CHAPTER 11
It was 1:06 in the morning, and I was wide awake. What had just happened to me? Had the “doctors in the sky” given me my “40-year-old physical?” Why would these Beings need to continue “physical examinations” year after year? To whom could I turn for answers? And how would I even know the correct answer, if it were given to me?
Putting indignance aside, I realized just how curious the encounter had made me. I wanted answers: what was the device/instrument used on my right inner leg toward the end of the experience? It was solid and warm, and was accompanied by a “breath” of circulating air. A humming sound emanated from the device, and this sound was just on the verge between audible and non-audible.
As Kevin prepared for work that morning, I told him of the encounter. We checked for physical signs, but found nothing of any consequence. Kevin went to work, and as the day progressed, I was surprised to discover that my back no longer hurt. I was left with a puzzle: had the anti-inflammatory pills the (human) doctor had prescibed for me finally worked, or had the source of the pain been removed by a less tangible Force?
Even more puzzling was the phone call I received from Jack and Mary, asking if I’d had an encounter with the Entities that night. Trying to avoid leading questions and responses, we compared memories. Jack explained he had fallen into a restless sleep, and sometime during the late evening/early morning hours, had “dreamed” that he saw me standing, a frozen look on my face, and completely covered in blood. The sight had horrified him, and he had struggled awake. His movements had awakened Mary, and he had told her of the “dream.” Most telling was his conviction that I had just had a miscarriage within the altered reality of the lucid “dream.” His vivid recounting of scenes similar to those I consciously recalled myself chilled me. Once again, I had possible confirmation of an alien experience -- and again, the possibility existed that a multiple encounter had occurred. Were we experiencing a form of ESP, or was the answer simpler than that: a multiple abduction by a non-human Being?
These questions remained unanswered as the days passed. With no satisfactory answers forthcoming, and with day-to-day matters becoming more pressing, I renewed my job search.
With the arrival of December 1, I was employed by a nearby hospital as a secretary/scheduler for their new occupational and speech therapies department. My salary was less than that of my former job, but my inner peace and job satisfaction were well worth the difference. I felt, finally, that my efforts were actually helping people.
January and February 1994 were primarily uneventful, with only occasional high-pitched tones in my ears, and nothing else even vaguely resembling abduction phenomena occurring. On Friday evening, March 11, I had a peculiar dream:
A truck? she wonders, as if coming out of a daze . . . Why am I in this vehicle? Who is this woman sitting by me? The stiff back and rigid mien of the driver persuade her to seek answers elsewhere, as does the military uniform worn by him. Unbidden, an uneasiness settles in her stomach, as forgotten knowledge springs to conscious mind.
We must get out of here! she insists vehemently to the woman beside her. If we reach our destination, we won’t leave there! The woman nods her understanding.
Lynne watches the passing scenery, awaiting the right moment to make good their escape. Dense trees surround the road’s edge; the pavement twists and turns sinuously onward before them. A curve approaches -- JUMP! she cries to her companion. The two leap -- and make contact with solid ground. Twisting, rolling, they land disheveled at the bottom of the small embankment. Winded and battered, they painfully lope for the illusory safety of the trees.
Their leap for freedom has not gone unnoticed. Just around the bend, the military vehicle comes to a screeching halt, tires squealing in protest. Loud voices shout orders too distant to hear on the wind, and booted feet more accustomed to the terrain and survival strike toward the trail of the fleeing civilians.
Lay low! she tells her companion. Perhaps I can lead them away! She realizes one of them must escape, as she bolts in the opposite direction.
Brush crunching underfoot alerts her to the presence of the searching party. Cursing the inevitability of capture, she runs before them, like a startled doe before the sure-eyed aim of the hunter. The trap is set and sprung, the prey becomes trophy to the victor.
Again, she rides captive in the military truck, more closely guarded by watchful eyes and readied weapons. Some time passes -- how long, she does not know -- and at last the truck reaches its destination. Several large barracks buildings draw her attention, as does the central focus of the military installation -- an enormous spotlight atop a massive pole. Daylight still, the light is not on.
The uniformed driver maneuvers the vehicle to a position in front of a central building -- Headquarters she realizes -- and the guards escort her from the truck to the entrance of the building. Within the structure, military personnel attend to their jobs -- none seem particularly interested in either her arrival or that of her escort.
Senses confused by a maze of corridors, she is at length taken into one of any number of spartan offices existing within, decorated only by a desk, two chairs, and metal file cabinets against one white wall. Glancing up from paperwork cluttering the top of the desk, a sharp-eyed, middle-aged man dismisses the guards with a curt gesture. Unable to tell rank from the insignia upon the seated man’s uniform, Lynne instinctively recognizes the imperious quality of one accustomed to giving orders. SIT! he barks at her. Without conscious volition, she moves to obey, her childhood as an Army brat overcoming her adult civilian status.
Several silent moments pass as the two antagonists eye each other in nonverbal sparring. Tiring of the game, the man stands. Follow me! he demands, quite sure she will do so. Curiosity moves her, more so than the order itself, and she rises to follow his retreating form as he proceeds down the hallway. Several meandering corridors later, they both enter a room, one wall spanned by glass. It’s like an observatory she muses. He motions her toward the windowed wall. Outside, the spotlight is framed by the interior glass. She sees that dusk is fast approaching.
Watch closely, he informs her, directing her vision to the sky above. A large, dark shape approaches, soundlessly sailing upon the waves of deepening sky. In awe, Lynne is riveted to the scene filling her eyes. Understanding floods her mind, leaving her weak-kneed and breathless, as the triangular craft hovers only scant feet away. Then, with a burst of speed, it is gone. Is it ours? she questions, not really expecting an answer.
Surprisingly, her captor speaks We call them with the light. As if to punctuate his declaration, in the now-dark sky, the brightly intense beacon scans the heavens. Scant seconds pass, and the spotlight heralds the arrival of not just one strange aircraft, but many -- all shapes and sizes -- far too many to count.
Lynne knows she has been made privy to classified information, but the reason escapes her. For what purpose has she been brought here? Why her? Why now? Perhaps the answers she seeks will be forthcoming, if she can just maintain her presence there . . .
But she senses the dream unraveling around her; the edges fray, the center cannot hold . . . and suddenly she is back, lying in bed, the threads of the dream lying in tatters in her mind.