Marilyn Peake - The Other

I was packing to leave when a Breaking News story came on the TV. The CIA had launched an investigation into reports of UFOs and outer space aliens that seemed to occur every day now. That’s how serious this had become.

As a Psychology professor investigating the same thing, I liked to keep a cool head, remain rational. The focus of my research: this is nothing more than mass hysteria. Although “nothing more” doesn’t adequately explain the situation. Mass hysteria can lead to a whole lot of destruction. Just ask those considered witches in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries in Europe, or later in the Salem Witch Trials. Yeah, you didn’t want people thinking you were a witch back then.

The next Breaking News story was about North Korea testing another missile, followed by graphic video of a terrorist attack in Europe and interviews with investigators looking into a computer hack in which the Russians were the prime suspects. Yup, the world was melting down. People carried on as though none of this affected them personally, but deep down in their brains in the almond-shaped amygdalae, fear responses were going off like fireworks. Rather than shake with terror over a relentless barrage of frightening stories, everything had been crystallized into one bogeyman: a green alien from outer space with monstrously large black eyes. Yup, we’d found our witch.

It was July and we were headed to Roswell, New Mexico, the home of a cult that had started exhibiting some rather extreme behavior in regard to the aliens. I thought back to my own childhood growing up in a cult in Utah. I banished the memories. I had bogeymen living in the basement of my own amygdalae, except those were real. I wasn’t going to go there.

It was going to be hot as hell. Probably another reason why things were getting worse in the Roswell cult. Things always get worse under conditions of extreme heat. Tempers flare. Riots break out. In many of the hottest places on Earth, war is ongoing. Even language reflects the connection between heat and violence. We talk about “things heating up,” “tempers flaring,” “violence ignited.”

I searched through my closet and drawers for the coolest summer clothes I owned. I threw a bunch of tank tops and white T-shirts into the suitcase, along with an equal number of shorts, some pink flip-flops and sandals. I pulled two skirts and dress shirts off hangars, folded them neatly and placed them on top, then stuffed flat dress shoes into the front compartment, just in case we needed to dress up for something. Thinking over the different conditions in which we’d be working—out in the dusty desert, which could be windy with cool nights—I added a few pairs of jeans, hiking boots, sneakers and a jacket. I threw in a couple of hats I could wear in the hot sun.

Then I headed on over to my office to pack up papers and a couple of nice smooth worry stones that might be just what the doctor ordered on a trip like this.

As soon as I got to my jeep, just about to put my key in the lock, my cell phone rang. I really didn’t have time for that. Liam Bernacki, the Department Head, had arranged flights out of LAX. We were leaving in a few hours. Pulling the phone out of my jeans pocket, I glanced at the number. Damn. Not again. I thought she had given up. Go away, little girl. Get on with your life. I’m not answering.

The moment I’d thought it, I felt terrible. Still, I was not going to answer. Ever. What’s done is done. We all had to keep moving on.

I hopped in my jeep and roared down the street. Fifteen minutes later, I was at the university.

I hurried through the near-empty campus. It was between sessions in summer. A lot of the kids had left—either for home or for some exotic vacation spot. Their lives were a far cry from mine. I worked my way through college. Right about now, I would have been cleaning up booze-induced vomit and soiled sheets at some local no-tell motel with part-time hours.

Moving quickly through my office, trying to assess what I needed to take with me, I threw stuff into an empty box. A couple of books on cult behavior in times of stress. The laptop I used for travel.

Hearing a knock on my open door, I whirled around.

It was Nathan Moore, the Anthropology prof who was going with me. Our research trip was being funded by a joint research grant for both our departments to figure out what the hell was going on in certain cult compounds inside the United States. If this panned out, there was a promise of more money to evaluate what was happening to certain groups outside our country. The UFO phenomenon seemed to be occurring worldwide.

“Oh, hey, Nat, what’s happening? You packed?”

That was kind of a dumb question. He was wearing a backpack and holding a briefcase in his hand and had a laptop case thrown over a shoulder. Not the way one would normally saunter down the hallway to say hi .

Rather than make eye contact, he brushed his hair out of his face and gazed around my office. “Yup. Can’t wait for this trip. You know the flying saucers are some kind of disks sent by one of our enemies, right?” Looking back at me, he grinned with that little-boy grin he used when trying to get people to agree with him.

I turned back to packing up things. Grabbed a handful of worry stones and threw them into the box. Last week, I’d held one I’d already worn thin in some kind of death grip and cracked it right in half. I was taking along an adequate supply just in case things got rough. I played along, “OK. Which enemy in particular? Our President seems to have made quite a few lately.”

Nat looked at me, his green eyes sparkling, then away at something on one of my bookshelves. “Well, that’s what I’m investigating on this trip. It’s part of my study on how cult groups react to cold war tactics from enemy states. I suspect Russia in this case. North Korea would probably love to do this kind of thing, but I don’t think they have the capability. But who knows? Information coming out of the DMZ is that South Korean military witnessed some kind of silvery disks flying overhead from the other side of the border. Now, does that mean North Korea sent them or they just happened to be flying from that direction? North Korea claims they sent them, but of course they’d like everyone to think they have the capability to make next-gen super-secret military aircraft. Not very likely, Dear Leader. Not very likely.” He grinned.

Glancing around my office, opening and closing desk and cabinet drawers, trying to see if there was anything else I should bring, I asked, “How do you know this? Has another news story broken?”

Picking up a pen from my desk and absentmindedly twirling it around with his fingers, he said, “Nope. Nothing public, at least not yet. Heard this from Min-Jun Jhang, my contact at one of the South Korean universities.”

Picking up the box and cradling it in my arms, I said, “Well, let’s hope our research goes well. If we get the grant to take our research worldwide, you could go to North Korea.” I grinned.

He flipped the switch to turn off my office lights as I stepped toward the door. He said, “Hmmmm. Now, that would be interesting. Thank you all the same, I prefer the country on the other side of that particular border.”

As I locked the door, I said, “Wuss.”

Nat laughed. “All right then, next trip: a joint project in North Korea, since you think it’s such a great idea. Nothing like a bit of adventure, hey?”

We grew quiet. I’m sure both of us were pondering the possibility of arranging such a trip. I know I was.