by Zoe Drake
“You go on and have fun with all your anorak-wearing friends,” she had not so gently chided. “Me and Jenny will be having a good time here in Cambridge, won’t we, Jenny?”
The thought had crossed Gareth’s mind that perhaps he should have invited Caroline to the convention; maybe she should share some of his experiences with him. Maybe it would bring them closer together…
But he’d seen the elegant way she curled her lip as he told her about his decision to go. No… maybe this was something to be endured, not to be shared.
The car circled round on the M25 and parked at Swiss Cottage. “Free parking!” Littlewood had declared with a gleeful wink. They took the Jubilee Line to Baker St, then rode the Metropolitan a couple of stations to get off at Euston Square.
It was ten forty-five on Saturday morning, and the London air had a dry Spring freshness trying to cut through the exhaust fumes. The sunshine was bright and warm, bringing people and the pastel-colored shops they walked past into sharp focus. The Institute of Education was on Bedford Way, tucked behind the University of London. It was one of the box-like Sixties buildings that Prince Charles went on about now and then. Looking at the discolored Brutalist slabs, Gareth could see his point.
In the foyer, Littlewood handed Gareth a badge with his name and an image of a disc-shaped silver spaceship on it, and donned a similar one himself. The badges were checked by a distinctly normal-looking Institute porter at the reception desk, and their names were ticked on a list.
“Here we go,” cheered Littlewood. Gareth did not take up the chant.
The two men entered the Institute at eleven o’clock.
By twelve, Gareth’s head was swimming and he was ready for the bar. Two rooms, one beside the lecture theatre and the other down the corridor, were designated ‘Dealer’s Rooms’. The stalls inside them were crammed with books, videotapes and CD-ROMs on things that Gareth had never known existed and had not a clue what they meant. Conspiracy theories, Psychedelia, cyber-culture, weird erotica, cult media and the ‘counter-void’. His eyes boggled at a stall devoted to legal highs and ‘smart drugs’.
Gareth learned that there was a sculpture on Mars built by the same entities who had designed the Sphinx in Egypt, that there was a whole host of alien artifacts in warehouses on the dark side of the Moon, and that the Apollo landings had been faked by NASA and the CIA. There were UFO detectors and Alien Recognition Modules. There were alien T-shirts, jackets, replica UFOs and little DIY Airfix-style model kits of creatures that everyone referred to as ‘the Greys’. Gareth bent down in front of one stall to peer at the model’s stick-like arms, pear-shaped head, and the huge, glistening eyes.
The Dealer’s Rooms were full of men (hardly any women) of various ages, browsing though the goods on offer, some of them with lists scrawled on paper in their hands. There were a few youths in leather jackets, long overcoats and pierced noses and ears, wandering around aimlessly. Gareth guessed they were University of London students with their girlfriends, who’d wandered in out of curiosity.
The thing that struck Gareth was the look on everyone’s faces. He glanced at the people running the stalls and those handing over wads of cash for proof of contact with alien beings, and he found the same question ringing like an echo in his skull.
Why did everyone look so bored?
This was supposed to be an exhibition of the extraordinary, the strange and the mysterious. Littlewood had told him of how guest speakers had flown from all over the world to be here, writers and scientists whose ideas had potentially earth-shaking consequences. Yet the Convention was filled with attendees who viewed the whole thing with the numb, glassy, stare of a middle-aged husband letting his wife choose a sweater for him at Marks and Spencer’s. The people running the stalls didn’t look much livelier, either. Their faces looming over the model anti-gravity engines and beneath the ‘chaos-generated fractal’ posters said only, been there, done that, correct change if you have it, please.
Wasn’t there supposed to be a sense of anticipation, excitement, even danger? Even fear, that some of the theories described in these books might be true?
Littlewood had gone off on his own for most of an hour – he ‘had a few old friends to talk to’, he’d said – and when he rejoined Gareth he was carrying a plastic bag straining at the handles with the weight of books and videotapes it held.
“Have you seen Patrick and Roger?” he asked abruptly.
“No, sorry, I haven’t.”
“Oh, look! They’re by the Fourth Alternative stall.”
Turning his head, Gareth saw a knot of people standing around one of the stalls nearby. Walcott was side on to Gareth, having an animated conversation with a woman wearing too much lipstick. Her mouth alternated quickly between talking, laughing and puffing on her cigarette. Beside them stood Johnston, looking at the goods on the stall with the same world-weary expression Gareth saw on everyone else. Maybe this is where he learned to look like that, Gareth thought.
“Can you hang on a minute?” Littlewood asked Gareth. “There’s something I want to sort out. I’ll be back in a second.”
After Littlewood walked away, Gareth began to saunter through the nearby stalls again. His curiosity was beginning to slip into fatigue, headache and considerations of what he might have for lunch. He walked up to a set of open oak-paneled doors and peered through into what was obviously the main lecture hall. Up on a raised dais, three men and a woman were seated facing the audience, microphones in their hands. It was hard to make out details because the main lights were out, allowing slides to be shown on the big screen behind the stage. One slide illustrated some odd geometrical design unfamiliar to Gareth, and he tilted his head, trying to make out what it was supposed to be.
“You, sir, are a very lucky man!”
Gareth turned away from the door, startled.
The person who’d spoken was a young woman who’d walked up quietly to stand at the edge of his personal space, smiling at him as if in joyful recognition. She had long wavy black hair, an expressive, heart-shaped face with vivid eyes and a full mouth, and had silver studs in both ears. She wore the kind of cotton dress with a purple batik print that Gareth hadn’t seen since his University days.
“Lucky man,” repeated Gareth. “Am I?”
“You are indeed. Chance has brought you here, but is it really chance? Or fortune? Or perhaps, a higher agency?”
“I don’t work for the London agencies, I’m afraid…”
“I sense that you are a very open-minded person,” she gushed, smiling at him radiantly. “Very creative. You’re a writer?”
“No, I’m a photographer.”
“Aha! An expert in creative visualization! And you are looking for something, aren’t you? Your quest has brought you here today?”
Gareth shrugged, looking around him and behind the girl. “I like to know what’s going on.”
The woman hissed though her teeth and nodded vigorously. “A seeker after the mysteries. A fellow traveler. You have had many difficulties along the road, have you not?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I can sense it in your aura. You have a most agreeable aura. I sense that you could be a great healer. But there is something that pains and troubles you, isn’t there?”
“You can say that again.”
The girl extended a hand to him, holding a business card. “We are the Witnesses of the Visitation. We take a more personal, less materialistic approach to our visitors from the skies. We are holding an open evening tonight, not far from here, to coincide with this convention.” She pushed the card into Gareth’s fingers. “My name is Ayeshea.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll be able to… that is, er…”
She turned away, giving him a waft of perfume and a last beatific smile. “I think we’ll meet again. I can feel it.”
Gareth was still standing by the doors looking bemusedly at the business card when Litt
lewood found him. “There you are!” Littlewood said. “Tell me if you want to go wandering, won’t you?”
Gareth looked at his companion closely. “Brian… have you ever heard of some group called the Witnesses of the Visitation?”
“Oh.” Littlewood made a face like miming a lemon being sucked. “You don’t want anything to do with them. They’re a right bunch of weirdoes.”
“I see.” Gareth smiled for what felt the first time all day. “Whereas of course, we’re both perfectly normal, aren’t we?”
Brian looked at him petulantly and turned on his heel. “Well, if you think this is so funny, I’ll leave you to it.”
“Hey! No, wait a minute. What’s up with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Look, Brian, sorry, I was only having a laugh. What did Johnston and Walcott say?”
Littlewood stared down at the floor, his face more flushed than usual. “They’ve published the report.”
“And?”
The shorter man spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “Oh, I don’t know…”
“Don’t know? What do you mean? What did they say?”
Littlewood lifted his head and looked Gareth in the eye. “I don’t think you made a good impression on them.”
“Well – yes, I know, but it was really weird. This whole thing is weird. So what did they say?”
“They said you were an unreliable witness.”
Anger flared up inside Gareth like a Molotov, and he pushed past Littlewood to stalk down the hall. “Smug bastards! I told them all I could, and they shrug it off in their patronizing, condescending–”
“Gareth! Gareth!” Littlewood had grasped Gareth’s left arm, and was making a ludicrous attempt to physically stop him. Gareth almost brushed him off with a sweep of his arm, but stopped himself just in time.
Littlewood stared at Gareth, loading every word. “Please don’t. This isn’t the time, or the place. Beside, there is someone else here who’ll see you. Somebody higher up than Patrick or Roger. A real authority.”
“Who?” Gareth growled. “Who is it this time? Captain bloody Kirk?”
“No, it’s not Captain bloody Kirk. His name is William Schenk, and He’s Vice-President of SIAP. He’s agreed to a short meeting this afternoon.”
“Now then,” said the bearded, smartly-dressed Vice-President. “Where shall we start?”
They sat down in the dark mock-Victorian ambience of one of the smaller conference rooms, with Schenk laying a notebook and clipboard on the large polished table. The meter’s running, thought Gareth.
“You’re familiar with the outline of the case,” began Littlewood, the nerves showing in his face.
“I believe so.”
“And you know of Johnston and Walcott’s objections to the case, as well.”
“That’s right,” Schenck said, nodding. “There’s a number of things that need to be addressed. First, the Skywatch itself. You went into the Cambridgeshire area with a group of observers, looking for UFOs. You claim you saw them, not once, but twice. After that, one of your party has an abduction experience.” Schenk spread his arms wide. “It’s too good to be true, isn’t it? Things like that do not happen. Naturally, everyone is suspicious. To be honest, Brian, most people within SIAP suspect a publicity stunt.”
“Yes,” Gareth interrupted. “But if you go looking for something, you’ve got to be prepared for the chance that you might find it, haven’t you? I mean, isn’t that what this conference is all about?”
Schenk nodded slowly. “You have a point.”
“Also,” Littlewood added, “Dr. Bennings based this survey on the one that took place at Hessdalen. That had light phenomenon recorded objectively over a long period of time. They found what they were looking for, too.”
“Well, if we leave aside the observations at the moment – and yes, I have seen the photographs you provided – the main issue is your abduction experience, Mr. Manning. Now, I understand you had a serious accident, and I’m glad to hear you’re on the way to full recovery. But that accident has affected your abduction claim.”
“I’m not claiming anything,” Gareth muttered.
“You think it’s an NDE,” said Littlewood. “But it does have the classic hallmarks of the physical examination, being taken aboard the alien craft–”
“But I have been operated on in a real hospital, by real surgeons,” Gareth said quietly. “That’s what Dr. Bhaskar said. I could be remembering what happened on the operating table, yes… but there’s other stuff.”
Littlewood leant forward. “Gareth was trapped in the car, underwater. He was held in by his seatbelt, which had stuck. The police records show that the fabric was not forced apart. It was cut, or more accurately melted, by a source of extreme heat.”
“There were physical marks left in the grass and soil of a field, and my back garden,” Gareth continued. “And Mr. Winslow’s horse died. He’s the owner of the land where we held the Skywatch.”
“Have you had the results of any tests?” asked Schenck.
“We have,” said Littlewood, “and I’ll give you the printouts in a minute. Gareth, could you show Mr. Schenk your marks?”
Sullenly, Gareth pulled up his shirt, to be scrutinized yet again. The bearded man leaned closer, peering at Gareth’s naked abdomen. He clicked his tongue, and scribbled something down in an notebook.
“Another thing,” Gareth said, sitting down again and adjusting his clothes. “I might be only being paranoid, but I noticed some strange types hanging around my house, yesterday.” He briefly described the three men in hats, noticing Littlewood’s eyes getting wider and wider behind his greasy glasses.
“Well, well,” Schenk said with smile. “A Men In Black episode, following a couple of weeks after your Night Visitor episode, if I remember rightly. Hmmm…”
“So you see,” added Littlewood, “Even though it’s not a typical abduction, there are the typical post-abduction events surrounding Gareth. Something’s going on here.”
“Who are these Men In Black you mentioned?” asked Gareth. “Are they working for the government?”
Schenk almost laughed. “I wish I could enlighten you, Mr. Manning. All I can say is that they have a uncanny tendency to turn up after reported UFO sightings.” He had a quick and not very discreet glance at his watch and said briskly, “Mr. Manning, I understand you’re having regression therapy to recall the memories of the experience, are you not?”
“That’s right. His name is Dr. Bhaskar, from the–”
“We might get you on to a SIAP-recommended psychologist, that won’t do you any harm. Now then, I haven’t heard if you recall any details of the alien craft, or the entities from it, while under hypnosis.”
Gareth stared back helplessly. “I can’t remember clearly… there’s so much that I still don’t know.”
“Be very careful how you answer this, Mr. Manning.” Schenk leant forward, his eyes trained on Gareth. “Do you believe you were actually aboard an alien spacecraft?”
Gareth shook his head in frustration. “It felt like… being lost in fog, that’s all I can tell you right now.”
“I think it would definitely help if you told Mr. Schenk you’ve seen extra-terrestrials and it goes on record,” Littlewood said quietly.
Schenk clasped his hands together and continued. “If we include you in our files, Mr. Manning, it will be more evidence against the conspiracy of silence ruling this country. If we accumulate enough evidence, people will have no choice but to take it seriously.”
Gareth blinked a few times. “I could see another psychologist… if you think it’s a good idea. But look, Mr. Schenk, what do you think happened? And what should I do next?”
Schenk looked at him with a trace of what could have been sadness. “Those are fair questions. But I’m afraid the abduction experience has long-term implications that we are only now beginning to appreciate. There are a lot of people in your
situation – more than you would credit – who’ve had their world turned upside down. Still, the numbers of these cases keeps growing very year… I can only hope that you’ll be there, along with my colleagues and I, on the day the truth finally comes out.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Saturday, April 13th
It was almost eight o’clock. Gareth was on a tube train heading for Earl’s Court, staring at a small piece of card held between his fingers.
“I’m not coming back with you,” he’d said to Littlewood after they left the Convention. “I need time to think.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Littlewood asked. “I’ll stay with you. Maybe a drink will make you feel better, and I’m driving, after all.”
“No thanks. I appreciate all you’ve done, but I’d rather be on my own at the moment.”
So Gareth had slipped him a little white lie with a ‘thank you for bringing me,’ and had soon found a Firkin pub with a video screen showing Sky sport. He bought a pint of Guinness and watched some of the Five Nations Championship, and listened to the lads at the bar getting all worked up about it. He stared from the screen to his glass and back again.
Then he felt the business card in his shirt breast pocket rubbing against his skin.
He took it out and stared at the London address. The girl had talked about an open meeting tonight… she hadn’t mentioned a time, but meetings usually start around seven or eight… and she had come up to him, with that smile and that look in his eye…
Why the hell not, he thought. He still wanted to talk to somebody, but he’d had enough of SIAP.
So, at a few minutes before eight o’clock, he found himself at the address in Earl’s Court, standing at before an ornate wooden door with a plaque bearing a stylized WV on one side of it.
He rang the bell, and the door was opened by a thin man with short hair, and a very expensive-looking suit. “Are you here for the open evening?” he asked.