The Bovine Connection

by Kimberly Thomas

Michael heard a noise and flinched. He remained still, waiting for another sound. He was sure he heard the sound of something fall in the other room.

  Breathing heavy, he was nervous and on edge. He didn’t say a word. He stood there motionless trying to hold his breath as his chest pumped up and down, peering into the darkness, waiting to see if someone would emerge from the shadows. “Meow.”

  Michael finally let out a breath. “You scared the living day lights out of me, kitty.” Matthew’s cat, Lady, stepped out from the darkness meowing once more as she rubbed against Michael’s leg, leaving long white hairs behind. Michael reached back, turned the knob and let Lady out the front door.

  After shutting the door, he turned and observed the hanging rope for a moment, and then clicked on his flashlight and proceeded into the room where Lady had just come from. It was a disaster; he stepped over papers and glass, shining his flashlight down as he walked around. The furniture seemingly grew larger as he shined the light on it.

  Michael leaned over and picked up a couple of irrelevant papers, quickly discounting and dropping them. Kicking things out of his way, he walked toward the dining room, leading into the kitchen. He sorted through all the clutter strewn about the floor, but found nothing pertaining to the mutilations.

  In the kitchen was a plate with a half-eaten sandwich on the counter, alongside an opened Icehouse beer. The small kitchen was illuminated only by the flashlight. Although most of the drawers were pulled out, the kitchen appeared to be mostly untouched.

  Michael continued through the archway leading down the hall to Matthew’s study. Shining his flashlight on the floor, he saw a bronze desk lamp, so he stepped over and picked it up and placed it back on the desk.

  As the light from the lamp lit the room, he caught sight of a lanky shadow beside the bookshelf. His muscles tightened as he spun around with the flashlight. Michael released the muscle tension with a quick breath. Nothing was there.

  He shined the light around the study. The desk drawers were lying empty on the floor. Papers were everywhere. Michael got down on his knees and went through them. He knew Matthew had accumulated several stories through the years but nothing about the mutilations appeared to be there. Michael realized he probably wasn’t going to find anything that would help Angelica. He continued to look around the study until finally giving up.

  As he made his way cautiously up the stairs, Michael shined the flashlight on the old hardwood steps. Walking past the rope and to a bedroom, he turned on the light and gave it a quick look-over. It was undisturbed. It must be a guest room with a few empty drawers open, he concluded, and of no interest to whomever was here.

  Michael found another guest room undisturbed, much the same as the first, so he crept over to the room directly across from it. When he turned on the light, as he had expected, it was Matthew’s room. The bed was unmade and there were clothes hanging out of the open drawers. It appeared to him that someone had looked through all the drawers, leaving them open or on the floor. Clothes were thrown out of his closet and scattered about, but still there was nothing that looked important from what he could see. Michael walked across Matthew’s room and into his bathroom. Stepping over his personal items as glass cracked under his shoes, he opened the medicine cabinet. Michael looked around and then went back in the bedroom. He didn’t know what he was looking for, and he sure didn’t see any papers or documents related to the mutilations. He also felt a bit uneasy disturbing what he now considered a crime scene. It was hopeless… There was nothing to take to Angelica, nothing that was left anyway. Was it possible that the killer was looking for and ultimately found the same documents he was now searching for in the shadows of this old, decrepit house?

  He was just about to leave when he noticed a rather large hand-carved Egyptian amulet lying on the dresser. Remembering he had brought it back from his travels and given it to Matthew, without hesitation, he went over, picked it up, and put it under his arm. He turned off the light and walked back down stairs. Michael looked around one last time making sure the lights were off and then opened the door to step out.

  As he pulled the door shut, Michael turned around to see Sheriff Taylor standing on the porch with both hands on his holster. “Holy shit… Sheriff!” Michael dropped his flashlight and the amulet.

  “Michael, I thought that was your truck! What the heck are you doing here, son?”

  Michael leaned over and picked up the flashlight and then the amulet. Michael caught the sheriff looking at it suspiciously, so he lifted the handcrafted, knot-shaped amulet. “I wanted something to remember him by. I saw it lying on the dresser and it felt right to take it since I had given it to him.”

  The sheriff tilted his head and nodded. “You shouldn’t be removing objects from a crime scene, son. What is that thing?” The sheriff appeared curious. Michael held it up. “An Egyptian relic, a tyet-knot.”

  The sheriff’s eyes softened and he looked down. “I’m sure sorry about Matthew. He will be missed. I’ve known you boys since you were kids -- runnin’ around town, drinkin’ beer, and gettin’ into trouble.”

  Michael lowered his head and looked down. “Doesn’t make sense,” he mumbled aloud. “What would have caused Matthew to lose control, destroy his house, and then hang himself?” Michael looked back up at the sheriff, puzzled.

  Sheriff Taylor pulled at his belt and cleared his throat. “Don’t know, son.”

  “This looks like a break in, even a bit staged. Something’s off, and Matthew wasn’t the type of guy to commit suicide… there’s definitely more going on here, don’t you think, Sheriff?”

  The sheriff looked around and back at Michael, his voice low and assertive… “So, you’re not convinced we’ve worked other angles besides just suicide. If it wasn’t staged, then Matthew must have struggled with his killer. That’s what you’re thinking.” The sheriff’s eyes were suspicious.

  “Did the medical examiner find any defensive wounds on Matthew during the autopsy?” Michael asked as he observed the sheriff’s face.

  “It’s late, and you should be getting on home. I’m not gonna ask how you got in here,” Sheriff Taylor patted Michael’s shoulder as they walked to Michael’s truck. “I know you boys were real close, Michael.”

  “Yes sir, we were,” Michael said as he looked down at his shoes and thought for a moment, and then looked back up at the sheriff. “Hey, Sheriff, why are you out here so late?”

  “Michael, you know I can’t discuss the specifics of the case, but yes, Matthew had some strange defensive bruising on his body. The medical examiner is now calling it a homicide. So no, we don’t believe Matthew killed himself. I knew that boy well enough to know he’d never have killed himself. And it looks to me like the killer was looking for something. But you just forget our conversation here tonight, all right. The town folk will know in the morning.”

  The sheriff looked firmly at Michael. “You boys were real close; you wouldn’t have any idea of who might have wanted Matthew dead, would you?”

  Michael looked surprised. “No, Sheriff, I sure don’t, I can’t imagine anyone wanting Matthew dead. Everyone that knew him… liked him. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  The sheriff thought for a moment and shook his head. “You go home and get some sleep, I’m gonna do another walkthrough. Goodnight, Michael. Oh, and by the way, I’m gonna want you to come by the station tomorrow and give us a statement regarding your whereabouts on the night of Matthew’s death. You being here tonight kinda makes this situation a bit awkward. Understand?”

  “All right, Sheriff.” Michael quickly got in his truck and backed out of the loose pea gravel driveway as Sheriff Taylor stood and watched.

  Michael peered out of his rearview window at the sheriff’s silhouette growing smaller as he drove away.

  He reached over and picked up his cell phone on the seat and called Angelica. She didn’t answer so he left her a message. “I’ll be there tomorrow evening. I’ll grab a cab to your place, just text me the address
when you get a chance. And, please be careful until I get to you. I ran into Sheriff Taylor at Matthew’s house tonight… I’ll tell you everything when I get to D.C. Sheriff Taylor wants me to stop by the police station, and then I’m going spend some time tomorrow with Sammy wrapping things up. I look forward to seeing you. Did I tell you how much I enjoyed having you here? Sure have thought a lot about you since you left,” Michael spoke softly. He hung up and looked ahead into the darkness.

  Michael was only about a mile from his ranch when suddenly the radio turned on in the truck. The loud eruption of music startled him… “Jesus!” he shouted.

  Michael impulsively pushed the button and turned the radio off. Bewildered, he took a deep breath. His face was flush. Michael tilted his head and observed the radio for a moment. He reached over and turned the radio on and then off again, completely puzzled by the strange incident. Michael checked his wristwatch, it was stuck at one thirty-three in the morning. He tapped his watch and put it to his ear. It wasn’t ticking.

  Michael glanced to his left and noticed an old barn and a broken down tractor in an open pasture. As he turned back around, he saw a large silver craft with bright lights hovering in the sky about fifty feet above his black Escalade, in front of him. Michael impulsively slammed on the breaks and came to an abrupt stop. His gut told him, without a doubt, it was a UFO.

  Michael quickly opened the door and jumped out. He threw his shoulders back. His eyes were wide as he looked up skyward toward the hovering craft.

  Michael’s head started to throb. He rubbed his head, gliding his fingers down and around his face. His legs went limp and he slumped onto to his knees. The pain was sharp and infiltrated his entire skull. He slowly stood up, disoriented, squinting in the brightness of the craft. Darkness was all around him.

  Suddenly, a loud humming sound penetrated the air. Michael covered his ears just as another bright light hit him like the sting of a bee, causing Michael’s head to jolt back and his arms to shoot out to the side of his body. He was frozen.

  Chapter Forty

  Angelica awoke and noticed her room had turned chilly. As the vague remembrance of another disturbing nightmare came into focus, she pulled the covers up to her neck and shivered. The room was closing in on her.

  The themes of the macabre visions were becoming more consistent and tangible. She recalled feeling again as if she were sliding or being dragged off of her bed, and she was waking to actual senses that were frightening, to say the least. She had a metallic taste in her mouth. Her abdomen was tight and painful to the touch. She recalled vaguely that the pain upon waking in the middle of the night was horrendous but she quickly passed out.

  That morning, it was coming into focus. She remembered the brightness of the craft as she was being led inside it and seeing other humans there. There were men and women on metal tables undergoing what appeared to be surgical procedures. When she passed by, she tried to make eye contact, but they appeared to be unconscious or didn’t notice her.

  Then she remembered at one point being in a room. Her breathing was hard and dry. Drenched in sweat, she felt frightened. She looked up to see a baby as one of the beings handed it to her. She caressed the tiny body and when it looked at her, she saw it was only part human. Its black, almond shaped eyes gazed into hers, causing her to scream, right before she was hit by a blinding flash of light. The dream came back to her so vividly and felt incredibly too real. Between the sheets, she felt like a rock between two feathers. The weight of the revelation that she was being abducted as she slept was too heavy to bear; it was deeply unsettling to consider that she was being violated while she slept. She had to put it out of her mind.

  Angelica rose from the bed, and absentmindedly looked around the room, thinking about the baby in her dream. She was glad to be home in D.C., where she was surrounded by familiar things and memories.

  Angelica walked over to the bathroom and grabbed her robe from the back of the door, and then went down stairs into the sunny kitchen. Angelica started the coffeemaker and then opened the refrigerator. She had been too exhausted to stop by the market on her way home from the airport the night before. She grabbed the organic carrot juice and took a sip, immediately turning to the sink to spit it out. It had soured, leaving a bad taste in her mouth. She used the outside of her palm to wipe the carrot juice from her lips. Angelica turned around, opened the cabinet, grabbed a coffee mug and placed it under the pod already in the Keurig.

  Fumbling through her pantry, she found a box of shortbread cookies. She took a cookie out, grabbed her coffee mug from the Keurig, and walked into her den.

  Angelica held the cookie between her lips as she pulled out the drawer of her desk and located her zip drive. She slid it into the USB slot on her laptop and downloaded all of her backed up files into her new Apple laptop. Everything was there except the files on the cattle mutilation story.

  Angelica suddenly remembered the man’s voicemail about the note he had left her. She jumped up, ran over, and opened the front door, but there was nothing in plain sight. Even though she was exhausted last night, she would have noticed it as she walked in, she thought. Angelica bent down and lifted the mat… and there it was in a large manila envelope. She started to open it, but stopped and instinctively looked around to see if anyone was watching her. Her heart was pounding as she stood there holding the envelope against her chest. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There was a young woman walking a Jack Russell and a male jogger on the other side of the street. The woman looked over and smiled at Angelica. Angelica smiled back and quickly shut the door and turned the deadbolt behind her.

  Angelica walked around to all the windows and shut the plantation shutters. She sat down at her desk again and twirled the envelope with a dramatic swish of her wrist onto the desk. Her instincts were telling her not to open it. She sat staring at it for a few seconds, contemplating. There were no markings or writing on the outside. No stamp, nothing giving clues. Angelica took a deep breath and started to open it, but stopped, and thought aloud… “What if it’s laced with poison?” She grabbed her coffee mug and quickly put the envelope down, got up from her desk, and started pacing around the room with her coffee mug cuddled tightly between both hands. Glancing back at the envelope sitting on her desk, she finally let out a sigh and walked over and picked it back up. Taking a deep breath, she opened it.

  “I have very important information for you. The story you’re working on goes far beyond anything you could imagine. We need to meet.” Angelica felt her heart pounding rapidly, her body instantly tensed.

  “You obliviously know where the Smithsonian is - Meet me there Tuesday June 29th at noon at the Egyptian exhibit. There is something that I must show you, and Ms. Bradley, this may sound strange, but try to make sure you’re not followed. And don’t tell anyone where you are going.”

  “Why there? It was crowded with people, so there was some comfort in that, at least,” she thought as she put the envelope down, unsure of what to do.

  “What if he is one of them? What if he wants to kill me?” she thought aloud. Her journalistic instincts immediately took over and she decided to take the chance and meet him. She’d put off going to her office until after the meeting and although it was risky, it seemed minimal because of the location. Angelica had been to the Smithsonian many times and knew she could find her way around quickly and easily.

  Angelica sent Gail a text letting her know she would be in her office some time mid-afternoon.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Angelica knew the Egyptian exhibition was located in the National Museum of Natural History on the corner of Constitution Avenue and 10th Street. The Smithsonian Institution was not a single entity but rather consisted of a conglomerate of nineteen museums and research facilities making it the largest of its kind in the world. Tourists could spend an entire week going from museum to museum and still only witness a small portion of its treasures. The new exhibition “Eternal Life in Ancient Egypt” had quickly bec
ome one of the most popular exhibits the Smithsonian had ever introduced. Visitors were indoctrinated into the mystical Egyptian burial rituals, and the significance of cosmology in their beliefs of the afterlife. The scientific study of mummies revealed to visitors expert burial practices, as well as the diseases that the Ancient Egyptians fought and--in most cases--lost the battle against.

  Angelica made her way to the West Wing of the 2nd Floor near the entrance to the “Written in Bone” exhibition.

  Pushing through the crowds, Angelica finally made her way to the entrance of the exhibition she was looking for. She was trying not to show how nervous she was to meet this mysterious man who knew where she lived, but anyone watching her closely could see she was clutching her purse a little too tightly against her chest.

  Angelica stopped at a re-creation of a mummy and its tomb and began to take deep breaths as she gained her composure. She walked over to the next showcase and was mesmerized by the Egyptian hieroglyphics surrounding the ornate inner coffin of Tentkhonsu. For a few moments she was able to put the ominous meeting out of her mind. She realized there was so much she had missed during her last visit to the museum. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” a male voice whispered close to her ear.

  Angelica jumped. Startled, she turned to her right to see a distinguished black man with a badge hanging from his neck against an expensive blue and grey plaid button up. With pressed, khaki slacks and brown loafers, and an obvious Smithsonian badge around his neck, he appeared harmless.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he whispered sincerely. “Ms. Bradley, my name is Dr. Marc Bishop. I am the one that contacted you and left you the note.”

  Angelica stepped back and let out the nervous breath she had been holding. “Well, you did startle me! What is this about, Doctor?” she asked. “Why did you contact me? You said my life was in danger… Why?” “And how did you find me?”