Numerous Gloamings donated blood to help with Jennifer’s condition, going so far as to organize nighttime blood drives at the underground Madras House center for Gloamings to find a match for Jennifer’s specific blood type. These parties even included a performance from Spring Awakening, performed by Cian Clery!
Dr. McCauly constructed a proprietary inoculation of the NOBI blood and administered it into Jennifer’s bone marrow and blood. Within five months Jennifer’s cancer had gone into remission. Now she spends all of her days outside, studying and discovering nature and living like a normal eight-year-old should. “I’m going to be a scientist for nature and also run an animal shelter,” Jennifer told PEOPLE in between bites of ice cream—a dessert she wasn’t able to enjoy when sick.
“The Gloamings saved her life,” Robert told PEOPLE as he held his daughter in his arms. “I’ll never forget that. And neither will she.”
Chapter 3
February 10
Nine Months After the NOBI Discovery
Dr. Lauren Scott
Research Physician, Centers for Disease Control
I heard a faint tap on the APR window seal and my earpiece buzzed, which let me know someone had entered the lab extension. I placed the containers back into the biosafety case and unhooked myself from the positive pressure suit. I sprayed my gloved hands with disinfectant before walking into the chemical shower container, which sprayed the suit and then automatically air-dried the exterior. I had been viewing the few slides of old NOBI blood samples that had not degraded, comparing them to computer models associated with degradation and differential, and platelet count with coagulation testing, specifically prothrombin time. Normally these samples would have been sent to and reviewed solely at the Integrated Research Facility at Fort Detrick in Maryland, or at the National Institutes of Health in Bethesda, but I received permission to conduct my research here at the CDC headquarters. I removed the suit and disinfected the inside of the face shield before hanging it up on the hooks outside the shower area. I put on my pants and T-shirt before stepping into the buffer area.
After being prompted by the mainframe computer, the air-locked door opened and I stepped into the buffer corridor, where the pre-filtered air supply swept past my entire body. The computer system green light signaled I was cleared to leave the buffer area. The CDC headquarters in Atlanta was freezing as usual, and I had forgotten my sweater in the car, so I could feel the chills run down my spine.
Michael Spence, the CDC’s congressional liaison, stood against a bookshelf with his ever-present bow tie and happy demeanor. I already knew this couldn’t be good.
“Hey, Lauren,” Michael said. He was rocking back and forth, as usual.
“Michael. I suppose you’re here for a good reason. I know you haven’t liked this floor ever since the time you thought you caught botulism from sitting on a chair.”
Michael scrunched up his face. “Not a memory I want to revisit, thank you. I still maintain I have some latent botulism cells in my blood, but the CDC refuses to test me for it.”
I turned away from the screen to glance at him. “You never know…”
Michael smiled. “Trying to give me more nightmares, I see. Well, I am here for a pretty good reason. A congressional committee has requested that a CDC representative appear before a hearing about the NOBI virus.”
I nodded and stretched my torso after being hunched over for what could have been hours. “Okay. Who’s giving the testimony? I’ll brief them on all pertinent matters regarding the virus.”
Michael stared at me for a moment before breaking into another smile. “Want to know who the director has chosen?”
“Sure.”
He stood taller, as if preparing to recite: “Lauren Scott will be testifying before the U.S. House of Representatives Committee on Homeland Security.”
My face flushed. “Oh no. That’s not possible. I’m certainly not qualified or experienced enough to—”
Michael took a seat next to me, though judging by the look on his face, he instantly regretted it, given his previous botulism scare. “Sorry, Miss Scott, but the director requested you. I mean, you know more about this than anyone. It’ll be a good experience.”
I could only nod as my stomach burbled. I dreaded any kind of public speaking, especially when there was a strong possibility of cameras and media involved. The hearing was scheduled for this Thursday—so much for any time to prepare.
Representatives from the majority and minority committee contacted me and were helpful in advising as to what questions the members would want answered. The CDC liaison staff also prepped me for what I could expect.
I called my dad every single night before leaving Atlanta. He tried to lend me some comforting words but I felt like I was intruding on his college basketball binge. When I reminded him the testimony was in Washington, DC, he said, “If you can make it there you can make it anywhere.”
“Dad, I’m pretty sure that’s New York.”
“Uh-huh. That’s right,” he said.
In DC, I spent a restless night in a ridiculously fancy hotel room—paid for by the government. I woke up early, paced the room, and tried to calm myself. “Fuck!” I rose up on my toes and took a deep breath. My attempt at meditation lasted about ten seconds before my mind was assaulted by an army of nervous thoughts. It was nearly time to leave. Running late, as usual, I was gathering my papers, knowing the taxi would be at the hotel entrance within minutes, when I heard a knock. Why are they early? I thought as I opened the door.
My sister stood there with a big smile.
“Oh my God—Jenny! What are you doing here? I mean, I’m glad you’re here.” I stepped aside, flustered, so she could come inside. I grabbed her in a hug. It had been nearly a year since I had seen my family. I just wanted to sit her down, ask her about her life and school and boyfriends, but I didn’t have the time. Just like her to pop up at the most inopportune moment. I was struck with an intense sadness.
“Daddy told me you were here to talk to Congress—Congress!—and I was in Philadelphia for the weekend to visit Hannah and Eleanor—they’re on an acoustic tour of the Northeast. So I thought I would come see you.”
We sat down on the bed. “I have a few minutes before the driver gets here,” I said. “So what are—”
“Why do you hate the Gloamings?” She couldn’t look at me for a moment but then raised her face with a pained expression.
My mind went blank for a second. Jenny leaned forward. Her face looked grave and taut.
“What…Why would you ask me that?” I replied.
“Because it’s distressing. You’re prejudiced against a whole segment of our population.”
I stood up. “Why are you bringing this up now? We haven’t seen each other in months.”
“It’s just been on my mind for a while. I’ve seen all these articles about you. It all seems so hateful. I’ve met some Gloamings and they’re great people.” Jenny’s face softened a bit.
Something in her words struck me as odd. “Did someone put you up to this?” I asked. “Did they get to you?”
I had practically raised Jenny. I could spot her every lie and anxious facial tic. Now, her face betrayed her. “No,” she replied, “I…A few of them, friends, asked me to only see why you hated them so much. That’s all. I know you’re not really like that.”
I grabbed her in another hug. Now wasn’t the time to get angry. “Jenny, you have to be careful. They’re dangerous. I’ve seen their violence up close. You haven’t. They only have their own interests at heart. They will use you—”
“No they won’t, Lauren! They deserve to have a life just like anyone else—like any other human.” She broke away and walked over to the window, pointing at the Capitol dome in the distance. “Those people should be protecting them, not trying to tear them down. That’s not what we’re about. You know that.”
She was hurt, racked. I had to back off. I placed my hand on her arm. “I know. Just be careful.”
I kissed her goodbye. We left each other in a cordial truce, and as I sat in the taxi I tried to concentrate on my testimony. But all I wanted to do was go back, find my sister, and never let her go.
I left still stressed from my encounter with Jenny and arrived at the Capitol at about nine in the morning. One of the majority staff members greeted me at the entrance and walked me to the ornate but small waiting room for the committee. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, and vanished.
The room was well stocked with refreshments and snacks. I nursed a cup of coffee but couldn’t bring myself to take more than a sip. What if I had to pee during the hearing? All I needed was one more thing to worry about. I tried to console myself by thinking this couldn’t be as difficult or dangerous as chasing homicidal Gloamings across the Southwest. It didn’t work.
After a couple of minutes, the door opened. A tall, distinguished-looking man with a head of close-cropped gray hair walked in. Something about his manner told me he had walked these halls many times before. I straightened my jacket as I extended my hand—
I was struck by his powdery scent. It assaulted my nostrils—familiar, but my mind was incapable of summoning the exact memory. Strangely, I felt as if I were a flower waiting to be pollinated by this man standing before me.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Dr. Lauren Scott.”
The man did not shake my hand. He pointed at a chair and sat in the one opposite. His eyes were green, as if carved from a perfect stone. Was everyone on the congressional staff this rude?
I sat and took a deep breath, but that only made my head swim more.
“Can I speak to you for a moment, Dr. Scott?”
“Yes,” I answered. “May I ask who you are?”
He ignored my question. “I want to talk about your testimony today.”
“What about it?”
“I would like you to reconsider some of your conclusions. I’ve read your report and your testimony notes and—”
I rose up from my seat. “I’m sorry. How did you get ahold of my testimony notes?”
The man put a hand up as if that would keep me quiet. He also ignored my question. “I represent a few entities with an interest in seeing that the NOBI virus and those that carry the virus aren’t slandered or subjected to undue suspicion. It’s a reasonable request, I believe.” He placed a folder on the empty chair. “We made some corrections to your testimony notes and we would like you to use them when answering any questions.”
I could not believe what was happening. Was this man out of his mind? “Are you out of your mind? Who do you represent?”
The man stood up and smoothed out his expensive tie. “It’s for the best. Just take the folder.”
The man opened the door as one of the congressional aides entered the room. “Oh, good morning, Senator,” the aide said with a practiced smile on his face. “Great to see you again.”
The senator said nothing but nodded and left.
The aide turned to me with a smile and clapped his hands. “So! Five-minute warning. Ready?”
“I am,” I answered, though I was feeling shaky. “Who was that man that left the room?”
“Oh, that’s Senator Guy Bale—he was a senator from Wisconsin for a couple of terms. He’s a big-time lobbyist now.”
I could only nod, and soon I walked out of the room and was led toward the hearing area. With only minutes to go before the hearing began, I knew my testimony would not change, but it still worried me.
That was my second encounter with a Gloaming.
Chapter 4
Father John Reilly
Ordained Catholic Priest and Jesuit
The interviewer, a larger man wearing a bucket cap and a five-pocket vest, sits on a creaky metal folding chair in the center of a cramped office. He shifts position but appears unable to find comfort.
Interviewer: Are you ready, Father Reilly?
Father Reilly: Are we in Montana? Did you just come from a fishing trip?
Interviewer: How original. Hadn’t heard that one before, although most of my subjects would contend I only have a passing familiarity with humor.
Father Reilly: Do you believe that?
Interviewer: My last subject recommended that I read Naked Lunch. I recommended that he read de Lautréamont.
Father Reilly: I’ll say a prayer for the morning after.
Interviewer: You were telling us about your new job at the Vatican.
Father Reilly: Well, unfortunately, my new position at the Vatican Library was not the most exciting. Even academics who thrilled to be among these historic books and literature might grow bored with the tedious monotony of cataloging books or combing through stacks for those materials that needed repairs. Our crew was the front line on the enormous—some say futile—task of digitizing the extensive collection, though how long it would still take to make twenty-five miles of shelving available online was beyond me.
We used state-of-the-art scanners—the Better Light Super 8K-HS scanning back, a large scanner used exclusively by museums for exceptional detail and clarity—built to minimize any harm to the manuscripts. If the manuscript was too fragile, we used large-format cameras to photograph and digitize. It was a painfully slow, monotonous process that frequently took more than one scan to ensure a correct image.
Every day felt the same as the last, and I searched for an outlet to break the monotony. Which led me to the Vatican Secret Archives. We all knew the archive wasn’t a real secret. Of course, conspiracy theories all over the Internet speculated as to what was hidden in these archives. But in truth, the archive was open to scholars with approval for the course of their particular research. Most of the documents in the archive had not been cataloged in ages, and records were quite incomplete and unorganized.
I became interested in the assorted correspondence and investigation reports of various sightings of the Virgin Mary. In our church, the Virgin Mary has appeared before the faithful at various times to deliver a message or prophecy about the coming times and what must be done to save the people from despair. The archives included records of a few sightings approved by the church, in addition to those many, many more sightings not approved.
The apparition that interested me the most was the famous encounter of the Virgin Mary in Fátima, Portugal. The Holy Mother appeared to three girls “brighter than the sun, shedding rays of light clearer and stronger than a crystal goblet filled with the most sparkling water and pierced by the burning rays of the sun.” This was detailed in one of the children’s memoirs. The children encountered a total of six apparitions of the blessed Virgin Mary between the thirteenth of May and the thirteenth of October 1917, and the Holy Mother gave them three secrets over the course of these months.
The first secret was a vision of hell that all three girls experienced.
The second secret regarded a devotion to the Immaculate Heart of Mary as a way to save souls and bring peace.
The third secret was transcribed by a local administrator of the parish, where the children lived. The children would not allow anyone else to accomplish that act. The letter was then given to a local parish priest, who gave a copy to Pope Benedict XV, who then declared, “The secret will remain, forever, under absolute seal.”
Interviewer: Ah, Father, you are definitely the last of the true believers.
Father Reilly: I will take that as a compliment.
In the century since then, there has been much speculation as to the contents of the third secret and why the church would not allow the secret to be released. And as I scanned and photographed page after page of far less interesting works, this third secret grew into a minor obsession. I spent months pondering: What could the message be? I even dreamt about it at night, sometimes awakened in the dark, imagining the destruction that would follow. I became convinced I needed to find the letter that contained the third secret.
Interviewer: Wait. Are you hungry? Pause. Let the record show subject has shaken his head in dissent. Okay, ho
pe you don’t mind if I eat this sandwich while you’re talking. Pause. Let the record show subject has nodded in agreement. I thought you wouldn’t mind. Keep going.
Father Reilly: Anyway, the new carriers of the NOBI virus, as their status increased, began calling themselves Gloamings. The term was first used in a New York Times article discussing a new group organized in New York City, Berlin, and London for people living with NOBI. Bobbi Smithson, a NOBI carrier, organized the New York group and told the reporter that the group had decided to use the term “Gloaming”—a benign term and, in her words, “a proud image,” as opposed to constantly having to refer to themselves as by-products of any “virus.”
The transition to “Gloamings” in other countries did not go as smoothly. The German translation was roughly Zwielicht, a clunky reference for most German speakers; in Italian it was crepuscolo—dusk. However, due to constant use by the American media, and cemented by Taylor Swift’s reinforcing the term on all her social media, the term stuck.
I suppose we were all familiar with the concept of a vampire from popular culture and literature and film and folklore. Every culture has some ancient belief in a monster that feeds on the blood of an innocent—take your pick. It’s hard for me to pin down exactly when the European and American mood towards this new word, “Gloaming,” began to adapt—living in the Vatican, I was a bit removed—but the Gloamings started to assert their rights to define their own identity by shaming people who used the word “vampire” or “leech.” They claimed that those words were unambiguously pejorative, although one Gloaming philosopher declared that Gloamings should reappropriate the word “vampire” amongst themselves. The state of California symbolically banned, with a formal resolution, the use of the word “vampire.” When Nick Bindon Claremont said, during his campaign for governor of New Mexico, “In the past thirty days, I’ve been called a vampire more than any time since I re-created,” opponents accused him of “playing the vampire card” to save his political life.
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