“What about questions from the press?”
“I’ll answer what I can and refer to you for explanations when I think it’s appropriate.”
“This is like a never-ending nightmare,” Jack said.
The other two men looked at him.
“The press hoopla is going to end today,” Hersh said with a tone of finality that made Daws nod in agreement, even though there was clear skepticism in his eyes. “Let’s get started. Jack, you bring the group to order and introduce me. They all know you. I’ll take it from there.”
“Right.”
The three moved to the small table, and Dr. Feinberg and Lt. Hersh took seats. Jack went to the lectern and looked at the custodian who nodded all was now well with the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. The mere sound of his voice over the PA system was enough to silence the crowd. People who had not taken seats rushed to take them. A heavy wave of expectation washed over the faces of the people who sat obediently, their attention now fixed on the three men in front of the room.
There was the whir from cameras and some flashbulbs went off, then reporters sat back, pen and pad in hand.
“Just about all of you are here, so we’ll start. As was promised, the FBI has sent a representative to speak to all of you, and most of you know Dr. Feinberg, who also has a few things to say.
“From my end of it, I can tell you that the criminal aspects are settled. It is clear that Dr. Lawrence’s son Eugene murdered his nurse, Mildred Stoeffer, and his father. That part of the investigation is completed. None of you have to worry about any of that.”
With that settled, Daws introduced Agent John Hersh of the FBI.
There was a slight brush of applause, and Feinberg smiled to himself. Those who clapped were applauding the FBI and all that it represented. It was almost an automatic reaction for them, like standing for the national anthem. Of course, there was nothing essentially wrong with that; it was just that he knew their reaction was part of the residue, part of what was left in them from Felix Lawrence’s brainwashing. Felix had been an arch conservative who, despite his facade, could have been president of the John Birch Society.
“Thank you, Chief Daws,” Hersh began. “I have had the pleasure of meeting with some of you already. First, let me assure you that the FBI has come into the investigation for a number of reasons, the primary one being the protection of you people. Certain governmental regulations were violated by Dr. Felix Lawrence. A number of security codes were breached. To the mind of some of my superiors, his actions were equivalent to traitorous betrayal, even though he didn’t sell the secrets to a foreign power.”
There was a deep gasp in the audience, like the sound of a giant vacuum cleaner. Dr. Feinberg’s eyes twinkled. No matter what was said here, some of these people wouldn’t believe it, wouldn’t accept it. He was reminded of the end of the famous American novel, The Scarlet Letter, when the well-loved minister confessed his adultery to the whole town and ripped open his shirt to demonstrate the A he had branded into his own chest. Although the townspeople saw it with their own eyes, they refused to believe it, some calling it the work of the devil, some saying the minister was pretending to be guilty only to teach them a moral lesson.
People don’t want their heroes to have feet of clay, he thought.
“Dr. Lawrence,” Hersh went on, “was part of a top secret project undertaken by our government. As you all know, brainwashing techniques, propaganda techniques, methods to influence and program people are as old as…as Adam and Eve.
“We in the free world are in a war with the oppressors of freedom to win the minds and hearts of the neutral nations, as well as maintain the influence we have over our own people.
“Well, a number of years ago, it was discovered that the behavior of animals could be manipulated by bombarding their brains with low-frequency radio waves. These airborne waves, which could travel over distances, changed behavior. By stimulating the brain’s electromagnetic current, the waves produced a trancelike state, stimulated pleasure centers, and caused a tranquilizing forgetfulness and disorientation, which, in effect, caused dependency on authority.
“We discovered that the Russians had developed the technique far beyond what we had accomplished, and we began to work seriously on it ourselves. The project was known as RADA, Radio Control Authority, and Felix Lawrence, as well as Dr. Feinberg, were leaders in the research.
“To make a long story short, Dr. Lawrence left the project and came here to work as a psychologist and a nutritionist, but unbeknown to us, he brought with him a model of the radio device and the research he had accomplished while working on the project.
“Part of that research involved the use of a chemical that lodged itself in the brain, making the brain more receptive to the radio waves. That chemical was in the vitamins you all cherished and welcomed into your homes.
“In effect, you were all guinea pigs. Dr. Lawrence carried out his experiments on you without your knowledge. He tested theories and devices on his own son as well, which, as we now all know, resulted in this terrible violent ending.
“We regret what happened to you people, and we will spare no expense or effort to correct the damage. For that purpose, Dr. Feinberg and his staff have been assigned to you for as long as he feels it necessary.
“Before I introduce him to explain in more scientific detail what has occurred, I would like to make one final point. We don’t like devoting our energies and time to weaponry, whether it be the RADA project or nuclear development. But for defense purposes, we will do all that is necessary to protect and insure our freedom. Thank you. And now, Dr. Feinberg.”
There was loud applause. Then Feinberg spoke.
“Actually, Agent Hersh has presented it well. I’ll add a few scientific facts. Electrical stimulation of the brain is not a new technique. Shock treatment has been used as a tranquilizer for many years. As every brain function is directly related to or caused by electromagnetic activity, the radio device is just another way to stimulate that activity.
“Dr. Lawrence was able to put you all in a highly suggestive state, and then feed you his own personal philosophy. In short, he was turning you all into extensions of himself. You would vote for whom he wanted you to vote for, buy what he wanted you to buy, raise your children the way he wanted you to raise them. It is the ultimate in thought control because you were not only manipulated well, you never knew it was happening. And you, in effect, welcomed it.
“Now that you are off the vitamin, your body is slowly returning to its pure state as the chemical is leaving your brain. Of course, the radio device is gone, so the residual chemical is insignificant, anyway. Although it will take you a little time to reorient yourselves, you should all be feeling normal soon. There is no permanent physiological damage. It’s as if you’ve been under hypnosis, and now you’re snapping out of it. It’s over,” Feinberg concluded.
There was a heavy silence.
When one of the television reporters raised his hand, Feinberg looked at Hersh, who stepped forward.
“Yes?”
“Why didn’t the radio device affect people outside of Elysian Fields?”
“The model Dr. Lawrence had didn’t have the range. It barely reached the borders of the development.”
“What about people who went in and out of the development?” another reporter asked.
Hersh looked to Dr. Feinberg and nodded, giving permission for him to reply.
“The RADA, as we called it, could stimulate their pleasure centers and cause them to like what they saw and maybe become a little forgetful while they were here. Once they left the grounds, they would leave with the impression Elysian Fields was a nice place, but nothing more.”
“Could ordinary radio transmissions do any of this to these people, since they still have some of the chemical in their brains?” a television reporter asked.
The cameraman closed in on Feinberg and caught the way he glanced at Hersh.
“How special?”
“That has to remain classified,” Hersh interjected.
“Will these people really ever return to a so-called normal condition?” the first reporter asked.
Feinberg hesitated and Hersh glared intently at him. “Absolutely,” Feinberg said and took a deep breath. I hope, he thought.
Of course, he noticed that no one from Elysian Fields asked a single question before the session ended. They sat obediently, and listened attentively, but no one voiced any anger, no one expressed any fear. If they were going to do it, they were going to do it with and among each other.
They were still a very private, very special community.
Justine and her parents left the hall with everyone else. Feinberg had spent more time with them than he had with any other Elysian Fields family. Once Kevin and Elaine learned what had gone on in their home and what kind of danger Justine had been in, they both suffered great guilt feelings. Kevin’s guilt transformed itself into rage, a rage he directed toward all the residents of Elysian Fields and especially toward Michael Duke. Dr. Feinberg finally got him to understand that Michael, despite his role as solicitor convincing Kevin to move his family to the development, was a victim, too.
In the end, the two families met and shared their outrage and shock.
After the session in the clubhouse, the Dukes and Freemans gathered in the Freeman house. Elaine, Christy, and Justine prepared food, and their meeting seemed more like a wake. Everyone ate wholeheartedly, relying on their appetites to help ease the sense of mourning.
Afterward, everyone sat around and listened as Kevin and Michael reviewed the session in the clubhouse. They spoke of Dr. Lawrence as if he were someone to be pitied now. It made them feel superior and secure to do so.
Suddenly Christy and Elaine got up, both having the same thought. They looked at one another and went off to each other’s art studio. They retrieved their paintings, and then everyone watched as each woman destroyed hers. The act had the effect of a catharsis. They hugged one another, then laughed.
“Now we’ll get down to some serious work—paint some nude male models,” Christy said.
“Right away,” Elaine said.
“Now hold on a minute,” Michael said.
Everyone laughed, but Justine looked at Brad’s face and thought she saw some hesitation. Dr. Lawrence’s puritanical ideas concerning sex were still impinged on his subconscious. It would take time; it would all take time.
Afterward, Justine went out alone and walked slowly down Blueberry Street. It was a beautiful afternoon. People were on the tennis courts, and she could hear the dull, monotonous sound of lawn mowers.
Elysian Fields resembled any pleasant housing development wending its way through a lazy weekend. She stared out over the grounds and took deep breaths, pressing the ugly images of Dr. Lawrence’s son back into the closets of her mind, stuffing them in there and closing the doors. Justine was so engrossed in thought, she didn’t even hear her father and mother come up behind her.
“Nice day, huh, princess?” her father said.
“Yes,” she replied, turning to them. They were holding hands.
“We’re not sure what to do,” Elaine said, “but we want to be sure you’re in on the decision.”
“What do you mean, Mom?”
“Well, we’ve been talking about selling the house and moving back to the city.”
“Really?”
Her father nodded.
She turned away from them and looked out over the grounds again. “I don’t know,” she said.
“You don’t know?” her father said incredulously. “We thought…I thought you would jump at the idea.”
“I’m…not sure,” she said. “It’s beautiful here, and maybe now, I can make new friends.”
Elaine smiled, but Kevin shook his head.
“Teenagers,” he said.
Justine merely shrugged, and he put his arm around her.
The three of them strolled on silently. As they walked, Justine wondered about her reaction.
She did like it here now.
But did she really like it, or…
There was no more ringing in her ears; there were no more chemically loaded vitamins to take.
There was only the development itself, tantalizing, hypnotizing, reaching out to her like some orphaned child.
How could she turn away?
The three of them walked on, each smiling, each feeling so content, it was hard to tell whether or not they were under a spell.
And in the end, what difference did it really make?
More from Andrew Neiderman
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Perfect Little Angels Page 22