by Unknown
Mark chuckled. “You’re probably too embarrassed to remember that I even changed your diapers once in a while. We formed quite the bond, you and I. Diapers will do that.”
Allison giggled. “I don’t remember, of course, but I do remember you telling me. I think you say that just to keep me off balance, having me know that you’ve seen me naked!”
“Well, I guess I have—and I have to say, your butt doesn’t look much bigger than it did back then!”
Allison kissed him on the forehead. “I love that you’re still the old flirt you always were. So, I assume that gentleman standing behind you is the pest guy?”
“Yeah, this is Chuck. Chuck, meet Allison Fisher, the owner.”
Chuck mumbled something that Allison thought was ‘pleased to meet you,’ but she wasn’t quite sure.
Mark wisely decided to do the talking for him. “Had to call Chuck in—as you know, his company’s been here many times before. This time, for mice again. Need to get rid of these little buggers in case you do decide to sell. Chuck thinks we may have the problem licked now—their droppings were only seen in the study area of the house, so we’re probably down to the last room. As usual, we had to pull out some of the wall panels to set the traps up inside. We put the panels back in place again, don’t worry. Once we allow enough time for the traps to work, we’ll come back again and take them out. So, everything looks normal in there for now.”
“That’s great, Mark. I can always count on you.”
Mark leaned forward and gave her a warm hug. “Take care of yourself, dear. I’ll see you soon.”
He and Chuck headed for the door, but then Mark suddenly snapped his fingers and turned back to face her.
“Oh, I forgot something. Getting old, Allison. Losing my memory. Your dad had kind of a secret panel in the wall behind his desk. We discovered it when pulling the panels off—that one just came off real easy. It was installed with a clasp, designed to pop on and off. I’ve found that a lot of successful businesspeople had things like that—their safes were like decoys, because they seemed to like to keep some other important stuff behind secret panels. So, there you have it. All we found in there was a locked briefcase. I put the case on his desk for you. Okay?”
Allison frowned. “That’s strange. Okay, Mark, I’ll check it out. Thanks very much for that.”
Chapter 18
Allison’s father had a study that most people could only imagine in their wildest dreams. Three of the walls were solid oak paneling, dark stained, giving the room a seriously intimidating ambience. The fourth wall was a bookcase, lined with all the old classics.
A massive chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling, controlled by a dimmer switch that could change the mood of the room with just a twist of the fingers. A wet bar sat invitingly in one corner, and small antique end tables were situated at strategic spots throughout the office, each adorned with study lamps.
Another corner of the room was graced by a baby grand piano. Music was one of the skills her dad brought back with him from the HMS Diana. And, once he’d bought this house, he made sure to purchase a piano as well. He’d never had a lesson in his life, but could play the instrument like a maestro.
Allison had always loved coming into the study as a little girl—it was her favorite room in the house. Her dad would put his work aside when she popped in, and immediately accede to her girlish demands that he play a tune for her. She’d then curl up in his leather chair, the same one she was sitting in right now, and listen to the beautiful melodies that flowed from his fingers, from his brain…and from his soul. Not once could she recall ever seeing sheet music in front of him. The music had just come from…somewhere else.
She looked away from the piano and spun around in the leather chair. Facing the huge ornate desk now, she slid her hands across the smooth oak with hand-carved images of ancient explorers. She slipped off her shoes, and braced her bare feet against the lion-paw legs and ran her toes down along the detailed indentations.
Then she sat back in the chair, sighed, and looked down once again at the pile of papers that she’d pulled out of the briefcase after breaking the flimsy lock with a pocket knife.
Allison had spent the last two hours reading the material, and was still in a state of shock.
She decided a drink was in order.
She walked over to the bar, poured herself a scotch neat, and then headed to the piano. She tapped out a few notes to the Carpenters song, Close to You, and then drained half her glass.
Allison couldn’t sit still, but she didn’t want to leave the room yet either. She went, glass in hand, over to the couch against the wall closest to the door, and stretched out.
She just closed her eyes and thought. Back to that day about fifteen years ago when her dad had sat her down in this very room and told her everything. Everything.
That day she had learned about the HMS Diana, that her dad had suffered side effects from some strange ‘enemy.’ Glowing body, transparency, superhuman strength, teeth that would last forever, a full head of hair that women would swoon over well into his old age. And the musical talent, of course.
He’d suffered similar side effects that Willy Carson had suffered, except that in her dad’s case, his father had already been one of the original members of Majestic 12 when it happened to him. So, her dad knew a hell of a lot more than Willy Carson did. He knew for a fact who the ‘enemy’ was.
When her grandfather died, her dad assumed his spot on the Majestic 12 panel. And, that day when her dad had told her all of this, he also told her she was his designated replacement once he died.
She’d learned so much that day.
Majestic 12 was formed in 1947 after a very specific incident. President Harry Truman ordered it put into place after the furor that surrounded the Roswell, New Mexico UFO crash. Of course, the world was told it was a weather balloon. Hardly anyone believed that flimsy story, not even to this day. But, despite that, the government had managed for decades to keep a lid on it.
Keeping lids on things started with Roswell, and with the formation of Majestic 12. President Truman was so worried that the population couldn’t handle the knowledge about extra-terrestrial intelligence, that he wanted an elite group vested with the absolute authority and unlimited power to keep those secrets.
He believed that no one should hear that these ‘enemies’ had visited us in 1947. And, that they’d visited us again in the fifties during the Korean War. And, that there were reports of them visiting the scenes of battles all the way back to WWI. But, Korea was when they actually started intervening in our battles. When he retired from office in 1953, Truman was satisfied that Majestic 12 had been the right thing to do. They were efficiently smothering events and he thus set in motion the mandate that they would continue as a group until the end of time. With total autonomy, reporting to only one high-placed general in the Pentagon, a role that would of course also have to be replaced as the decades wore on and generals died or retired.
The ‘enemy’ appeared again in 1956 above the HMS Diana. Truman wouldn’t know that it made its presence visible once again during the Vietnam War, actually sinking two ships—American and Australian destroyers, by turning their own weapons back against them, utilizing some kind of defensive shield. Even fighter jets had no success against these things, having their own missiles deflected right back at them.
Every nuclear test, anywhere in the world, had seen their presence. Observing, watching, hovering, beaming.
By the time the conflicts in Iraq had arrived before and after the turn of the new century, the American military had decided they couldn’t fight these things and that it would be dangerous to even try. While orders like that had been issued in the fifties and sixties as well, they weren’t rigidly enforced because it was hard for any military professional to believe that their advanced weaponry couldn’t fight back against any conceivable enemy.
In the Iraq conflicts, there were numerous accounts of confused troops on t
he ground reporting entire fleets of this strange ‘enemy’ hovering over the desert horizon—and calling in their fighter jets to deal with the things, only to see their own planes turn around and scoot off back in the direction they’d come from. It was hard for them to watch their own air support abandoning them and leaving an enemy hovering over captured territory. But, orders from on high told the pilots to not engage—in fact to never engage if they saw these things.
The very first head of Majestic 12 was Truman’s Secretary of Defense, James Forrestal. But, according to what Allison’s father told her, Forrestal was removed from his post as Defense Secretary in 1949, only two years after assuming office. And, only two years after being appointed head of Majestic 12.
Something strange happened to Forrestal in 1948.
Under heavy guard, he visited the secure area where the bodies of the alien creatures recovered from Roswell were being kept preserved. He insisted on seeing for himself what only he, the president, the Pentagon, certain scientists, and the members of Majestic 12 knew about.
He was told to just observe, not to touch, as he wasn’t wearing any protective gear. He ignored that advice because, as far as he was concerned, he was the Secretary of Defense and no one was going to tell him what he could or couldn’t do.
He touched one of the naked little bodies. Almost immediately, he felt sick. Dizzy, unsteady on his feet, mumbling incoherently. Forrestal was rushed back to Washington, put through rigorous tests, and eventually declared healthy.
But, over the next few months, he reportedly became erratic and irrational. He confronted Truman on virtually everything as it related to aliens, UFOs, and the mandate of Majestic 12. He objected strenuously to the purpose of the group, and opposed the oath of secrecy. He wanted the information that only Majestic 12 was privy to, to be made public. But, Truman was adamant that the mandate remain as it was originally established.
Then, all of a sudden, one mysterious day in 1949, Forrestal was removed by Truman from his post as Defense Secretary and from his role as head of Majestic 12. He was committed to a military-affiliated hospital and kept under guard day and night.
Two months later, just after his family had filed a petition to have him moved to a different facility, he was dead. Suicide. Jumped from the sixteenth floor corridor window of the hospital that he’d been committed to.
From the window in the hallway, not the window in his room.
Despite the presence of guards who were on duty 24/7.
And the medical examiner’s reports ignored the strange appearance of a bathrobe sash tied around his neck.
James Forrestal, the very first Secretary of Defense the U.S. had ever had, and the very first head of Majestic 12, was dead by suicide in 1949.
And, not that it was relevant at all, but Allison reflected that Forrestal’s death was just a few months before William Carson experienced his terrifying ordeal with the ‘enemy’ in Korea.
She opened her eyes and stared at the chandelier. She squinted her eyes and let the diamonds of light blur in her vision, as she pondered what had caused her father to plan to blow the lid off Majestic 12.
The piles of papers she had pulled out of the briefcase contained detailed correspondence with an investigative reporter named Darren Sheppard. She’d never heard of him, but the correspondence referred to articles he’d written for the Chicago Tribune, Los Angeles Times, and the Washington Post. So, the man was obviously well-connected.
Her dad had told him everything. Even obscure facts like the Sphinx that was situated on Mars, and the small alien bases that existed on the dark side of the moon rumored to be ‘scout’ installations. He’d given Sheppard the entire history of Majestic 12, detailed all the murders that had happened over the years to silence scientists and astronomers. He told him about the visits the ‘enemy’ had made to every military conflict and nuclear test.
In his last letter to Sheppard, he even provided him with background information on why there had been such an increase in UFO sightings over the last two decades, and why they were getting progressively more frequent every year.
Allison’s dear father had told Sheppard the real reason why Earth was seeing an alarming change in its climate, why the summer heatwaves and winter storms were getting more brutal, and why there was such an increase in earthquake and volcanic activity.
And, why there was now such a tolerance, and indeed encouragement, of the degradation of society through social media and brain-dead entertainment. Why there seemed to be so many distractions and technology addictions taking the public’s attention away from the horrors that were mysteriously creeping up on their lives every single year. Permissiveness had a purpose, and it was by design.
Allison was a member of Majestic 12 because it had been an honor bestowed upon her, and her dad had convinced her that it was a sacred trust. That she was obligated to serve.
Now, all that was shot to hell with what she’d just read. What kind of an honor was this when her own father had been trying to betray it? She was conflicted now; she had only agreed to serve because she adored her father and had trusted him with her very life. If he’d lost faith, what did that mean for her? Majestic 12 suddenly seemed like a farce. It had always been insidious, but she’d ignored that reality for the greater good. But, her dad seemed to have given up on the greater good concept. He’d wanted everyone to know. To know everything.
She got up from the couch, walked back to the desk, pulled her iPad out of her purse, and fired it up.
Her dad had been dead for over five years, but none of this information had ever appeared under a Darren Sheppard byline. If it had, it would have been earth-shattering news.
Allison decided she wanted to meet this Darren Sheppard.
She googled his name and several articles popped up.
The one that jumped out at her right away, the one that made her stomach flip and the blood pulse through her veins in a feverish rush, was the Wikipedia summary.
Darren Sheppard was dead. He’d killed himself with a gunshot to the head on June 30th, 2010.
Which was the very same day that Allison’s parents and husband were killed when their car went over a cliff along the Oregon coast.
Chapter 19
He recognized them right away. Even though it had been dark that awful night in the studio, he still recognized them. Hard to forget scummy-looking druggies.
They’d rung the bell twice, and Helen opened the door and greeted them in her usual courteous way, despite how they looked.
Then, she beckoned Willy to come out of the back living room.
Helen turned away from the boys, and frowned at him questioningly. In front of her husband, she couldn’t hide her concern. “These lads say they need to talk with you. Do you know them, Willy?”
Willy took one look and tried hard to suppress his shock at seeing them again. He patted Helen on the shoulder. “It’s okay, hon. I talked to them before about doing some odd jobs around the house. There’s some old junk in the studio that I may want to have hauled away.”
She looked relieved. “Okay, dear, I’ll leave you to it, then.” Helen then hurried back to the kitchen, where she had some apple pies ready to slide into the oven.
Willy went out onto the porch, then crooked his finger, motioning the boys to follow him. They rounded the side of the house, down the driveway, and into the unlocked studio. Once the boys were inside, Willy closed the door behind him, folded his arms across his chest and glared at them.
“What the hell do you two want? Why are you back here?”
The leader, who Willy recalled went by the name of Brody, spoke first.
“You dun hurt us good few nights go, Mister Willy Carson. Went to a doc’s office an got all stitched up.”
Willy nodded. “Well, that’s what you get for breaking in. And, trying to attack me. What did you expect?”
“I don think anyone would expec an ole dude like you to do what you done ta us. Or look like the way you done look. You
were a skeleton, man! What’s the deal with that? An how you get that strong?”
Willy chuckled. “You were probably high on drugs and delusional. Suffering hallucinations. Go home, or to whatever hole you crawled out of. Leave me alone and don’t come back here.”
The one called Matt started shifting nervously from foot to foot, probably in desperate need of a fix. He pointed at Willy. “Don you be tellin us what to do! We be tellin you!”
Willy put his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll ask you boys once again. Leave, please.”
Before he had a chance to open the door, Brody took a courageous step forward. Willy could tell by his body language that he was armed with new bravado. Not exactly the scared kid who had screamed at the top of his lungs a few nights ago while slithering backwards on his ass along the floor of the studio.
“Do yer hotel people know what a freak you is?”
Willy took his hand off the door handle. “What are you talking about?”
“We hear you sum big shot sculptor. That you gonna be the main man fer a new hotel. Do they know you sum kind a freak?”
Willy couldn’t find the words. But, he knew this was a shakedown, and he could feel a pain developing in the pit of his stomach as that realization set in. These two little punks were going to squeeze him. And, he couldn’t afford to have bad publicity, not just because of the hotel deal, but mainly because of the five million dollars that had been promised to his estate if he kept his condition a secret. He wanted Helen and Wyatt to have that money.
“An how they feel if they knew you beat up two young guys like us?”
Willy found his voice. “It’s your word against mine. And, it was self-defence.”
“You some superhuman, dude? No one do what you done. Or look like you looked. How you do that?”
“Again, your word against mine, so give it up and get out of here.”