The Snow Swept Trilogy
Page 32
Paul hated that she'd been right. He thought about the Wild Turkey above the sink, and he craved a drink. He hated that she'd been right, and that he was alone in a hotel room that was as close to a home as he'd had in years, sitting scared in the dark.
He wanted that drink, but in the end, that would be giving into the fear.
Paul leaned forward and massaged the soft cast around his knee and leg, feeling the tenderness of the healing muscle and bone. He continued to breathe deeply, allowing the fear and adrenaline to leave his body and mind, feeling sillier by the minute. Since the shooting at the hospital, Paul had suffered from nightmares and sudden bouts of anxiety, but nothing quite like this. Although not positive, he was pretty sure that he'd been awake when he heard the intruder, from the door opening to the soft breathing and the click of the safety being removed on the pistol, not ten feet from where he lay in bed.
“I'm losing it,” he said aloud to the empty room. “Crazy as bat guano.”
Paul closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples. A headache was beginning to form toward the front of his head, just behind the eyes. The pain was not nearly enough to rival that in his leg, but it was uncomfortable. He looked at the rumpled covers on his bed, and then at the bedside clock. It was just after one in the morning, and sleep was a long way off. He got to his feet and hobbled along to the couch nearby. His computer was on the coffee table, under a pile of papers and unread mail.
Paul opened a folder containing a small bundle of paper and stared at the first sheet. Several splatters of blood marked the bottom half of the page. He rubbed the red stains with the tip of his thumb and wondered for the thousandth time if it was his or Morales' blood. He thought that it was probably his. The small bundle of papers were those that he'd recovered from that nightmare in the hospital, and he had thought that the papers were the only silver lining to being shot. He had thought that he would find new information about the attack in Miami, the destroyed forest—
bomb that wasn't a bomb
—and while the papers referenced Miami and a possible connection, there was no real link between the attack and what had happened to the building on Biscayne Boulevard. He read through the emails yet again and wondered what he was missing.
7 messages
* * *
To:
Subject continues to be despondent, eating only when forced, and never talking. Feeding tubes are used during periods of stasis.
Considering all angles. Some are leaning more toward a version of telekinesis, of a psychokinetic ability. Of course there have been incidents in history that are not inconsistent with the current situation.
Perhaps most similar to the subject was a French girl in the mid-1800s. Angelique Cottin called herself the “Electric Girl” and was an alleged generator of PK activity. Cottin and her family claimed that she produced electric emanations and from her presence, pieces of furniture and scissors moved across the room.
Of course, there were detractors to the claims. A prominent reporter made several observations which suggested fraud - - such as the contact of the girl's clothes to produce any of the alleged phenomena and several witnesses observed that noticed there was a double movement on the part of Cottin, a movement in the direction of the object thrown and afterwards away from it but the movements being so rapid they were not usually detected.
Other examples include: Eusapia Palladino, an Italian medium who could allegedly cause objects to move during séances. However, she was caught levitating a table with her foot and using tricks. There was a Polish medium Stanisława Tomczyk, active in the early 20th century, who claimed to be able to perform various acts of telekinesis, such as levitating objects, by way of an entity she called “Little Stasia.”
Perhaps you have seen the photograph of Tomczyk with a pair of scissors “floating” in front of her seemingly unconnected hands (the picture is often found in books and other publications as an example of telekinesis). Of course, Scientists suspected Tomczyk performed her feats by the use of a fine thread or hair, running between her hands to lift and suspend the objects in the air. Apparently, psychical researchers who tested Tomczyk occasionally observed the thread, and confirmed the suspicion.
This is different. No fraud, no possibility of deception. I have seen the subject's power with my own eyes. The potential is beyond anything we can imagine.
NW
* * *
To:
Have you considered the godmen?
* * *
To:
Of course. Many of the “godmen” claimed macro-PK abilities and demonstrated apparently miraculous phenomena in public. Again the issue is trickery. When controls are put in place, the phenomena decrease. We are still looking into possible links with this group of people, who seem to be the most vocal about said power.
The subject, today, lifted a table and chairs several feet from the ground. This is the first recorded example of subject’s movement of objects with substantial mass. The phenomena was produced during a state of extreme agitation after having been removed from the stasis tank only moments before. Of course, the music was playing. Subject reacted violently to news that she was not allowed to see her parents as scheduled.
Subject appears to be unaware of how much time is passing while in stasis. Subject was in stasis for a period of 64 days, but was under the impression that the normal period of 3 days had passed.
Due to increasing political activity in the area, recommend transfer to site in South Florida, with facility in metropolitan area. Please advise.
NW
* * *
To:
Further research reveals additional references to various cases around the world. All of which seem to have been debunked at sometime or another.
We found one case, however, that seems to have more of a relation to what we're dealing with, a 19-year-old girl in the 60s who was said to have telekinetic powers. She had the ability to move objects with her mind, and sometimes while not even in the same room. Difference is that our subject has no control over her ability. Seems to be brought on by stress or emotional excitement and of course Nocturne No. 6. It's a key difference though, because any sort of fakery would likely have been discovered if she'd claimed control.
Looking more into your idea of the godmen in India. The difference between them and the cases we've read about is that the godmen don't seem to be looking for attention and acclaim for the abilities (not without exceptions of course). Will continue looking as we study the subject.
Hired new physicist who is looking at different theories on a quantum level. He's stumped, but is interested in the interaction the music plays. As you know, the song we use is the same that her parents would play to her as a child. Parents reported that even as an infant, there was an increase of kinetic movement when music was played nearby.
* * *
To:
<
* * *
To:
Subject has requested sending a letter to friend in her home town. She is still under the impression that she has been held for only a short period of time, and is looking forward to returning. See below. Appears to be more than a friend, although subject's parents reported no such person in her life.
NW
Dear Adam:
I don't know where to begin, so I'll start with
this. How are you? I hope you are doing well. I miss you very much and I can't wait to see you again.
I am so sorry that I have not written or called sooner. I don't think I am allowed to call right now, but they are letting me write this letter. I think my mom and dad have a lot to do with them letting me write this letter.
You probably are wondering why I have been gone so long, and what happened that day at school, and maybe a million different things. I want to tell you I'm sorry about the… can I call it the incident? I never meant to hurt you or anyone else. I don't even know if anyone was hurt, but I never meant it. I don't understand what happened any more than anyone else does. I guess that’s why I'm here. I want to see you. I want to tell you this in person.
Do you remember when we first met? We were in the Berkshires, eating at a restaurant there. I don't remember much about the day, except for all of the blossoms in the trees and the new flowers in the meadow. We had ice cream together. I had the chocolate chip mint, and it was the best. They used real mint leaves in the ice cream and it was delicious.
I really like you Adam, and I'm so happy that we got to know each other. I miss you. I can't wait to come back and see you.
Love you,
Mae Edwards
* * *
To:
Approved, with redactions. As to additional requests: permit subject to compose letters, and then destroy any outgoing messages. If subject is to remain cooperative, she needs to believe that there is hope.
Dear Adam:
I don't know where to begin, so I'll start with this. How are you? I hope you are doing well. I miss you very much and I can't wait to see you again.
I am so sorry that I have not written or called sooner. I don't think I am allowed to call right now, but they are letting me write this letter. I think my mom and dad have a lot to do with them letting me write this letter.
You probably are wondering why I have been gone so long, and what happened that day at school, and maybe a million different things. I want to tell you I'm sorry about the… can I call it the incident? I never meant to hurt you or anyone else. I don't even know if anyone was hurt, but I never meant it. I don't understand what happened any more than anyone else does. I guess that’s why I'm here. I want to see you. I want to tell you this in person.
Do you remember when we first met? We were in he Berkshires, eating at a restaurant there. I don't remember much about the day, except for all of the blossoms in the trees and the new flowers in the meadow. We had ice cream together. I had the chocolate chip mint, and it was the best. They used real mint leaves in the ice cream and it was delicious.
I really like you Adam, and I'm so happy that we got to know each other. I miss you. I can't wait to come back and see you.
Love you,
Mae Edwards
Paul finished reading and ran the tip of his thumb over the redacted name in the letter to the unknown “Adam.”
Mae Edwards.
She was obviously the girl Morales was hunting, but he wasn't sure why. Had she been in the forest that night? In Miami?
According to the emails, although not directly, she was the subject of some study. Something to do with parlor tricks and some form of telekinesis that was distinguishable from a myriad of historical claims to the ability.
Could telekinesis destroy a building in the way he'd seen? He thought of the twisted piece of metal, like giant skeletons rising from the mountains of rubble, the smoke and fires, the screams. He doubted it, but thought that maybe something that was being done in the same facility could have caused the destruction.
Mae Edwards. Her name crossed out, even to someone that she supposedly had known well, and maybe even loved. Her rambling reminiscence reminded Paul of himself as a teenager, and he ached for that time in his life when it was so complicated, yet so purely simple. He felt bad for this Mae girl, and what had been taken from her.
Paul remembered that night, wondered if Mae Edwards had been the woman he'd had the appointment with on the bus. But that was just it. The woman who'd promised to share with him the key to understanding the attack in Miami that was so seamlessly covered up, was in fact a woman. The Mae girl who'd written the letter was clearly not old enough to have been that woman.
Was there a connection?
He opened his legal pad and wrote:
MAE EDWARDS. on one side, and MIAMI on the other. Paul circled both words and drew a line between each. Below the line, he wrote FOREST DESTROYED, GODMEN and ENTANGLEMENT, the subject of the last email in the bundle of papers.
Paul tapped the page and couldn't see the connection. Whatever it was they were doing with Mae, spoon bending and exploring obscure quantum theories, he didn't think it had anything to do with Miami. He’d seen the building there, the craters in the concrete, the twisted metal. In the forest, mature trees and boulders blasted from the ground.
But it was impossible.
He scribbled through MAE EDWARDS.
It had to be another dead end. Something he wasn’t seeing. There was no connection.
Chapter Eighteen
“Where are we going?” Mae asked. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, stifling a giggle. Ryan had her other hand firmly in his grip and was leading her down an empty hallway off the lobby of the hotel.
“Just be quiet for a minute longer,” he said. They came to a corner and he stopped, sliding his back against the wall and peaking around. Just a moment before, they had been sitting in the reading room near the main lobby of the hotel, watching the fire slowly burn down in the fireplace and listening to the howling wind rattle the windows. She was looking through a coffee table book that depicted the seasons in New England, when her stomach had grumbled loudly. She clapped her hand on her stomach, looking up at Ryan to see if he'd heard the sound.
“Holy moly, woman!” he said, feigning shock. “That sound came from you?”
“Just a little hungry.”
“Yeah?” Ryan chuckled, “Sounded a lot worse than just a hungry tummy. Like a grizzly bear trying to get out or something.”
She laughed and looked away, her cheeks burning. She glanced at her watch and was dismayed to see that the kitchen more than an hour before. In fact, it was getting late enough to where stores and restaurants would be closed too.
“No grizzly bear that I know of, but I guess I'll have to deal with this hungry tummy till morning,” she sighed.
“Nonsense.” Ryan stood, taking her hand in his and pulling her to her feet.
“Kitchen's closed, Ryan my dear.”
“Let's go,” he said, and here they were, playing tippy-toes through the lobby. Sneaking around the hotel, however, didn't seem to be necessary. The clerk at the front desk glanced up from a wrinkled newspaper, but didn't pay them any attention. His eyes were glazed, sleepiness having already set in.
“Looks all clear.”
“What are you doing?” she whispered, and it took a lot more effort to keep from laughing. He was acting ridiculous. Ryan rounded the corner, pulling her along. He counted the doors as they walked by, finally stopping when they got to the sixth door.
“If I remember correctly, this opens to a laundry room.” Ryan pushed through the door, and sure enough, piles of dirty linens were heaped in bins on one end, with a line of laundry machines along the other. Stacks of folded towels and bedclothes sat on carts near the back of the room, next to several long shelves containing toiletries.
“As tasty as dirty sheets and shampoo sound...” Mae said, squeezing his hand. The door closed shut behind them, and he suddenly pulled her close to him and planted a kiss on the tip of her nose.
“You're super cute,” he said, and kissed her cheek. She looked up at him, feeling that blush again in her cheeks. She kissed him lightly on the lips.
“I think you're cute too.”
“But as cute as you are,” he said, tracing his lips lightly on her skin
and then kissing her ear, “we have to quell the beast in your gut.”
She scoffed, laughing, and hit him in the shoulder.
“I don’t have a gut!”
He pulled her to the back of the room to another door.
“No laundry for the hungry girl,” he said. “Not even dirty sheets.”
“What? That’s not fair,” she pouted and Ryan led her through a door in the back of the room. The room beyond was dark, and he had to feel along the wall for a few seconds to find the light switch.
“Got it.” He flicked the switch, and a row of fluorescent lights flashed on, reflecting off the polished surfaces of counters and kitchen tools.
“I give you, hungry girl, the kitchen.”
“Ryan,” she laughed, but was still confused. “We can't be in here. You know that right? It's closed.”
“Oh come on, we're paying a lot of money for this hotel, and it's kind of a rip off to not have 24-hour room service. Come on, they won't miss anything. What'll it be?”
He opened one of the large refrigerators and pulled out a dozen eggs and some butter.