Chapter 4
After a long conversation that starts in the library and takes us to a coffee shop and then to a burger place for a late lunch, I look at Michael curiously. His eyes seem placid, no judgment in them at all. He cocks his head to one side before breaking the uncomfortable silence.
"So, when you were a child, someone or something took your mother? Right in front of your very eyes?"
"I know the way it sounds," I stammer as I turn my attention to the nearby table, hoping to avoid his stare. "But it's true. That's another reason why I thought you weren't coming to see me. I thought that the thing with the Bakers and my reputation as a nut job scared you off.”
"And this thing that took her, you couldn't see it clearly? It left a trail, or something like a blur as it passed by?" he continues his questioning.
"Yes," I answer, more than a little surprised. No one had ever taken my account so seriously before, not even my father who was still to this day haunted by mom's disappearance. "There was someone or—whatever, something, there. I couldn't see it. I only felt the wind break, saw a blurry outline and heard the door slam open and closed. My mother didn't even have enough time to let out a scream.”
I look down towards my hands. They were shaking. This is the most I've ever explained to someone. Even my father didn't want to hear this much, and my mother's disappearance destroyed him.
"For something to move that fast, in such an enclosed space, such as a home," Michael begins to postulate as he narrows his eyes and cracks his neck. "The burst of speed, the thing's acceleration, has to have been immense. And to create that blurry after-image, the effect of it, it would have to be moving at least faster than the eye can track…that’s at most a couple milliseconds. By your description, whatever this was, had to have the ability to go from a dead stop to a full sprint, since the doors were closed, and move fast enough so that you couldn’t see it…we’re talking really fast here..."
Michael begins to trail off in his own deep thoughts. Is he actually taking me seriously? This guy can’t be for real. Everything is just too perfect. He's intelligent and strong, rich and altruistic...and he's actually thinking over what I've told him. I’d said enough to make a witch doctor blush. At least my issues were out in the open now. He could either accept me as I am or dismiss me. I wouldn't be surprised if he chose the latter.
But for now at least, he is taking me seriously.
"I can see now why this would become something of a hobby for you," he states with a clear calm. "I would desperately want to search out my mother's captor just like you. What has your own investigation concluded? I imagine you yourself must have looked into this matter on your own. What do you think could have possibly taken your mother?"
"You're not serious, right?" I ask with a tiny scoff. "Movies, old books, TV shows, everything would have you believe that there's this secret world out there where anything is possible. But that's all I have. I don't have any solid evidence as to what could have taken her. All I have is possibilities from mythology and folklore, nothing solid.”
"Very well, let's start there, then. It's as good a place as any.”
I look at Michael a bit apprehensively. I wasn't really sure if he was being serious or not. Having put everything out on the table, having him believe me and relaying this information back to me, makes me realize the absurdity of it all. And yet he's not sitting there with a hint of sarcasm. There's no skepticism. He at least appears to be genuinely interested. At this moment, I admit that I sound nuts, even to myself.
It was one thing when I explained my experience to others; it’s an entirely other matter when he’s probing me now for answers. I don't have any. The entire experience could have been exaggerated on my part, now that I think about it. I was younger; I could have been seeing things. And besides, seriously. What could it have been? Is Michael seriously asking me to come up with an answer…based on what? Old legends and stories that had been handed down mainly by speech alone. Is Michael insane? Now I’m questioning my own sanity…
"Hey, you there?" Michael asks, breaking me from my trance. "Let's look at this logically. What do we know about our world? Not much, right?"
I nod, still dumbfounded and confused.
"We've explored a tiny percentage of the world's oceans and seas," he continues. "We, for all of our technology, can't go farther down in the ocean than a whale. That's pretty humbling, if you ask me. We have eighty-year-olds who eat tons of bacon with every breakfast on a daily basis and are healthier than people who watch their diet. We're constantly changing our outlook on how much water we should drink. Eight cups of water a day, no wait, that's too little, that's too much. We don't know our own bodies. We didn't even know that drinking too much water could actually kill you until recently. You really think it's that strange to think that there are things out there that we don't know about? That's pretty arrogant on humanity's part, I think. Can we really be it? I doubt it.”
Michael makes a strong case. His argument is both sound and objective. Something older, perhaps more intelligent than humans, could exist. Suddenly, my beliefs don't sound that silly anymore. But still, where could I start? And how can Michael read me so well to speak as if he was reading my mind? Am I that obvious?
"It's difficult," I answer after clearing my throat. "I was a kid back then. I remember it clearly, but I doubt myself now that I hear you repeat it back to me. It sounds crazy. And what could we do with the information anyway? You think a cop will take this seriously?"
"Just tell me what your research uncovered and we can work from there.”
"Work how? What could the two of us possibly do? Let's say it was a monster, then what? Am I supposed to find closure in knowing that my mother was gobbled up by some sort of ghoulie? What if I should just give up and move on with my life?"
Michael looks at me patiently before sighing. He reaches for my hand and studies it before gazing into my eyes.
"Would you really be happy that way?" he asks, his powerful voice now as gentle as a sea breeze. "If that is what you truly want, all you have to do is tell me. We can drop this right now and never look back.”
I let out a sigh of my own as I look at our entwined hands. Something about this feels right. I feel like I can do no wrong.
"No, I wouldn't be okay," I confess reluctantly. "But still, that doesn't change anything. You're making it seem like you'd like to investigate this with me, and you have no idea how much that means to me. But the reality is, what can the two of us possibly do? This happened so many years ago; any trail has obviously gone cold, any clues long gone. And forget about all of that, even if we had something to go on, we still can't do anything about it. My mother's...gone. Nothing we can do can bring her back.”
"I won't argue that," Michael says softly, kindly. "But it might help you have some sort of peace. That's worth it, isn't it? And you won't have to keep looking for what took your mother. It's not much, and it probably won't even bring about full closure. But it might be the best we can do in our case.”
He said we and our. He's taking my tragedy and making it his own. He's pretty admirable in that regard, but is this sincere? I can't believe it to be sincere, but his eyes seem so honest. So... compassionate. I have to believe him.
"It stood on two legs," I mutter almost reluctantly. "Whatever it was, it was the height of a human, and it was on two legs. I did see an after-image, like you mentioned. And I saw an imprint of something like arms...taking my mother. But everything was so blurry, it could be anything.”
Michael sits back and takes in a deep breath. He lowers his head and scratches the back of his head. It looks as if he is literally going through some sort of catalog in his mind. Like he’s searching out what it could be and ruling out what it couldn't be. He wasn't joking. He is truly a believer and he wants to help me. I have no idea how an environmentalist can help me, but hey, at least I’m not the only one anymore. The only one who "believed.”
"You said it had arms," Michael begi
ns again, unfazed by the idea. "Did it appear human? Did you notice its hands? Did they seem normal? Was it wearing clothing?"
I exhale and smirk before replying. "Clothing? Human? Where are we taking this? Are we thinking Nosferatu took my mother? Or maybe it was some sort of demon who possessed a human…or maybe it was a werewolf, or a merman, or something like that!"
"You're getting ahead of yourself," he suggests in the calmest of tones. "You need to relax and think. This is important. We need to narrow down what it could be, from what we’ve heard. No matter how sensational it sounds, remember, any of it could be true. The Earth is a very old place. Who knows what’s still lingering around? Did this thing look human? Did it wear clothing? Come on, Liz.”
"It moved way too fast to be able to tell you if it was human or not," I answer honestly, although I do feel a tad childish with all this speculation. "I couldn't notice its hands, everything was too fast. I can tell you that the blur had different colors in it. From that, I supposed that it could have worn clothing and looked like a human. But that's all I have. Everything else isn't even speculation; it would be a blind guess.”
"Do you remember anything else? Maybe the creature gave off a particular smell? Did it leave anything on the ground or around the area where your mother was abducted?"
"No...why do you ask?" I question, puzzled. Michael is beginning to intimidate me. He seems to be really into this. Maybe too into this.
"Sometimes, certain creatures give off a scent. A certain smell," Michael replies as his jade eyes turn their attention to his laptop bag. He unzips the bag and pulls out a very old-looking book, with ancient white and black drawings of hideous monsters in it. The book seems aged, like it could collapse at any minute. "This is one of my favorite reads. As you can see, it's really old, but the information in here is something you won't find on the internet.”
"How old is it, exactly?" I ask as I examine the book, careful not to make even the slightest fold on a page.
"It was printed about two centuries ago," he informs me, as if that's normal. "But it's actually a translation from a much earlier Greek script. The man who wrote it originally was seen as a madman and was executed for blasphemy. Although the Roman Empire ensured that the polytheistic practice of the Greek gods was banned five centuries before, there's evidence that people privately continued to worship the old gods until about seven hundred A.D. But this author lived around one thousand A.D., a time of great change and unrest throughout the ever-changing world. He represented a threat to the order of things, and he was seen as trying to bring back old, long forgotten gods. Even though all he was doing was writing about what we now consider the paranormal. Not many copies of this book exist, if there even are any others like it.”
"So the original author was from Greece?" I'm intrigued, this is amazing. "How could he have knowledge of anything here, in North America?"
"In his time, this man was well known throughout his community as an orator and scholar," Michael explains as I begin to notice the excitement the topic instills in him. "People came from all over, just to tell him stories. The author spoke many languages, and had many allies with foreign nations. Some say he even had information from Leif Ericson directly. That would predate Columbus's discovery of America by centuries.”
"But how accurate can this information be? In such a crazy time in the world, and don't forget the horrible recordkeeping they had, how can we trust any of this information?"
"I've asked that question myself many times as well," he assures me with a slight smile on his face. "Have you considered, however, how far apart the continents were back then? I don't mean literally, I mean symbolically. Their technology made an eight-hour airplane trip a year-long voyage on a ship constructed of wood. Yet almost all of the old world cultures have similar creatures in their folklore and stories. One of my favorites, the dragon, is on almost every continent in some shape or form. Whether it's on pots or paintings, these people, who most likely never spoke to one another, had painted and created a very similar creature. How likely is that? Not very, unless there was such a creature. Then it makes all the sense in the world.”
"I get what you're saying. Not to mention the ape men that were described in the Orient. Many people had similar accounts even though the incidents were thousands of miles apart.”
"The Alma, exactly! You understand," Michael says with a satisfied grin on his face. He turns his attention to the old tome and begins browsing through it carefully. He speaks to me without shifting his attention. "Although I will admit, not much in this book can match what you're describing. Our options for a suspect are very short indeed.”
I giggle to myself as I witness Michael's almost boyish approach on this. What is this big mountain of a man doing? Playing detective? It's outlandish.
"Was it something I said?" he asks me candidly as he looks at me once more.
"You really want to find this thing, don't you?" I reply seriously. "And you're not even a little afraid of the consequences? What people might say if they find out? If it turns out to be true…or worse, if it's a waste of time?"
"I don't concern myself with what people think of me," Michael admits with no remorse. "I try to be my own person, stand on my own merits. I'll admit that's why I felt a little uneasy taking over my family's fortune. All I did to get it was be born, and I didn't have much say in the matter. I don't really deserve it. But I'm trying to.”
"Ah, I get it now," I say with a sly smile. "I'm your good deed for the day. I'm not sure I like that concept very much.”
"That's not even close to being accurate," Michael says rigidly.
"Who talks like that?" I ask in disbelief. "You're always so prim and proper. You don't swear or ever have a drop in your manners. And why all of the long words? You trying to compete with me or something? Or do you feel like you have to sound intelligent to make me feel comfortable?"
Michael laughs."Do I seem unintelligent?"
He stares at me, waiting for an answer. Wow, I can't believe I just implied that...
"Tell me, is it a bad thing to be honorable in my dealings with people? Should I curse like a sailor at every opportunity? Should I grab this tablecloth and use it as a rag for my snot?"
Ouch. I really messed up this time. But before I even have a chance to apologize, Michael waves me off. He completely disregards my offense and continues on with our previous conversation.
"Tell you what, give me some time to get my people on the information you gave me," Michael says as he looks into his jacket to pull out his pad and pen. He writes down something before readdressing me. "It'll give them something to do and it'll also be a start. We can keep looking at options later. It's pretty late right now.”
"You could come to my house if you want," I suggest timidly. "We can look up everything the net has to offer. Plus, I've been working on getting a nice library there too. I don't have much right now, but I do have some books that could help us.”
Michael stands up and walks over to me, placing his hands on my shoulders.
"Another time Liz," he says as he reaches for my hand, picks it up and kisses it softly. "I have some work to do. I promise I'll call you later though, and promises from me are ironclad. Don't forget my superstitious Russian.”
He laughs and bows his head respectfully before excusing himself and walking away.
What the heck happened here just now? Are we really going to go on a ghost hunt?
And as a second date?
Jeez...