Coalescence (Camden Investigations Book 1) (5 page)

Iris tapped her foot and felt she couldn’t contain her
feelings a moment longer. Mitchell’s team seemed attentive and professional.
She was no longer afraid of possible ridicule. For all intents and purposes,
Iris believed some sort of déjà vu was influencing the case. But was the
influence coming directly from her, and not the dial.

“Everyone, I have one more piece of information.
Actually, it’s just a feeling. But I’m almost certain I’ve been to the place on
the video before. It’s just that it doesn’t feel as recent as two days ago. I
psychically sense being there at some other point of time. Thing is, I can’t
recognize the place, at least not from this video.”

“That seems plausible,” Darian remarked. “The video is
limited to only two rooms. The limited information may not be enough to trigger
full sensory recall.”

Kassidy pursed her lips and pointed a finger at Iris.
“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner, instead of making me think I was blinded
by some alcohol-induced hallucination?”

“I think we should call a break,” Mitchell said. Iris
wasn’t certain if Mitch was calling a break to avoid an argument between her
and Kassidy or if her déjà vu theory upset him.

Iris pulled Mitchell aside. “Walk with me, into the
kitchen, please.” It seemed Mitchell was prepped for Iris’s full fury upon
entering. His hands were flexing as he walked.

“What’s up? Was I out of line with my summations?”

“No, you weren’t. I may have been observing something
else, right here, which may assist our investigation in the long run. Your
friend Darian seems to have pushed a button with DJ. He’s been showing her some
photos from his iPhone. They’ve been laughing. More specifically, she’s been
laughing.” Iris was flummoxed. His reasoning to call a meeting had nothing to
do with what she suspected. Some psychic she was turning out to be.

“Okay, I see. I’ll put a stop to this.”

Iris grabbed Mitchell by the wrist as he attempted to
leave.

“No. I’m not explaining this correctly. DJ has been living
like a shut in. Only leaves the house for work. No thought of boys. No thought
of continuing school like she’d planned before my stepmother’s death. If she
can connect with Darian, it’s going to go a long way in her recovery. And in
time, she may entertain the possibility of using her gift again.”

“Which means we might obtain some answers from your
spirit after all: like what is the dial and how did that video get recorded?”

“Exactly, so we need to further things along.”

“I can ask Darian to ask her out
sometime . . .”

“No, that’s too slow. They need a date—tonight.”

Mitchell texted Darian, requesting that he text DJ to go
for a cup of coffee. Iris was certain DJ had her phone about her person—
at
all times.

DJ
RESPONDED
to her phone’s chime. “Excuse me, Darian.”

The text read:
I could use a paranormal break. How
about getting some coffee? Your new bud, Darian.

She texted:
I like your break. Let’s get out of here
 . . .
like now
 . . .

DJ gave Iris another reproachful look upon slipping out
the door. The sisters were joined telepathically. DJ realized this was a setup.
Yet, she went anyway, realizing Iris was also a sister who loved her very much.

Their playful banter continued throughout the ride to the
coffee shop. DJ and Darian never once had to wade through uncomfortable periods
of silence. It was as if they had ridden the bus together at school and shared
small talk.

Favorite subjects at school; music, clothing styles, and
food dominated the discussion. What DJ liked most about Darian’s conversational
skills was that they didn’t include any inquiries about ghost hunting or how
she came to talk with the dead.

An order was placed for two mocha lattes. After the
waitress departed, DJ began fumbling with a napkin. It was the first
apprehensive moment she had spent with her new acquaintance.

“Something going on with that napkin I should know
about?” Darian asked.

“Ooh. Caught me fiddling. My teachers never appreciated
it either. Some thought I was lost in a daydream, but when I fiddle with
things, I’m actually in the moment, formulating ideas and such.”

“I think I can relate.” Darian dislodged two packets of
sweetener from a dispenser.

“Well, I just wanted to let you know I appreciate your
self control. You’ve got to be busting to ask me about my gift. Everyone I ever
meet eventually learns I’m a medium and can’t stop asking me about it. It’s as
if I’m some sort of walking reference library. I want to tell them I’m not a
field of study, I’m a
damn
person. Oops. There goes my
self
control.”

“I haven’t asked because we’re supposed to be on break
per Mitchell’s orders.”

“Do you always follow instructions to the letter?”

“Detail is important. They say the devil is in the
detail. I hate idioms, but it is wise to learn everything you can about the
subject at hand.”

“So, I guess you guys are pretty stumped about the dial.
I mean, how can you study something if you can’t find its definition?”

Darian lifted his eyes to the TV screen. It was placed
above DJ, out of her view. “Well, sometimes definitions are wrong or they are
skewed. Take the TV news, for example. They give snippets of a story, leaving
out a whole lot of details. People seem to accept their conclusions. Their
conclusions or definitions are consequently inaccurate, sometimes for the sake
of brevity, sometimes for the sake of an agenda. So just because we can’t find
a definition of the object, it doesn’t mean we’re stymied. It might be more
objective to find the answer ourselves.”

“Taking the positive approach, I see.” DJ smiled.

“I like your smile. It’s honest.”

“I’m glad we met. You’re pretty down to earth.
Yet . . .” DJ paused while the waitress served the coffees. “It
seems you don’t share every idea.”

“Uh, well I try to be cautious with my
speech—unlike my buddy, Gavin. He speaks without thinking. Sometimes his
thoughts are brilliant; emphasis on the word
sometimes
.”

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.

T
HE 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.

I
RIS 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.”

A
S 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.

M
ITCHELL
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.”