Powerlines

by Kurt Newton

  She came to a stop at the center of Pomfret. She checked her rearview mirror to see who was behind her. Two cars: an older gentleman in a sporty sub-compact and a mother with her young children in an SUV. Sophistication, yes, but duty? The only duties these vehicles appeared involved with were a run out to general store to get some cigars or a trip to the doctor's office. The gentleman tapped on his horn. Lindsey realized the light had turned and she was holding up traffic. She raised her hand and said "Sorry" and continued on.

  Paranoia is the first sign of mental illness...

  Lindsey remembered that from one of her Psych classes.

  Yeah, and just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not all after you.

  That was from a bumper sticker.

  Lindsey shook her head as she pulled onto her road, but the reconfiguration of the pieces remained confusing. She remembered back to the day of the search, the power lines humming like a gigantic bug light, Backbone Ridge looming in the distance. She tried to remember what those two trail biker kids had said.

  Seems to happen a lot up here.

  Last year it was girl...

  And the year before that it was guy and a girl...

  Lindsey's mind raced.

  And didn't Ranger Rick act a little too unsurprised, almost as if the outcome of the search was a foregone conclusion? How was it he chose the leg of the search that just so happened to be the one where Ethan's remains were found?

  An awful feeling crept into her stomach. She tried to avoid it, the way one tries to avoid going to the dentist or a trip to the gynecologist, but it was the only thing that made sense: There was something going on up in that area around Backbone Ridge that wasn't right. Something that had taken her Ethan, just like the others, and had made him disappear.

  She pulled into her driveway and reached for her phone. She called Jared. He didn't pick up but she left a message.

  "Meet me at the UConn library at two o'clock."

  She felt adrenalin pumping new purpose through her veins.

  She was going to get to the bottom of this. She owed Ethan that much.

  When Lindsey had pulled into the driveway, her mind was so preoccupied she didn't spot the black car sitting a hundred yards down the road along the shoulder. If she had she would have seen it was the same car that was at the cemetery.

  28

  Synchronization of control frequencies performed. Collar activated. Conditioning Phase complete. Subject is highly suggestive and prone to "sleep animation" during theta transmission. Though physically fit, subject shows signs of mild psychoses. Extreme care will be taken as subject enters Control Phase.

  Pike stared at the words on the screen before saving the file. How he wished he had made it this far with Subject #3.

  He slid his mouse and selected a folder labeled S3. A series of similar entries filled the screen. He tabbed through until he came to the entry tagged Terminate and read the final paragraph. He had read this final entry so many times he could recite it in his sleep. But sometimes the obvious is not always apparent. Like those pictures that look to be nothing but a mad jumble of digital squares, but when viewed with the proper focal point, suddenly come clear. For Pike, there was always something he may have missed, something just beyond or before his focal point that made the case of Subject #3's termination a frustrating puzzle. His eyes moved slowly across the last entries.

  Subject #3 remains agitated. Several attempts at prolonged beta induction have resulted in no change in passive/aggressive behavior cycle. The exterior injury to Subject #3's skull has healed properly but concern grows as to possible interior damage. Without proper medical attention the prognoses for Subject #3 appears grim.

  Pike paused, then read on.

  Subject #3 has fallen into a comatose state. All attempts at stimulus, both physical and brain wave, have failed. Subject has been removed from the conditioning chamber and placed in a hyperbaric module. Subject will remain in the module until changes occur.

  It was a movie that always had the same ending, no matter how many times he anticipated a different outcome.

  Pike pressed his thoughts, but still nothing materialized. His conclusion: he shouldn't have hit her over the head so hard. He could only wonder what might have been.

  He closed the folder and clicked on the icon with Anna's eye. The slideshow began. This was a movie he could watch over and over again and never want to change a thing. His heart squeezed at the sight of her, as if the woman in the montage could reach out and enter his chest with her slender hand. Once again, as the images faded, he felt a need to reconnect, to be with the woman he loved. It was irrational, he knew, a biological impulse, much like sneezing, but it was there. And though he fought hard to counter these silly feelings, they were at times stronger than any magnetic force.

  When he turned to leave, he saw a perfect white cat exiting the room, its tail curling around the door jamb as it disappeared.

  So far, he had only caught fleeting glimpses of the curious feline. In his mind, he knew there was no cat. He was fully aware that even if every precaution were taken, over time, the environment of the facility would eventually affect him. After all, he was the sixth custodian to work this facility over the last twenty-three years, and his appointment came when the previous custodian could no longer function effectively.

  Pike smiled. The cat was just another interesting adjunct to his research. He made a mental note to begin a new file on the odd apparition. As long as the cat didn't interfere with his work, he wasn't worried. In fact, he welcomed the idea of a pet — particularly a pet he had no control over. He already had a name for it: Schrödinger. It seemed appropriate.

  29

  Lindsey knew her way around the UConn campus. She was three years into a six-year Industrial & Organizational Psychology program. She had had her eye on Developmental Psychology — she wanted to work with children — but her mother stressed the importance of financial security and "as long as she was paying, her daughter was not going to throw away her education on some silly kindergarten degree." By experience Lindsey knew it was futile to argue with her mother, so she chose a parallel field that appealed to her mother's corporate mentality, one where, later on, she could easily slide into the program she wanted. In the end, she would get her PhD in DP, it was all a matter of aligning enough professors and alumni on her side to convince her mother it was the right fit for her duplicitous daughter. Never try to out-psych a psych major.

  She parked in X Lot, across from the Jorgensen Auditorium. After a short walk up the sidewalk, she crossed the street and entered the cobblestone courtyard that led to the library. The campus was relatively serene during the summer break. The near gridlock of cars, buses and students during the fall and spring sessions was both hectic and energizing. The summer was for grad students and those unfortunate to have to either fulfill a prerequisite to stay on course or fulfill a requirement to graduate. The heat also helped to slow things down. Books felt much heavier and the walks much longer in the high humidity.

  Jared had returned her call. "Lucky for you, I'm not doing anything important," he said and agreed to meet her there. For all his macho bluster, Lindsey knew she could count on him. A part of her, however, didn't like the game she was playing with Jared. Just what he was to her was still open for debate. He seemed to fill the vacuum left by Ethan's disappearance, but only in a perfunctory way. Her heart still belonged to Ethan. She hoped Jared didn't read anything into her needs other than friendship.

  She spotted Jared on the library steps. Dressed in his usual t-shirt, shorts and sandals, he was dwarfed by the eight-story, anvil-shaped building.

  "So what's this all about?" he asked when she reached the steps.

  "Have you ever operated one those microfiche machines?"

  Jared smirked. He imitated a gorilla. "Duh, how did I get through college without using my brain? I must have paid people to do my work for me."

  "I suppose I deserve that," said Lindsey.


  "Just playing. After you," Jared said, holding the door for her.

  "Have you ever thought about working as a professional gorilla gram?"

  "Funny," said Jared.

  To Lindsey's surprise, Jared was actually quite adept at research. Down in the darkened, temperature-controlled basement level of the library they sat side by side in front of one of the many microfiche units. Jared drove while Lindsey sat in the passenger seat taking notes. The Hartford Courant archives yielded several articles on missing persons in the Natchaug State forest region. In 2007, Cynthia Campbell, of East Rutherford, New Jersey had disappeared while staying with friends in Hampton, CT. A graduation picture of her showed a plain Jane with straight blonde hair and a pleasant smile.

  "It says here, Cynthia Campbell was hiking with friends on the morning of August 15. She took an alternate trail, planning to meet up with her fellow hikers, but was never seen again. A search yielded no trace of the young woman. A criminal investigation yielded no evidence of foul play. A reward was offered."

  Jared read the news articles aloud, paraphrasing to touch on the key points.

  "And here's another. July 10, 2005. Richard Griffin, 27, and Stephanie Dubanay, 25, both of Derby, were camping at the Mashmucket campsite in Eastford. They also disappeared, leaving behind their car, tent, even food. An arrest was made in the case, some homeless guy, Gerald B. Malcolm, known to area residents as 'Crazy Gerald.' Malcolm apparently lived in the woods near the campground and had been arrested several times in the past for harassing campers, but he was considered harmless. Charges were later dropped. The case remains unsolved."

  Jared shook his head. "This is crazy. Do you think people would actually enter those woods knowing at least three people have disappeared in the last three years?"

  "Four including Ethan," said Lindsey.

  Jared nodded. "Right."

  "Wait, I've got an idea. I'll be right back."

  Lindsey went to the main search computer and entered "Backbone Ridge." Over forty entries popped up, going as far back as the 1700's. Lindsey skimmed down the list.

  2001. Mysterious lights...

  1993. UFO sighting...

  1985. Caravan of trucks annoys local residents...

  Again, 1985. Student photographer missing...

  Lindsey made note of these, writing down volume and issue numbers. She searched on.

  1954. Hunters find bear den...

  1912. Strange lights dot the sky...

  This was nearly one hundred years ago. Lindsey couldn't believe what she was reading.

  1878. Area tribe performs "cleansing" ceremony...

  1845. Balls of light appear over North Woodstock Hills...

  1786. Search for "disgruntled farmers" abandoned...

  Lindsey signed out the mound of microfiche envelopes and returned to Jared's side. After viewing several of the articles. Jared stopped and stared at Lindsey with a look of total incredulity. Lindsey could see the goose bumps on the Jared's arm.

  "What the hell is out there?" Jared said.

  "I knew something wasn't right about that place. Jared, we need to go back and look," said Lindsey.

  "Go back? Look for what?"

  Her eyes must have told him because she didn't have to say it

  "I don't know, Lindsey, what about the people who have disappeared before? Don't you think they had loved ones who looked for them? And what did they find? Nothing. What makes you think we'll be any different?"

  "Ethan's alive...I can feel it. I need to at least try."

  She watched as Jared took a deep breath. At last he said, "When?"

  "Tomorrow."

  He turned back to the viewer, and stared at the article on the screen, the one that read, Balls of light appear over North Woodstock Hills. He shut the viewer off.

  "You're lucky I don't have to do anything important to do tomorrow, too."

  Lindsey grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him on the forehead.

  "Thank you, thank you."

  30

  When Ethan awoke from an afternoon nap, he stared at the wall directly across from him for a very long time.

  The entrance door was open.

  The wall, a smooth grey expanse he had grown accustomed to seeing — in fact, at times, he had forgotten a door was even there, as if it too had become part of one long dream — was now broken. The shadowy depth of a hallway lay beyond. He got up to investigate.

  He poked his head out of the room, looking first right and then left. To the right, the hallway dead-ended in darkness. To the left, the hallway ran perhaps twenty feet before it opened up onto a well-lit room. His legs turned him in this direction.

  Moving outside of the space he had grown accustomed was a strange experience. It was as if he had stepped beyond some invisible boundary, one in which he had no point of reference. Even the hallway itself felt "unusual", as if he were emerging from a claustrophobic tunnel after an extended period of being lost. As he neared the well-lit room, he saw kitchen cabinetry, a stainless steel counter. He saw the leading edge of an island like one found in a professional restaurant galley. He smelled food.

  As he entered the light and received a greater view of the kitchen, he saw a man sitting at the island, eating a steaming bowl of food. The man looked up.

  "Good afternoon, Ethan. How are you today?"

  Ethan wasn't sure how to respond. He stood unable to move at first, his mind working to register where he was and how this stranger could possibly know him. But a sudden flash of memory recalled the man and a dog standing at the entrance to the room, but as he pushed to retrieve more, his memory dead-ended in darkness, much like the hallway behind him.

  "Please, sit. Your lunch will get cold."

  The man gestured to another steaming bowl of food. There was a stool at the end of the island. Ethan walked over to the stool and sat. In the bowl was a mixture of rice and meat; the smell of it made his mouth water. Movement at floor level attracted his attention. Ethan leaned to the side and saw a large grey dog lying at the foot of the man's stool. Ethan picked up the spoon beside the bowl and began to eat.

  "Ethan? Do you remember me?"

  Ethan looked up from his food. The man's expression was friendly, but his eyes were grey and unwavering, almost menacing. Ethan looked down.

  "Dr. Pike," Ethan said.

  "Yes, very good. And do you know where you are?"

  Ethan spooned another mound of rice and meat into his mouth. He shook his head.

  "This is Facility #9. Very important work is performed here. Work the world is not yet ready for. But we need to be prepared, just in case. My time here has been the most rewarding of my life. Part of my work involves you, Ethan. You are very special. I would like for you to be my assistant. Do you think you can do that? Be my assistant?"

  Ethan listened to Pike's voice. The man spoke very calmly, soothingly. It comforted Ethan to hear he was special and was needed to assist with such important work. But a voice whispered urgently into his ear.

  You promised, little brother. Don't forget where you came from. Don't forget who you are.

  But the voice only confused Ethan. It sounded familiar. He pushed again to force his memory to recall whose voice it was. But it was like a fishing line cast out into mist and never hitting the water.

  "Yes. I can do that. Thank you, Dr. Pike."

  31

  Lindsey felt bad about what had happened at the funeral, so before going home, she drove back to Willimantic to visit with Ethan's mother.

  Lucille Morales lived in a modest home on a respectable street. There were many streets in Willimantic that were off limits, unless one lived there. Streets where police calls outnumbered family visits on any given weekend. Streets where all one had to hear was their name to imagine the worst, and one would be right. Those were the streets Ethan's brother, James, had spent most of his teen years, when he should have been in school. Streets James prevented Ethan from hanging out on, because he knew his brother deserved better.
And it was because of James that Ethan avoided the worst of what his city had to offer.

  Lindsey stood in the afternoon heat on the stone steps of the Morales residence and rang the doorbell. A wooden placard hung on the door. It was in the shape of two doves carrying a banner that read God Bless This Home. The door opened.

  "Lindsey."

  "Hi, Mrs. Morales. If you want to be alone, I understand."

  "No, no, Lindsey...come in, please."

  Lindsey came in from out of the sun and into the pleasant coolness of air conditioning. Thankfully, Mrs. Morales was alone. Lindsey didn't think she would have stopped if it looked like she still had visitors.

  "Would you like some coffee?" said Mrs. Morales. "I hate to see it go to waste."

  Lindsey nodded and Mrs. Morales went into the kitchen to make her a cup. Lindsey sat in the Queen Anne's chair in the living room. She had been in the house several times before but this was the first time without Ethan. She never really noticed but Ethan's handiwork was all around. From the oval cherry coffee table with the carved legs, to the cherry and glass étagère that housed all of his mother's religious figurines — even the clock on the wall, which was in the shape of Noah's Ark — all shined with Ethan's talent. Lindsey smiled. A boy who loves his mother makes for a good husband. She had heard that phrase somewhere but only now began to understand what it meant. Mrs. Morales came back from kitchen with two cups of coffee. "Be careful, it's hot," she said.

  Lindsey held the cup and saucer in her hands. She took a sip. Not only was it hot, it was as strong as any Starbucks dark roast. She wasn’t a coffee drinker but it was sweet and it was good.

  "Mrs. Morales, I just wanted to say I was sorry about what happened today at the funeral."

  "You were upset. We were all upset. It's understandable."

  "I also wanted to tell you I'm going back to look for Ethan."

  Mrs. Morales smiled. "Lindsey, you should not put the blame on yourself. These are God's plans. You cannot undo what has been done."