“What?”
“Dr. Waters told you to lay off reading before bed.”
“I know. But, Rachel. I don’t think that’s it. It’s gotta be something else.”
“When was the last dream? About four days ago, wasn’t it?”
“Probably.”
“Have you read anything before bed each night since then, besides last night?”
Jack pretended to think a minute. He was just stalling. “No. I didn’t.”
“That’s a pretty big coincidence if you ask me.”
“All right. Maybe there’s a connection. It’s just so hard to accept. I’ve been reading like this as long as I can remember. Why should it matter all of a sudden like this?”
“I don’t know, Jack. But it seems like it does. Don’t you want these dreams to end?”
Jack hesitated. “Yeah, I do.”
“You don’t sound too sure.”
“No. I do. It’s just….”
“Just what?”
“I’ve been thinking … maybe these dreams aren’t so bad. You even said it…some people might pay big money to have experiences like these. Here I am seeing things, hearing things, and talking to people—like traveling back in time, like being there when it first happened. I was thinking, if I could just get over the fear of it, maybe I could live with it. I don’t know.” Jack really didn’t know. Nothing he said represented how he felt for more than a few moments at a time.
“I hope so,” Rachel said, “but either way, there’s something I wanted to tell you.”
Jack paused.
“I’ve been doing some thinking myself lately…” Rachel began.
“About what?”
“About your dreams.”
“Oh?”
“I just want you to know, I don’t care about these dreams. I don’t care if you have them till you’re old and gray. It doesn’t matter. They’re not a big deal to me. They won’t affect…how I feel about you.”
That was a relief. For the moment, these crazy dreams, even their cause, didn’t seem to matter.
“Well,” she said, “I’ve got to go. I should be done about the time you finish up. Want to have lunch together?”
“I’d like that.”
“Okay, call me.”
36
Nigel Avery sat in his surveillance van parked on a side street in downtown Culpepper. It was time to call Jameison. He’d taken the weekend off since so little was happening. And hey, a guy needs to unwind every now and then. He had just finished reviewing the audio files recorded during his absence. He couldn’t believe his ears. Things were officially unraveling.
It was time to start shooting people. He was sure Jameison would feel the same way.
The phone rang a half-dozen times. “Hello?”
“Jameison, it’s me.”
“Avery?”
“It’s all hit the fan, Doc. Big cow paddies. But I guess you know that.”
“I know. I tried calling you. Where’ve you been?”
“Had some misbehaving to catch up on. But everything’s still under control, for a little while anyway. Sounds like our Professor is losing it. Heard the last conversation between you two.”
“Then you heard him threaten me at the end. If I ever contacted him again, he said I’d be sorry. That he’d taken some precautions. What do you make of that?”
“I’m guessing he’s made duplicate files on everything, something he could send to the police in a flash. Might have even recorded a video, if he knows how. Something he could upload to YouTube?”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“There’s more,” Avery said. “We got two of your guinea pigs still breathing. One of them, the lecture guy, was just talking with his girlfriend. It’s serious.”
“How so?”
“Sounds to me like they’re in love.” Avery laughed out loud.
“Nigel.”
Avery continued. “I’m not kidding. I think they’re getting pretty tight. Anyway, this guy—Jack Turner—he’s really scoping this thing out. Sounds like he’s been to a sleep doctor. Think somewhere out of town. He and this chick were talking all about what’s been causing these dreams. He’s filled out some kind of journal trying to isolate the cause.”
“Does he sound close?”
“He’s not there yet, but he’s a thinker. It’s just a matter of time.” Both men paused. “Time to pull some weeds, Doctor.”
“For now, just the one, Nigel.”
Avery knew he was talking about the Professor. “Just one? Not a good move, Doc. You getting soft on me?”
“I’m not getting soft. Think about it. Think about the publicity. You just got done telling me we’ve had another dead student. Thornton said he heard it on the local news?”
“Yeah,” Avery said. “It made the news.”
“And so did the first death, less than two weeks ago,” Jameison said. “When you get rid of the Professor, you’ve got a third sudden death. Then you want to add two more? This is a little college town, Nigel. The local police haven’t picked up the scent yet, but you start dropping that many people—”
“Doc, no one would be able to connect the dots if I do it.”
“Nigel, you’re not listening. I can’t take a chance on the publicity. You take out the Professor, get whatever material he’s gathered on this, and the students will stop having crazy dreams. Time goes by and, for a little while, everyone’ll wonder what all this was about. More time goes by, and it’s a fading memory. If you get wind of something that shows imminent danger of exposure, I’ll reconsider. But for now, just take care of the Professor.”
# # #
Thornton was considerably relieved after his telephone call to Jameison. A sense of absolution had welled up inside him after the courageous way he’d handled the situation. As he went about the afternoon, he had tried to resist any thoughts or images of Riesner or Markum. They were gone and it was over.
Now, all that remained was to complete the precautions he had mentioned to Jameison and move on with the rest of his life. Walking into his closet, he pulled his camcorder from a small nylon case. He’d hardly ever used it. The sad testament of a man with no memories to make and no one to share them with. In moments, he had the camera set up on his dresser and plugged in.
He decided to film the video in his bedroom and positioned the camera a few feet from a small stuffed chair in the corner. He sat down, set the camera to record and began to speak.
“My name is Professor Thomas Thornton. On this video, I will lay out the evidence I have against a neurologist named Dr. Curtis Jameison regarding clandestine drug tests he’s forced me to help him with…through blackmail. I realize the things I will share will also implicate me in criminal activity. I’m making this video to be used in the event of my sudden death or disappearance.”
Why mince words, he thought. If anyone ever watched this video it would be too late to worry about reputations. He retold the entire affair, incident by incident, for the next twenty minutes.
At the end, he left a final word for Jack. “Jack, if you’re watching this then you already know the terrible things I’ve done. I know you think highly of me—at least you did before this terrible mess. But you shouldn’t, Jack. I’m just a pathetic coward. An old fool. I became jealous of your success. And I cared more about my reputation than the lives of my students. What hurts the most though, I think, is how I have betrayed you. But all the encouraging words I’ve said to you, Jack, they’re all true. I really do wish you the best. You can do whatever you set your mind to do. Well, goodbye.”
Thornton shut off the camera and shut down the emotions it had stirred up inside him. Obviously, he hoped no one would ever see this, that his life could go on now to better things. He felt almost clean inside after his confession, as if telling all this to a camera somehow set things right.
He uploaded the file to his computer and created a DVD. Then he called the school, feigning illness then left a message
on Jack’s voicemail letting him know he wouldn’t be at school. Jack could easily handle things on his own. After writing “Evidence against Dr. Jameison” on the DVD with a marker, he got in his car and drove to his local bank. There he placed the DVD in his safe deposit box. Later, after his class had ended, he would drive to his office and pick up the file he’d been creating on Jameison’s project and put it in the safe deposit box also. He kept a copy of the key in his bill drawer with all his important papers.
If it came to that, someone would find it.
He decided to head to the university now instead of going straight home. How could he relax until he’d put everything behind him. Perhaps he could get in and out of his office without anyone noticing him.
It seemed like a solid plan.
37
Jack was about to drive to the University when he noticed a voicemail on his phone. He’d better listen to it.
“Hi, Jack. I…I’m not feeling well this morning. Must be that bug showing up again. I don’t think I’ll be coming in today. At least not this morning. But, I’m sure you’ll handle things just fine. I hope…everything is okay. With you, I mean…well, bye.”
Jack thought Thornton sounded strange. Different than sick. More like…afraid. And why did he keep asking Jack if everything was okay? That must have been the fifth time Thornton had inquired about Jack’s well being, each time sounding a few notches above small talk. Jack picked up Dr. Waters’ journal and put it in his brief bag, grabbed his coat and gloves, and headed out the door.
On the drive there, he began thinking through the loop that had gripped him all morning, trying to nail down the cause of these dreams. As he pulled into the parking lot he was mumbling the three things each dream experience had in common. “Saw Rachel—drank a glass of wine—read before bed.” Over and over again. He stopped the car and stared at the dashboard, both hands on the wheel. Something was brewing inside. He repeated the phrases again, but more slowly, “Saw Rachel—drank a glass of wine—read before bed….”
What was he expecting? Okay, there was no way Rachel was provoking these dreams. And he’d been reading before bed for years without incident. And he’d only had a single glass of wine each time.
Something started breaking loose, deep down, like a levee slowly giving way. A thought that formed all on its own. Maybe it wasn’t the quantity of wine but something in the wine that triggered the dreams. But that was ridiculous. That would mean someone had spiked the wine with some kind of drug, and that someone could only be Thornton. The wine had come from him. He’d served it with dinner the first two nights, then last night Jack drank from one of the bottles he’d given Jack to take home.
But why would Thornton do such a thing? Even if he did, what kind of drug could have that effect on someone’s dreams? Jack started to get out of the car, but wished he could just sit there until he had sorted this out. But he had to go.
It was time to get in there and give his lecture on the Schweinfurt-Regensburg raid.
# # #
When the class ended and Jack had chatted with the students who’d hung around a few minutes, he slipped into Thornton’s back office. Instantly, the same wrestling match kicked in as before.
He thought about the first dream, the one in Pearl Harbor. He had eaten dinner at Thornton’s that night for the first time after all those years of knowing the guy. And why was Thornton drunk? Why had he made such a big deal of having Jack over, only to chase him away right after they had eaten?
The second occasion had come the night after Jack’s date with Rachel at River Bend restaurant. This time it was gourmet Italian. And once again, another bottle of wine.
Wait. He remembered. Thornton was drinking from a different bottle. Both times. And last night Jack had drunk from one of those bottles again.
Could that mean something?
But this was foolishness. What was Jack thinking…that Thornton had drugged him or something?
A sick, sinking, anger started to slow-boil inside him. He fought back with it. “This is nonsense!” he said aloud. Professor Thornton wouldn’t do something like this. Why would he? How could he?
Jack thought again about the many times over the last two weeks Thornton had asked about his health. Also new behavior for Thornton. If Thornton were drugging Jack, it would make sense to keep asking about his health. He’d want to know how Jack was doing.
A few minutes later, Jack found himself hovering over Thornton’s desk. It displayed its usual chaos. Having worked for Thornton years ago, he knew he tended to resist the online world and only cooperated to the extent he had to. Recent conversations confirmed he was still that way. Thornton put his greatest confidence in paper, old fashioned notes in notebooks, documents in file folders.
Jack decided to check his desk drawers and file cabinet. Nothing in the drawers of interest, except the key to the file cabinet, which was locked. He quickly opened it and began thumbing through the folder tabs, looking for folders or tabs that might look crisp and new.
When he got to the J’s, one hanging folder caught his eye. It was new and the tab was handwritten in capital letters. He couldn’t believe what it said:
JAMEISON DRUG TESTS
# # #
At the same moment, Professor Thornton’s car rounded the last curve into Culpepper’s main parking lot. Normally, he would have pulled into the faculty lot. This wasn’t a normal occasion. He didn’t care to be seen by any of his peers today.
38
Standing there in Thornton’s inner office, Jack’s eyes bugged out as he read the words on the tab. He yanked the folder out of the drawer and looked nervously around the room. The door leading to the classroom was slightly ajar. He walked over and closed it, then headed back to Thornton’s desk and opened the file. Inside, were several manila folders. The first folder was titled simply:
Code Names
He opened the folder, just a single page inside. Centered on the page, a listing of four names, a set of initials beside each one. He read the names and initials; his palms instantly beginning to sweat.
Bre’r Rabbit = JT
Bre’r Fox = RR
Bre’r Bear = JM
Bre’r Possum = MT
He recognized his initials next to the name Bre’r Rabbit. Beneath his, the code name Bre’r Fox and the initials ‘RR’, a line drawn through both. “RR,” Jack said aloud. “RR,” he repeated. Who is RR? Why is the name crossed out? Then instantly he knew. Ralph Riesner. The kid who died in his sleep. There was a second name crossed out. Bre’r Bear, with the initials JM. Who was JM? A second student had died over the weekend, a suicide. But Jack didn’t remember his name. He’d have to check, see if the initials matched.
He looked around the room nervously, then back at the remaining code names and initials. Try as he may, he couldn’t figure out who the last two were. Probably just two more students caught in Thornton’s scheme. He opened the second manila file, labeled:
Instructions
He pulled out a single sheet with a handwritten note and began to read:
Pick four students. Must be healthy. No known medical problems. Students should have a passion for military history. Four times, spread several days apart. Use in drinks or with food.
Tasteless, odorless.
This could only mean one thing: Thornton was drugging him. Jack’s mind seized up. It felt like the force of five G’s had suddenly pinned his feet to the floor. Thornton must have killed Riesner. Riesner was being drugged and had died in his sleep. There had to be a connection. Jack sat in Thornton’s chair, holding the sheet in front of him, and read it again.
# # #
After parking his car, Thornton walked toward the Murray Building, stopping briefly under an oak tree to catch his breath and to think through his plan. He looked at the side entrance. A couple of students loitered about, but no one he recognized. And he wasn’t worried about students anyway. He looked at his watch. This was a good time, at least twenty-five minutes before the
next set of classes let out. He could take the side stairs, be in his office and out before any other teachers saw him. Jack was likely gone. Thornton had observed Jack didn’t hang around long after his lectures were through.
# # #
Jack’s initial shock gave way to fear then anger as the scene began to sink in. A man he deeply respected, completely trusted, a man he would do anything for and thought would do anything for him was, in fact, a monster. A sociopathic monster. All this time he believed Thornton actually cared about him. Jack thought he might be going mad with these crazy dreams, and all this time he was being drugged.
By Thornton.
And Riesner, he thought. If Riesner had died from taking this drug, Jack could have, too. Thornton had to have known this, yet he drugged Jack two more times after Riesner’s death. Why would Thornton do this? For money? Thornton didn’t seem like the greedy type.
No matter the reasons, Jack needed to involve the police. That’s all there was to it. But should he confront Thornton first?
He was about to read the rest of the contents of the file when he suddenly remembered Rachel wanted to meet him for lunch. What would he tell her? She’d never believe this. Who would? He had to make copies, to get proof. He grabbed the stack of documents and hurried out the door. The copier room was just down the hall.
Fortunately, the copier room was empty. One-by-one, he slapped the pages down and put the originals back in their proper folders. In minutes, the entire file was reproduced.
He slowly opened the door leading back into the main hallway. The corridor was almost empty. As he rushed back toward Thornton’s office, he saw Thornton on the stairway, one landing below, talking to a student.
Thornton saw Jack, too, and called out to him. “Jack. Say, Jack.”
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