Chapter 4. A Butterfly, Poorly Drawn

Bill arrived at Ralph's house at 6 am the next morning. He parked the car at a strange angle in the driveway, crushing a sliver of turf on Ralph's lush green lawn. As he walked away, he noticed the bad parking job. Annoyed, and in haste, he waved his hand at the car, as if to shoo it away.

"Ralph! Are you up?" Bill called into the house, as he pounded urgently at the front door. "Ralph?" His partner answered the door quickly, hoping his neighbors would not be awakened by his friend so early on a Friday morning.

"Bill, sorry about the call last night. I wanted to catch you before you went to work." Ralph was still in his jammies, although this particular pair was made of thin flannel, and was white with thin blue pin stripes. "I've gotta get ready for school in about an hour, but I thought you should see this."

"Coffee."

"What?"

"Coffee," Bill grunted once more. "Where's the joe, Ralph? It's 6am, and here I am, up! And without a fishing pole in my hand! There'd better be some coffee ready."

"Ok, I'll start a pot." Ralph called out from the kitchen "Pick up the book and take a look at page 204."

Bill sat down on the couch. Blinking his eyes wide, still trying to wake up, he started to flip through the volume Ralph had left on the coffee table.

"It starts half way down the page..." Ralph called out from the kitchen. "You see it?"

Bill skimmed through the book; he was shocked by the long lists of place names and dates. It really was an encyclopedia, with thousands of short entries, briefly summarizing each alien encounter and UFO sighting. As he skimmed through the pages, the agent slowly raised his left hand to try to hide his gaping mouth. His wide eyes and raised eyebrows, however, made it clear that he was in shock. Finally, he turned to page 204. With a nervous cough Bill simply replied "Yeah, I see it kid."

The entry was marked by a check in the page's margin, written lightly in pencil. No doubt it was Ralph's check mark. But Bill certainly didn't need anyone to point out this entry to him.

"You see that, Bill?" Ralph came rushing into the living room. He leaned over the couch until he could reach the open book. With one finger, he pointed at a black and white sketch drawing near the bottom of the page. He tapped it hard, for emphasis, as if he was trying to poke a hole through the pages, or to force it awake. "Do you see that?" the younger man repeated to his partner.

"It's hard to miss it there, kid." Bill looked up at Ralph, in annoyance, shock and amazement.

The two looked back down at the sketch. To most people, the symbol would have seemed innocuous. It looked surprisingly like a butterfly, sketched by a young child in grade school. Or perhaps one could see in it a rounded, stylized tomahawk, hafted on a handle. The sketch, uninspired and sloppy, was executed by an amateur's hand. But the two men recognized it immediately.

"That's the symbol on the suit. That's my emblem," Ralph said, in a surprisingly calm manner. He placed his hand over the image on the page, as if protecting it, or caressing it.

"Sure is, Ralph," Bill said, as he lifted Ralph's hand from the page. "But it might be clearer if I had a cuppa coffee." With a smile, Ralph patted Bill's back as he pushed off from the couch and went back into the kitchen.

As Bill Maxwell sipped his black coffee, he read the entry a second time. Ralph, once again perched on the back of the couch, read over his shoulder. The book was organized with state by state listings of alien encounters and reports of sightings. This page was one of a dozen or so dedicated to sightings in Missouri. Bill adjusted his glasses and squinted his eyes, as he tried to read the small type used to cram so many entries into the single volume.

Texas Bend, Missouri, April 17, 1968

While driving back home to Sikeston, Charles McDonald picked up a hitchhiker several miles outside of Texas Bend, Missouri. McDonald's car stalled on an isolated country road, next to a corn field. There was no apparent cause to explain the mechanical failure. Two rotating balls of light appeared, and hovered erratically in front of the car. After a few moments, they retreated, only to be replaced by a large, disc shaped hovering craft. The radio turned on, of its own will, and transmitted a message to the car's occupants. A bright beam of light was emitted from the underside of the craft, and a small black box was transported down to the surface. The couple was told that the box contained a space suit which gave its wearer unearthly powers. Identifying features of the suit include a cape, and a symbol on the chest (see Figure, right, sketch by C. McDonald.)

Bill and Ralph looked at each other, in agreement. This was almost exactly what had happened to the pair less than two years ago in Palmdale. The clincher, however, was the sketch of their symbol, printed on the page.

Bill pursed his lips, raised his eyebrows, and then with a deep exhale, began to laugh excitedly. Ralph joined in.

"This is it, Bill!" Ralph started to nudge his partner in the arm. "This is our chance! Maybe this, this, this Charles McDonald has a copy of the instruction book! Maybe he can help us, with... um, with..." As Ralph's mind was racing, his thoughts scattered.

"Running scenarios?" Bill was excited, but as usual, a bit skeptical.

Bill closed the book to inspect the cover again, then stood up. As he handed the book to Ralph, he took out a small note pad from his coat pocket, and pulled out a pen clipped from his vest. Jotting down a few names, Bill headed for the door.

"Right, here's the scenario. I'll run this McDonald guy through the computers down at the bureau... see what it spits up." Bill glanced down at his notes, and continued. "I'll also run the author of the book... uh, Martin Fields, through the system and see if we can track him down, too. Either way, we'll find these guys. I'll call you tonight."

Bill Maxwell knew he had a new and unusual case to solve, and this one was personal. He left the house, intent on getting to the bottom of this. Bill's car screeched out of the driveway, taking out more sod and several flower beds. Ralph stood triumphantly in his flannel pyjamas, arms protectively folded in front of his chest around the big black book. As he heard Bill's car bottom out on the front sidewalk, Ralph began to dance an exaggerated waltz.

Playfully moving through the beams of morning light that streamed into his living room, his grin stretched out into an impossibly wide smile.