The Bovine Connection

by Kimberly Thomas

  “Really?” … Angelica raised her hand to cover her mouth as she cleared her throat. Her throat felt dry. The man pushed her Red Bull on the counter closer to her.

  “Thank you,” Angelica said, before clearing her throat again and opening the can of Red Bull. “Please continue… Did he say anything else about the Air Force base?” Angelica put the pills in her mouth, tasting the bitterness, and took a sip before washing it down.

  “Yes, I believe he said something about it being odd that another one had occurred near another military base,” he answered confidently.

  “Interesting,” Angelica examined the man’s face curiously. “What else?” Angelica had started tapping her finger lightly on the counter.

  “He said he was meeting with the police in Elberton. He was going to examine the carcass, you know, the dead cow,” his eyes widened as he raised his hand and cupped his chin, reflecting back.

  “And…” Angelica nodded with straight lips.

  “You know, he said something about there being no blood, or something like that. He didn’t say a whole lot else. Hey, you know, there’s a reporter in Elberton that’s been doing the stories on the mutilations for a while now. You might want to talk to him.” The man shook his head and looked sharply at Angelica. “You can imagine what the locals were saying after reading the one about the UFOs being involved,” he said as he chuckled while enthusiastically continuing to shake his head.

  “What did he say in the paper?” Angelica unconsciously twirled at a strain of her hair, eagerly anticipating his response.

  “He was talking about some sort of UFO being reportedly seen on one of the nights of the killing… strange lights shining down and spot-lighting cattle.” He laughed and shook his head. “Yep, UFOs… can you imagine that?”

  Angelica observed the man for a moment, “Well, I don’t believe in UFOs. There clearly has to be another explanation,” she said, straight-faced. Deciding that once in her room, her first call would be to that conspiracy-peddling journalist. “Do you happen to remember his name?”

  “Which one?” the man asked.

  “The reporter,” Angelica responded softly as she started to search her purse for a piece of paper and pen.

  “Matthew Tillman. Nice guy. He’s the only reporter writing about the mutilations, so he’s fairly well-known around these parts.”

  “That’s great!” Angelica looked up and closed her purse, after recognizing the name. He was the reporter that she stumbled across during her Google search. She had the very copies of his articles in her satchel.

  “Thank you!” Angelica grabbed her Red Bull and Aspirin from the counter and turned toward the glass door.

  “Good luck, young lady!” The pleasant old-timer waved goodbye, then rubbed at his beard as he watched Angelica leave the store.

  Chapter Eight

  After what felt like an endless day of traveling, she was ready to get to the lodge. In the rental car, Angelica followed the directions given by the female voice on her navigation system.

  “Turn left onto Long Hollow Road…” After a brief pause, the woman’s voice said, “Right onto Elk Creek Road; you will arrive at your destination in zero point one miles.” Angelica thought about the jokes the men in her office made about the female navigation voice and rolled her eyes.

  Driving along the charming road up the hill to the lodge, winding between tall evergreens, she suddenly saw the slopes of the rust-colored roof of Elk Lodge. Her reaction was immediate. It took her breath. The lodge was illuminated with lights in the darkness. The scenic mountain drive led her up the ridge and right into the grand entrance of The Elk Lodge, tucked away in the wilderness slopes of Montana – like a perfectly well-kept secret.

  Angelica rolled down her window, took a deep breath of pine-scented fresh air, and thought about how lucky she was to have such an amazing career that allowed her to travel to places most people would only dream of.

  Angelica was ready for the change in pace. She was still feeling the lingering burned-out effects of covering the same type of stories back in D.C., where she had spent most of her career knee-deep in political dirt. A story of mystery and intrigue in Montana may have been exactly what she needed.

  Angelica pulled up to the valet under the large log canopy, an elegant area lit by large black iron and glowing gas lanterns. The walls were a mixture of stone and smoothly carved jumbo logs. Looking through the lobby doors, her eyes were drawn to the fireplace of smooth grey stones, stretching from the floor to ceiling with a massive white bull elk mounted above it.

  Angelica smiled coyly, glancing around. “Exactly what I needed,” she thought as she dropped her shoulders and released a deep breath, feeling suddenly relaxed.

  As she checked in, she noticed people passing by dressed in their evening wear. A few couples sat in front of the fireplace sipping cocktails while listening to a man in a tuxedo playing jazz standards on a black grand piano. Immediately taken with the lodge’s combination of warm, rustic elegance and a hint of modern sophistication, she was ready to relax in a hot bath with a drink.

  In her room, her headache had eased but she felt exhausted. She put her bags down and glanced around. The room was exquisite, and it should be, considering how much it cost per night, she thought. She walked through, admiring the black granite countertop in the bathroom and elegant amenities. It was well worth the price.

  The lodge was known to be a hotspot for high rollers since there was a private jet airport offering air charters nearby.

  As she strolled around, admiring the room, she thought about her last trip home. The lodge reminded her of the Biltmore Hotel in her hometown, where she stayed last year for her cousin’s wedding. It had been a while since she had spoken to her mother, still living in Asheville. She debated whether to call her and say hello. Angelica remembered the headache she had fought all that day. The Aspirin seemed to be working, except for the tension she felt in the back of her neck. She didn’t want to risk a reemergence, so she decided to wait and call her mother in the morning.

  Angelica stepped over and turned on the lamp on the bedside table. Patting the bed, she noticed it even had the same overstuffed goose down comfortable bedding as the Biltmore, which she was eager to try out.

  Angelica walked over and opened the door to the balcony. The night air had turned cool. A soft breeze lifted her hair from her shoulders, and she heard music from the bar below. Angelica leaned over the balcony and saw couples dancing on a small square parquet dance floor situated under streamers of soft glowing balls of light. A woman sang Billie Holiday’s version of “I’ll Never Be the Same.” The nostalgic sound was at once comforting and haunting to Angelica. She recalled a wedding reception she attended while still in college at Georgetown University. After the celebration had died down, she and her date snuck away from the party to a secluded area near the Potomac River. The same song had played in the distance under streamers of lights. She recalled tasting the sweetness of blackberries on his full, soft lips… Lips she told him even angels were jealous of.

  Angelica squeezed the rustic railing as the memory faded, and looked out into the darkness to notice the lights from the lodge shining down on the white bubbles foaming around the rocks in the fast moving Elk Creek.

  She stood and listened to the music from below, feeling the breeze as it gently blew through her hair. A strange new thought and sensation came over her. The constriction in her chest had released and she realized she felt relaxed and peaceful, nothing else mattered. She closed her eyes and swayed to the music, inhaling the scent of fresh pine, but was quickly jolted back to the pressures and responsibilities of the day when the music abruptly stopped.

  Feeling a sharp pain, Angelica placed her hand over her belly, realizing she was hungry. She hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast so she walked inside, and closed the patio door.

  Angelica went over to the bedside table and dialed room service, ordering the house specialty. She finished her order with a glass of a
moderately priced Pinot Noir, and a glass of single malt Scotch to help her sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  Possessed by a strange and uncomfortable numbness, Angelica awoke – paralyzed. She immediately realized she wasn’t dreaming. Angelica’s mind raced as her eyes rapidly surveyed her surroundings.

  Angelica remembered she was in a hotel room in Montana and not at her townhouse in D.C. … and as crazy as it seemed, she heard it again! Was it a helicopter? “It must be,” she thought. She quickly concluded the sound was unfamiliar. Angelica tried to lift her arms to cover her ears with her hands but they wouldn’t budge. She resigned herself to the irrational emotion that she was dying. The noise was everywhere. Angelica couldn’t concentrate. Her heart was racing at an extraordinarily fast pace. She gasped for air and without any apparent reason the noise stopped. She felt as if every cell had been hit by an electrical charge and then the numbness slowly retreated.

  Shivering, she took a deep breath and gently glided her hands across her face and mouth. Wet with sweat and disoriented, she lifted the moist sheets from her body and then rose from the bed. Steady on her feet, she walked past the mirror and caught a glimpse of her pale nude body in the moonlight.

  Angelica turned on the bathroom faucet and splashed her face with cold water, observing each drop of water as it ran down her face. Staring at her ashen reflection, she noticed her eyes were red and puffy. She glanced down and saw a drop of fresh blood in the sink. Angelica gasped as she looked back up at her face in the mirror and saw the blood running from her nose. She leaned in and took a closer look and then rubbed her index finger along her nose, smearing the blood across her cheek.

  Her mind swam. She grabbed a hand towel and turned on the sink. Angelica held the towel under the water and dampened it, and then wiped the blood from her face. Questions assaulted her. Why was her nose bleeding? The odd sound had originated from outside of her window. Had anyone else heard it?

  If she could track down anyone else who had noticed the noise, she’d know she wasn’t going crazy. She’d check with the front desk in the morning, she decided. “Someone had to have heard it,” she thought aloud.

  Walking away from the sink, she grabbed a large white bath towel and wrapped it around her body, twisting it tightly above her breast and then she turned off the bathroom light.

  Angelica went over to the desk, turned on the lamp and then opened her laptop. She entered, “Waking up to strange humming or whooshing sound in the middle of the night” into her browser search bar. The nightly occurrences had started abruptly and were happening too frequently. If it wasn’t a helicopter, there had to be a medical explanation, she thought.

  Links with information on UFOs and abductions appeared on the screen. “Are you kidding?” Angelica blurted and laughed uneasily at the synchronicity as she got up to retrieve the glass of Scotch left over from dinner.

  Waking up in the middle of the night to strange sounds was taking its toll. Angelica leaned back and opened the first link: “Reported Alien Stories … the following stories are reported by people who claim to have been abducted by ETs.”

  “What the hell am I doing?” She laughed.

  Angelica stood up from her chair and looked around her hotel room. She quickly closed the site, turned off the lights, and decided to go back to sleep.

  Collapsing onto the bed, she turned to her side. After fluffing her pillow, she noticed the soft silver glow of moonlight shining through the French doors leading to the balcony.

  The cool beauty of the night gripped her, the emptiness of her bed and her heart, the trauma of waking up… it all seemed to collapse upon her, a crushing weight of loneliness. Tears began to softly well up in her eyes, and she drifted back to sleep.

  Chapter Ten

  The alarm on the bedside table was going off at eight o’clock in the morning. Angelica turned over and pressed the button at the top of the alarm clock and then lifted the covers, slowly getting up from the bed. She realized she had left the curtains open from the night before. The room was bright and warm from the sunlight.

  She found her bag and pulled out a pair of grey and white striped boxers and a white tank top. She slipped the tank top over her head as she went into the bathroom and noticed the spots of dried blood on the countertop. Angelica gasped. “It wasn’t a dream,” she said as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail.

  Angelica stepped out of the bathroom and remembered she wanted to meet with the Elberton reporter, so she went over to the desk and entered into Google “Matthew Tillman with the Elberton Tribune.”

  Once she found him, she took her cell phone out of her purse and called the number from Elberton Tribune’s website directory. A man answered, “Hello, Matthew Tillman, Elberton Tribune.”

  “Hello Matthew, my name is Angelica Bradley with the Liberator Magazine. I’m in town from D.C. doing a story on the cattle mutilation at the Keller Ranch.”

  “Yes, wow, okay, Angelica… how can I help you?” he replied, completely surprised.

  “I’d like to meet with you. I have a lot of ground to cover in a short period of time, and I would like to start with someone who’s been covering the story. Are you available to meet today?”

  “Yes, would you like to come by my office? Are you close to the town square? Where are you staying?”

  “I’m at the Elk Lodge.”

  “You’re close. I could be there in a couple hours, say ten o’clock.”

  “Perfect, I need to spend some time on my computer this morning,” Angelica said relieved and surprised by his flexibility on short notice.

  “I’ll meet you in the restaurant there at ten.”

  “Thank you, Matthew. I’ll see you then.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Angelica could hear the sounds of the restaurant to her left as she stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby. She wondered if Matthew was already seated. She needed to stop by the front desk. She couldn’t stop thinking about last night. Angelica anxiously walked over to the counter. “Excuse me. Hi… I have a question for you.” Angelica forced a smile.

  The middle-aged brunette woman at the front desk smiled politely. “Yes, how may I help you?”

  “Well,” Angelica paused for a moment, “Well, I was just curious. Do helicopters fly over the lodge at night?”

  “No ma’am, that wouldn’t be permitted,” the woman responded quickly. Her eyes turned mindful as she tilted her head and lowered her eyebrows.

  “Did any of the other guests complain of hearing a loud noise last night around three thirty in the morning?” Angelica’s eyes probed the lady’s face.

  “No, I don’t believe so. If you’ll wait here for a moment, I’ll go ask my manager.”

  “Oh no, that won’t be necessary, thank you.” Angelica stepped away but had a second thought, then quickly turned back around. “Wait, yes, I would like to speak to your manager.”

  The woman tilted her head again. “Okay, just a moment,” she replied, before she turned and walked through the door behind the counter, and returned immediately with a heavyset middle-aged man.

  “How can I help you?” he asked, his voice robust, as he smiled politely.

  “I was wondering. Well, I heard a loud noise in the middle of the night last night and… well, did any of the other guests complain of a noise around three in the morning?” Angelica asked anxiously as she glanced over to see a couple checking in, staring at her oddly. She pursed her lips, suddenly uncomfortable asking about the noise.

  “No, ma’am, no one has complained of a noise.” He appeared concerned.

  “I see. Thank you,” Angelica turned and slowly walked away. Looking down at the rustic red and tan southwestern style Persian rug as she moved across it, she paused briefly and shook her head, “Just doesn’t make sense… It was so loud,” she mumbled.

  Chapter Twelve

  The restaurant was noisy as Angelica walked in and glanced around for Matthew, becoming distracted for a moment by the view of the
mountains through the large windows on the other side of the room.

  Angelica saw a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, light brown hair, wearing a tan cowboy hat, sitting alone in the corner close to the fireplace; so she took a chance and walked over to him. “Are you Matthew Tillman?”

  “Yes. You must be Angelica,” he smiled, his eyes widened. He looked both startled and pleased.

  Angelica heard the subtle crack in his voice. Matthew fidgeted in his seat. His face still appeared surprised. Angelica could see Matthew had become slightly nervous. She knew too well the signs of a man taken aback by her.

  Angelica made an effort to relax him with a joke. “So, do all Montana journalists wear cowboy hats?” she asked politely and smiled.

  Matthew chuckled, “I believe they probably do ma’am.” He lowered his eyes appearing bashful. “I helped a friend on his ranch this morning. I wear one on occasion.” He took off his hat and revealed a crease in his hair. Then he stood up from his chair so she could take a seat across from him.

  Matthew put his hat back on and adjusted it self-consciously. Angelica turned to notice the server standing beside her.

  “I’ll have coffee and a bowl of fruit, thank you.”

  The server smiled, nodded, and then looked at Matthew… “Anything for you?”

  “Steak and eggs over easy,” he announced and then peered at Angelica.

  Angelica smiled in the same innocent way she always did, before leaning down to retrieve her digital recorder, note pad and pen from her satchel.

  “Angelica, I have to admit, you’re not what I expected. I mean…” Matthew hesitated after hearing Angelica let out a breath of frustration while raising back up and turning on the recorder.