s easy. All of them!”

Mitchell laughed. “Right! But what are you really getting at?”

“All I’m saying is that aliens are just old superstitions reinterpreted to fit our modern scientific age,” he shrugged.

She grew serious now and said, “Seems like a convenient theory. It’s a mental health problem. Let the therapist fix it.”

Evans frowned, taken aback. It was suddenly clear to him that they were far from being on the same page on this still. Before thinking, he spoke. “And your theory isn’t any less convenient? There must be someone doing this. That way, the FBI agent can arrest them.”

Immediately, Evans regretted his tone. It was too defensive. He wasn’t thinking clearly on an empty stomach. Mitchell stared at him, then, slowly, she cracked a smile.

“Well, there’s a little fight in you after all,” she remarked. “Not used to seeing this side of you, doc.” She looked around at the trees. “I’m not finding much out here,” she said.

Relieved, Evans let his guard down and pounced on this opportunity. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go eat something good. The FBI’s buying.”

“You know, you’re a lot more snarky when you’re not my therapist,” Mitchell smiled.

“Well, I wasn’t hungry then,” he shot back as he turned and headed for the car.

She laughed. “Fine, I get the hint. Let me just check around the edge of the road on the other side, and then we’ll go.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Blackness. A chill breeze swept over her body. She could feel the cold hard metal table beneath her. Stephanie gasped with the sudden realization of where she was. A powerful light burst to life over her suddenly and moved down closer to her with a robotic whir. She tried to look about, but was only able to move her eyes. Something prevented her from moving her limbs. Her whole body felt like a dead weight. She knew where she was: she was on the ship, laying nude on one of their horrible examination tables. Fear gripped her as she tried to will her body to move. All she managed to do was to slightly lift her head from the table. She was able to see that nothing held her to the table, but her body tingled all over with the sensation of an invisible force that prevented her from being able to rise and flee.

Summoning all her willpower, she managed to force a single word out that fell from her mouth like a hoarse croak, “Hello?”

Only darkness surrounded the table. She saw nothing beyond what was immediately illuminated by the light overhead. Her heart raced. She wanted to believe it was just a dream, just a nightmare she could escape if she could only will herself to wake up. But the cold air against her skin, the slight smell of sulfur, the way her throat ached for water told her this was no dream.

“Please,” she managed to say, “let me go. Please.”

She felt a tear slip out of her eye and travel down towards her ear as she lay there. What could she do? Nothing, the thought invaded her mind. I can’t do anything. I never can do anything.

From the darkness, she heard movement. She strained her neck and eyes trying to look down the length of the table, past her feet, and into the darkness where the noise had come from. Slowly, a grey shape emerged from the darkness and stood at the foot of the examination table. It’s large head tilted down. It’s large black eyes looked at Stephanie. She wanted to scream at it, but she had no strength to do so. The alien simply stood there, staring down at her. She hated it. She hated how it looked, how it stood, how those black eyes seemed to look at nothing and everything at the same time. She hated that she had no control, no power, no protection, that she lay there completely vulnerable and exposed.

Do not be afraid, came the uninvited thought to her mind. She stared at the alien being, feeling enraged by this new invasion of her person. It was in her head now. It was as if she could feel it moving around the rooms of her mind, searching, digging. What was it after?

“Stop,” she whimpered.

We are here to help you, came the response in her mind.

“Please,” she said, “let me go.”

She wanted to scream. She wanted to ask it why they had to take her. Why did she have to be paralyzed, naked, humiliated?

Our ways are different than yours, came the response. We are here to bring help to the human race. You are special. You have been chosen. This is a great privilege.

It sure as hell didn’t seem like a privilege to Stephanie. The words that were being projected into her mind were soothing on the surface, but she couldn’t shake the sense of dread within her.

“Everything is okay,” said a voice to her right.

She strained her neck and eyes forcing her head to move so she could see who stood there now. The voice had been human, a boy’s voice. Finally, her eyes caught a glimpse of who stood just next to the table. It was the boy from the picture, the boy that had gone missing: Tommy Ferguson. He appeared to be naked himself. The look on his face seemed placid as he stood there looking at her.

“Everything will be fine, Stephanie,” he said to her. “We’re here to help you. We’re here to help everyone.”

An odd smile took over the boy’s lips, but only his lips. His eyes remained fixed on hers, though they seemed vacant. From behind Tommy, a grey hand with long fingers reached out of the darkness and came to rest on his left shoulder. Slowly, another grey alien stepped closer and stood just behind Tommy, now visible in the light.

“Come be with us,” Tommy said.

This was too much for her and Stephanie summoned what remained of her strength and willpower. She screamed. As she did so, she felt cold hands from all around reach out and take hold of her body. The light vanished.

***

Stephanie convulsed as she fought the hands that held her. Her eyes opened and she saw light again. But now she saw the white walls of her room in St. Jerome. Two nurses, one male and another female, tried to hold her down as her arms and legs flailed about. There was a awful howling sound that horrified Stephanie. Slowly, she realized that she was the one making that unearthly sound. She regained control of her body and gasped for breath.

“Everything’s okay, Stephanie,” the female nurse said to her. “Everything’s okay. It was just a dream. You’re safe.”

Stephanie looked around, confused. Had it been just a dream? Though she lay on her bed in the hospital gown, she still felt the cold metal of the examination table pressed against her back. Her throat still ached for water. Her body still tingled slightly from whatever invisible force had held her down.

As she breathed hard, trying to regain her composure, a new sensation came to her. She felt a stinging on the back of her neck. The nurses released her now but stood looking at her as she lay on her bed. Slowly, Stephanie reached back and touched her neck. She felt something on her fingers. Pulling her hand back, she saw blood on her fingers. The nurses, seeing this, became alarmed.

“What happened?” the male nurse asked.

They helped her sit up, and the male nurse pulled her hair aside to look at her neck.

“Oh my god,” he said. “She’s scratched the hell out of her neck. We’re going to need to clean that up.”

The female nurse stood quickly and bolted out of the room. The male nurse looked at Stephanie with concern.

“Did you scratch your neck?” he asked her.

Stephanie looked down at her hands. She had reached with her left hand just then to touch her neck. The fingers on that hand were stained with blood of course. But she looked at her right hand and noticed that they too were stained with blood. But not on the pads of the fingers like she’d touched her neck with that hand as well. There was blood under her finger nails. She’d done this to herself.

***

Mitchell looked at the fragile girl before her. Stephanie seemed even more of a girl now than when she’d first seen her. Her hair was a mess and her face pale as she sat on her bed in her hospital gown, her back against the wall behind her. Evans and Mitchell sat in chairs that had been brought into Stephanie’s room.

“Stephanie,” she said. “It’s Agent Mitchell. Do you remember me?”

Stephanie nodded.

“Dr. Evans and I would like to ask you some questions, if that’s okay,” Mitchell said, softly.

Again, Stephanie nodded.

“Stephanie,” Evans spoke up, “did you have a nightmare?”

Stephanie looked off now, saying nothing. They watched her, waiting. At last, she nodded.

“Can you tell us what it was about?” Evans asked.

“I don’t want to,” Stephanie said softly.

“I know it must be really scary,” Evans said, maintaining a soothing tone. “We just want to help you. You can tell us anything.”

At this, Stephanie looked at him for moment. Then she looked to Mitchell. She seemed to be considering whether or not she could trust them. Mitchell waited, doing her best to communicate empathy and safety with open posture and eye contact.

“I was in this …” Stephanie said at last. “This very dark place. It was their ship.”

“Can you recall what it looked like?” Evans asked.

“It was all dark,” she said, shaking her head.

“What were you doing in this dark place?”

She looked down before speaking. “I was … on a table. There was a light above me. I couldn’t move. I was naked.” Those last words were almost a whisper.

“It’s okay,” Evans said. “You’re safe now. Was there anyone there with you?”

“Not at first,” she said.

“Who else was there?”

“One of them stood at the end of the table,” Stephanie said. “He talked to me in my head.”

Evans nodded, glancing over at Mitchell. “What did he tell you?”

“That I shouldn’t be scared. I was special. I had been chosen.”

“And how did you feel?”

“Scared,” she said, her voice wavering.

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was there anyone else there?”

Stephanie looked at Evans now. “That boy was there. That boy that went missing.”

“Tommy?” Mitchell asked. Quickly she reached into her bag and pulled out the picture she had of Tommy Ferguson and showed it to Stephanie. “You saw this boy?”

Stephanie nodded, “He was naked too. Just standing there. And he was with them. One of the aliens stood there with him.”

“Stephanie,” Mitchell said, leaning in closer, “the other day, when we showed you this picture of Tommy Ferguson, you said something. Do you remember what you said?”

Stephanie looked at her in bewilderment. She shook her head.

“You said something to us about being taken to join Tommy in three days. Do you remember that?” Mitchell pressed.

Stephanie looked from Mitchell to Evans, clearly confused. Again she shook her head.

“Are you sure?” Mitchell tried again. “I know this is hard, but I need you to think carefully about—“

“NO!” Stephanie screamed suddenly. “Just stop! Leave me alone!”

Stephanie turned on her bed, pressing her right shoulder against the wall so she was turned away from them and facing the window. Tears flowed from her eyes and she fought to control her breathing as her body shook.

“We just want to help, Stephanie,” Evans tried to reassure her.

“Well, you’re not helping!” she shot back.

Evans looked to Mitchell shaking his head slightly. They were done for now.

“We’re going to let you rest,” Evans said to her. “Your parents will be here in a bit. If you need anything, we’ll be here. Just call the nurse.”

Stephanie did not look at him. She stared out the window that showed only the yellow glow of a lamp outside on the hospital grounds. Night had set in hours ago. And with the dark clouds that hung over the area, it was a particularly dark night.

Evans and Mitchell rose to leave. They stepped out of her room and headed down the long hallway. As they did so, the male nurse on duty turned the corner and was immediately followed by the Clarks. They headed towards them. Mitchell wondered if they had been awoken. She and Evans had previously gotten dinner and then headed back to look at more of the old case files. Nothing else proved to be as interesting as the discovery of Pastor Diego’s report. Either way, they had still been up. The Clarks, on the other hand, looked positively exhausted. But this probably had more to do with the stress of the past few days. Likely, they too had been up simply because sleep didn’t feel like a viable option given the circumstances.

They passed each other in the hallway with only brief eye contact. Tim gave a slight nod. Dorothy looked at Evans and Mitchell with her wide concerned motherly eyes. They continued down the hall, their footsteps echoing against the old brick walls. Overhead, a florescent light buzzed oppressively as Mitchell and Evans walked away. Mitchell felt helpless. What could she do to stop this?

“Do you buy it?” she asked Evans.

“The abduction story?” he said, glancing over at her as they walked. “It’s consistent with other such cases.”

“Right. But do you believe it when she says she doesn’t remember what she said the other day?”

“She’s clearly suffered some serious psychological trauma. I’m sure the past few days will forever be hard for her to recall.”

Everything seems hard for Stephanie to recall, Mitchell thought. Then a new thought popped into her head. What if they could help Stephanie recall? She grabbed Evans’s arm, stopping him before they reached the waiting room entrance. He looked at her, surprised.

“Then, let’s help her recall,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Evans frowned.

“Hypnosis,” Mitchell said softly. “It’s a common practice in abduction cases.”

She could see hesitation in Evans’s eyes. He sighed, looking off. “Hypnosis can be a wonderful thing,” he said. “I’ve used it with certain patients.”

“But?” Mitchell prompted.

“Under hypnosis, people have a high level of suggestibility. Especially in a case like this, it may be too easy to introduce more suggestions of alien abductions into Stephanie’s mind rather than uncovering the truth.”

“If there’s any truth to what she said—that in three days she would be taken to join Tommy—then we’re going to lose Stephanie in less than 48 hours,” Mitchell said softly but firmly, her eyes locked on his. “We have to try something.”

Evans looked at her for a long moment, his eyes moving back and forth as if reading her own eyes, sizing her up. She remained still, waiting.

“You’re serious about this?” he whispered.