Page 25 of Atlas of Unknowable Things

NEGATIVE IONS: THE LINK BETWEEN UFOS AND BODIES OF WATER

A spokesman for a special and little known Royal Canadian Air Force department in Ottawa for the investigation of Unidentified Flying Objects said last night a series of bright lights which glided into the ocean off Shag Harbor, Shelburne County, Wednesday night may be one of the extremely rare cases where “something concrete” may be found.

The spokesman, who identified himself as Squadron Leader Bain, said his department was “very interested” in the matter.

The next morning when my alarm woke me, the previous night’s jaunt felt like no more than a hallucination.

If I hadn’t felt the dampness of my clothes hanging over the back of my chair to dry, I might never have believed it.

As I dressed, my heart was heavy. I felt like I was losing control of my consciousness, and I knew I needed to seriously consider the possibility that I had a sleep disorder.

Since coming to Hildegard, I’d had instances of both sleep paralysis and sleepwalking, and while the former was frightening, the latter, I knew, could be dangerous.

What if I hadn’t awakened when I did? What if I’d fallen into the lake?

Would I have woken up when I hit the water?

Or would I have just continued on, dreaming a liquid death as I slowly sank to the bottom?

In something of a haze, I managed to make myself some coffee. After pulling on boots and a robe, I started out to the garden, but still groggy, I stumbled on the path and went careening into a lilac bush. A string of expletives followed.

“You okay over there?” Finn called from beyond the wall.

“Fine,” I called, standing up and dusting myself off.

“I made cinnamon rolls,” he called again. “You want one?”

“You made cinnamon rolls?” I asked, incredulous. “Like, you made them made them? Like, with dough?”

“Yeah. I’ll meet you at your front door. They’re still warm.”

I didn’t ask him how early he must have gotten up to make the rolls, though I was curious if this was some essential part of his character or if it was an aberration.

I stuffed down two warm, delicious cinnamon rolls while sitting on the couch, legs tucked underneath me, blanket over my lap.

It was the most at home I’d felt in … well, in a long time.

Together, we sipped coffee and we chatted about books and pop culture, the conversation light and healing.

He must have known something was wrong—I was so exhausted from the previous evening that I could barely keep my eyes open—but he didn’t mention it or ask about it, which I appreciated.

And when I asked him about the others, he was happy to oblige, regaling me with stories about the time he and Aspen accidentally took mushrooms, or when Lexi once set a barn on fire.

“I didn’t even realize you had a barn here.”

“Well, we don’t anymore,” he said, throwing us both into a fit of laughter.

As we laughed, though, I started to feel uneasy again, like someone was watching me. Dr. Casimir, wild woman of the woods?

“This is going to sound crazy, but are you sure Dr. Casimir isn’t still here?”

“I’m pretty sure one of us would have noticed,” he said with a flash of a smile.

“This is a big property. Couldn’t she be out in the woods somewhere?”

“There’s no way she could have survived the winter.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Though I suppose she could have come back. Is there a reason you think she might be here?”

“Wishful thinking, maybe. I’m still really hoping to get my hands on the artifact she found. If you had to guess where she might have put it, what would you say?”

“Honestly? I would guess she took it with her.”

“Really? But what if it’s an important artifact? She wouldn’t just take it with her and disappear, would she? What if it got damaged?”

“You have to remember, she was kind of a dick.”

I laughed. “You say that, but I’m having the hardest time trying to understand her. Some of you loved her, while some of you didn’t. She was a hard science person, but maybe she also believed in magic. The whole thing gives off a ‘madwoman in the attic’ vibe. What was she really like?”

He lowered his eyes. “You don’t want to know about that.”

“No, but I do.”

He sighed. “You say that now, but someday you’re going to look back on this conversation and wish you hadn’t had it.”

That unsettled me a bit, but I decided to press on.

“I won’t hold you to anything you say. And I won’t repeat it. Please? We’re neighbors.”

He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Okay, fine. What do you want to know?”

“Well, I’m having trouble getting an accurate picture of her. Everyone seemed to have been in awe of her except for you.”

“Yeah. I told you before, I didn’t care for Isabelle.”

“But why not?”

“Can’t I just dislike someone?”

“Sure, but you must have had your reasons.”

He seemed uncomfortable, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and if I wasn’t mistaken, his voice raised half an octave.

“She was a phony. She was charismatic and beautiful and amazing at what she did, so everyone wanted to ignore the rest of her. But I couldn’t.

I saw right through her the whole time, and I didn’t like what I saw. ”

“Why were you the only person who saw this?”

“Because I was the only one who would let myself see it.”

“And you said the feelings were mutual? She disliked you, too?”

He grinned proudly. “Hated me. And you can imagine how that went, sharing a wall with her.”

“How long did she work here? How long have you worked here, for that matter?”

“Isabelle was relatively new. She’d been here maybe five years. The rest of us grew up here.”

I stared at him, shocked. “What? Who grew up here?”

“All of us—me, Dorian, Lexi, Aspen.”

I sat in stunned silence. An uncomfortably eerie feeling settled over me. I tapped my notebook. “I don’t understand. You all grew up together and then somehow, magically, all ended up with jobs at Hildegard College?”

From what I knew about how difficult it was to secure an academic position, this seemed not just impossible but almost laughable.

“Our parents were all professors here. They still are, in fact. Just gone for the summer.”

My stomach dropped even further. What Finn was saying sounded completely ridiculous. I decided to change the subject.

“So Isabelle’s research, do you have any idea what that research involved?”

“Not really,” he said with a noncommittal shrug. “Neurocognitive stuff.”

I stared at him a moment, hoping to break through some barrier, to force myself through whatever wall he had put up, but I saw no openings. Then something occurred to me.

“She didn’t do anything with parasomnias, did she? Sleepwalking, sleep paralysis, anything like that?”

He looked up at me suddenly. “Hey, want to go hiking?”

“What?” I couldn’t hide my shock. The invitation had come completely out of left field.

“Hiking. I’m going. Do you want to come?”

“Now?” I asked, befuddled.

“Yeah, now. Why not?”

“Okay,” I said, trying to adjust. “Sure. Why not?”

His abrupt change in mood wasn’t lost on me. I asked about sleep paralysis and suddenly he was inviting me hiking? Clearly I had touched a nerve. I didn’t really want to go hiking, but I did want to see what else might happen if I kept pushing.

“Where are you going?”

“Just a little hike up the mountain.”

“Isn’t that off-limits?”

“Naw, I stay on the trails. Besides, the mountain is fine.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’d love to.”

On Finn’s instruction, I brought a swimsuit, but I couldn’t find my sunglasses, so he lent me some.

Soon we were walking toward the far edge of campus, out past the apiary, and started up the tree-lined path.

It was a slow incline, switchbacks cutting a leisurely path up the mountain until the trail began to narrow and grow steep.

We passed some lovely groves of silver pines and several gently burbling streams. The mountain air felt amazing, the way it filled my lungs and coursed through me.

I could almost feel it energizing my cells.

The birds were incredibly active up there, and as the morning began to lengthen into an ever-brighter day, I saw some spectacular avian specimens—red-tailed hawks, northern flickers, and even a great blue heron.

Finn pointed it out as it soared overhead, its two-toned coloring on full display, its wings spread out into an impressive span.

After a final, very steep climb, we reached our destination—a rocky outcropping from which we could look down on the expanse below.

From up there, Hildegard College seemed so small, so insignificant.

Even the lake and that island looked fairly modest and inconsequential.

But what struck me was the isolation. We really were terribly alone, weren’t we?

And from this bird’s-eye view, the woods that spread out and away from campus looked positively menacing.

The foliage appeared unusually dark, and the forest itself seemed somehow too thick.

There was also an odd sense of motion to the trees: as if windblown, they bent en masse toward the college—a great creeping Birnam Wood intent on swallowing up the only man-made structure in its path.

After pulling our water bottles from our packs, we sat on the ground, drinking and chatting.

I tried to press him more about Isabelle, but he clammed up, so I got him chatting more generally, hoping it might lead somewhere.

We talked about women (apparently he liked them) and books (not so much).

But when the subject of family came up, a melancholy seemed to wash over him.

“I have a sister, you know,” he said, shifting his weight forward so he was kneeling. “She used to work here, too.”

“Really? But not anymore?”

“No. She left.” He shifted his gaze, staring into the distance, wrapping his arms around his knees.

“Can I ask why she left?”

“Things aren’t as friendly here as they might seem. Some of us have to get out.”