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figment of my imagination like countless others I believed to be from my past. Their descriptions and summing up fitted with mine but they could never have truly known him the way I did. Nothing could account for his elusiveness either, the way he first mysteriously came into my life. retraced our footsteps from the beginning, that first meeting of the UFO study group held at the community hall to the time of the unexplained ceremony. Nobody seemed to know anything, not the study group or anyone in the area. This didn’t surprise me. I knew how this man’s tracks would have been covered professionally, almost magically. If Scotland Yard had been on this case they wouldn’t have come any nearer. The case was closed and I drew my own conclusions. The man called Gideon was some kind of agent or co-ordinator from the existence I call the Otherness. His techniques pointed to the suspicion that he had interacted with my life all along which is why I thought his face screamed of familiarity the day I met him. During that period, months after the night ceremony, I seemed to be ina reflective mood with much time on my hands. I used this time to investigate more than just my kinship with Gideon. My whole life had been strange but the strangeness had definitely come to a climax during those last few years. Where exactly was that ceremony held and what about the UFO encounter? I searched the vastness of Richmond Park and although I came across parts that were vaguely familiar, none were exact. I even tried visiting the park at twilight hours just to get the same feel and help jog memories of the night in autumn ‘94. The exact location of the event still evaded me. It was easy to remember where I actually walked that night even in my induced daze but the place where it should have led me to just wasn’t the one. With so much time on my hands, I later decided to investigate some other areas of phenomenon only to come to similar results. I was intrigued by that night of the ceremony where I was driven to a strange location in a very questionable vehicle. Finding the spot where I was collected by the car was easy as it was a place I knew well but the route we had taken was a mystery. Each night I would travel top deck on any of the local bus routes to try to identify where I was actually driven that night but nothing looked familiar. I was so eager to find that building where the ceremony took place; the one that resembled a stately home inside but nothing like that existed for miles. I even checked with the local town hall and the nearest one would never have justified my short car journey that night. These searches reminded me of those black comedies about paranoia where a person tries to go places where an event was supposed to have happened 89