16: Confronting Mom
I arrived at my mother’s, mid-afternoon. Mom threw her arms around me, and Harry welcomed me with a handshake. I sensed their trepidation. Other than a few video calls, I hadn’t seen them since the 4th of July incident. They didn’t know about my post-abduction experiences or that I’d visited the Byrnes. What they did know was Jennifer and I were over, and I was unemployed and sleeping on my best friend’s sofa.
Mom heated up a plate of leftover tuna casserole and sat with me in the dining room of her late Seventies remodeled ranch. Harry returned to the living room to watch a football game.
“What have you been up to?” my mother asked.
“I’ve been doing research,” I said, shoveling a forkful of noodles into my mouth.
“Research? Are you writing again? Did you find a job?”
“No, but I’ve been researching a lot of things, and right now, I’m researching what happened in my childhood.”
“Your childhood? What about your childhood?”
“I want to know more about my father and what he was doing for work before he died.”
“You know that, honey: he was a doctor and worked for the government.”
“Doing what exactly?”
“Research. You know he couldn't tell us the details.”
“He never told you anything?”
“He had a security clearance, remember? What's got you so interested in this now?”
“Do you know who he was working for before he died?”
“In the Navy, he ran a clinic and delivered babies. When he got out, he went to work for a contractor and was doing something with medicine for astronauts or something. You know that.” She smiled awkwardly.
“Are you sure about that, Mom?”
Her voice rose. “Yes, of course I’m sure! Why are you asking me about this?”
“Game is coming on at seven. Going to be a good match-up between the Seahawks and the Rams,” Harry announced from his recliner. He was obviously listening to our conversation and wanting to break the building tension, I paid no attention to him. Football was the last thing on my mind. I needed to know what my mother knew.
“He was working for Northrop Corporation, Mom. Do you know what he was working on?”
“No. He was a doctor. I'm sure it was a routine work; whatever it was he was doing.”
“He was working on building human-like robots for a secret space program.”
“Robots? Secret space program? What are you talking about? This isn’t about the UFO thing again, is it, Ben?”
“Do you remember March 1997 when Dad took us on the camping trip near Prescott?”
“Yes. So?”
“The Phoenix Lights. You remember that, don't you, Mom?”
“I don't know.” She looked at my plate. “Why don’t you eat your dinner? Your food is getting cold.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember the Phoenix Lights. It’s the most famous mass sighting of alleged UFOs in modern history, Mom. It was on the news, remember?”
“Yes, the Phoenix Lights.” She called out to Harry. “You said the game was on?”
“Why don’t you come join me, Ben?” Harry said on cue.
Again, I ignored him. “Did Dad ever mention anything about the lights?”
Mom got up from the table abruptly and went to the kitchen. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t remember. Why are you asking me these questions?”
“Because I have seen evidence that he was involved in a secret project involving fake UFO abductions. I want to know what you know about it.”
“Here we go again with the alien abductions. I don’t think this is helping you any, Ben.”
I could hear the clanking of dishes going into the dishwasher.
“Was anything different after we came back from the camping trip?” I asked, raising my voice so she could hear me.
My mother glared at me through the kitchen pass-through. “What do you mean, different?”
“Did I seem different to you?”
“I don't know, Ben, it was a long time ago.”
“Mom, was I different after the camping trip?”
“It was a difficult time for you then. It was a difficult time for all of us. Let’s change the subject, okay?”
She was covering up for my dad and I knew it.
“I’ve got something I need to show you. Come here.” I took my phone out and showed her the photo of my father and Daniel Byrne. She studied it for a moment.
“That looks like your father. I’ve never seen that before. Who is that other person?”
“That’s Daniel Byrne from the Proxima Foundation. This photo was taken at a conference in Nevada in 1996. Daniel confronted Dad about the secret government program involving faked abductions called MILABs. They were kidnapping children in secret aircraft.”
“Kidnapping children? Oh, come on, that’s ludicrous!” She stormed back to the kitchen.
“What do you know about this?” I said in raised voice.
“That’s just crazy,” she replied.
“I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” I said. “I want to see whatever you have about Dad—photos, records of his employment, everything.”
“I don’t have any of that stuff. It’s all gone. Why don’t you join Harry and watch the game?”
I got up from the table and went over to the closet in the front hallway. “Mom, where are the old photos?” I said, rummaging through the shoeboxes and other junk on the top shelf.
“They are gone. We lost them when Harry and I moved here.”
“Are you serious? You lost them? You lost the family photos? How could you do that?”
“They are gone.”
“Those were the only photos we had!”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” she said.
Not finding what I was looking for, I went to the garage to hunt through the storage bins. Buried under Christmas ornaments and a bin of mom’s collection of knick-knacks, I found a box containing my Cub and Boy Scouts Merit Badge sash, brass skill award belt loops, and patches. Also, in the box were old notebooks from elementary school and high school. On one notebook’s cover I’d scribbled: “1997”. I flipped through the musty pages. Several drawings showed UFOs in V formation, obviously the Phoenix Lights. There were also drawings of hexagons and large headed, dark-eyed alien beings with the telltale ridge of a MILAB fake. I stared into the graphite-blackened eyes.
I’d completely forgotten about these notebooks and the drawings. Just as Daniel said, I would have repressed all the memories, but they would still come out in dreams and in drawings. Daniel was right: I was a childhood victim of a MILAB!
“Ben, come inside, it’s getting late,” Mom announced from the doorway.
I was pissed. She’d kept my notebooks but had thrown out the photos of my dad. Why would she get rid of our family photos? She was trying to cover up our past.
“Mom, I’m determined to know what happened to me on that trip when I was ten.”
My mother stepped into the garage and began replacing the bins on their shelves. My stepdad poked his head through the door. “What’s going on out here?”
“None of your business,” I snapped.
My mother wagged her finger at me. “That’s no way to speak to your stepfather. You apologize right now.”
I opened up my notebook from 1997 and held up the page with the figure strapped down to a table. “Do you know anything about this?”
She stared at me in horror.
“They were molesting kids, Mom, don’t you see? Dad was not delivering babies or finding a cure for cancer. He was involved in this. You must have known about this!”
“I don’t know what you are talking about, Ben.” She stormed over to me, grabbed the notebook, flipped through a few pages, then tossed it into a plastic bin.
I was growing angrier by the second. “What do you mean you don’t know? You had to know!”
“That’s enough, Ben,”
my stepfather barked.
I glanced at him for a furious second. “Stay out of this! This has nothing to do with you!”
I turned back to my mom. “You knew about it, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Her voice cracked. “Tell him to stop,” she pleaded to Harry.
Harry stepped into the garage and came towards me. “Ben, you’re not doing well. Why don’t you take a walk and cool down?”
“Listen to your stepfather, Ben.”
I toppled Mom’s Christmas ornaments off the shelf and onto the concrete floor. “Fuck you! You are not my father, and never were!”
“Benjamin!” my mother shouted. She came toward me. “You get out of this house! You’re crazy, absolutely crazy!”
Harry leaped over the mess on the floor and grabbed her. “Let’s all calm down now!”
My mother burst into tears in his arms. “I don’t know what to do,” she muttered.
“Go outside, Ben.” Harry pleaded. “Take a walk and cool down.”
“To hell with this!” I yelled, grabbing my notebook. I stormed past them into the house to get my jacket and overnight bag.
“Ben! Where are you going?” My mother yelled.
“I’m getting out of here, and I’m going to get answers!” I slammed the door of my Jetta and headed for 90 East. Daniel Byrne was right. My father was linked to a military black project involving fake alien abductions and his 10-year-old son. Daniel Byrne was going to help me get answers, and I was going to help him.
17: Nadine’s Suggestion
Mike ushered me up to Nadine’s private office suite. A bouquet of flowers in a teal green vase was in bloom on her desk. Mahogany Barrister bookshelves lined the room. Above was a wood paneled ceiling, and a statue of Quan Yin, the goddess of compassion, was on display on one of the shelves. Through an ajar door on the side was a private bathroom.
“Have a seat,” Nadine said, “I’m delighted that you’ve come back to us.” She pulled a portfolio of paperwork out of a drawer and presented it to me. In it was a lease agreement for the pod, and an employment contract that said that I was there “at-will.” There was also a list of rules I was to agree to. I glanced everything over and signed the documents without reservation. Then she slid an access card over to me.
“Here is the key to your pod. Mike will take you down there later. Daniel is meeting with the contractor and surveying the site right now. They are breaking ground on the new facility in the morning. Why don’t you go and see him? I’m sure he’s like to show you what is planned.”
“I will. Thank you, Nadine.”
She smiled. “So good having you with us, Ben, you will be at home here.” She pulled a couple brown vials of essential oil from a desk drawer and handed them to me. “A gift. The scents will help you to relax.”
I thanked her. I was feeling good.
Mike met me outside and we walked over to the construction grounds. Several dozen wooden stakes with bright orange streamers where in place, marking the site plan. A bulldozer and backhoe were parked and ready. Daniel saw us and came over to pick us up in his golf cart.
“So, you’ve decided to join us?” he asked.
I smiled and took out the access card to the pod. “Yes. I’m excited to get to work and learn more.”
“Good. I’m excited to have you here.” He pulled out a copy of the survey plan and blueprints. “Wait until you see what we have planned,” he said as he unfurled blueprints on the hood of the golf cart.
The design was impressive and far more than what I expected. Daniel pointed to a spot in the field. “Over here is where the theater and planetarium will be. We’ll have several video and theater rooms. The labs will be on the lower section, and a new secure archives vault.”
“And a new fitness facility,” Mike added.
Daniel smiled widely. “They are going to break ground tomorrow morning. Exciting times, Ben.”
They drove me down to the apartment pods. Mike carried my duffle to the door, and they left me alone to settle in. There were twin beds inside, one on each side, two small built-in desks with desk lamps, an essential oil diffuser, and a kitchenette with a portable refrigerator, microwave, and hot plate.
I set my bags down on one of the bunks and began to unpack my things. The entire set-up reminded me of Boy Scout camp, which in a way revived my suspicions about the Byrnes.
I fell into the routines of life on the Proxima Foundation Ranch over the next few weeks. During the day, I stayed busy writing press releases, helping with correspondence, and updating social media sites. Over most lunch hours, I’d get a workout in with Daniel and Mike at the small gym attached to the main house. In the evenings, Daniel and I talked. We’d sit on the back porch and have lengthy conversations about UFOs, mediation, and metaphysical topics. The depth of Daniel’s mind was impressive, and I could see why he was called the “Cosmic Guru”. He knew all about major historical UFO sightings and abduction incidents, as well as names and backgrounds of the people involved in them. The man was a walking UFO encyclopedia.
One night, while staring at the foundation footings of the new facility, I asked him if he had ever doubted his certainty in the existence of the extraterrestrials. Was he one hundred percent sure that they were visiting Earth, or could there be some other explanation for the phenomena?
“I’ve never doubted it, not since that night on the lake back in 1978.”
“How can you be sure, though?” I asked. “What makes you so certain?” I can’t count the number of times I always come back to this one question.
“My life’s work has been at getting at the truth and to know it for a fact by carefully evaluating the evidence and testing it. Remember, I may be a lawyer, but I think like a scientist—a real scientist who keeps an open mind—and I know how to be aware of my own fallacies.”
“Just like Richard Feynman said, and journalistic truth,” I blurted, thinking of the article I’d written that fell short of journalistic truth.
“Regarding your abduction, you know you were taken, albeit by the government, because the experience was real. You have physical evidence on you, and you know something about the motive of why the government would do this to you. We also have the experiences of others documented, supporting our hypothesis. The preponderance of the evidence tells the reality of the situation, even if people think it’s crazy.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “I just feel like I’m lost—like I don’t know if I can trust myself to know the truth.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Ben. The way to truth is through questioning what you believe to be reality. You have to. You perceive things through lenses, and those lenses are based on your previous experiences, social influences, biases, whatever. Once you’ve considered your biases and all possible explanations, you have to trust that what you believe is true until something convinces you otherwise.”
“Sounds a bit like faith,” I said.
“Faith is the substance of the things to be hoped for, the evidence of the thing unseen: Hebrews 11:1. But there’s also a truth you discover on your own or is revealed to you, in time. It’s about trust. Trusting in yourself and the universe. And sometimes you just know what’s true. I know we’re not alone, that there’s meaning in all of this. Our alien friends are trying to help us, but there are people on this planet who want to deceive and exploit them, and us. Let that scar on your chest remind you of that. Don’t worry, Ben. There’s a lot to learn, and your experience has awakened you to a whole new journey ahead. You are not alone and I’m going to help you. You can trust me.”
I nodded, feeling less unsettled.
Daniel wasted no time planning the journey for the next several weeks. We were going to Yakima first to visit a friend of Daniel’s and participate in a sweat lodge ceremony. Next, a visit with Dr. Petulli. They were going to resume testing on the device they were developing in his basement. Daniel was still keeping it secret, but I was to take part. I was excited
to witness the device in action, whatever it was. Chester was taking the bus up from Fresno and would occupy the empty bunk in my pod. I was less happy about sharing my space, but I didn’t have a choice in the matter.
Daniel also had a briefing planned at the National Press Club in Washington DC where he planned to make another push for full government disclosure of peaceful alien visitation. Next, back to Missoula for a speaking event at the Cosmic Woodstock festival, and then to top it all off, a trip to LA for an appearance on 60 Minutes. I was to accompany and assist him, and while being in the public eye did not appeal to me, I felt honored to be invited.
The day before the Yakima trip, Nadine invited me to lunch. I sat at the table in the dining room while she served up some BLT sandwiches and iced tea.
“Ben, you’ve been doing a great job with the social media and public affairs work for the Foundation. Daniel and I really appreciate it.”
“Glad to help,” I said before gulping my tea.
She poured a refill. “Have you thought about writing an article about your abduction experience? Perhaps it would be good for you.”
“Actually, it has crossed my mind, but I’m not sure...”
“What’s stopping you?” She looked concerned.
“I don’t know, I just...”
“Embarrassed to write about your personal experience because it involves extraterrestrials and government conspiracy?”
I smiled. “Maybe a little.”
“But it would be cathartic for you—getting out whatever is on your mind, telling your story as you see it. Why don’t you start with a short article for the Foundation web site?”
I took a bite of BLT and thought. I wasn’t sure if I could write anything worth a damn. Writing form letters and making Facebook and Twitter updates are no brainers, but writing something substantial, and the lingering guilt over the hoax story that had blown up in my face all but erased my confidence as a journalist.
Nadine let me ruminate. “Well, if you feel like getting started on it, I’ll let you off early today. Daniel will be supportive too. He admires you as a writer, you know.”
“You sure he won’t mind? I’m supposed to be helping with his book and if I start writing my own thing…”
The Goldilocks Zone Page 13