Chapter 2
Vail
Montana
The door clicking shut behind me was a relief. There was nothing but the darkness, the rain, and silence.
I stood there for a long minute, holding the box of files, my overnight bag at my feet. I’d spent too many hours in airports in the last two days, seen too many people. California had too much sunshine. This was much better.
I set the box on the floor and brushed my sleeve over the lid, wiping off the rain.
I unlaced my muddy boots and picked the box up again, walking steadily through the darkness, weaving around the few pieces of furniture in here without needing to see them.
I set the box on my kitchen table and turned on the lamp there.
I scrubbed my hands through my wet hair, rubbed the rain from my temples. I needed a shave. The cabin smelled like pine, and the floor was cold against my damp socks. I was so completely alone here that I could die and no one would find my desiccated body for weeks. That was a selling point for me.
I got a glass of milk from the kitchen, the light from inside the fridge the only light I needed.
As I turned back to the table, the blinking light from the answering machine caught my eye.
I ignored it. Friends? I had none. Ex-girlfriends?
No, thank you. My sisters? They had no reason to call me that I could think of. My parents? Thankfully dead.
Instead of walking toward the phone, I went back to the kitchen table, sipped my milk, and pulled my notes from the file box.
Subject: Charles Zimmer
Age: Fifty-six
Status: Divorced, lives alone, two grown children
Number of encounters: At least twenty, exact number not calculated
Type of encounter: Home invasion and possible study
First encounter: 1974
Twenty encounters at least, over fifteen years. It was an interesting case, though not a completely unique one. Charles Zimmer of Sacramento, California, was an investment banker, rich and good-looking, wearing crisp tan pants and a pressed white shirt to our meeting. He did not appear to be crazy.
His house was large, decorated in painful white, with floor-to-ceiling windows and icy air-conditioning. With my overgrown hair, beard, and red-and-black flannel shirt, I’d looked like a lumberjack who’d somehow wandered into his gated neighborhood.
“You don’t look like you’re from VUFOS,” he’d said to me, looking me up and down. “I expected someone…” He trailed off.
“Nerdy,” I supplied. It was true that VUFOS—the Volunteer UFO Society—was packed with nerds. I stuck out at meetings and conventions, just as I stuck out in Zimmer’s living room. Not fitting in was a chronic condition of my life.
Zimmer had shrugged, as if people like me rarely figured in his philosophy. “I suppose you’re popular with the lonely housewives making reports.”
“Most of the reports we get come from men,” I replied. “Statistically. Like you, for example.”
Zimmer’s expression had soured, but the remark shut him up. “Let me show you around and we’ll get this over with.”
I read the next page of my notes.
Points of entry: Three doors (front, garage, back)
Time of encounters: Night (all)
Communication from entities: None
Physical encounters with entities: None (recalled)
Missing time: 30 to 60 minutes each time
Injuries from encounters: None
Other manifestations: Electronic disturbances, most often the clock radio
In the bedroom, where Zimmer said most of the encounters had happened, I took out my camera and shot pictures while Zimmer watched. He was starting to look uncomfortable now.
“Do you see lights?” I asked as I circled the room.
“Yes. They’re blinding, right in my eyes.”
I felt a physical shudder of revulsion at that, but I suppressed it. This wasn’t about me. “And then the figures looking down at you?”
“Yes. Four or five of them.” It was some kind of catharsis for him to admit this out loud. He’d likely wondered if he was losing his mind for the last fifteen years. “Have you seen this before? Tell me. What’s going on?”
“Yes, I’ve seen this before.” I paused at the bedroom window, looking down over the backyard. There was a pool there. “They’re studying you.”
“What the hell for?”
“There are a number of theories.” The pool was empty of swimmers, baking in the merciless California sun. A faint breeze rippled the surface, then stilled again.
I stared at the pool too long, and Zimmer said, “You used to be an Olympic diver.” When I looked at him in surprise, he added, “I researched you before I let you into my house, Mr. Esmie. Of course I did.”
I looked back at the pool. “Your research has errors. I never got as far as the Olympics.”
“Why did you quit?” Zimmer asked.
I ignored him and walked toward the bed, looking up at the ceiling. “You have a skylight.”
“Yes.” He was nervous again.
“I will never understand the architectural fascination with skylights. To me, their popularity is inexplicable. How long have you lived in this house?”
“Four years.” Zimmer paused. “The last house—it had a skylight, too. But I’ve already thought of that. I had someone come and check it. It hasn’t been tampered with. They aren’t getting in through there.”
Of course it wouldn’t appear tampered with. They were too clever for that, but I didn’t say it out loud. Zimmer was already frightened enough.
“What is it?” Zimmer asked when I was silent for too long. “Do you think it’s a problem? What are you saying?”
I stared up through the pane of glass at the square of sky beyond.
I imagined whatever hovered above being able to look down at you while you slept, taking in your slumbering figure with its large, eerily slanted pitch-black eyes.
Watching. Until its long gray fingers reached out to touch the glass.
“I’m saying I’d never sleep under a skylight,” I said to Charles Zimmer. “But that’s just me.”
—
I set aside the spools of film I’d get developed tomorrow.
I reorganized my notes. I could do this in the morning, but I was awake now, and I had nothing else to do.
The investigations for VUFOS were my job, though it didn’t pay.
One of the worst things about me was that because of my trust fund, I didn’t need money.
I sorted through the report I’d requested from VUFOS of other encounters they’d documented in the Sacramento area, looking for similarities to what Zimmer had told me.
There were other encounters in the area, but the details didn’t match Zimmer’s, and none that moved from house to house.
These entities were interested in Zimmer specifically and tracked him from place to place, a phenomenon that wasn’t unknown in UFO research.
Another option, of course, was that Zimmer had some type of psychosis. That was always possible in these cases.
Several hours later, I noticed the blinking light on the answering machine again. I put my empty milk glass in the sink and reluctantly pressed the button.
There was only one message, and it was Violet’s voice, though she didn’t identify herself. “Vail, call me.” She recited her number. “It’s about Ben.”
The message ended with a beep, and I stood in the dark. I could feel my hands opening and closing, opening and closing into fists.
After a minute, I picked up the phone and called Violet, using the number she’d left. I never had a need to write numbers down. I had no idea what time it was in Long Island, and I didn’t care. Violet would answer.
“Vail?” my sister said when she picked up the phone. She sounded like she’d been drinking. “Is that you?”
“If you lied to get me to call you, I’ll never speak to you again,” I said, my voice thick. “Never.”
“You think I’d lie about that? About Ben?”
That name, spoken out loud, was like a blow to my gut. I only ever heard it in the silence of my own head. I hadn’t heard it spoken in years.
“I wouldn’t lie about Ben,” Violet said, making me flinch again. She had definitely been drinking.
“What happened?” I asked.
“The landscapers quit. They got spooked off the grounds. He’s there, Vail. He’s saying, ‘Come home.’ ”
The breath hissed out of me, hot agony leaving my lungs. There was no question of believing. No one would lie about this, least of all Violet.
“Can you leave?” my sister asked me. “I’m in the middle of a job. I’d bail on it, but I owe her. The woman who owned the house, I mean. I want to finish the job, talk to my boss. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“I can leave,” I said. “I’ll get on a plane.”
“Okay. I’ll be two days, three at most. I have to talk to Lisette—”
I would be in Fell in twelve hours, tops. “It’s fine. I’ll come.”
“Call Dodie,” Violet said.
“You haven’t called her?”
“No. I can’t.” Violet’s voice cracked, only partly because she was drinking. “You do it, Vail. Please. You do it. You’re our brother. Do something.”
I sucked a breath in deep and stared at the ceiling.
Ben, my little brother who had disappeared when I was fourteen.
Ben, who was still in the house where I grew up, where I hadn’t been for two decades, where I’d had those dreams. Ben, who I thought might have been taken by aliens. Ben, who wanted me to come home.
Violet was still talking. “She never answers the phone. Will Dodie even come?”
“Dodie will come,” I said.
Her laugh was bitter. “You’re so sure. Then I guess I’ll see you both soon.”
We hung up. I stood in the dark, recalling the last phone number I had for my younger sister. I hadn’t called it in months.
Where did you go, little brother? The question that had dogged me for years. Where did you go?
I’d bring my research with me. I didn’t own much. The furniture had come with the cabin. I had a suitcase of belongings, maybe two. Nothing sentimental keeping me here. Nothing sentimental keeping me anywhere.
Where did you go?
Ben wanted me to come home. My ticket would be one-way, and I’d bring everything, because this trip was going to be long, permanent. Maybe I’d get an answer. Either way, I already knew I wouldn’t be coming back here.
Exhaling a breath, I picked up the phone.