Unidentified

by Mikel J. Wisler

  The doctor looked down at Evans' card. “She’ll be out for a while, but we’ll be sure to call when she wakes.”

  “Thank you,” Evans said.

  ***

  They stepped out into the hot summer air. Mitchell walked down the steps, thoughts rushing through her mind. Stephanie had claimed someone was at her place and now she was in a mental ward, sedated no less. It was clear now what her father’s view of the situation was. Or was he in some strange way trying to save face? Obviously he was well aware of what had happened to the Ferguson family only a year ago.

  “Does it strike you as noteworthy that Stephanie’s father felt it important to bring her here?” Evans asked her as they walked down the steps. He clearly was thinking along the same lines.

  “I guess we know what he thinks is going on here,” she said.

  “Do we, though?” Evans raised his eyebrows.

  They reached the end of the stairs and continued walking to the car.

  “All we know for sure,” Evans said, “is that Mr. Clark might at least prefer having what appears to be a mentally ill daughter than one being abducted by UFOs. But what if there’s more to his motivations?”

  Mitchell looked over at Evans as they walked. “You think it’s suspicious?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. But I think he might be right about one thing: Stephanie is disturbed. But the source of her distress may not be a kidnapper or aliens.”

  “Her father?” Mitchell said.

  “Just a theory,” Evans shrugged.

  Mitchell looked off, mulling this over.

  “You don’t agree?” Evans asked.

  She stopped by her car and turned to Evans. “Are you coming around to my way of thinking? Someone’s behind this?”

  “Well, not exactly” Evans said.

  “Why kidnap her and drop her off in the middle of nowhere?”

  “I didn’t say he was alone in this, or that he’s even the one doing this. Look, I’m still not convinced that there is an actual kidnapper behind Stephanie’s abductions. All I’m saying is that, if there is a kidnapper, then her father may be complicit.” Evans paused for a moment, then finished by saying, “Which is why you’re not going to find anything in her room.”

  He opened the door to the car and got in. Mitchell grinned. Is he starting to get an attitude? Or is he playing with me? She watched him as he clicked his seatbelt into place. He looked back out at her through the car window.

  “Oh, come on. Don’t look so disappointed,” he said, his voice muffled by the car.

  She grinned, walking around the front of the car to the driver’s side. She climbed in and started the car. As she buckled her seatbelt, she said, “Well, I guess we’ll just have to go see if there really is nothing to find, won’t we?”

  “I guess so,” Evans grinned.

  Mitchell pulled out her phone and placed a call before throwing the car into drive and pulling out of the parking lot. As she drove down the long driveway back to the road, she brought the phone up to her ear.

  “Chief Wilson,” she said into the phone. “It’s Agent Mitchell. I was wondering if I could borrow Officer O’Conner.”

  ***

  Mitchell’s flashlight swept across the dusty floor underneath Stephanie’s bed. She laid on her side as she peered under the bed. She found a few pairs of shoes and a few crumpled receipts. But nothing seemed out of order. And judging from the thin layer of dust that remained undisturbed, nothing had moved in the last few days.

  Mitchell sighed, reaching out her hand, Evans took it and helped her back to her feet. By the window, Officer O’Conner inspected the window frame closely. She moved to the lock and shined her own flashlight on it even though sunlight from outside poured through the window. O’Conner squinted as she moved her head around, carefully taking in if any marks had been made recently to the old window lock.

  They had been over the room carefully. Nothing at all seemed out of place as far as Mitchell could tell. They had asked the Clarks a series of questions about how Stephanie had been the previous night. Everything pointed to a vivid nightmare, Mitchell hated to admit.

  “Fine. It looks like you might be right,” Mitchell admitted. “There’s just nothing here. So what? I owe you a beer?”

  Evans shrugged and smiled. “I got lucky.”

  “No, that’s more than luck,” Mitchell shook her head. “What are you thinking?”

  “Well, chances are Stephanie is suffering from some form of PTSD that manifests itself in nightmares and even waking dreams. She probably did see something here in her room last night. It just might not have actually been here.”

  He pulled out his notebook with the crucifix and flipped through the pages until he landed where the chain marked his spot. He began making notes.

  “Right,” Mitchell said, “But something has to have caused that PTSD.”

  Officer O’Conner shrugged and turned from the window. “No evidence of forced entry and the Clarks assure me this window was locked last night. The whole house was locked up,” she said. But then in a softer voice, she added, “But then, that’s never stopped them before.”

  Mitchell’s attention shifted completely to O’Conner. She’d met her a year ago, but they had spent limited time together. She recalled that O’Conner had a fiancé at the time. She realized that in her focus on the case, she hadn't even asked about how she was doing. Glancing down at her hand, she noticed the wedding band on her left hand. But what really drew in Mitchell’s attention was that last statement. Could it be that O’Conner was a believer?

  “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.