Time Lost: A Time Travel Novel, page 13
“Come on, Sally… You’re still so young, a young woman with your whole life ahead of you. You have plenty of time to do whatever you want to do.”
Gazing into the distance with a trance-like intensity, Sally reflected on her life in 1953—her roles as a wife and mother, and the dreams and aspirations of the woman she had yearned to become. The desire to break free from her confined existence, to experience the life of a journalist, had always burned within her; to travel and engage in stimulating conversations about meaningful topics beyond the confines of small-town chitchat and idle gossip.
And, in a perfect world, she could have managed it, and been a better wife and mother because of it.
Strangely enough, and in a peculiar way, her prayers had been answered. She’d escaped her small world, but she was utterly lost, confused and alone, and she couldn’t explain any of it.
“You seem a million miles away, Sally.”
Sally shook away her thoughts. “Oh… I’m sorry, Bert. Maybe I didn’t sleep enough.”
Bert leaned back all smiles. “Well, I’m happy you’re here, Sally. Do you know how quiet this house gets with just me and the old ghosts and the old memories?”
Sally swept the room with her eyes. “It’s a beautiful house, Bert. Maybe you should get a dog.”
Speaking in a small voice, Bert said, “I had one. He up and died on me a year ago. I can’t go through that again, at least not yet.”
Bert looked about wistfully. “Can you believe it, Sally? This house was once filled with people, and laughter, and arguments. My girls used to camp out in the bathrooms, putting on their makeup, and trying out new hairdos. I yelled at them to get out, but that didn’t work, so I finally gave up and built a half bath downstairs. And Lynnie and I used to argue over every damn thing under the sun: money, teaching, how to raise the girls and what color we should paint our bedroom.”
With a nostalgic gaze, Bert smiled. “But our Christmases, Sally. Yessiree, our Christmases were just magical, with heavenly baking smells, and lights strung outside in the eves and in the hedges, and we’d have a seven-foot Christmas tree, and the house was loud with singing. Neighbors from all along the street would come, and they’d say, ‘Hey Bert, it’s not Christmas without one of yours and Lynn’s parties.”
Bert looked around at the empty rooms and his smile faded. “Now, I can stand in the middle of that living room and hear my own heartbeat in my ears.”
A long moment later, Sally said, “Bert, you’ll meet somebody else. I know it. You’re a really special man. Maybe she’ll come to one of your painting classes.”
Bert appeared sad and solitary as he reached for his empty coffee cup. “Thanks, Sally. You may be right about that. You never know who you might meet, just driving around the next corner, do you?”
Sally thought, You have no idea.
CHAPTER 26
Thirty-two-year-old Ayita Wells was born in the small, quaint town of Serendipity Springs, nestled amidst the lush forests and rolling hills of the Pacific Northwest. She grew up in a close-knit and spiritually inclined family, feeling a unique connection to the mystical and unexplained. Her parents, both deeply interested in metaphysics, nurtured her unusual interests, and supported her journey into the realm of the unknown.
During her formative years, Ayita discovered her innate psychic gifts. As a child, she began experiencing vivid dreams and intuitive flashes that often turned out to be premonitions of future events. Fascinated by her ability to perceive information beyond the ordinary senses, Ayita delved deeper into the world of psychic phenomena.
As she grew older, her fascination led her to join various online forums and discussion groups dedicated to metaphysical topics, where she could share experiences and learn from like-minded individuals.
After high school, Ayita’s desire to understand and hone her psychic abilities drove her to enroll in a renowned parapsychology program at Heyer College in Northern California. During her college years, she explored various psychic practices, from tarot card reading to meditation and energy healing. It was during that time that her talent for remote viewing and telepathic communication truly flourished.
Ayita was barely five-feet tall, with short black hair, soft feminine features, and sea-blue, mesmerizing eyes, the first thing most people noticed. Her voice was a rich contralto, her manner quiet, her style of dress casual: jeans, sneakers, and a plain blue or brown top, never with patterns. She wore rings on several fingers of both hands, and they all had symbolic meanings, which she never discussed.
As Ayita progressed in her studies, her abilities caught the attention of a top-secret division within the CIA. They had been investigating mysterious sightings of unidentified aerial phenomena and needed someone with her unique psychic talents to aid in their research.
Ayita’s first encounter with the CIA’s team was both thrilling and daunting. They had data on various UAP sightings but lacked insight into the origins of these enigmatic crafts and the intentions of their occupants. Harnessing her telepathic abilities and remote viewing skills, Ayita embarked on a journey of interstellar communication.
Through telepathy, she attempted to establish contact with the beings piloting the UAPs, and her experiences were both awe-inspiring and occasionally unsettling. Once, an alien being told her, in telepathic images, “Do not contact us. You are not ready. You are too primitive for us. We come and go on your planet, and we have done so for centuries. No further communication will be granted.”
From another UAP contact came a friendlier tone. “We explore many other planets than Earth. We conduct experiments and take samples. We are not interested in harming anyone. Sometimes our spacecraft can be seen with your eyes. Sometimes not. When you see us, it is because we want you to see us. It is part of Earth’s learning, or evolution, if that word is clearer for you. You are not the only ones in the universe. Little by little, you will understand this. It will take more time. We, and others like us, are patient.”
Ayita became an indispensable asset to the CIA’s UAP research efforts, as they worked to understand the mysterious extraterrestrial intelligence. She walked the thin line between the Earth’s reality and the realms of psychic exploration, as she developed interstellar contacts and encounters.
Ayita had worked with Kara Gonne on three occasions, the first when a crashed alien craft was found in Southern New Mexico, the two pilots dead, the craft damaged. Ayita’s job was to contact the pilots’ superiors and thereby learn the source of the craft.
For two days, she’d been unsuccessful. On the third day, she received a telepathic message.
“We are, what you would call us, Zeta Reticulian, or Greys.”
Ayita had studied all known extraterrestrials, and Greys were the most frequent subjects of close encounters and alien abduction. They were human-like, with smooth, gray-colored skin, small bodies, enlarged heads, small noses, and prominent black eyes.
Ayita responded telepathically. “Are you aware that one of your spacecraft crashed and both pilots are dead?”
“Yes, we know that. You can think of it as occurring because of a computer malfunction.”
“What was their purpose?”
“To gather samples. To observe.”
“Have you sent others like them to observe?”
“Yes.”
“What do they observe?”
“They are what you would call scientists.”
“Do those scientists sometimes abduct humans?”
“We will not discuss this.”
“Why?”
“It is not useful.”
“It might be useful for us.”
“We will not discuss it. You will not understand.”
“Do your scientists want to harm us?” Ayita asked.
“No. There is no reason for that. All things are connected. We explore. We observe.”
“I would like to understand you and your race better. Where do you come from?”
“We will not discuss this. We will go now.”
Ayita’s second encounter was with an extraterrestrial who didn’t identify his race or where he was from. Ayita had been working with a secret branch of the CIA, and she and the other psychics were conducting communication experiments. They were “pointing their intentions toward the heavens” in search of aliens who might be somewhere within the Earth’s atmosphere. Ayita was the only psychic who had contacted an alien whose craft was under the Atlantic Ocean.
“So, you are currently hundreds of feet below the ocean?” Ayita asked.
“Yes.”
“Where are you from?”
“You would not understand where we come from. Your race believes in a thing, and then your race cannot conceive that an alien thing can be true. Or, in your imaginations, you make it into a scary monster or a threat. Your minds are small. They won’t always be small, but now, in your evolution, you have too much fear and too much belief in old things.”
“Will you help me understand so that my mind is not so small?” Ayita asked.
“When you are not afraid, we will meet. It is the way of this universe. Big and small are connected.”
Ayita’s third communication was with an extraterrestrial named StrallVoss, who was a Nordic. After a series of sightings were reported over Southern California, Kara Gonne had called Ayita and asked her to try to contact the aliens involved. Ayita did so, communicating telepathically with StrallVoss, a commander, a master communicator, and a kind of ambassador.
“Thank you for communicating with me, StrallVoss,” Ayita had said.
StrallVoss had answered, “I am here for those who can connect to me with their minds, and who are not afraid.”
“Why are your spacecraft exploring our world?”
“All races, as you call them, explore and probe. It is how we grow and learn. It is how we… that is, how our people connect to other worlds and races, whenever it is possible.”
“Will you harm us?”
“There is no reason to harm anything. Your race is unique and interesting to us. We learn from you. Why would we harm? It is not helpful to the universe.”
“Are you trying to connect with us?”
“We do, from time to time, but only to beings like yourself, who have the mental skill… the ability to connect. Your species, for the most part, lacks clear thinking. There is too much static and chatter in your minds. Very cluttered. You are an exception. Your mind is calm, and we can communicate. But most of your kind are too afraid, too quick to fight. Unity is discarded. Tribal power is sought. Your planet is evolving.”
“Have you visited Earth many times?” Ayita asked.
“Yes, for many long times. Since ancient times, and before.”
“Why are your flying crafts visible to us?”
“Sometimes it is for—as you would think of it—technical reasons. Other times, it is to let your species know that you are not alone in this universe. I must end now.”
“Can I contact you again?”
“If there is a need, but only if there is a need. Otherwise, I will not respond. Your race and ours are not yet destined to meet. Therefore, we have little to say to you that will be helpful.”
Ayita was working in her garden in the backyard of her Northern California two-bedroom house when she received a secure call from Kara Gonne.
Ayita rose and pulled her cellphone from her back jeans pocket. “How are you, Kara?”
“Having a vodka martini at a Florida patio bar, which means I’m doing better. What are you doing?”
“Gardening.”
“I can’t download that picture of you in my head. I always picture your head in the stars.”
“It helps me stay grounded,” Ayita said. “Besides, I like it. It’s a beautiful and chilly fall day with not a cloud in the sky.”
“What kind of gardening does one do in Northern California in October?” Kara asked.
“Sow wildflower seeds. Pull the weeds and grasses, scatter the seeds as evenly as possible, and then rake the soil gently. No fertilizers, only a thin layer of compost. You should join me sometime.”
“Can I bring a martini?”
“Sure. I have olives.”
“I like a twist.”
“I’ve got lemons.”
Kara’s voice lowered. “Ayita, can you meet me at the New Mexico hangar in, say, a week? Could be less. I’ll be in touch.”
“Yes. I can.”
“I need you to contact StrallVoss.”
There was a pause before Ayita spoke. “He may not want to talk.”
“I think he will. I’ve forwarded you the file for a woman named Sally Mason. It’s… well, shall I say … very unusual. It’s priority on steroids.”
“Our team?” Ayita asked.
“Limited for now. Only Morgan and three others. No one political, which I know you’ll be glad to hear.”
“Anything more?”
“Not now. Once you’ve read the file, you’ll understand.”
After Ayita had finished the call and shoved her phone into her back pocket, she lifted her head skyward and let her eyes peer deeply into the infinite blue sky. In a flashing second, she sensed danger, but she couldn’t mentally grasp it. Kara’s voice held not only concern and secrets, but also a feeling of danger.
Ayita lowered to her knees and went back to work, pulling weeds, preparing the soil, and wondering if it was time to cease her work with the CIA. Perhaps she could put her skills and talents to better use? She thought so. But she was intrigued by Kara’s call.
Fifteen minutes later, she left her garden, went inside the house, peeled off her garden gloves and went to her laptop. Sally Mason’s file had arrived.
CHAPTER 27
Sally and Bert had finished their breakfasts, the pancakes gone, the bacon gone, some lukewarm coffee still in their cups.
Bert noticed Sally was fidgety, her eyes reflecting inner turmoil. “Do you feel like talking now, Sally?”
She looked at Bert, conflicted. Could she trust him? There was no one else, and she had no place else to go.
When she looked into Bert’s eyes, she saw a worldly wisdom, similar to what she’d seen in her Grandpa Fred’s eyes. He’d fought in a war, lost a business, and lost a child in a drowning accident. Despite it all, he’d laughed easily, and he’d been one of the most generous people Sally had ever known.
There was a similar lifetime of joys and sorrows in Bert’s eyes, and a warm patience.
“Bert…” Sally said, and then she stopped and tried again. “Bert, you’ve been so kind to me, and you don’t even know me.”
Bert rested his soft eyes on her. “I know you’re in trouble, Sally, probably running away from your husband. I don’t know why, and I don’t need to know, but if I can help you in any way, I’d like to, if you let me.”
She looked at him for a long minute. She took a drink of her coffee, replaced the cup into the saucer, blotted her mouth with the napkin, and then turned to stare out the glass doors.
“Bert… It was my son, Don, who first mentioned the lights in the sky. He said, ‘Mommy, last night, I saw lights outside my window, and they moved around in the sky.’”
Bert folded his hands on the table, listening closely.
“I said, ‘They’re shooting stars, Don,’ and then I pointed at the sky. ‘You should make a wish when you see them. Make one special wish, and it will come true.’”
“‘But Mommy, they move over the trees,’ Don said. ‘Sometimes they light up my window.’”
Sally lifted a hand, trying to explain. “I didn’t think anything of it. I mussed Don’s hair and told him to go to sleep. I told him that shooting stars don’t fly around the woods at night. I told them they flash across the sky like magic.
“Don said, ‘They don’t fly in the woods, Mommy, they fly over them.’”
Sally stared in front of her for a long time. “For a week or so, strange lights were seen over Rosemont. We lived not too far from here, Bert, on North Maple, but the street’s not there anymore. When we drove by there last night, it was all changed. But I remember this neighborhood. I loved the houses in this neighborhood, and the quiet streets.”
Bert leaned forward slightly, absorbed.
Sally picked up her fork and then laid it down again. “Anyway, several people in town said they saw those lights. I’d read about it in the newspaper, and people talked about it on one of the local radio stations, WQMI. It was one of those call-in shows. And I heard a woman talk about seeing lights in the night sky when I was shopping in Carl’s Grocery Store, and another woman, at the beauty salon, said she saw lights, too. There was a lot of gossip about it, and I didn’t know what to think.”
Bert reached for his coffee, keeping his eyes on her, concerned. Her voice was low and shaky with emotion.
Sally’s eyes connected with Bert’s. “Even Deputies Carter and Wysong said they saw something in the night sky they couldn’t identify. In the newspaper, the sheriff said, ‘I’m not saying it was one of those flying saucers. I’m just saying I don’t know what it was, but whatever it was, it shined, or sparkled, and it hovered for a time out over Ned Parker’s field, not far from his barn. Then, just like that, it just went—zoom—flew away like a flash, and then it was gone. That’s all I’m saying.’”
Sally put a hand to her throat as the memories returned. Now that she had started, the words came easier, and the story began to tell itself.
The sun broke free from the clouds, filling the dining room with morning light. It seemed an omen, a reassuring sign that Sally should continue.
With her face bathed in sunlight, Sally’s hands crafted gestures in the air while she recounted the journey through the night, the bursts of lights in the sky, and the hovering spaceship. She searched for words to capture the exquisite, luminous extraterrestrial being and to express the terror that had left her completely frozen on her car seat.
While she continued, there was birdsong outside, and the drone of a commercial jet, and the gleeful shouts of children hurrying off to school.
Bert listened to Sally with patient respect, his face impassive. When she had finished, her head lowered to her chest, her shoulders sagging. After a moment’s silence, Bert turned from her and stared at a shaft of sunlight that painted a rectangular plank on the silvery gray dining room carpet.
Gazing into the distance with a trance-like intensity, Sally reflected on her life in 1953—her roles as a wife and mother, and the dreams and aspirations of the woman she had yearned to become. The desire to break free from her confined existence, to experience the life of a journalist, had always burned within her; to travel and engage in stimulating conversations about meaningful topics beyond the confines of small-town chitchat and idle gossip.
And, in a perfect world, she could have managed it, and been a better wife and mother because of it.
Strangely enough, and in a peculiar way, her prayers had been answered. She’d escaped her small world, but she was utterly lost, confused and alone, and she couldn’t explain any of it.
“You seem a million miles away, Sally.”
Sally shook away her thoughts. “Oh… I’m sorry, Bert. Maybe I didn’t sleep enough.”
Bert leaned back all smiles. “Well, I’m happy you’re here, Sally. Do you know how quiet this house gets with just me and the old ghosts and the old memories?”
Sally swept the room with her eyes. “It’s a beautiful house, Bert. Maybe you should get a dog.”
Speaking in a small voice, Bert said, “I had one. He up and died on me a year ago. I can’t go through that again, at least not yet.”
Bert looked about wistfully. “Can you believe it, Sally? This house was once filled with people, and laughter, and arguments. My girls used to camp out in the bathrooms, putting on their makeup, and trying out new hairdos. I yelled at them to get out, but that didn’t work, so I finally gave up and built a half bath downstairs. And Lynnie and I used to argue over every damn thing under the sun: money, teaching, how to raise the girls and what color we should paint our bedroom.”
With a nostalgic gaze, Bert smiled. “But our Christmases, Sally. Yessiree, our Christmases were just magical, with heavenly baking smells, and lights strung outside in the eves and in the hedges, and we’d have a seven-foot Christmas tree, and the house was loud with singing. Neighbors from all along the street would come, and they’d say, ‘Hey Bert, it’s not Christmas without one of yours and Lynn’s parties.”
Bert looked around at the empty rooms and his smile faded. “Now, I can stand in the middle of that living room and hear my own heartbeat in my ears.”
A long moment later, Sally said, “Bert, you’ll meet somebody else. I know it. You’re a really special man. Maybe she’ll come to one of your painting classes.”
Bert appeared sad and solitary as he reached for his empty coffee cup. “Thanks, Sally. You may be right about that. You never know who you might meet, just driving around the next corner, do you?”
Sally thought, You have no idea.
CHAPTER 26
Thirty-two-year-old Ayita Wells was born in the small, quaint town of Serendipity Springs, nestled amidst the lush forests and rolling hills of the Pacific Northwest. She grew up in a close-knit and spiritually inclined family, feeling a unique connection to the mystical and unexplained. Her parents, both deeply interested in metaphysics, nurtured her unusual interests, and supported her journey into the realm of the unknown.
During her formative years, Ayita discovered her innate psychic gifts. As a child, she began experiencing vivid dreams and intuitive flashes that often turned out to be premonitions of future events. Fascinated by her ability to perceive information beyond the ordinary senses, Ayita delved deeper into the world of psychic phenomena.
As she grew older, her fascination led her to join various online forums and discussion groups dedicated to metaphysical topics, where she could share experiences and learn from like-minded individuals.
After high school, Ayita’s desire to understand and hone her psychic abilities drove her to enroll in a renowned parapsychology program at Heyer College in Northern California. During her college years, she explored various psychic practices, from tarot card reading to meditation and energy healing. It was during that time that her talent for remote viewing and telepathic communication truly flourished.
Ayita was barely five-feet tall, with short black hair, soft feminine features, and sea-blue, mesmerizing eyes, the first thing most people noticed. Her voice was a rich contralto, her manner quiet, her style of dress casual: jeans, sneakers, and a plain blue or brown top, never with patterns. She wore rings on several fingers of both hands, and they all had symbolic meanings, which she never discussed.
As Ayita progressed in her studies, her abilities caught the attention of a top-secret division within the CIA. They had been investigating mysterious sightings of unidentified aerial phenomena and needed someone with her unique psychic talents to aid in their research.
Ayita’s first encounter with the CIA’s team was both thrilling and daunting. They had data on various UAP sightings but lacked insight into the origins of these enigmatic crafts and the intentions of their occupants. Harnessing her telepathic abilities and remote viewing skills, Ayita embarked on a journey of interstellar communication.
Through telepathy, she attempted to establish contact with the beings piloting the UAPs, and her experiences were both awe-inspiring and occasionally unsettling. Once, an alien being told her, in telepathic images, “Do not contact us. You are not ready. You are too primitive for us. We come and go on your planet, and we have done so for centuries. No further communication will be granted.”
From another UAP contact came a friendlier tone. “We explore many other planets than Earth. We conduct experiments and take samples. We are not interested in harming anyone. Sometimes our spacecraft can be seen with your eyes. Sometimes not. When you see us, it is because we want you to see us. It is part of Earth’s learning, or evolution, if that word is clearer for you. You are not the only ones in the universe. Little by little, you will understand this. It will take more time. We, and others like us, are patient.”
Ayita became an indispensable asset to the CIA’s UAP research efforts, as they worked to understand the mysterious extraterrestrial intelligence. She walked the thin line between the Earth’s reality and the realms of psychic exploration, as she developed interstellar contacts and encounters.
Ayita had worked with Kara Gonne on three occasions, the first when a crashed alien craft was found in Southern New Mexico, the two pilots dead, the craft damaged. Ayita’s job was to contact the pilots’ superiors and thereby learn the source of the craft.
For two days, she’d been unsuccessful. On the third day, she received a telepathic message.
“We are, what you would call us, Zeta Reticulian, or Greys.”
Ayita had studied all known extraterrestrials, and Greys were the most frequent subjects of close encounters and alien abduction. They were human-like, with smooth, gray-colored skin, small bodies, enlarged heads, small noses, and prominent black eyes.
Ayita responded telepathically. “Are you aware that one of your spacecraft crashed and both pilots are dead?”
“Yes, we know that. You can think of it as occurring because of a computer malfunction.”
“What was their purpose?”
“To gather samples. To observe.”
“Have you sent others like them to observe?”
“Yes.”
“What do they observe?”
“They are what you would call scientists.”
“Do those scientists sometimes abduct humans?”
“We will not discuss this.”
“Why?”
“It is not useful.”
“It might be useful for us.”
“We will not discuss it. You will not understand.”
“Do your scientists want to harm us?” Ayita asked.
“No. There is no reason for that. All things are connected. We explore. We observe.”
“I would like to understand you and your race better. Where do you come from?”
“We will not discuss this. We will go now.”
Ayita’s second encounter was with an extraterrestrial who didn’t identify his race or where he was from. Ayita had been working with a secret branch of the CIA, and she and the other psychics were conducting communication experiments. They were “pointing their intentions toward the heavens” in search of aliens who might be somewhere within the Earth’s atmosphere. Ayita was the only psychic who had contacted an alien whose craft was under the Atlantic Ocean.
“So, you are currently hundreds of feet below the ocean?” Ayita asked.
“Yes.”
“Where are you from?”
“You would not understand where we come from. Your race believes in a thing, and then your race cannot conceive that an alien thing can be true. Or, in your imaginations, you make it into a scary monster or a threat. Your minds are small. They won’t always be small, but now, in your evolution, you have too much fear and too much belief in old things.”
“Will you help me understand so that my mind is not so small?” Ayita asked.
“When you are not afraid, we will meet. It is the way of this universe. Big and small are connected.”
Ayita’s third communication was with an extraterrestrial named StrallVoss, who was a Nordic. After a series of sightings were reported over Southern California, Kara Gonne had called Ayita and asked her to try to contact the aliens involved. Ayita did so, communicating telepathically with StrallVoss, a commander, a master communicator, and a kind of ambassador.
“Thank you for communicating with me, StrallVoss,” Ayita had said.
StrallVoss had answered, “I am here for those who can connect to me with their minds, and who are not afraid.”
“Why are your spacecraft exploring our world?”
“All races, as you call them, explore and probe. It is how we grow and learn. It is how we… that is, how our people connect to other worlds and races, whenever it is possible.”
“Will you harm us?”
“There is no reason to harm anything. Your race is unique and interesting to us. We learn from you. Why would we harm? It is not helpful to the universe.”
“Are you trying to connect with us?”
“We do, from time to time, but only to beings like yourself, who have the mental skill… the ability to connect. Your species, for the most part, lacks clear thinking. There is too much static and chatter in your minds. Very cluttered. You are an exception. Your mind is calm, and we can communicate. But most of your kind are too afraid, too quick to fight. Unity is discarded. Tribal power is sought. Your planet is evolving.”
“Have you visited Earth many times?” Ayita asked.
“Yes, for many long times. Since ancient times, and before.”
“Why are your flying crafts visible to us?”
“Sometimes it is for—as you would think of it—technical reasons. Other times, it is to let your species know that you are not alone in this universe. I must end now.”
“Can I contact you again?”
“If there is a need, but only if there is a need. Otherwise, I will not respond. Your race and ours are not yet destined to meet. Therefore, we have little to say to you that will be helpful.”
Ayita was working in her garden in the backyard of her Northern California two-bedroom house when she received a secure call from Kara Gonne.
Ayita rose and pulled her cellphone from her back jeans pocket. “How are you, Kara?”
“Having a vodka martini at a Florida patio bar, which means I’m doing better. What are you doing?”
“Gardening.”
“I can’t download that picture of you in my head. I always picture your head in the stars.”
“It helps me stay grounded,” Ayita said. “Besides, I like it. It’s a beautiful and chilly fall day with not a cloud in the sky.”
“What kind of gardening does one do in Northern California in October?” Kara asked.
“Sow wildflower seeds. Pull the weeds and grasses, scatter the seeds as evenly as possible, and then rake the soil gently. No fertilizers, only a thin layer of compost. You should join me sometime.”
“Can I bring a martini?”
“Sure. I have olives.”
“I like a twist.”
“I’ve got lemons.”
Kara’s voice lowered. “Ayita, can you meet me at the New Mexico hangar in, say, a week? Could be less. I’ll be in touch.”
“Yes. I can.”
“I need you to contact StrallVoss.”
There was a pause before Ayita spoke. “He may not want to talk.”
“I think he will. I’ve forwarded you the file for a woman named Sally Mason. It’s… well, shall I say … very unusual. It’s priority on steroids.”
“Our team?” Ayita asked.
“Limited for now. Only Morgan and three others. No one political, which I know you’ll be glad to hear.”
“Anything more?”
“Not now. Once you’ve read the file, you’ll understand.”
After Ayita had finished the call and shoved her phone into her back pocket, she lifted her head skyward and let her eyes peer deeply into the infinite blue sky. In a flashing second, she sensed danger, but she couldn’t mentally grasp it. Kara’s voice held not only concern and secrets, but also a feeling of danger.
Ayita lowered to her knees and went back to work, pulling weeds, preparing the soil, and wondering if it was time to cease her work with the CIA. Perhaps she could put her skills and talents to better use? She thought so. But she was intrigued by Kara’s call.
Fifteen minutes later, she left her garden, went inside the house, peeled off her garden gloves and went to her laptop. Sally Mason’s file had arrived.
CHAPTER 27
Sally and Bert had finished their breakfasts, the pancakes gone, the bacon gone, some lukewarm coffee still in their cups.
Bert noticed Sally was fidgety, her eyes reflecting inner turmoil. “Do you feel like talking now, Sally?”
She looked at Bert, conflicted. Could she trust him? There was no one else, and she had no place else to go.
When she looked into Bert’s eyes, she saw a worldly wisdom, similar to what she’d seen in her Grandpa Fred’s eyes. He’d fought in a war, lost a business, and lost a child in a drowning accident. Despite it all, he’d laughed easily, and he’d been one of the most generous people Sally had ever known.
There was a similar lifetime of joys and sorrows in Bert’s eyes, and a warm patience.
“Bert…” Sally said, and then she stopped and tried again. “Bert, you’ve been so kind to me, and you don’t even know me.”
Bert rested his soft eyes on her. “I know you’re in trouble, Sally, probably running away from your husband. I don’t know why, and I don’t need to know, but if I can help you in any way, I’d like to, if you let me.”
She looked at him for a long minute. She took a drink of her coffee, replaced the cup into the saucer, blotted her mouth with the napkin, and then turned to stare out the glass doors.
“Bert… It was my son, Don, who first mentioned the lights in the sky. He said, ‘Mommy, last night, I saw lights outside my window, and they moved around in the sky.’”
Bert folded his hands on the table, listening closely.
“I said, ‘They’re shooting stars, Don,’ and then I pointed at the sky. ‘You should make a wish when you see them. Make one special wish, and it will come true.’”
“‘But Mommy, they move over the trees,’ Don said. ‘Sometimes they light up my window.’”
Sally lifted a hand, trying to explain. “I didn’t think anything of it. I mussed Don’s hair and told him to go to sleep. I told him that shooting stars don’t fly around the woods at night. I told them they flash across the sky like magic.
“Don said, ‘They don’t fly in the woods, Mommy, they fly over them.’”
Sally stared in front of her for a long time. “For a week or so, strange lights were seen over Rosemont. We lived not too far from here, Bert, on North Maple, but the street’s not there anymore. When we drove by there last night, it was all changed. But I remember this neighborhood. I loved the houses in this neighborhood, and the quiet streets.”
Bert leaned forward slightly, absorbed.
Sally picked up her fork and then laid it down again. “Anyway, several people in town said they saw those lights. I’d read about it in the newspaper, and people talked about it on one of the local radio stations, WQMI. It was one of those call-in shows. And I heard a woman talk about seeing lights in the night sky when I was shopping in Carl’s Grocery Store, and another woman, at the beauty salon, said she saw lights, too. There was a lot of gossip about it, and I didn’t know what to think.”
Bert reached for his coffee, keeping his eyes on her, concerned. Her voice was low and shaky with emotion.
Sally’s eyes connected with Bert’s. “Even Deputies Carter and Wysong said they saw something in the night sky they couldn’t identify. In the newspaper, the sheriff said, ‘I’m not saying it was one of those flying saucers. I’m just saying I don’t know what it was, but whatever it was, it shined, or sparkled, and it hovered for a time out over Ned Parker’s field, not far from his barn. Then, just like that, it just went—zoom—flew away like a flash, and then it was gone. That’s all I’m saying.’”
Sally put a hand to her throat as the memories returned. Now that she had started, the words came easier, and the story began to tell itself.
The sun broke free from the clouds, filling the dining room with morning light. It seemed an omen, a reassuring sign that Sally should continue.
With her face bathed in sunlight, Sally’s hands crafted gestures in the air while she recounted the journey through the night, the bursts of lights in the sky, and the hovering spaceship. She searched for words to capture the exquisite, luminous extraterrestrial being and to express the terror that had left her completely frozen on her car seat.
While she continued, there was birdsong outside, and the drone of a commercial jet, and the gleeful shouts of children hurrying off to school.
Bert listened to Sally with patient respect, his face impassive. When she had finished, her head lowered to her chest, her shoulders sagging. After a moment’s silence, Bert turned from her and stared at a shaft of sunlight that painted a rectangular plank on the silvery gray dining room carpet.
