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 mea
n 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.”
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.
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