by Gary Starta
DJ laughed. “I think that’s good. I will make the supposition that your caution keeps you unbiased during your investigations.” She sipped her latte.
“I like your vocabulary. I make the supposition that is why your favorite subjects in school were debate team and public speaking.”
“You suppose correct. Although, I do have a temper that is sometimes beneficial for the debating team, sometimes not so advantageous during public speeches. I tend to let the audience’s reaction—or lack of reaction—bother me. My mom . . .” She paused to stir sugar into her coffee. “My mom is—was—a lot like that.”
“When something bothers me, I try to analyze it.”
“Like you’re some kind of computer app?”
“No, quite human—but with artificial assistance. I have a home recording studio. I like to write about what’s troubling me and turn it into a song. By playing it, singing the words and adding musical accompaniment with guitar, I give what’s bothering me physicality.”
“Sounds fascinating,” DJ quipped. “Please tell me more. I’ve always appreciated musicians.”
Darian laughed and scratched his neck. “I don’t know if I qualify as a musician. But what I’m saying is that I put a thought into a more tangible form. It then seems I can mentally deal with it. It sounds crazy, because whatever I was thinking about hasn’t really changed, just the way I perceive it. Playing a song repeatedly helped me get over a high school crush.”
“I would like to hear your songs sometime. I appreciate musical talent. I couldn’t write or sing a song to save my life, so while I appreciate your method, I don’t think I could necessarily implement it into my life. But that’s just me.”
“You could still write down what’s bothering you. Extracting the idea from your mind and placing it on paper—or screen—could really help you through troubling times.”
DJ refused to acknowledge what Darian might be referring to. Did Iris tell him about her mother’s visitations? She didn’t want to display her anger at him. She opted for a diversion.
“So I like your name, Darian, spelled with two A’s.” Darian stared into his cup as she blew air onto her hot beverage.
“What’s the matter? You don’t?” DJ asked.
“Actually, I can’t stand it.”
“Why don’t you go by your middle name or your initials? I obviously took that recourse.”
“Why don’t you like your name?”
“It’s Doris. And I don’t dislike it. It’s just that my mother named me after her.”
“So, do initials change anything for you?”
“I really wish they could.” She stared into her mug.
“I don’t know. I think I’ll stick with Darian. I would always know it’s my name even if I stopped using it.”
“I think what you’re implying is that even though I’ve tried to stop using my gift, it’s still a part of me. I can’t really escape it, can’t I?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No.” She cupped her hand over his. “You didn’t. You were trying to be caring.” She attempted a smile but it was doleful.
“So, you’re lucky. You never had cause to write a lame song about unrequited love.”
“I wish I did. When I socialized all I seemed to find was a string of bad first dates.” She released his hand.
“I take it you haven’t socialized since your accident?”
“No, I haven’t. Well, up until now.”
“So this isn’t a continuance of bad first dates?”
“I would say, no. But don’t quote that back to my sister. She expects me to keep my pretense despite her best efforts to make me socialize. The way she sees things I’m mad at the world, and she probably cringes every time she imagines me having a conversation with a co-worker. Actually, I’m mad at someone who is not in this world, but that’s neither here nor there.” She paused to wait for Darian to laugh.
He chuckled, cautiously.
“Come on, it’s a bad joke. Don’t you just love them?”
He retook her hand into his. “I do, when they’re told by you.”
Darian’s attention wandered away from DJ and to over her shoulder where a news report played. “DJ, look, you’ve got to see this.”
She scooted out of her booth seat and turned to the screen behind her.
Eyewitnesses in Colorado confirm a sighting and the creation of a crop circle before their very eyes. This video clip was taken just under an hour ago by a resident of Black Forest. As you can see, the formation of a circle with what appears to be a caduceus at its center is seemingly created by a number of rotating, spherical shaped lights . . .
Darian’s phone rang a millisecond before DJ’s.
Mitchell and Iris were calling. Are you guys seeing this? In tandem, DJ and Darian responded affirmatively.
Chapter Five
THE VIDEO, taken by the landowner’s camera phone, went viral in a matter of hours. The local news station followed it up with a video taken from a helicopter. It displayed what the strange orbs of light had created. That was, if you believed in otherworldly lights using a field as its canvas.
“It’s a caduceus all right,” Mitchell said. “So why would something or some being utilize the symbol of medicine?” He stole a peak at Iris’s iPhone while navigating his CV-R to Black Forest. The accompanying narrative to the video they were watching stated: The formation of a crop circle in this El Paso County town is sure to bring notoriety from ufologists the world over . . .
“So the message appears medical, some sort of reference to health,” Gavin said. He and Darian were seated in the backseat of Mitchell’s SUV. Iris, who was riding shotgun, kept quiet. She felt a bit naked heading to an investigation without her team. Kassidy and Rachel agreed with reluctance to call it a night so they could be fresh for tomorrow. Iris agreed there was no reason all of her team should miss out on a night’s sleep. After all, everyone had day jobs to attend to. Iris knew she would play hooky if needed.
Iris stole glances at Mitchell every now and then. The man wore a solemn mask of concentration as he drove. Was he angry? Did he believe her refusal to bring a team along screamed disbelief? If so, was he angry at her? She couldn’t believe she was asking herself these questions. Only people in relationships would care so much. She stole another glance and felt a slight twinge in her stomach. It’s just butterflies from all the excitement of the crop circle, nothing else.
The GPS chirped an announcement: Keep left on Highway 83.
“It’s going to be just a few more miles,” Mitchell said. “Then we’ll get to see the excitement, firsthand.” He smiled.
Iris bit her lip. It was amusing and kind of cute to see another lead investigator so excited. She related to his sense of elation. She felt it before her every investigation. She too believed her team would come away with substantial evidence. Maybe they still would if the dial was indeed otherworldly.
IRIS EXPECTED a mob scene. It was a far cry from it. Only the landowner and some neighbors were milling about the entrance to the property. Darian mused, “It looks like everyone is going to wait for the DVD.”
“They don’t have to,” Gavin replied. “I’m already counting dozens of links to the video.” He showed his iPhone to Darian.
Mitchell intervened. “Let’s get down to brass tacks. Eyes on the prize, guys.”
Iris smiled. It was more of a smirk. “Do you mind if I use that line on my team?”
“I don’t know. I don’t consider myself much of a motivational speaker,” Mitchell said. Iris felt her face flush. Not a good time to joke around. I probably would have found it patronizing as well.
The landowner, Frank Davis, met the team after they parked. Mitchell introduced everyone and thanked the farmer in advance for a chance to observe.
Frank whistled through his teeth. “Wow, you’re a ghost hunter?” he said to Iris. “I didn’t think this had anything to do with a haunting. But, I suppose I could be wrong.
”
Iris smiled. “It might not be, Frank. But I’ve been working a case with Mitchell and his team where there could be possible overlap.” Iris stopped. For a second, she felt odd as if someone else were talking. She couldn’t believe she had openly expressed this opinion. Her conscious mind wasn’t sure of anything. Was this her subconscious talking to Frank?
Frank raised a thumb toward the crops. “I never thought my fields would become a part of some investigation.” He laughed. “Are you fellows going to wrap some yellow tape around it or something?”
“We can if you like,” Gavin responded. Darian jabbed his elbow into Gavin’s ribs. It was subtle enough for Frank not to notice. But Iris did.
Iris pointed to the field. “Frank, how long was your video? The newscast only showed a half a minute of it.”
He retrieved his phone from his jacket. “Not too much longer.” He pushed a button. “Just shy of a minute: fifty seven seconds.”
Mitchell nodded. “And you believe these balls of light created the images; all in a just under a minute’s time?”
Frank nodded.
Iris folded her arms across her chest. She knew what Mitchell was up to. Mitchell already knew these answers. He just wanted to make sure Frank wouldn’t deviate from anything he had already told the media. Iris kept a watch on Frank’s face. No apparent sign of deceit showed as he wasn’t sweating, behaving nervously, or being inconsistent in his description. In her opinion, he seemed sincere. But what if he and his camera had been deceived? She would have never thought of this possibility if she hadn’t already witnessed it firsthand. Just how did her video recorder tape something from her distant memory?
“I just hope my corn is okay. People come from miles around to get organic crops,” Frank said.
Mitchell traded glances with his team. Iris concluded Frank may have been more shaken up than he cared to admit by directing attention to his crops.
“I think it’s going to be fine despite the trampling,” Mitchell said.
Frank whistled through his teeth again. “I certainly hope so. When I advertise myself as an organic farmer, I mean it. If whatever these things were affected my harvest in anyway . . .” He paused to scratch his chin.
“Frank, with your permission, we’d like to take some samples to test. Hopefully, we can ascertain whether or not it’s been tainted.”
“Sure thing,” Frank said. “I’d appreciate it.”
Darian and Gavin retrieved plastic baggies and gloves from the car and headed to the field, flashlights in hand. Frank excused himself to talk to neighbors.
“It’s really fortunate this happened when it did,” Mitchell said to Iris. “Any later and the news crew wouldn’t have been able to tape it in daylight. And believe me, Iris, that’s important for our investigation. If the tape was made the morning after it would give skeptics the opportunity to scream faked.”
“I understand. Still, is there any way this could have been faked?”
Mitchell cocked his head, doglike. “I suppose. But it’s documented this was created in a minute. Even if farmer Frank somehow transferred this tape onto his phone from a previous recording, you can hear the rustling in the field. Something created this artwork quickly. So even if we were to suppose CGI was used to create the balls of light, how could humans or any machine produce something so complex in such a short span of time?”
They paused to listen to the neighbors talk with Frank. Iris noticed each of them nodding and pointing to the field in turns. They all seemed to have experienced the same occurrence. No sooner had the lights appeared over the field, rustlings occurred. Each wore the same confused expressions. One said he was walking a dog when he heard the rustling, another was out for a jog, and Frank was in the process of fixing his vegetable stand. Apparently, Iris concluded, these lights cared little about secrecy. They could have waited until nightfall. And it was then she realized her investigation at the Morses’ house occurred shortly before dusk as well. Was there some kind of connection? Had these orbs of lights somehow been involved with her investigation too?
Everyone stopped to listen to the rustling sounds coming from the field. One woman in a red sweat suit gasped. Seconds later, Darian and Gavin morphed out of the field, baggies in hand. The woman sighed and continued talking with a neighbor. “Yes, that’s the sound I heard. Only it was about a thousand times louder.” The neighbor answered her. “And did you hear that high-pitched whining sound? The video doesn’t seem to have captured it.” His comment caught Frank’s attention. “Yes, that’s right. The whining sound—it hurt my ears.”
Frank excused himself to return to the investigators. “When you investigate these balls, can you see if they make whining noises?” Frank asked Mitchell.
“I can tell you,” Mitchell answered, “they do. I’ve studied many sightings, most in the UK, and witnesses have also reported to hear these sounds. But none of these people, to the best of my knowledge, has ever caught these balls in the process of creating a crop circle. And by the way, we refer to these lights as OBOLs—which stands for orange balls of light.”
“So, guys. What do we have in the baggies?” Mitchell asked his team.
Gavin pulled out a plant stalk gingerly. “It’s definitely strange.”
Everyone studied the stalk in silence. It appeared in shape to be a stalk but it was colored in the hues of a rainbow, mostly in hues of dark violet and indigo.
“There is no question, these crops have been altered,” Mitchell stated.
Frank nodded. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Well, at least it didn’t get my rhubarb. I keep that in the hothouse.” The woman in the red jogging suit consoled Frank by patting his shoulder.
Mitchell offered his apologies. He requested if it was okay for Darian to return tomorrow during his lunch break to snap some photos in the daylight. Frank acquiesced. “Again, anything you need to do. Just find out what did this.”
AS THE TEAM headed to the vehicle, Iris inquired as to just how the team would evaluate the plants. Mitchell answered without hesitation.
“I’m going to contact MUFON—the Mutual UFO Network. They can refer you to a lab where a botanist can hopefully inspect the plants. And best of all, most of these participating labs are sympathetic to our plight, so consequently, they will do the work gratis.”
Iris nodded. She wondered if their results wouldn’t be skewed. If the scientist was already a believer and willing to do the work for free, could their results really be unbiased. It was as if Mitchell heard her thoughts.
“I know what you’re thinking, Iris. But these people are serious scientists. They wouldn’t want to jeopardize their reputations with false conclusions. If what happened to these plants can’t be proven to be extraterrestrial, the lab report will reflect it. And you must realize that MUFON conducts investigations in the same manner we do. We seek to disprove a sighting or occurrence first, and then, when we can rule out natural explanations, we isolate any unexplained phenomena for further analysis.”
Iris remained silent. He had countered her doubts. Everyone piled into the vehicle, apparently in deep thought as well. It seemed to Iris the more the team investigated, the more questions arose.
MITCHELL STAYED by Iris’s side until the team left. “Iris, I think you have some questions. I can read it on your face. Perhaps, you still doubt what happened tonight to be extraterrestrial. If you still do, I wouldn’t blame you. You’ve been conditioned.”
Iris bristled. “Ah, can you please explain what you’ve just said? Are you implying I’ve been brainwashed?”
“Yes, but not just you. The entire world’s population has been under a government spell for decades. Despite how believable tonight’s events seem, someone in a government position will now counter it.”
“How-how can they counter it?” Iris said with a stammer. She felt frightened and angry. She was angry because Mitchell knew her father worked a government job, the one where most things were declassified and no family members
were ever privy to what their loved ones really did for a living.
“Are you talking disinformation?”
“Yes, that’s one avenue. But they have other means to counter events that seem to prove alien existence. For example, there might be soon news of another crop circle. Only this time, it will clearly be ruled as a hoax. Maybe the circle’s makers will come forward and admit it. Maybe a tape will be made and experts will find computer alterations. Sometimes, their methods are simple. They will use distraction. Some poor SOB politician will be accused of a sex scandal. Just wait, Iris. In no more than a day’s time, some news story will be concocted to trump this sighting.” He was still seated in his parked vehicle. He gripped the wheel tighter. “I’m trying to control my emotions on this. I try to tell myself that this is just what they do. I’m trying to accept it.” She observed his forced smile. This man was serious with a capital S.
“I can understand why you want to keep the dial a secret. But I just wish we could find out its origins sooner than later. I can’t in good conscience tell my clients to come back to their home when I believe the spirit still resides there. I don’t even feel right charging them because they’re paying for a hotel. But I don’t know what else to do.” She raised her right hand and balled it into a fist. “So you see, Mitchell, I’m just as angry and frustrated. But I’m trying my best not to let my team see me like this.”
Mitchell placed his hand on her shoulder. “It’s late. I better let you get to bed.”
Iris felt a tingle at his touch. It was a type of electricity she had only felt when with Ron. It was a complicated stimulus, not entirely explainable by sexual or mental attraction. Possibly it was both.
“Still mad?” he asked.
Iris turned her head away and smiled. She wished she could tell him why she blushed. She wasn’t angry anymore; she was embarrassed because she couldn’t stop visualizing Mitchell in bed with her. She forced herself to put the conversation back on course.