Dark Moon Crossing (14 page)

“Super.”

“All
right. What do you want to know?‌”

I
flipped to a fresh page in my notepad. “For starters, your credentials as a
UFOologist?‌”

“I
studied at the Roswell, New Mexico site with other researchers for two years
and then I worked with Dr. Hadlyn Stouffer at the Harkins Institute for UFO studies
in California for almost twelve. I’ve written numerous magazine articles, I
can get you copies if you wish, and I’ve also co-authored two books on
sightings in Europe and South America before beginning my own studies here.”

“What
made you choose this particular area?‌”

“The
proliferation of sightings that started about two years ago and their possible
connection to the animal mutilations on some of the ranches in this area.”

I
hunched forward, keeping my voice low. “Then I’m sure you know about the
abduction story told by the immigrant apprehended in Morita awhile back.”

“Yes,
indeed. I’m sorry I didn’t have an opportunity to talk with him before he was
deported. From the accounts I read in the newspaper, he was obviously
suffering from the severe mental aftershock that is commonly associated with
these occurrences.” Her expression grew wistful. “He might have found it
helpful to have the support of our encounter group.”

“As
a psychotherapist, what exactly is your role in that setting?‌”

She
took another sip of coffee before saying in a matter-of-fact tone, “It’s my job
to help clients deal with the fear, depression and anxiety associated with the
abduction experience.”

“What’s your take on this guy’s story that an entire
van load of his countrymen was…well,
space-napped
?‌ Are you aware of any
other situations where abductees have simply vanished from the face of the
earth?‌”

“There’s
no one way to answer that. In addition to eyewitness accounts right here,
there are documented cases from all over the world relayed by people who have
never communicated with one another, yet share similar experiences of seeing
bright pulsating lights in the sky. Many report being surrounded by a strange
cloud and then ending up miles away from the abduction site, hysterical,
disoriented, and sometimes suffering from temporary blindness and sleep
paralysis. One recognizable factor in all of these cases is the unexplained
blocks of missing time.”

Her
expression grew more animated as she warmed to her subject. I cautioned myself
to maintain a professional demeanor, as what she was saying sounded totally
inconceivable to me.

“But
to answer the second part of your question,” she continued, motioning to the
waitress for more coffee, “no Missing Person reports are filed on illegal
immigrants, so how can one know if these people actually disappeared?‌ Perhaps
they just returned to Mexico. And how can one say for a fact that
extraterrestrials are responsible for the hundreds of people that disappear each
year without a trace, and not just those who’ve braved El Camino del Diablo?‌”

“El
Camino del Diablo?‌”

“The
Devil’s Highway. It’s located west of here, towards Yuma. No one knows how
many poor souls have perished trying to make it across that godforsaken stretch
of desert.” She arched a commiserating brow at Lupe before continuing.
“Ninety-five percent of UFO sighting can be explained logically, but that
leaves five percent that cannot. Think about it. That translates to several
million people, including small children, who suffer the aftereffects of these
unexplained encounters.”

“Like
what?‌” Lupe asked, unable to hide the gleam of anxiety in her eyes.

“In
addition to the mental shock I mentioned, abduction victims share other common
themes such as trauma, often times recurring nightmares, depression and
psychosomatic illnesses. There are numerous accounts of bizarre medical
experiments performed on them such as surgical implantation of tracking
devices, sexual examinations, and encounters with the aliens themselves.
Female abductees give frightening accounts of having fluid extracted from their
abdomens and tell disturbing tales of stolen human embryos. In the cases I’ve
handled personally, the majority of my clients have responded well to treatment.
And in all but the most severe ones, these people are able to cope with what
has happened to them and rebuild their lives.”

The fact that this obviously intelligent and educated
woman showed no trace of skepticism concerning this far-fetched subject left me
more disturbed than ever. “I’m sorry to sound dubious, but short of someone
producing biological evidence, living or dead, what makes you so sure these
people aren’t just making this stuff up?‌”

Her
face registered annoyance. “To what end?‌ To be scorned by colleagues, friends
and family?‌ Let me tell you, just being a therapist places me on the fringe
of this ridicule. UFOlogists are constantly on the alert for deliberate
disinformation, false leads or people just out there to make money or a run for
their so-called fifteen minutes of fame. After years of research, and having
listened to hundreds of these witnesses, believe me, I’ve learned how to
separate the actual abduction cases from the hoaxes.”

The
arrival of our breakfast brought the conversation to a temporary halt. While
Mazzie munched on fruit and dry wheat toast and Lupe picked at her oatmeal, I
dug into ham, eggs and hash browns. I was glad of the respite, because as
knowledgeable as she appeared, I was having a big problem buying into this
whole theory without bursting out with, ‘Give me a break!’ Okay, maybe I could
admit that somewhere out there in that ocean of stars there might be other
worlds populated with life forms, but I was still having a devil of a time
accepting at face value the reality of extraterrestrials tinkering around with
human beings.

By
the time we finished eating it was ten-thirty and only a few old-timers
remained, shooting the breeze, smoking and edging glances rife with curiosity
our way. As strangers in a small town, I acknowledged that we were providing a
welcome diversion, but I didn’t care to provide them with their day’s
entertainment by allowing them to overhear the actual reason for our visit. I
glanced out the window at the threatening clouds and suggested we finish our
conversation outdoors while we had time. I dropped some money on the table to
cover our tab.

When
we stepped out the back door, the cool wind gusts carried the damp smell of
imminent rain. I inhaled deeply, savoring the weather change.

The backyards of the restaurant and the neighboring
properties were all piled with an amazing assortment of junk ranging from
rusting appliances and old furniture to broken-down cars. As we settled around
the splintery picnic table set beneath the gaunt limbs of an emaciated tree,
Lupe sneezed several times.

“You sure you want to sit out here?‌” I asked, watching
her slip into the sweater she’d had tied around her waist during breakfast.

“I’d
rather be someplace where we can talk in private.”

Mazzie
appraised us in silence before saying, “So, do you want to tell me the real
reason you wanted to see me?‌”

Her thick brows dipped lower in concentration as I
conveyed the information we had, leaving out only Lupe’s relationship to the
missing people and Javier’s hiding place. When we finished, she wore a look of
eager concern. “Can you arrange for me to speak with this child?‌”

Lupe and I exchanged a questioning glance before I
turned back to her. “I’m afraid not. We’ve given our word that his location
remain a secret for now, but in your opinion, how much credence should we give
this boy’s story?‌”

She pursed her lips together for a few seconds before
answering. “I don’t really know what to make of the black horse he refers to,
but the rest of his story is very consistent with other abduction accounts,
including his memory loss, which we refer to as ‘doorway’ amnesia, and also his
depiction of the monster bugs.”

Cold tremors danced along the base of my neck and I
could tell by Lupe’s fearful expression that she felt the same. I think I’d
have been happier if Mazzie had announced that it was all the product of a
child’s active imagination.

“Let me show you something,” she said, reaching for
her bag. She thumbed through some folders and pulled one out, opening it in
front of us. “There are three categories of extraterrestrials that have been
described in vivid detail and even drawn by the abductees themselves after
being regressed under hypnosis. The most common type has been nicknamed the
‘grays.’” She pointed to a sketch of a fragile-looking creature dressed in a
coverall. “The description is almost always the same—approximately four feet
high, grayish-white hairless skin, an elongated, bald head and black almond-shaped
eyes.” She moved her finger to the opposite page. “This one is a blend
between a human and an alien. We call it the humanoid. As you can see, it
looks very similar to us, except that abductees describe them as being over
seven feet tall. Finally, there are these.” With dramatic flair, she flipped
the page and pushed it in front of us. Lupe’s gasp of horror sent a shockwave
tearing down my spine. “This one,” she said, tapping the page for emphasis,
“known as the mantis, sounds very much like what this child is describing.”

“As in praying mantis?‌” I asked, staring at a pair of
bulbous eyes set in a long insect-like face minus a nose and mouth. The
claw-like webbed fingers appeared almost reptilian and I knew that if I’d come
face to face with this ugly thing in the middle of the night, I’d be having
nightmares too.

“Exactly. The other thing that leads me to believe he
is telling the truth is his description of the classic Oz Factor.” The excited
catch in her voice had Lupe and me trading another quizzical glance as she
swiftly paged through the folder again. I had to remind myself that we weren’t
admiring pictures of purebred dogs and cats, we were looking at renderings of
space aliens, for heaven’s sake! Oh, man, I could only imagine Tally’s
reaction. But, no matter how outlandish it sounded I had to ask myself one
question. If Javier was fabricating the story, how could a child so young
describe the mantis creatures with such dead-on accuracy?‌

“Eyewitnesses,” Mazzie exclaimed, “have reported being
struck by a bright beam of blue light that leaves them paralyzed. Then they’re
taken to a ‘house’ where time flows at a different rate, all sounds of the
environment cease and they find themselves in a domed room subjected to
terrifying examinations by creatures with glowing phosphorescent eyes.”

“
Dios
Mio,
” Lupe whispered, breaking into sobs. “To think that any of these
things have happened to my… to my friends is too awful to think about,” she
sobbed, stumbling from the table. She fled to the door marked
Damas
and
slammed it behind her.

“Do
you want to go after her?‌” Mazzie asked, eyeing me with sympathy.

“No,
let’s leave her alone for a few minutes.”

The
wind sang a dismal little tune as it whined around the bare branches of the
scraggly tree. A few drops of rain struck my face and she began gathering her
papers together. “It isn’t just a friend of hers missing, is it?‌”

I
hesitated for a fraction of a second. “I can’t say.”

She
pinned me with a knowing look and said softly, “You don’t have to.”

“Thank
you very much for your time and insight on this subject. You’ve given me a lot
to think about,” I said rising with her. “I’d still be interested in sitting
in on one of your encounter groups. Here’s my card.”

“I’ll
think about it.” She nodded goodbye. As I watched her slip through the
restaurant door, I decided that being in possession of the additional knowledge
on this bizarre topic had not really simplified my job one bit and I could not
shake the disturbing sense of foreboding growing deep inside me.

For
a long moment, I stood staring at the neighboring tin-roofed adobe cottages
beyond the wire fence separating them from the restaurant’s back yard. Judging
by their condition and the architecture, I deduced that these sturdy,
time-weathered structures had been rooted there in the same spot for fifty or
sixty years. My gaze roamed from the picnic bench to a rusted wheelbarrow full
of faded flowers, and on to a colorful ceramic chicken perched on the
windowsill. Trying to marshal my disjointed thoughts, I drew comfort from the
homey sights. Eventually, I walked over to the outside restroom and tapped on
the door. “Lupe, are you all right?‌”

“Yes,”
came her muffled reply. The latch snapped and she stepped out, dabbing at the
corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry. Maybe it’s because I’m not feeling so good,
but I couldn’t listen to her anymore. I can’t bear to think of what has
happened to Gilberto and dear, sweet Uncle Raymond. These creatures…they must
have stolen them away for one of these terrible experiments.” She gulped and
swallowed hard. “Kendall, what am I going to do?‌ Tell me! What can you do?‌
What can anyone do?‌”

Sharp
hysteria edged her voice, so I laid my hands on her trembling shoulders and
forced her to meet my eyes. “Lupe, there may not be anything either of us can
do at this point but pray. But let’s have a reality check before we talk about
this any further, okay?‌”

She
nodded in silence.

“I
don’t know how much of this space alien stuff I’m willing to buy into.
Granted, Mazzie La Casse does not strike me as a nut case, just the opposite in
fact, and there appears to be an extraordinary number of people who, for
whatever reason, believe that they’ve had some sort of encounter with…some kind
of beings, and it sounds suspiciously like Javier may be one of them. Even so,
I think we should keep our feet planted securely on terra firma if we’re going
to progress with this investigation. Do you get what I’m saying?‌”

A
half shrug accompanied her “No.”

I
ushered her towards the door. “Logic dictates that we’re dealing with a human
factor here, not space creatures, so that’s how I’m going to have to proceed.”

If
anything, she looked even more disconcerted and just a little bit angry. “You
think someone is…pretending to be a spaceman to scare people?‌ Why?‌ Why would
anyone do that?‌”

“I
don’t know. But that’s the assumption I’m going with for now.”

She
stared at me with alarm. “I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.”

I
agreed with her wholeheartedly as we stepped inside once again. All eight of
the tables were empty and the waitress waved cheerfully as we headed towards
the front door. It was then I noticed the large, somewhat crudely drawn mural
of a woman covering one entire wall. “Who do you suppose that’s supposed to
be?‌” I muttered to Lupe as we pushed open the screen door and stepped outside
in time to see Mazzie La Casse preparing to climb into a silver Honda.

“Maybe
it’s the gypsy,” she replied, yawning her disinterest.

“What?‌”

She waved an impatient hand back at the
restaurant sign. “La Gitana. It means gypsy.”

“Oh. Gotcha,” I said, distracted by the
sudden commotion in the street. Four young boys, shouting something at the
tops of their lungs, pedaled their bikes in mad pursuit of a dented pickup
truck painted solely with gray metal primer. I couldn’t make out much about
the driver through the dark armor of window tint except that he wore a
broad-brimmed hat pulled low over his face. As the truck turned left onto Ruby
Road, two other boys standing on the sidewalk lobbed rocks and yelled in
unison, “Russell Greene will cook your spleen and eat it on rye bread. Run
before he breaks your neck or you could wind up dead, dead, dead!”

The man rewarded the boys’ lame limerick
by lowering the window just enough to flash his middle finger at them. Russell
Greene?‌ Why did that name sound familiar?‌ The boys gave chase, pelting the
tailgate of the departing vehicle with rocks before it vanished in a curtain of
yellow dust.

“Now what do you suppose that was all
about?‌” I said to no one in particular.

Mazzie peered over the top of her car
and shook her head in disgust at the gang of pre-teen boys now hooting with
laughter. “Poor tragic soul. He was one of the people implicated by the
authorities in connection with those animal mutilations I mentioned.”

My attention gauge shot up. Of course.
He’d been mentioned in one of Walter’s articles I’d read last night. “Why is
he a suspect?‌”

She glanced at her watch. “About twenty
years ago he was piloting a private plane with his brother and girlfriend
onboard when it crashed during a terrible snowstorm in Montana or Colorado, I
forget which. Anyway, the two passengers died instantly. Because he was lost
in such a remote area and wasn’t found for weeks,” she paused, her expectant
gaze sliding between Lupe and me before concluding with, “he…and this is just
one of the versions I’ve heard…he ate the flesh of his own brother and his
girlfriend to survive.”

Lupe stifled a gasp and looked like
she was going to lose her breakfast. “Not an appealing visual,” I admitted,
suppressing a little shudder of horror, “but I don’t understand the correlation
to the animals.”

She looked askance at the six raucous
boys racing past her car before she returned her attention to us. “The rumor
going around is that he still harbors a taste for raw flesh.”

I’m sure my face reflected the same look
of horrified disbelief as Lupe’s.

“As I told you, I don’t think the animal
mutilations are human in origin,” she said with a careless wave. “But, I did
try to talk to him one day a few months ago about several eye-witness sightings
in the proximity of Morita….”

I cut in, “Whoa. What does he have to
do with Morita?‌”

She eased herself behind the wheel,
pulled the door shut and rested her arm on the window rim. “He’s the caretaker
over there.”

How interesting. “And what did he say?‌”

“Not much. He was getting into his
truck outside the feed store so I ran over and knocked on the glass. I asked
if I could talk to him about reports from several campers in the area, who said
they’d seen bright, pulsating lights hovering over the mountains. There had
also been sightings further west on the reservation and east towards Ruby that
same weekend.”

“And?‌”

“He wouldn’t even talk to me, just shook
his head and drove off.” Her face glowed with excitement as she motioned for
me to come closer. “Listen, I hope you’ll reconsider allowing me to visit with
the boy. By employing hypnosis, it may be possible for me to tap into
repressed memories that might reveal important clues about what he saw.”

Still feeling unsure about the whole
weird subject, I sidestepped her request. “I’ll check into it.” I thanked her
again for her time, and when her Honda disappeared around the corner, Lupe blew
her nose for the umteenth time, asking in a clogged voice, “So, what should we
do now?‌”

Taking note of her ashen complexion, I
said, “I plan to pay a visit to Loydeen Shirley before I go find the Sundog.
You, I think, should go straight home to bed.”

“But what about Sister Goldenrod?‌”

“What about her?‌”

“If I leave now, I won’t get the
information from her about the
coyote
…and my bag is still there.”

I thought about that for a moment. “Is
there anything in it that you can’t live without until tomorrow night?‌”

“No, I guess not.”

“Then there’s no problem. I’ll pick it
up later and tell her why you had to leave early. If she balks at sharing the
information with me, I’ll suggest she call you at home.”

She nodded, her expression one of
profound relief. No doubt she was suffering as much from emotional overload as
she was from her cold.

As we started across the street towards
our cars, a strong gust of wind rushed in sending paper scraps and leaves
whirling in all directions. “So much for the rain,” I muttered, watching the
storm clouds sail away towards the Santa Rita Mountains. A single shaft of
sunlight punched through the gray mist as Lupe settled into her car. I looked
up at the bright patch of blue and smiled. “Looks like you’ll have nice
weather for your drive home,” I told her as she fastened her seat belt. “I’ll
call you if I find a phone,” I added, glaring at my useless cell phone and its
non-existent signal.

“All right.” When she revved the
engine, black smoke poured from her exhaust pipe.

I fanned away the fumes. “Oh, and if I
were you, I’d stop and put another quart of oil in this puppy when you get to
Tucson.”

She nodded, but her watery eyes
reflected concern as she put the car in reverse. “If you do go to Morita,
please be careful. I don’t think I would want to meet a person who would eat
another human being.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. And you
take care going home.” As I watched her car sputter away down the road, part
of me wished I was going with her, but I steeled my resolve. A promise is a
promise is a promise.

The fourteen raindrops bequeathed by the
much-anticipated non-storm had done little to dampen the parched ground. A
steadily rising wind stirred up a hazy sheen of dust, and I could taste the
grit in my mouth as I trudged back to La Gitana and stuck my head in the door.
Matt, his buddy and a third man who looked vaguely familiar were camped out at
a table, flirting with the buxom waitress, who giggled as she slapped Matt’s
hand away from her rear-end. Her face reddened when she spotted me. “Hi, you
forget something?‌”

“No, I was wondering if you could give
me directions to the Sundog Ranch.”

“Sure thing.”

I scribbled the directions in my
notepad. “And could you tell me how to get to 44 West 1
^st
Street?‌”

“Who you trying to find, honey?‌” the waitress
asked, popping lavender bubble gum.

“Loydeen Shirley.”

She pointed out the window. “Go past
the ceramic shop over there and turn left. Her house is set back a ways from
the road on the right hand side. You can’t miss it.”

“For being a stranger in town, you sure
seem to know a lot of people,” Matt observed, rocking his chair back on two
legs. “But I guess it’s a reporter’s job to nose around, huh?‌”

How could he know that?‌ I caught the
extra emphasis he’d placed on the word ‘nose’ and while I found his cocky
attitude annoying, the cold predatory gleam in the third man’s mustard-colored
eyes had me recoiling instinctively. In a matter of seconds, I took in his
KNIGHTS OF RIGHT-STOP THE INVASION! T-shirt stretched across a well-muscled
chest, and bare arms that bore tattoos of skull and crossbones and prominent
swastikas. He was one scary-looking dude.

I dragged my gaze back to Matt and kept
my face expressionless while trying to remember who else knew I was a reporter
besides Sister Goldenrod, Payton Kleinwort and of course, the Border Patrol
agent who’d waylaid Lupe yesterday. But, considering how small the town was, I
shouldn’t be surprised that news of a stranger would spread like wildfire in a
strong wind. “It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it.” I waved at the
waitress. “Thanks for your help.”

“No problem.”

I couldn’t get out fast enough and the
strong sense that curious eyes were boring into my back as I crossed the street
to my car set my nerves on edge. The thick-necked guy with menacing eyes bore
a slight resemblance to the moose with the earrings yesterday who’d roughed up
my car, but then there were so many men here with the shaved head look, it was
difficult for me to be sure.

It took me all of five minutes to locate
the white slump-block house sitting along a rutted unpaved road only a few
blocks from the small downtown area. A
FOR SALE
sign at the mouth of
the driveway leaned at a forty-five degree angle and the weed-choked lawn
looked as if it hadn’t been mowed for months. A pale green car bearing a
University of Arizona sticker in the back window sat adjacent to an older model
Chevrolet. I parked and took note of the empty birdbath and dead flowers in
the small rock garden adjacent to the front porch. Apparently Loydeen Shirley
wasn’t too concerned about curb appeal because the place projected an aura of
decay and sad neglect.

An aged Bassett Hound lying on a ragged
mat thumped its tail and looked up at me with forlorn brown eyes. “Hi there,
doggie,” I said, knocking on the screen door and then kneeling to scratch him
behind the ears. The tail thumped harder. After a minute dragged by and no
one answered, I knocked again, louder this time. Finally, I heard a bubbly
cough and shuffling steps. The door squeaked open far enough to reveal a
cranky-faced woman wearing a ratty housecoat and crown of curlers. A cigarette
smoldered in one hand. “Loydeen Shirley?‌”

“No. Who are you?‌”

I flashed a cheerful smile. “My name is
Kendall O’Dell and….”

“If you’re here to look at the house you
need to call for an appointment.”

“I’m not here to see the house.”

Her bloodshot eyes narrowed to slits of
suspicion. “Then what do you want?‌”

“Walter Zipp and I work for the same
newspaper.”

Her indifferent shrug annoyed me, so I
tried another approach. “Walter’s wife, Lavelle, was Bob Shirley’s cousin.
Perhaps you knew him?‌”

“Of course I knew him, he was my
son-in-law.” I had the distinct sense she would like to have added ‘you idiot’
but she snapped, “Why do you want to see Loydeen?‌”

I remembered what Walter said about the
woman’s reluctance to discuss her deceased husband, so I rustled up my most
beguiling smile. “I was just in the area and thought I’d stop by to visit.
Maybe I could chat with her for a couple of minutes.”