Seven Point Eight

by Marie Harbon

  “Close enough, Grace, close enough.”

  ***

  Paul became a fully integrated member of The Institute, with the previous facility fast becoming a distant memory. Before long, four seasons had passed and he’d progressed well into his second year there. In the evening, he enjoyed sitting with the residents in the communal living area, proud to be a part of their life. Finding a place to belong gave him a security often absent from his childhood. Prodigies were always the square peg.

  In the spring of 1961, his destiny began to drop subtle hints, as fate often does. Television provided the entertainment, and the residents relaxed on the sofas while Paul sat with his notes. Grace entered the room and took up her favourite armchair. The news broadcast came on and George reached over to turn it up, being the nearest. Paul peered over the top of his papers.

  “The Soviet Union has successfully launched a manned, spaceship into orbit around the Earth. Present aboard the ship was cosmonaut, Yuri Gagarin, an Air Force pilot aged twenty seven. The spaceship, Vostok, launched about 9:00am Moscow time and completed a flight in orbit, lasting a hundred and eight minutes, concluding with Gagarin safely parachuting to the ground in his ejector seat. Before the launch, he spoke in Moscow of his historic voyage…‘to be the first to enter the cosmos, to engage single-handed in an unprecedented duel with nature – could one dream of anything more?’”

  The broadcast showed a news reel of the cosmonaut, the launch, and the subsequent celebration in Russia. Paul listened intently, as did Oscar, George, and Grace.

  “Wow, what next, huh?” Oscar said.

  Grace cut in.

  “The race to the Moon, that’s what. Watch out for President Kennedy in the near future, he’ll show the way.”

  George contemplated her words.

  “That will be some feat. The human body must be strong enough to withstand not only the journey and the cold airless environment of space, but also the radiation from the Van Allen belts.”

  Oscar seemed inspired and wistful.

  “We can dream of reaching the stars one day.”

  Paul decided to give his scientific offering.

  “I entirely agree. There was a time when we believed the human body wouldn’t be able to withstand the speed travelled on a train, or when we believed flight was impossible, but it happened. That’s not to say it will be easy. Mankind has always been destined for the stars, ever since we gazed at the heavens through a telescope.”

  Grace looked over at him, with a strangely enigmatic smile on her face, like a geriatric version of the Mona Lisa.

  Paul had a sense of déjà vu as he completed a thesis on his findings at The Institute, and he found himself standing before a committee, the ones who pulled the strings for this particular facility. It was a somewhat smaller board, comprising of Max and two funding directors.

  They used the communal living area as a makeshift presentation area, with the three members of the board sitting at the tables adjacent to the bay window. It was more informal, as they had cups of tea and a plateful of digestive biscuits on which to pontificate. The residents were either upstairs undergoing testing, or they had the day off. Paul stood before them, notes in hand, and his typed report sat on the table in front of Max.

  “Thank you for the time and hard work you’ve put in here at The Institute,” Max began. “Please, summarise your findings.”

  Paul cleared his throat and glanced at his notes.

  “Although I came to no definite conclusions, I was able to hypothesise on the source and methodology of the residents’ abilities.”

  The two funding directors watched him in a deadpan kind of way, but Max’s expression offered more encouragement.

  “Let’s start with Emilie. In the case of her telepathy, I surmise that the human brain transmits some kind of radio wave and that Emilie has the ability to receive this transmission. However, the more I investigated, the more I realised that the signal appeared to be almost instantaneous. In a few cases, she received the signal before it was transmitted. It’s possible that light itself is the carrier wave for this signal, or that there’s some other, hitherto unknown process at large.”

  The funding directors began to look more interested in what he had to say.

  “With Beth and Peter’s ability to contact the dead, the question is…does a part of us live on after death? Does, in fact, the electromagnetic field I measured in humans previously, still exist when the body has deceased? And furthermore, is it possible to communicate with it? Perhaps this field is indeed the soul, and it lives in another reality from our own.”

  Max leafed through the more extensive report, to the relevant section.

  “Regarding Oscar and George’s remote viewing, I can only deduce that a sensory part of the electromagnetic field leaves the body and travels to another location. They don’t report any data other than sight and sound, but it would be interesting if it were possible to apply smell, touch, and taste to the experience. The field should transmit all this information, through a mind-body relationship.”

  His audience now gave him their full attention.

  “Sakie has the most extraordinary electromagnetic field. It’s ten times more powerful than anything I’ve previously encountered, and radiates much further from her body than anything measured at The Establishment. It’s almost like there is an…intensity dial somewhere in the brain, which is set differently in each person.”

  “And finally, Grace. Last, but certainly not least. Her accuracy goes way beyond what would be expected by chance alone, in terms of specific key points that can be verified. At first, I speculated that the future casts some sort of shadow that can be picked up in the present…an emotional, psychic shock wave that can travel backwards in time, like a theoretical particle called the tachyon. Additionally, I considered that the future is also a direct result of actions in the present. Therefore, predictions become as logical as when we see dark clouds in the sky, we know rain is likely. I’m not sure it’s this simple in Grace’s case.”

  “When we look into the future, it exists as a state of probabilities. By that, I mean that until we make an observation, all possibilities exist at once in a quantum never-never land. Grace made a prediction concerning a blonde goddess who will be found dead, lying on her bed, with the phone in her hand. Until someone discovers her body, she is potentially alive and dead at the same time, the outcome has not been determined.”

  “Why is this… indeterminacy important?” Max queried.

  “It could explain why Grace is not correct all the time, despite her uncanny sense of the future. She sees the most likely possibility, but something can still come along and change the outcome. While the blonde goddess is potentially alive and dead, anything can still happen. If someone was to find her earlier… for example, the outcome will change. There are many probabilities, and many potential outcomes.”

  Max nodded while the funding directors flicked through the report.

  “Do you think, therefore, that she is seeing a snapshot of one of many probabilities?”

  “Yes,” Paul agreed. “Maybe she sees the outcome in one particular universe, while there are other probabilities that are realised in another universe.”

  Max pondered aloud.

  “If only we could show some proof, a bank of evidence…”

  Paul seized upon this quickly.

  “There is scope for further investigation. I can draw up objectives for the next stage in no time.”

  Max noted the other directors reading the report.

  “We’ll let you know when we’ve drawn our conclusions.”

  As he was about to leave, Paul shared an observation.

  “I noticed Grace is back in hospital again. Hopefully it’s not too serious.”

  Max lingered on that thought, longer than Paul thought business-like.

  “I hope so too,” he agreed.

  ***

  The hospital ward in which Grace laid had that sickly air of death, and ev
en the vase of flowers lent little cheer to her situation. Max noted how frail she looked, and how her breathing laboured as he took up a seat at her bedside. She smiled with affection when she recognised his presence.

  “I’m so sorry I haven’t been in touch recently, I’ve been too busy,” he began.

  His apology had real sincerity.

  “I know your work is important,” she acknowledged. “It will be long after I’m gone.”

  “It’ll happen soon, won’t it?”

  “I’m not afraid,” she reassured him. “I will find peace. I know that in your life, you’ll find it hard to be at peace because of the things you’ve done, but I forgive you… God will absolve you too but you’ll need to learn to forgive yourself.”

  Then her expression became more concerned.

  “But you should treat that child of yours better.”

  Max didn’t expect this last statement, as it was such an unlikely scenario.

  “What child?”

  Grace seemed pained to discuss the matter.

  “Like you, your offspring will have demons, spending their entire life searching for peace, but you can still change this. I don’t want you to make a mistake you’ll sincerely regret.”

  Max reflected for a moment.

  “I’ve always had demons, but you’ve always known that. I like to think I’ve made a success out of ruin.”

  She could offer no reply to that, so changed the subject.

  “You’ll also be very fortunate, a part of something so important…perhaps the single most significant thing in history. At first, you won’t see it for what it is though, but you won’t be completely blind to it either.”

  “What is this event?” he pressed.

  “My special name for them is the Shining Lights, but they will cause conflict because of what they stand for.”

  One thing sprung to Max’s mind.

  “War?”

  “Think of it more as a revolution, which a lot of people won’t welcome…especially those who yield power. These Lights will upset some important people and although you won’t see the conclusion, you’ll be a part of its genesis.”

  “Who are these people?”

  He was truly intrigued now.

  “It will all become clear. However, there’ll be one woman…she is a gift to the world, capable of having a great impact on humanity. She must be protected at all costs as once the world discovers what she is, she won’t be safe.”

  Max sat with his finger to chin, extremely thoughtful.

  “Who is she?”

  “Oh, you’ll know from the moment you first meet her,” Grace declared. “The research associated with her must also be protected, especially the primeval number. Many people will be interested in the power of this number.”

  “Is this my research?”

  His business side wouldn’t stay quiet.

  “It will all become apparent, but your first concern is putting The Institute firmly on the map after I’m gone. There is another gifted individual you must find, and bring to England.”

  Max became receptive as she closed her eyes to visualise, opening them again quickly.

  “I see a girl with a troubled childhood, but this has made her strong, there is much determination in her.”

  He nodded so she continued.

  “She has an emotional intensity and a fire burning in her heart like no other. Yet…she’s not fully aware of her enormous potential.”

  Grace saw she’d aroused Max’s curiosity.

  “As strong as she is, she needs you, and you need her. She is deeply unhappy, repressed…unable to grow and be the person she is destined to be.”

  As Grace’s breathing became more laboured, Max looked concerned but, nevertheless, she continued.

  “To find her, contact Dr Henry Jones as he works with this girl’s father, who’s a professor and teaches at the university. She resides in Tehran, although her mother is an English woman. It won’t be difficult to find her.”

  Max took hold of Grace’s hand and they sat together in silence, waiting for the inevitable.

  The Institute held the sombre event that was Grace’s funeral four days later. The communal living area hosted the wake, with vases of flowers on the sideboard and wreaths communicating the sense of loss everyone felt. Max sat quietly in her favourite armchair, absorbing the essence of her that seemed to dominate the air, and when Paul saw him, he made his approach.

  “I’m sorry,” he gave his condolences. “She was a fine and very talented lady.”

  Max turned to look at him, with a sadness Paul rarely saw.

  “Not as sorry as I am, she was my mother.”

  He rose from the chair and stood alone, gazing out of the window, conveying his unwillingness to converse further. To Paul, this was a genuine revelation and he withdrew, unsure what to say or do, so he picked up the newspaper. The front page news detailed the death of Marilyn Monroe, found dead in her bed, with the phone in her hand.

  “Right again, dear Grace, right again.”

  He sighed and joined the residents in their time of mourning.

  Would anything be the same without Grace?

  7

  Persian Princess

  Putting pen to paper is most unlike me, I’m not a writer yet I feel I must tell someone my story. It’s an incredible tale relating the story of where I came from, and what I experienced in my surreal life. In many ways, I’m a traveller, as I’ve been to places that no one could ever dream of or comprehend.

  I was born in London on the 7th of November, 1944. The time was ten minutes to eleven in the morning, Greenwich Mean Time, and the country was still at war. My father, Mohammed, is Persian, although now he’d be regarded as Iranian, as that’s what the country is called now. He has a large family, three sisters and three brothers who still live in Iran, although one brother lives in Saudi Arabia today. I believe that originally, my paternal line drifted to Persia from Turkey sometime in the 19th century.

  My mother is a beautiful English woman called Elizabeth, although she knows very little of her bloodline. Therefore, I’m an amalgamation of European, Persian, Egyptian, and Turkish blood. I have my mother’s features and long, dark hair, with a tint of the Middle East in my complexion. However, I have a fire that burns in my heart that is unlike either of my parents.

  Mohammed came to London aged eighteen to study at university and build a life for himself over here, believing that he could provide a better future for a family in a place that produced more wealth than Persia. He gained a degree in history and took up teaching as a profession, remaining in London.

  Elizabeth moved there aged eighteen to study history in 1938, just before the war. My father lectured at her university, and she became one of his student role models. He fell in love with her because of her beauty and intelligence, and saw her as a perfect wife and mother. However, he couldn’t violate the teacher – student ethos, and he wanted her to give up her studies for marriage, but she held out until she’d finished her degree. I respect her for that.

  They married in 1942, but angered her parents in doing so because she’d chosen a Persian man as her husband. They thought people from the Middle East were barbarians. Racism was pretty acceptable in those days, however.

  Worse still, her parents refused to leave her money in their will, but the silence truly hurt her the most. They never spoke to her after the wedding, or even during it. How can you ignore your own daughter, just because she chose to marry somebody who didn’t have white skin? I think her sister, Hannah, tried to keep contact but her brother, Donald’s treatment of her was quite disgusting though. He always referred to my father as ‘that sand nigger’, a term I heard too much of during my childhood.

  Anyway, my father continued to teach and mother stayed at home. I think the fusion of two religions has been quite a challenge, although maybe Islam provided the stronger influence, due to father being the head of the household and in those days, men were responsible for all the decis
ions regarding the family.

  My arrival into the world occurred two years later. Due to my difficult birth, my mother couldn’t have any more children. This really upset my father because he wanted a son eventually, and to extend his family. I don’t think having a daughter as his only child satisfied him. My mother felt afraid that he’d leave her, take me away, and find a new wife. His family scorned her for her now lack of child bearing capabilities, so they gave her a hard time for something that wasn’t her fault, something that was surely the will of Allah? However, my father really stuck by her, like a good husband should.

  I spent the first seven years of my childhood in London, a place where it was generally tolerated if you had an alternative ethnic background. Therefore, at first, the children played with me and I enjoyed growing up in that neighbourhood.

  In those days, you played with someone of your own social class, so some children were ‘too good’ to play with and some were regarded as ‘beneath you’. Gender roles were very clear: boys played war games and football, built go-karts, and enjoyed train sets and being general scallywags while girls played hopscotch, skipping games, and trundled their dolls prams around the streets. Even at a young age, I questioned these roles.

  “Why can’t I play football with the boys?” I asked my parents, quite frequently.

  “Because it’s a boys’ game,” my mother told me. “It’s too rough for girls.”

  “I don’t mind rough,” I replied.

  My father completely condoned this view, but I still challenged it in my own way. Suffice to say, I took no notice of their opinions and I joined in with the boys on another street so my parents couldn’t see what I was doing. When I returned home with my dress torn and grazes on my knee, I explained that I’d been playing a chasing game and fallen over, enduring the sting of the medicinal iodine as I lied too convincingly.

  I enjoyed playing handstands and cartwheels in the front garden with the girls too, and we delighted in letting the boys receive a flash of our navy blue knickers. However, the few times father caught me, he dragged me indoors and scolded me severely with a slipper for my immodest behaviour. It was painful to sit down for the rest of the day. It didn’t stop me though, and father became so exasperated that he finally locked me in my room. I screamed and kicked at the door, hating the feeling of being trapped inside my room but no one let me out. Therefore, I climbed out of the window, secretly played with my friends and then returned to my room in time for supper, before anyone realised I was missing.