"He was supposed to go?"
"He was supposed to go. I wasn't supposed to, but I wanted to go."
"It must have been difficult staying in bed."
"It was, because I wondered what had happened."
"When did you find out what had happened?"
"I don't remember. I don't remember."
"What did happen?"
"I do remember he was gone for a long time. He didn't come back. Sometimes he goes and sleeps down there when our son has a nightmare. Or sleeps in our son's room in the apartment. I remember feeling very lonely that he didn't come back, and I didn't think it was fair to be left like that. It was very lonely and scary. It made me uneasy. He kept going, you know. He kept going." (I never sleep with our son.) Budd Hopkins: "When your son kept crying?"
"Whitley kept going. Kept leaving."
Budd Hopkins: "I want you to do something. You're lying very, very quiet. Relaxed, just as you were that night. I want you to concentrate on what you can see and feel and hear. If you can see something through your eyelids. Feel your body, your shoulder, your legs. Feel relaxed."
"I don't feel relaxed. I'm not relaxed. I can't feel relaxed if I wasn't relaxed. I mean, it wasn't relaxing. No, it wasn't relaxing at all. There was too much going on, you know. It was—'
Budd Hopkins: "Was there in the room, or did Jacques and Annie —"
"No, they weren't in on it. There was something going on. I wanted to know what was going on. It looked-things were going on and I wanted to know what was going on! There was lots of things going on and I couldn't figure out what was going on!"
"Why didn't you get up and go see?"
"I couldn't, because I wouldn't. I — Was I afraid to, or wasn't supposed to? I wasn't supposed to. It was like your mother said to you, 'You have to stay here.' even if you don't — you're dying to get out and see what's going on, but you know because you've been told."
(Her identification of the directing force feminine is fascinating.)
"You were trained to do that?"
"Well, we're all trained to do that from childhood."
Budd Hopkins: "Who told you that?"
"Nobody told me! I just had to do it."
"Is this something Whitley told you?"
"No. He's just left. No."
"Have an impulse to turn on a light?"
"Oh, no. No. I wasn't supposed to see."
"Who said so?"
"No one said so. I just knew it."
"You weren't supposed posed to see?"
"No, and I just knew it. That's what worried me, because I wasn't supposed to know but my son was so afraid. And Whitley was saving things like ''the rood' is on fire,' and I wasn't supposed to do anything. It's like somebody says, 'Well, the car is crashing but don't do anything'!"
"Strange orders."
"Well, they weren't orders. You see, they weren't. They weren't orders, no."
Budd Hopkins: "Anne, I want you to do me a favor. I want you to — with your eyes closed and very relaxed —"
"I'm not relaxed."
"As relaxed as you can be. I want you to have a little dream. A fantasy. About what all that activity was. What's happening?"
"All right."
"Somehow Whitley's involved. Your boy is involved."
"I'm not involved!"
"Well, you'll dream about it. Tell us about what you remember."
"Whitley's supposed to go. They came for Whitley."
"I'm sorry?"
"They came for Whitley and he's supposed to go. But I'm not supposed to go."
"Who came?"
"Nobody that I know of. He just has a feeling that he's supposed to. And it's like when someone's going off to war or something, they're supposed to go and you're supposed to stay home."
"Now, there has been a shift, though. Because in the early part of the evening when you thought Whitley was out of bed — you say he often goes downstairs and writes."
"Not in the country. Because he writes upstairs in the country. He doesn't write in the country very often. You have to turn on the overhead light to write in the country. No. I just mean at home to the apartment, he gets up. I find out that he's done a lot of things at night. Or I kind of sense it."
"In the city"
"Yeah."
"So his being out of bed that night —"
"No, it wasn't usual for the country, actually. He stays in bed in the country. He really does. And that's why I think he gets more rest there. Because he goes to bed and stays and there's no place to go, there's nothing to write, nothing to tempt him, and I'm the one who gets up early and reads m the country. He even sleeps late."
Budd Hopkins: "Why do you think Jacques and Annie don't get up? They heard screaming from your son. Weren't they concerned?"
"I think they did get up, didn't they?" (No. Neither of them testified that they got up, and both of them were awake enough to remember their own movements and that of the other.)
"Did you hear them?"
"I think I remember hearing . . . Annie speaking to him. I think Annie went to him first. And I remember feeling . . , feeling jealous that I couldn't go. I'm his mother. It wasn't right. It made me look bad. It made me look like I didn't care." (Annie Gottlieb did not leave her room, and did not speak to our son.)
Budd Hopkins: "When you hear him calling, do you feel your legs tensing?"
"Yes! Usually Whitley goes but this one sounded bad and I wanted to go. It sounded different and I wanted to go too. Wha — I thought there was something in there?"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. It's like there was a friend or something. It's just a memory." (Afterward, she said that this referred to our bedroom, that she thought she had seen "a friend." She would not elaborate. When questioned again about it two weeks later she had nothing to add at all.)
"What was restraining you?"
"I didn't feel restrained. I just felt like I wasn't supposed to go."
Budd Hopkins: "Have you obeyed other things like that in your life?"
"I wonder if I have."
"Is it a familiar feeling?"
"No . . . no . . . But I used to always do it, you know."
"Do what?"
"If there was choice, I'd do it. Because if you do it at least you've done it, you know."
"What do you mean?"
"I just mean that I don't think I was a person who didn't do thins. That's not true."
"So this is a variant."
"It's not though, because Whitley's the one that gets up at night."
"OK, so can we shift now to morning?"
"I don't remember it specifically. I don't. I'm trying to remember. I don't remember what we had for breakfast. I remember going swimming. Wanting to see if Jacques could do it. It was cold. I couldn't do it. Or did I? I don't think I even tried. I put on my bathing suit but I couldn't even get my feet in. I felt bad because Whitley got in. But nobody but Jacques got in. Not even Whitley got in. If he did it was only for a short period. Annie did, I thought just to stay even with Jacques because she's smaller than I am. We all wanted to see if Jacques could; it's kind of a joke."
"You don't remember what you had for breakfast. Do you remember the atmosphere around the table?"
"It was pleasant, I think. Pleasant."
"How was your son?"
"I don't remember. He was fine."
"All right. Is there anything else you want to say about that October fourth night. October fifth morning."
"Well, I found it funny when I woke up that the roof wasn't burned."
"You found it funny that the roof wasn't burned?"
"Yeah. 'Cause I thought it was gonna be."
Budd Hopkins: "What about the bang?"
"Maybe that's why it seemed so active that night."
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe it was noisy."
"What kind of noises?"
"[Long pause.] Don't remember."
"Can you describe them in any ways
"Just our son. Seems like there were a lot of noises, you know. Doesn't seem like it was a quiet night. I bet the impression — it wasn't a quiet night. I get the impression that someone was there but it wasn't Jacques and Annie, because they were in their room and they stayed in their room. But — and then I remember Annie comforting our boy . . . it was a woman. . . . I thought it was Annie. It was Annie."