sedona files - books one to three

by Christine Pope

  At any rate, by the time I’d showered and dressed, it was well past nine. I stepped out of my motel room and then stopped, mouth agape.

  I’d come into town in utter dark, and hadn’t seen anything except the lighted storefronts along Highway 89A. Oh, of course I’d heard how gorgeous Sedona was. But those casual mentions — usually accompanied by exhortations that a professional psychic should make the pilgrimage there at least once — had done nothing to prepare me for the reality of the place.

  Red rock bluffs soared off to the east, and to the north as well, framed by the lacy green of cottonwoods and the darker, duskier hues of junipers and pine. Here and there on the highest peaks I thought I saw a pale flash of unmelted snow. The sky was an achingly deep blue, the sort of lapis hue you never saw in Los Angeles. And the air that touched my skin, though cool, felt soft and welcoming, as if it had come there to personally greet me. The winds were alive, filled with shimmers of energy that seemed to draw me in, to guide me.

  I went across the street, to a charming little cafe where the proprietor greeted me as if she’d known me all my life, and where I was served the best coffee and eggs I’d ever had. By the time I was done it was ten, and I somehow knew the UFO store would be ready to meet me.

  I went to my car and drove back to the shop, then pulled into a space at the far end of the decrepit parking lot. Sure enough, the sign was off the door, which stood open. I went inside.

  It was a cramped space, filled with the sort of bric-a-brac you’d expect a store like that would carry to entice tourists — T-shirts, DVDs, books, stuffed plushie aliens with big heads and almond-shaped eyes. A TV overhead showed The Day the Earth Stood Still. I wished the aliens I was dealing with were even half as appealing as Michael Rennie.

  A woman about my age sat behind the counter, typing away at a computer keyboard. Since the monitor was pointed away from me, I couldn’t really see what she was working on.

  Now that the time had come, I felt strangely reticent. I pretended to be interested in the merchandise, even picked up a few books and DVDs and made myself look as if I were reading the blurbs on the back covers. But I knew I couldn’t procrastinate any longer. The universe had sent me here, and if it wanted to make me look like a complete idiot, so be it.

  I set a copy of The Day After Roswell back on the shelf and turned to the woman behind the counter.

  “Excuse me.”

  She lifted her head. For a UFO nut, she looked pretty respectable, actually — expertly streaked hair, makeup applied with more precision than mine. “Can I help you?”

  “I hope so.”

  Her head cocked to one side, and she watched me steadily. I noticed that her eyes were a deep, clear blue, almost the same shade as the cerulean skies that had greeted me as I left my motel room.

  “This might sound sort of crazy,” I began, then paused and shook my head. Nothing ventured… “Actually, it’s going to sound completely crazy. But I was sent here for help, and so I’m asking. I have a friend who was, well…abducted.”

  “Abducted?” she echoed, and at once her glance slanted upward.

  “Oh, not that kind of abducted,” I said hastily. “That is, the people who took him might have been in league with them — ” and I sent a quick look heavenward as well — “but they were definitely human. It’s just that I know they brought him here.”

  “Here.”

  “Well, somewhere in this area. Some secret base or something.” Her expression didn’t change. I didn’t know whether that was a good or a bad thing, since I wasn’t getting much of a read off her. Doggedly, I went on, “I know this must sound absolutely insane, but it’s the truth. Paul and I were on the trail of this alien conspiracy — ”

  “Paul who?” she interjected.

  “Paul Oliver.”

  “The Paul Oliver?” she demanded. “The astrophysicist? The author of Investigating the Unknowable?”

  “The same. I met him at the MUFON symposium in L.A. — ”

  “Hold up.” She lifted a hand to stop me, then reached out and picked up the handset of her phone, dialed a number. “Hey, Kiki. I’ve got a situation here. Get the team together, and be at the shop ASAP.” A brief silence, during which she seemed to be listening to the person at the other end of the line. “Yes, Lance, too. Especially Lance.”

  She set down the phone, and I said, “Who’s Lance?”

  “A friend.”

  Her friend…or mine? Since I didn’t know quite how to respond, I said, “My name’s Persephone, by the way. Persephone O’Brien.”

  “Kara Swenson.” She put out her hand, and I shook it, feeling more than a little awkward. Then she went on, “You came to the right place, Persephone. Something must have been guiding you here.”

  I lifted my shoulders. “Oh, well, that’s probably because I’m a psychic.” Somehow it seemed the most natural thing in the world to tell her that, even though I was still usually reticent to admit my profession to others even after all these years.

  “For real?”

  “For real.” I fished a card out of my purse and handed it to her.

  She took it from me and scanned it briefly, then said, “Los Angeles? You’re a long way from home.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  A smile, showing teeth so perfect they could have belonged to one of my TV-executive clients. “An alien conspiracy, huh?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  She laughed then. “Well, we specialize in those. And just so you don’t think you’re crazy, my team has been tracking down information on the hidden base out in Boynton Canyon for months. Actually, most people think it’s Boynton where everything’s going on, but it’s really up in Secret Canyon that the real action is taking place.”

  Shaking my head, I said, “I’ve never heard of either of those places. Hell, I didn’t believe in any of this stuff until I had a client who was mixed up in it….” I trailed off. “No, that’s not right. He wasn’t mixed up in it, just had it thrust on him. And now he’s dead.”

  To my surprise, Kara didn’t look at all shocked. “There are more dead than you realize. Or those who have disappeared, so we have no idea what really happened to them. It’s what happens when you get too close. They dismiss us because we pass ourselves off as all part of the tourist attractions — hell, I run UFO tours that carefully keep people away from anything that might be too dangerous — but we keep digging. And we’re in possession of some information I’m pretty sure certain operatives wouldn’t be too happy to learn we know.”

  “But they don’t stop you?”

  “I’m pretty visible.” She waved a hand around the store. “And I try to make myself visible in other ways — our website, my blog. People would notice if I suddenly disappeared. Besides, I’m harmless. I sell T-shirts and DVDs to the tourists. Who’s going to suspect me of doing anything underhanded?”

  “Anyone who knows you well,” came a new voice, and I looked over to the front door, where a young woman with Kara’s bright blue eyes and blonde hair smiled at me.

  “My sister, Kiki,” Kara said. “And Adam, her boyfriend.”

  I gave a half-hearted wave at a tall young man who leaned out from behind Kiki and sent a grin in my direction.

  “And Michael Lightfoot, and Lance…well, it’s just Lance.”

  These last two still stood outside the door, but I could see Michael Lightfoot was clearly Native American, older than Kara and me by several decades, his iron-gray hair pulled back in a ponytail, his dark eyes calm but appraising. A sense of quiet, of stillness flowed from him, a sensation that was immediately reassuring. With him along, I thought we might actually have a chance.

  I couldn’t see Lance clearly at first, as he was blocked by Michael Lightfoot’s broad shoulder. Then he shifted, and I found myself looking up into hard, chiseled features, the sort of face I would have expected to see behind a pair of mirrored lenses as it leaned down to ask me if I knew how fast I was going. But more than that, I sensed the p
ower flowing out from him, power that struck me almost as a wave. I staggered backward, and put out a hand on one of the shelves behind me to steady myself.

  He said nothing, but stared down at me, face impassive, as if taking my measure. After an interminable second or two, he nodded. “She’s not making it up.”

  “As if I would!” I said, indignant that he would even make such a suggestion. Did he have any idea what I had gone through the past few days — what Paul had gone through? Surely the truth was frightening enough without adding any embellishments.

  “You’d be surprised.”

  Kara waved a hand. “We don’t have time for this. Paul Oliver is in trouble — ”

  “The Paul Oliver?” Kiki broke in, eyes shining. She had an improbable fuchsia streak through her pale hair, which was pulled into a pair of Swiss Miss braids. If she was a day over twenty-one, I’d be shocked.

  I reflected that I would never have known a few days ago that the UFO world had its own rock stars. And I also wondered what the hell I was doing, dragging these people I didn’t know into my own personal nightmare. Kiki and Adam were just kids, and although you certainly couldn’t say that about Lance or Michael Lightfoot, still, they were strangers. Maybe this had all been a terrible mistake.

  But then I heard Otto’s voice, strong and sure, in my mind. You will have help. Just remember to keep your heart and mind open, and it will come to you.

  I nodded, although whether in response to Kiki’s question, or as an affirmation of my spirit guide’s remembered words, I couldn’t really say. My voice was firm as I responded, “Yes, the Paul Oliver. And he — and I — need your help.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  It didn’t take as long as I had thought to recount the story to them — how Alex Hathaway had come to me, how Otto had commanded me to go see Paul at the Sheraton Universal. The chase by the agent in the parking garage. Our growing discovery of the conspiracy. The subjugation of Raymond Lampson. Paul’s capture.

  By the time I was done, Kiki’s blue eyes — so like her sister’s — were almost as big as the saucers she hunted in the night sky. Adam similarly appeared far more excited than worried or nervous. Michael Lightfoot’s expression was grave, and as for Lance, well, he didn’t have much expression at all. Kara seemed more intrigued than anything else, although her excitement was more muted than her sister’s.

  She turned to Lance. “Secret Canyon?”

  One nod. His gaze flickered in my direction for the barest fraction of a second. He asked, “Have you seen him?”

  “What?”

  “You’re a psychic.” There was just the smallest hint of contempt in the word. “Haven’t you tried to see him, see where they’ve taken him?”

  I almost pulled out my “psychics are not one size fits all” speech, then decided it wasn’t worth the effort, since I had the distinct impression Lance knew very well that his question was guaranteed to irritate me. Technically speaking, I wasn’t a clairvoyant. If Otto wasn’t giving me outright advice, then most of my readings came from hunches, or feelings…like the one that had brought me here to Sedona in the first place.

  “No,” I said. “I just know he’s still alive, and still all right…for now, anyway.”

  His flat stare didn’t flicker. “Maybe you should try.”

  The middle of the UFO Depot, with a group of people I barely knew looking on, was perhaps not the most ideal situation for attempting that sort of feat. But Lance had put me on my mettle, and I had done such a thing once or twice before. I just had no idea whether it would work this time, especially when I hadn’t had any time to mentally prepare myself for such spiritual exertions.

  Without bothering to reply, I shut my eyes, closing out the faces of the people watching me, the cluttered shelves, and eased into a calm blankness. The sound of the film playing in the background became tinny, then died away to nothing.

  I thought of Paul, of the quick flash of his smile, the green and gold glints in his hazel eyes. The way his mouth had felt on mine, the warm scent of his skin. All the thousand and one little details I hadn’t even realized I was noticing at the time, but which had been carefully filed away in my mind. I built an image of him in the darkness behind my eyelids, and suddenly, he was there.

  Or rather, I was there with him. I saw him clearly as he sat on a mean little cot with a thin Army-issue blanket in a room with dark gray walls. He seemed to be alone. A fresh bruise showed clearly along the fine bones of his jaw, and he was sporting a pretty spectacular black eye. But his gaze as he stared at the metal door of the chamber seemed sharp enough, and I knew he was still Paul, no puppet of the aliens. How long he would remain that way, I had no idea, but at least I knew the universe had told me the truth.

  Oh, Paul… Seeing him like that made the need clench in my stomach. I almost reached out to touch him, even though I knew such a gesture would be futile. He was still miles away.

  His head went up, and he looked around his prison, eyes wide. “Persephone?”

  He couldn’t have heard me. Impossible. But I mentally sighed his name again, and once more his head moved from right to left, as if he could somehow find me within the confines of that stark little room.

  My throat tightened, and the hot, sharp edges of tears began to prick at the corners of my eyes. So we had made some sort of connection, even in the short time we’d spent together. It wasn’t all wish fulfillment and foolish dreams. I’d never been able to make contact like that with anyone else.

  But then a strong, cool hand touched my wrist, and a deep voice said, “Persephone.”

  My eyelids snapped open. Michael Lightfoot stared down at me, his dark gaze not quite as imperturbable as the last time I had looked at him.

  “Why did you do that?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You were gone for almost fifteen minutes.”

  Fifteen — “What?”

  “You totally tranced out,” Kiki supplied. “Lance said to leave you alone, but Michael finally decided if we didn’t do something, you might be standing there all day. You already scared off a couple of customers.”

  I blinked, and realized that my left foot had gone to sleep. Fifteen minutes. I’d never done anything like that before. Jesus.

  Lance asked, “Did you see him?”

  Again that constriction squeezed my throat, a burden born of need and fear and doubt. I nodded, since I wasn’t sure how well my voice was working.

  “Details?”

  His tone was too even to be called outright annoyed, but I could tell he didn’t have much patience with me.

  I coughed, and forced the words past the thickness surrounding my vocal cords. “He’s in a small room. The walls look like rock. There’s nothing in there except a cot. He’s not bound, but it looks as if he’s been roughed up a little. But he’s alive…and still himself.”

  He nodded. “We’d better not waste any more time, then.” A quick, sharp glance at the rest of the group, and he added, “This could get dicey.”

  “I live for dicey,” Kiki said immediately, while her boyfriend nodded. I felt a sharp thrum of worry from Kara, but she only said, in resigned tones,

  “Guess I’ll be holding down the fort once again.”

  “Your role is valuable as well,” Michael said, and she gave a little shrug, even as a sense of resignation drifted from her in waves.

  “I keep telling myself that.”

  Kiki grinned. “I’m driving!”

  The first true emotion passed over Lance’s face. His eyebrows creased. “Oh, shit.”

  We all trooped outside, save for Kara, who had turned back to her computer in a vain attempt to look as if she really didn’t mind being left behind. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw what was waiting for us.

  “You really think you’re going to be inconspicuous in that?”

  The van was black and had “UFO Night Tours” painted across the sides in an acid green almost the same hue as the shop’s sign. An alien with huge teardrop eyes stared at m
e from directly above the wheelwell.

  “Protective camouflage,” Kiki responded cheerfully. “Everyone’s used to seeing tour buses and vans all over town. No one takes it seriously. Even the MIBs pretty much ignore us.”

  “MIBs?” I echoed.

  “Men in black,” Lance said. “Not to be trifled with. Get in — time’s wasting.”

  I wondered who, in one of my exes’ pithy terminology, had pissed in his Wheaties, but decided it wouldn’t be prudent to ask. Instead, I climbed into the back of the van, since Adam had already taken the shotgun position. There were three rows of seats, and I settled myself in the one directly behind Kiki, while Michael Lightfoot sat down next to me. Lance, of course, went all the way to the back, where he stared out the window as if expecting a squad of MIBs to descend on us at any moment.

  Kiki didn’t wait to see if we’d all fastened our seatbelts, but instead squealed out of the parking lot in a scatter of loose gravel. I clung to the armrest and decided that Lance, despite his sour mood, hadn’t been exaggerating.

  There was a good deal of traffic on the main drag, despite it being a Sunday morning. To take my mind off the way Kiki was weaving in and out of the cars, SUVs, tour buses, and vans not unlike our own, I leaned toward Michael and asked in an undertone, “So what’s the deal with Lance?”

  He smiled, the lines around his eyes seeming to make them almost disappear for a moment. “Ah, Lance. His way has not been an easy one.”

  “He was part of Project Stargate,” Kiki chimed in.

  “What?”

  “Project Stargate. The army’s remote viewing program,” she added, sounding a little impatient, as if everyone should know what that was. “But he left even before they disbanded it. The whole thing does seem to have made him a little cranky.”

  “Can you stop talking about ‘him’ as if he weren’t in the same vehicle with you?” came Lance’s sour tones from the back of the van.