Coalescence (Camden Investigations Book 1) (10 page)

After just a
few minutes of meditation, Iris had left her room.

S
HE
WAS
walking down a street, unpaved. It was comprised of ruddy
clay-like soil colored in a reddish-brown hue. People populated the street,
shuffling in zombie-like stride, faces devoid of emotion. Where was she? It was
as if it were a different time. Agricultural and devoid of vehicles, Iris
surmised it was Earth’s past. Yet the sky wasn’t appropriate for any time. It
was almost colorless, or the light gray tone you see in a black and white
movie.

After
absorbing the details of the surrounding environs, she glanced to her right.
There, walking side by side with her was Mitchell.
So much for a covert
operation . . .

“Hey, what
are you doing here?”
He asked her, not attempting to mute
his surprise or annoyance.
“Couldn’t you trust me?”

“Maybe it
was more like I couldn’t trust myself? Uh, sorry. Bad joke. Bad explanation.”

“No, you
meant what you said. Explain it to me, Iris.”

It felt so
weird to commune in her head with someone other than DJ. It was like she had
entered the fictional realm of a show like Star Trek; now she felt like the
Vulcan trying to explain her actions to the confused and inferior human. So
filled with emotion they couldn’t possibly understand the logical answer if she
gave it to them.

“I meant,”
Iris thought to Mitchell’s subconscious mind,
“I just couldn’t trust myself
to lie back and watch a friend get hurt again. It would be like I was given an
experience and had learned nothing from it.”

“Okay, so
you’re here. I don’t see how you or anyone can protect me . . .
from . . . whatever this is.”
Iris could
perceive Mitchell extending his arms as if they were parenthesizing their new
and strange environs.

“I will
admit. I don’t know, either.”

“And I’ll
admit I probably have no place being here, either. I’m certainly not
qualified.”

“No. But
you’re willing. You’re open. You’ve opened your mind to allow this. I wish I
could say the same. It seems you’re willing to believe in conversations with
the dead—albeit alien—while I stubbornly cling to my beliefs.”

“Are you
sure they are your beliefs?”

“What do you
mean?”

“Well, you
could have been influenced.”

“And if I
was?”

“If you
were, maybe you should reconsider the motivation of whoever influenced you.”

“I know what
you’re getting at. You think my father . . .”

A seismic
rumble, and then, an invisible wave interrupted the conversation—causing
portions of Iris and Mitchell’s new reality to distort and blur. It was as if
one was looking through the flames of a fire and the objects on the other side
had appeared to bend and waver.

“What’s
happening?”
Mitchell asked, his hand reached for her, but missed.
Both fell to their knees. The occupants of the street who managed not to fall
during the wave increased the speed of their mechanical soldier-like march. In
their wake, caked dust rose off the road, thrusting a brown storm of debris
into their faces. Mitchell coughed. Iris fought to remove a particle from her
eye; it stung badly, tearing.

“We’ve got
to get up!”
Mitchell screamed to be heard above the wail of the wind
and the cries of the occupants.

“No.”
Iris shook her head at him.
“This is okay. DJ has made contact with the
presence. I can feel it. It’s causing this.”
She spoke louder in response
to Mitchell who had cupped a hand to his ear.

It was as if
a ripple had occurred. Iris and Mitchell were in some kind of liquid that now
cascaded into bigger and larger ripples, like when a stone is thrown into a
lake.

Iris
wondered if there was some kind of danger of both their subconscious minds
becoming fused. She hadn’t thought about that. She hadn’t thought about a lot
of consequences of her interference. Now she might have put Mitchell in even
more danger.

She
leveraged herself upright by applying pressure onto her right leg with her
hands laced together. Mitchell observed and did the same.

The minuet
of a steeple caught their eye. In the face of the clock, an image shimmered
into focus. It was DJ.

“It must be
DJ giving us the signal a connection has been established,”
Iris yelled her thought.

“As if we
needed one.”
Mitchell gazed about the aftermath of the ripple, his
hands again making parentheses. Debris was scattered everywhere. Carts that
carried some sort of produce were tipped over and abandoned.

Iris noticed
the contents were putrefied. Had that happened in consequence of the ripple or
before? There was no time to ponder. The presence spoke.

Amid the
rustic ruins, a huge screen erected itself across the road. It reminded Iris of
a drive-in movie. But it was like Salvador Dali artwork, peculiarly out of
place with its environs, or, like the Old West had suddenly collided with the
information highway.

It was where
the presence first appeared as a tangible being. Only it wasn’t human, nor did
it resemble any gray or green alien. Instead, it was comprised mostly of light
except for its appendages. Dashes of black appeared where hands and feet should
have been. The remainder of the body, which when viewed as an outline did
appear human shaped; however, it was colored in all hues of the rainbow.

Mitchell
turned his head to Iris. “
It looks like some kind of neon gingerbread man.”

Iris was too
baffled to respond. If this was a human playing some kind of trick with them,
how was it pulling this off? Its appearance was disturbing in itself. Beautiful
colors had taken on a sinister and ominous meaning. When she considered the
imagery of the apocalyptic wasteland surrounding them, she wondered how
anything or any spirit could manage this. Could this being somehow be tapping
into the ley or fault lines Mitchell had spoken about? Was it how it had
manipulated each and every event they had experienced? But how could a spirit
accomplish all this? And what place or importance did the dial play in all
this? It was safely confined in Mitchell’s storage locker. This being had told
DJ the dial must be taken to a place where it could protect the population from
an engineered plague.

As if the
apparition heard her thoughts, imagery appeared on the giant movie screen.

Photos
flashed across it. All were of barren wastelands similar to where they stood.
The only vocal communication initiated was via subconscious thought, similar to
how Iris and Mitchell were conversing. This meant the being was inside their
heads.

“This is my
planet. You are merely visiting. Now do you understand why you must heed my
warning?”

Iris
shuddered. Even her subconscious voice stammered.
“Do-o n-not deceive us. We
k-know wh-er-e we-e are
.”

“Then you deceive
yourself. You are not so big as to believe you are the sole occupants. Even on
your earth, we have walked among you, for years—without notice. It is
time you awakened to your full consciousness. See my world through your own
eyes.”

Mitchell
intervened. “
Arguing is getting us nowhere. Tell us what we must do with the
object. And explain how it protects us.”

The screen
flashed. It showed ruins. Again they appeared to be from some desolate planet.

“Wait a
minute.”
Iris raised her hand
. “I know this. It’s somewhere in
Arizona. This is not some other planet.”

“You are
correct. It is an energy reserve to power the artifact. You must interface the
artifact with the energy reserve. You will find it somewhere here.”

“I must know
your motivation. I don’t care how it can protect us,”
Iris shouted, balling a fist and waving it at the screen.

The screen
displayed a spaceship. It was rocket-shaped with wings resembling a housefly.
It had just come out of some warp jump, slowing down, but powering up another
one of its systems by indication of a blue glowing light on its tail.

It flashed
an arc of light. Curve-like it resembled a ripple of pond water disturbed by a
stone. It resonated and bounded toward a neighboring world. It didn’t appear to
be Earth; it was too brown and red. The impact shook the planet. Then, as if a
camera had panned down to the surface, scenes of destruction followed. But the
devastation of the planet’s environs was not the most disturbing. Its populace
had fallen where they had stood. It was similar to the current surroundings,
but Iris noticed the technology of the planet wasn’t nearly as sparse.
Factories rose high above the fallen people, trivializing their ant-like
existence. It was as if this were some other time on Earth, or perhaps Iris thought,
the result of an enormous time slip. Her conscious mind still refused to
believe other worlds supported alien populations.

The screen
flashed again. The image of the supposed alien ghost reappeared in its glowing
neon rainbow form.

“If this is
trickery,”
it screamed at Iris, “
how can I appear in this manner
to you? You must acknowledge even the part of your brain responsible for
creativity and imagination could not have conceived something like this.”

Iris turned
to Mitchell. He already knew her question before she could finish thinking it.

“No,”
he said to her. “
I have never imagined anything quite like this. I am sure
this being is not accessing my mind to do this.”

“How can you
be sure?”
Iris asked him.

“It’s time
to take a leap of faith, Iris. You are surrounded by decimation. We can’t allow
this to happen. Whatever is doing this has destroyed his world. He’s giving us
the means to save ourselves.”

“Again, I
ask, why is he so motivated to help us?”

“That’s just
it. He isn’t. His true motivation is revenge.”
Mitchell
turned his gaze from Iris to the screen. “
Tell me, I’m correct, aren’t I?”

Iris could
feel an emotion emanating from the screen. It felt as if the Skittle-colored
apparition was grinning back at them. Not with delight, however, but with deep
remorse and intense hatred for whoever had perpetrated the genocide against his
race.

Whatever it was, Iris concluded, it needed them to take
revenge for it. If so, its power was limited. Iris dared not to dwell on how
she might take advantage of this conclusion. The presence was well within its
power to hear her every thought, and even more disturbing, it was still
grinning at her.

I
RIS
TOSSED
onto her right side. Then she shifted to her left. Over
her, she sensed some kind of probe. It was a powerful speck of light, and it
had to be miles above her, peering at her through a window as she slept.

She squinted
and raised a hand to shield the light emanating downward. But the probe’s
glowering white light was relentless. When she moved, it appeared to move. At
least, she sensed it did. She grunted and tugged the covers from her feet so
she could cover her head. But lack of fresh air and the curiosity of feeling
spied on from the skies soon necessitated her reemergence. What the hell was this?
Was she in a dream state? Perhaps, it was sensory overload from her psychic
ménage a trios?

She couldn’t
be sure if these were just residual images from her and Mitchell’s meeting with
the supposed ghost alien. Maybe the ghost had a way of transmitting more
messages to her. She believed the bond had been severed hours earlier, DJ
confirmed as much. But she had personally never acted as a medium before. The
key word was
act
. Without DJ and assistance from Evan’s cage, Iris
believed she could have never communed with the dead. But since she had, she
couldn’t be sure if the presence now had instant access to her mind. If so,
what about Mitchell? Would, or could, it access his mind freely now? Had their
brain waves been altered forever?

She squinted
again but it was impossible to put a make on the image. Too much glow to
discern if it was simply an earth-based craft such as a helicopter. It was too
far away to hear any noise emanating. What was her next move? She shook away
some of her grogginess by raising herself to a sitting position. Iris spied her
phone on the nightstand and reached for it. She had Mitchell on speed dial. It
was too easy to hit the button and probably wake the man she felt so confused
about. He might be sleeping, despite the experience of his life—contact
with an alien. Iris surmised the telepathic activity had exhausted him. He had
to be asleep. And she’d made uneasy eye contact with him as they parted company
for the night. She had intruded on his investigation, after all. It was not the
right time for a call. Okay, she could always pop out into the hallway and
check in on DJ.

Her sister
was asleep. For a moment, she envied how DJ treated psychic communication as it
were some kind of banal house chore. Despite the night’s activity, not to
mention the overhead light hovering over the Camden residence, how could
everyone simply saunter off to sleep so easily? Iris shook her head and headed
back toward her room.

S
HE
CLOSED
her bedroom door a little too hard, regretting how anger
and some other heavy-duty emotions were tugging upon her feelings like a full
moon. She glanced at her phone and then to the window over her bed. But it was
dark except for the soft glow of the iPhone. When had the white strobe left? In
the instant she had roamed the hall? Had it been there at all? She peered out
her window but only could make out a faint twinkle of a star. A crescent moon
was visible from the other side of the house. There wasn’t any airplane
activity. Did her mind just play tricks on her, if so, was she somehow
influenced in a subconscious way from everything she had witnessed mere hours
ago? The visions of walking upon strange soil, the unnatural light-gray sky
seeming to weigh heavy upon her as some sort of suffocating ether, and the
communication with the presence via a drive-in movie screen; they were all
imagery. But they were still not tangible in her judgment. She could have had
her mind manipulated. She was communing with the presence via her subconscious,
a different form of telepathy not used by mediums.

She also
considered Mitchell’s claims that her father had some agenda for instilling
such aggressive non-belief in extraterrestrials. This, she had to admit,
triggered guilt. Were her waking moments now subject to some kind of psychic
invasion or influence? And was it from both the presence as well as Mitchell?
Or, more logically, had her slumber into dream state only made her believe she
had been awakened moments ago? Was the illumination she believed to be spying
on her just a dream? She reasoned her mind must be very confused. All she had
witnessed, including the psychic tether with the presence, could be illusion.
She had no prior experience as a medium to judge otherwise. She felt too taxed
to tap into the psychic connection with her sister. Defeated, she fell into bed
and willed her mind to relax so she might get a few hours sleep. It was a
workday. Afterwards, the teams would meet to learn about their psychic
expedition. She heard Mitchell’s voice as she drifted to sleep. He was so emphatic
what he had seen was real and urgent. She didn’t have a clue as to how she
would counter his report to the teams. If everyone believed in what the
presence claimed was real, maybe she could still pick apart his claims by
attacking his motivation. A part of her wanted Mitchell to find his holy grail.
Another part of her warned his quest might be veiled in illusion. Not only
would it lead Mitchell into danger, but every being on the planet. Because,
what if the presence not only wanted to take revenge upon his enemy aliens, but
humanity as well?

I
RIS
SIPPED
Chamomile tea, but her hands kept shaking.
So much for
herbals.

Kassidy
placed a hand on her back. “Hey, try to take some deep breaths.” Any minute
Mitchell’s UFO team would arrive. “You don’t want the guys witnessing your
impersonation of me, do you? Besides, you’d need a serious perm to pull it
off.”

Iris forced
a smile for Kassidy’s benefit.

“It’s all
right. You can put your guard down. It’s me.” Kassidy led Iris from the living
area to the unoccupied kitchen. She motioned from Iris to take a seat. “I can’t
give you enough kudos for what you did, jumping into the fray to help your
boy—uh, I mean, Mitchell. Actually, I can’t even comprehend what you did.
But the hand thing, that’s my affliction. I get the shakes from my
overindulgences. Your hands are our guide. They need to remain steady as a
rock, like you.”

Iris pulled
out a chair but remained standing. “That’s just it, Kassidy. Sometimes I feel
so isolated. I can identify with the rock but not its solidity. I’m supposed to
be the leader here. You shouldn’t have to hold my damn hand.
Literally . . .” She crossed her arms. “I think I’ve made a
mistake. I’ve let my involvement with Mitchell cloud things. Your observations
are correct. And, if I were you, I wouldn’t blame you if you kicked my ass
right now.”

Kassidy
winked. “Would that be a fun thing to do?”

Rachel
entered. “Are we all ready for the most paranormal fun one can have with her
clothes on?”

“Have you
been eavesdropping, Rache?” Kassidy asked with a sly grin.

“No. Way too
busy thinking for that. We’ve made the most important paranormal discovery of
our times, and the damned thing is—we can’t tell a soul about it.”

Iris bit her
lip. It felt as if the presence was influencing everyone. She recalled last
night’s séance. It demanded the teams keep their discovery of the object a
secret. She recalled watching a wreckage scene supposedly depicting the alien’s
craft. The presence claimed its ship had been discovered by the enemy and was
sabotaged. It was how it died. Fortunately, the presence maintained, it had
been able to engage the dial with a satellite without knowledge of the enemy.
But had it? How could the enemy alien know of its existence yet not figure out
where the dial was? Why would they cause the wreckage of an alien craft on
Earth? Weren’t all aliens wary of alerting humans? But the presence countered
the enemy aliens gambled the world’s governments would cover up the crash.
Remove all evidence and deny a crash ever occurred—at least one involving
extraterrestrial beings. She recalled Mitchell’s response to this. He noted it
was just like the infamous Kecksburg crash site in the 1960s. Funny thing was:
Mitchell wasn’t even born then. And the incident sure wasn’t infamous to her.
She believed the presence manipulated Mitchell by confirming his conspiracy
theories. Mitchell had been waiting all his life for someone to acknowledge
that cover-ups were commonplace. She couldn’t fathom how anyone would convince
him otherwise. It was as if the alien sifted through Mitchell’s subconscious to
find the best ammunition to support its cause.

When
Mitchell entered, Iris felt as if she were greeting her most beloved boyfriend
but also her greatest nemesis. She had no one to blame for this conundrum. Why
couldn’t she have resisted? How could she have become involved with someone who
was not only a colleague, but someone whose beliefs she opposed?

She had
denied herself involvement with Ron. He believed everything she had back then.
He was an outstanding leader and mentor. She’d fantasized too many times to
count where it might have led: a long romance, possibly even marriage and a
family? That was all fantasy now because she witnessed the man’s demise at the
hands of spirits—their strange orbs turning a capable man into an
emotional invalid in a blink. She had living proof that those orbs, or whatever
they were, affected him.

But she
couldn’t know if Mitchell’s OBOLs, the dial, or even that strange light that
may or may not have shined on her bedroom last night had any real powers. A
caduceus had been drawn in a cornfield by something that’s light affected the
crops in an adverse way. But could all of these happenings, the very dial
itself, still be terrestrial? The work her father devoted his life to made her
believe this possible. These events could all be linked back to the world’s
governments or military branches. Of course, they didn’t want the world to
discover top-secret technology. That’s why Mitchell believed in the cover-ups.
In a way, he was right, but only partially. Given the presence might still be
of terrestrial origin as well, might it have gained access to some of the
government’s technologies and manipulated Mitchell and her to do its bidding
for god knows what?

Maybe it was
just a rival nation hoping someone would be foolish to believe it. If so, the
dial might not have a beneficial use. It might even foster the type of
engineered plague it was supposed to prevent. Iris concluded she had to plant
this seed of doubt in her team’s minds. If she could do this, she might be able
to create a standoff between the ghost hunters and the ufologists. She didn’t
want to engage in an investigation with set beliefs, but something still nagged
at her; that the ghost was a trickster and whatever he wanted those to do for
him would be detrimental to all. Yet, she still felt weak without a support
system to present a counterargument against aliens. Could she risk alerting her
father of the dial? Would he willingly educate Mitchell about its true origin?
She believed it would be best if Mitchell became convinced the object was
indeed our government’s making and was not reverse engineered from any alien
neighbors. But she couldn’t depend on her father to release any sensitive data
to the public. Even if it meant saving the life of the man she still wanted to
date and possibly love despite their differences.

Iris finally
concluded her safest option. She would confide in Ron, despite the presence’s
warnings. Poor Ron might not even be capable of understanding what she had to
say. But she believed he could listen to her words despite his compromised
condition. He was her kindred spirit. He was also another ear and support
system for her. Mitchell had Evan. Iris believed it only fair she had an ally
as well. The idea took some of the weight off her shoulders. She felt her heart
lighten but only for an instant. Rache came back into the kitchen then to let
her know that both the teams were in her living room and waiting for her to
begin. Soon what Rachel had dubbed the most important meeting in the world
would begin.

Iris spent a
scant moment greeting Mitchell. She inquired how he’d slept. He reported “like
a log.” That meant it was highly unlikely the presence was still transmitting
thoughts to their minds. It also indicated Mitchell might not be quite as upset
with her as she imagined.

Nevertheless,
his contact was minimal. He had leaned over to her, but opted to place a hand
on her shoulder instead of kissing her lips. His eyes told her he wanted to
discuss things, but not here. Iris blinked back a tear. If the situation was
reversed, and the woman was requesting a discussion, it usually foretold of ill
tidings for the relationship. As Mitchell eyed the teams preparing seating
arrangements, she opted to break the ice with a joke.

“I think we
might have to classify last night as our first date. Although it was only in
our minds.” She paused but he was silent. “At least we didn’t spend it in some
cheesy couples’ restaurant. We can always boast we spent it on some other
world.”

Mitchell
countered. “I wish I could believe that. If you are asking me, I think you
believe everything we experienced was mere hallucination. But
I
don’t.
It’s why I have to impress upon the group that it’s urgent we heed the
presence’s warning. We must map a plan to return the object to its proper
place. I don’t think I can count on your support in this, can I?”

Iris,
stunned, mumbled a few nearly unintelligible syllables, “I
have . . . to . . . think.”