by V. E. Lemp
“Yes, and I ignored you. Which seems to have been a mistake. I’ve talked with Max and Ingrid, and both of them claim the project harmed them. Ingrid also told me Lee has anxiety issues stemming from that time. I’m supposed to meet with Drew Bronski tomorrow.” Karen frowned. “I haven’t been able to get in touch with Valerie Rice.”
“Oh, Val. I’m not surprised.” Pilar tapped her fork against her plate. “Poor girl, she’s had the worst of it, I’m afraid.”
Karen set down her coffee cup. “What do you mean?”
“So many problems.” Pilar sighed. “It started with the headaches, I think. She never could get rid of them, not completely. So she self-medicated. Alcohol, drugs … She’s been in and out of rehab all this time. Last I heard she was in some halfway house in Richmond, but that was a few years ago. I don’t know where she is now.”
“Well, hell.” Karen was stunned. She’d never felt close to Val, but the idea that someone so bright and vital could end up as an addict was sobering. The Morpheus Project, destroying another life. “What about you? You said you had nightmares. Do you still?”
Pilar regarded her carefully. “No more nightmares, thank God. But I do have this feeling, sometimes, like I’m being watched. I know it’s crazy, but I can’t shake it. And sometimes …” She paused and dropped her eyes, stirring her coffee furiously. “I’ve lost time.”
“Lost time? You forget where you are?”
“No, where I’ve been. I find myself somewhere and have no idea how I got there. Or five hours pass, and I can’t remember anything about that time. Fugue states, my doctor calls them. Some kind of dissociative thing. She gives me medicine. It doesn’t help.”
Karen sat back, her mind racing. “My God, Pilar. I had no idea.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Pilar said with a sad smile. “And you, Karen? How are you?”
“I manage. It wasn’t the project that damaged me.”
“No? I thought perhaps it was all connected. Isn’t that why you’re asking questions now? To make sense of your accident and how Dr. Wythe died?”
“Was killed. I think he was killed.”
“So do I, though I couldn’t tell you why. Listen, Karen, I don’t know what I can do, but I’m willing to help you or anyone else who wants to investigate that hellish project. Just say the word, and I’ll do whatever I can.”
“Thank you. I may hold you to that.” Karen passed her business card over to the other woman. “You can contact me at this address. Anytime.”
Pilar laid her fingers across Karen’s hand. “Do you have anyone helping you with this, or are you on your own?”
“There is someone, and I believe he’s rather skilled at unearthing secrets.”
“That’s good to know. Hope he sticks with it. Someone needs to expose the evil done to us.”
“Don’t worry, he won’t give up.” Karen gave Pilar’s hand a squeeze. “And neither will I, Pilar. Neither will I.”
Dream Journal, June 10th:
I stood before a large metal structure, the only building in a wooded area. It looked like a warehouse with its large hanger doors and tiny windows. I wasn’t sure why I’d come, but I knew I was compelled to enter this building.
Inside, I noticed several men and women walking in and out of back rooms. I assumed they were workers, as they were dressed in identical navy jumpsuits. No one acknowledged me.
“Hello,” I said. “Can someone help me? I think I’ve lost something.”
The workers ignored me. I wondered if they even saw me. I walked into one of the back rooms and spied a wall of monitors and a bank of equipment I couldn’t identify. The room resembled a control center. Why such equipment was needed in a simple warehouse was a mystery.
“What are you doing here?” asked a voice.
I turned to face a young man. He was slender and pale and had eyes as dark as his black hair.
“I've lost something.”
“You will not find what you are looking for here. Come with me. You should not be in this room.”
I followed him into the main part of the warehouse, where I came face to face with an older man. He resembled the young man, and I assumed they were related. I stared at the older man, overwhelmed by the feeling we were communicating telepathically. Tremendous waves of energy rolled between us, yet we didn’t speak a word. After a few minutes he turned his head as I turned mine. I felt we’d engaged in a psychic battle that ended in a draw.
“You must leave now,” the younger man said, as the older stranger disappeared into one of the back rooms. “Nothing of yours is here.”
“You are lying,” I said.
“Leave while you can. Stay longer, and you will never find the exit.”
I was swamped by a sense of dread. “Why should I listen to you? I don’t trust you.”
“Then listen to me,” said another voice.
I spun about to face someone standing in the open doorway. Sunlight poured around the figure, blurring and distorting the form, but I glimpsed the outline of a slender woman amid the blazing light.
“Come with me, Karen Foster.” The woman held out her hand.
I approached her, shading my eyes. “Who are you?”
“You should remember.”
In that moment I knew it was Alice. “I can’t leave yet. I haven’t found what I'm looking for.”
“You will recover it,” Alice said. “But not here. Come with me. I know what you have lost and where it may be found.”
I followed her out the open door, never looking back. As we stepped outside, the light flared like the blast from an explosion, blinding me. When I could see again, Alice was gone and I stood in a clearing in the woods. I glanced down at my hands. They were glowing as if irradiated. I looked at my feet. They were bare.
FIVE
When Karen woke in her motel room she noticed papers scattered across the floor. She climbed out of bed and scooped them up. They were pages torn from her notebook. She flipped them over.
The pages were covered in drawings—sketches of strange objects and even odder landscapes and buildings. Karen sat back on the bed and stared at the drawings. She hadn’t walked or sketched in her sleep for years.
She should share this with Mark Hallam. He’d been involved with the Morpheus Project when Ian Vance had shown such an interest in her drawings. Karen tucked the sketches into her briefcase. She couldn’t ponder their significance now. She had another visit to make.
Karen’s last stop was on her return route, in a small town in Virginia only a few hours from her home. Drew Bronski hadn’t been available earlier but had promised to clear his schedule so they could meet on her return trip.
Drew had instructed Karen to meet him at his workplace. She pulled up in front of a strip mall that housed a series of offices as well as a drugstore and a Chinese restaurant. The smell of the Chinese food retrieved a memory. Karen shoved the thought into the recesses of her mind.
Drew’s office door bore a simple plaque engraved with his name. When the door opened and Karen observed the man standing there she exhaled sharply. It was Drew, but he was thin, far too thin, and haggard. All the gold had faded from his hair, and his skin was grayed and loose on his bones.
“Hello, Karen.” His voice was as weary as his eyes. He showed her into the office and sat behind his desk, motioning for her to take one of the oversized armchairs.
“Hi, Drew.” Karen surveyed the seedy office. “So this is your counseling practice? Is it only you, or do you have a partner?”
“Just me. I started it up, oh, about five years ago. It isn’t extravagant but pays the bills. My wife,” he said, with a twitch of his lips, “seems to think such things are important.”
“Thought you’d be working in research.”
“I was. Until five years ago.” Drew gazed at her with suspicion. “Didn’t you know, when you asked to speak with me? I thought you were aware I’d worked for Ian Vance after the Morpheus Project. After the official project
closed down, that is.”
Karen sank into the sagging cushions of a chair. “No, I never heard that.”
“I see.” Drew made a tent of his fingers and tapped them against his desk. “Well, I did. I worked for Vance for a number of years. It was a continuation of what we were doing before. More sophisticated, perhaps, but basically the same.”
“So the Morpheus Project never ended?”
“No. Just went underground.”
Karen clasped her hands together. “You worked at Exocorp then, with Rebani and James as well as Vance?”
“Yes, but I was never on their exalted level.” Drew looked her over. “Dr. Vance talked about you from time to time. He always hoped you’d return to the project. I never understood why.”
Karen blinked. “That’s odd. He never approached me. Did he think I’d show up on his doorstep uninvited?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Drew ran his hand through his thinning hair. “Vance plays a long game. Never knew what he was thinking. I doubt anyone does.”
“So why’d you leave, Drew?”
He was silent for a time, staring at the diplomas on his wall. “I had to. I just couldn’t do it anymore.”
Her heart thumped against her ribs. “I don’t understand. Do what?”
“The work. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t support it. I couldn’t”—there was a hint of desperation in his voice—“I couldn’t bear it anymore.”
“Drew.” Karen took a deep breath. “Mark Hallam and I are investigating the Morpheus Project and Ian Vance.”
“And Alex Wythe’s death? I thought you might be.” He unclasped his white-knuckled fingers. “That’s very dangerous, Karen. I’m not sure you understand how dangerous that is.”
“I’m beginning to understand.” Karen gazed at him with compassion. “Will you help us, Drew? Can you?”
He stood and paced about the room. “I don’t know, not sure I’m up for that. I have a wife, you see. Marie—remember Marie? We have two children. I can’t put them in danger. You understand, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course. But Drew, Vance and his crew can’t walk away. They shouldn’t escape retribution for what they did to us, to the other students, to Alex … to Dr. Wythe. I can’t allow that. Not anymore.”
Drew stopped pacing and turned to look at her. “I’ll have to think about it. Can I have a little time? Leave your contact information, and if I decide to help you … If I decide, I’ll let you know.”
“That’s all I can ask.” Karen rose to her feet and crossed the room. She laid her business card on his desk. “Take care of yourself, Drew.” She gently tapped the back of his hand.
“No, you …” Drew shot her a fierce gaze. “You take care of yourself, Karen. You’ve already put yourself in danger.”
“I know.” Karen forced a small smile for his benefit. “But the thing is, unlike you, I don’t have anyone else to worry about. And so, unlike you, I no longer care.”
When Karen was close to home, she decided to drive straight to Mark’s house. He might not be there, but if not, she’d just wait on the porch until he arrived. She knew from a previous phone call that he’d be at the house by evening. As she made the turn onto his street Karen saw a small white car in her rearview mirror. It made the same turn. She’d watched that vehicle match her movements for the last several miles. She pulled into Mark’s driveway and sat for a moment, waiting until the white car drove past the house and headed down the street. “Now you’re really getting paranoid,” she told herself as she walked to the front door, still watching the road for any sign of the vehicle.
Mark opened the door before she even touched the bell. “I heard your car. It makes a distinctive sound.”
“You mean an old, rattling car sound?”
“Yes.” He stood back to allow her to enter the house. “I suppose it didn’t give you any trouble on the road?”
“No. It’s old but dependable. Rather like me.” She offered a wry smile.
“Since I’m older than you, I take exception to that remark. Although I suspect you’re dependable. Now sit down and fill me in. You mentioned a few intriguing items in your calls.”
Karen sat on a sofa facing the fireplace and launched into a full report, referring to her notes from time to time. Mark walked about the room as she talked, ceasing his pacing only to quiz her on specific points. Kate, ensconced in her usual chair, raised her head once, apparently recognized and accepted Karen’s presence, and fell back asleep.
“I think Bronski might be the key to the most pertinent information,” Mark said. “But only if we can convince him to talk. You said he worked for Exocorp for some time?”
“Yes, but not anymore. He wouldn’t say why he left and seemed anxious when I pressed him on it.”
“That sounds promising.” Mark moved toward the kitchen. “Keep talking, I’m going to get us something to drink. I stocked up on chardonnay.”
“I’m not a lush, you know.” Karen spoke sharply. “I’m perfectly happy with water.”
“Well, I’m not,” Mark called from the kitchen. “Now, what’s this business with Myron Tarrow and his daughter?”
“I told you. Ariel had a dream, and Tarrow wants to meet with me. Something about dark-eyed people. Those damn, dark-eyed people again,” she added under her breath.
“What?” Mark asked just as the doorbell chimed throughout the house. He walked into the living room and handed Karen a glass of wine as the doorbell rang again.
“Going to get that?” Karen asked.
“I’m not expecting anyone.” Mark crossed to the front door, setting his glass down on a side table. “And I don’t recognize that car.” He motioned for Karen to stay seated.
As he slowly opened the door, a burly arm pushed its way into the room, pressing him against the doorframe. The arm was connected to a short, stocky man with sandy hair and a face rearranged by old injuries. The man charged into the room before Mark could do anything except step away from the door.
Mark eyed the man. “And you are?”
“A friend,” the man said, staring at Karen.
“My friends usually wait to be invited in.”
“A messenger, then.”
Kate, disturbed by the noise, rose to her feet and arched her back, her green eyes fixed on the stranger. She hissed, leapt from the chair, and fled into the kitchen.
“Messenger?” Mark raised his eyebrows. “And who is sending me this message?”
“Not just you. You and Ms. Foster here.”
“You can leave Ms. Foster out of it.” Mark’s voice was deadly calm.
“’Fraid not. She’s as involved as you are, Hallam. The truth is”—the stranger’s small eyes narrowed to slits—“you’re nosing about in things that are none of your business, the both of you.”
Karen found her voice at last. “According to whom?”
Mark shot her a sharp glance. “That’s enough, Karen.”
She opened her mouth and shut it again as she read Mark’s expression.
“Ya both need to leave well enough alone,” the man said, “or you might find yourselves in a bad place.”
“Oh, really?” Mark strode forward until he was standing between the stranger and Karen’s chair. “I suppose that’s what Vance told you to say? How very unimaginative of him.”
“Don’t know nothin’ ’bout a Vance.”
“So you lifted that dialogue from a bad gangster film?” Mark’s voice was surprisingly cheerful. “How unimaginative of you, then.”
“Now look,” the stranger said, “I’m not plannin’ to hurt no one. I’m just here to tell ya two to back off. Don’t be stirring up trouble.” He smirked at Karen. “Or trouble might find you.”
“On the contrary, I’m afraid trouble has just found you,” Mark said, stepping behind the man. He grabbed both of the stranger’s arms and twisted them against his back, then marched the man, who struggled unsuccessfully, over to the open door. “Now tell Vance, or whoever sent you, to
back off. We’ll continue to go where we please and investigate whatever we wish.” Mark yanked the man’s arms, and the stranger yelped. “The last time I checked, the laws of this fine country allow us that privilege.”
“Ya wanna unleash disaster on this fine country,” the man said, grimacing, “you go right ahead. See what happens if people find out things they don’t need to know. Violence will be the least of it.”
“Always the argument of the dictator.” Mark shoved the man out the front door. “Now crawl back to your owners and tell them we received their message.” He slammed the door and locked it. “And plan to ignore it,” he added quietly. He stared out the window until Karen heard a car drive away.
Mark walked into the living room. Karen examined him as he casually smoothed down his rumpled shirt.
“I have underestimated you,” she said.
“That happens quite frequently.” Mark adjusted his glasses. “I do have a rather unprepossessing face. Not a bad thing, actually. Looking ordinary can be quite beneficial in my line of work.”
“And what exactly,” Karen asked, still eyeing him speculatively, “is your line of work?”
“Oh, a little of this and a little of that. Primarily cleaning up other people’s messes. Or uncovering the messes in the first place.”
“I see. So you have access to more than a few secrets, I imagine. How high is your security clearance, anyway?”
Mark flashed a rueful smile. “Apparently not high enough to corner Vance and his cronies. Yet.”
“Do you think they’ll really leave us alone?”
“No, of course not. But it doesn’t hurt to show them we’re not so easily dissuaded.” As Mark picked up his wine glass Karen noticed a faint tremor in his hand. “So about this visit with Myron Tarrow and his talented daughter.” He sat in the chair recently vacated by Kate. “When do you think we can make that trip?”
“We?”
“I plan to accompany you.” Mark took a long swallow of his wine. “Especially after this last incident.”
“Well, I’m free anytime. But I suppose you’ll have to arrange it with your work.”