Rememberers

by C. Edward Baldwin

  This was the fourth time this week that the Josh Levy kid had been to the Bengate Police Department and God only knew why. Noll's response was not going to change. Kallie Hunt was not missing. She hadn't been kidnapped. Her name had been included on the government's detainee list, which it sent to all law enforcement agencies who'd taken the time to sign up to receive it. He'd told this to the Levy kid the previous three times he'd been here. Neil had used the same robotic voice he used to tell deadbeats that their cars hadn't actually been stolen; they'd been repossessed. Huge difference. Most of them would feign ignorance anyway, knowing full well that they'd missed payments.

  The department usually received the list of pending repos across the telefax about a week out from month's end. Most times, the owner was about three or four months in arrears, unless of course he'd been financed with a previous repo showing on his credit report. In which case, his vehicle was subject for takeover if expected payment was no more than a minute short of timely arrival. Most financial institutions sent their repo info to the police department for fear of a conscientious law enforcement officer stopping the repo man from reclaiming its property from the breaker of the financial promise, thinking it was being stolen. The government shared their detainee list for generally the same reason. No need for local police to waste valuable man hours searching for a kidnapped victim or missing person who wasn't really kidnapped or missing.

  “They can't hold her forever without charging her with something,” the kid said smugly. “She's got rights. You've got to do something.”

  “And what do you 'pose I do, son?” Noll asked. It was a pat response, as well. There was nothing he could do. And even if there was, Noll wasn't sure how eager he'd be to do it. The Hunt girl was probably one of them Jane Fonda liberal types and had likely gone and gotten herself labeled an 'enemy combatant,' which was the government's polite way of saying we got you by the balls now, or in the girl's case—the bra straps, you traitorous son or daughter of a bitch. And if that was the case, the government could hold the girl until pigs flew or hell froze over. And either length of time would be just fine by Noll.

  “Can you at least tell me where she's being held?”

  Noll's answer was short and clipped. “No.”

  The kid sighed heavily. “If you're not going to help, then I'll take this to the media. Kallie's a citizen. They can't get away with this.”

  See, now that was exactly what Noll had meant. The boy didn't have commonsense. All the book smarts in the world didn't mean a hill of beans if they didn't have commonsense. By damn, it was just essential for everyday living. “Now look, son. You can go and do that. Go on and call that troubleshooting reporter, Debbie Riddie or Riddle, or something or other…”

  “Riddell,” the kid corrected him.

  “Yeah, that's her, Debbie Riddell. You can call her, and then what? The government is still not going to release your friend until they're damn good and ready. Because from what I understand, the 2001 Authorization for Use of Military Force, AUMF, Public Law One-oh-seven-forty, not only gave the president the right to go kick Iraq's ass, it also gave him the ability to hold any traitorous citizen-terrorist for as long as he damn well pleased. So call old Debbie Riddell if you don't mind wasting your time. But know this. Right now, no one but you and the government knows your friend is in custody under terroristic suspicions. If those suspicions prove wrong, then your friend is released and sent home. She's out what, a few days, a couple of weeks, maybe even a month or so. And maybe she has a little mental wear and tear for her troubles, but eventually she'll be just fine. Eventually, she'll return to normalcy. No harm, no foul. But if you go blabbing to the media, then everyone will know about that suspicion of terrorism. And even if the government decides that they'd been wrong and send her home, the taint of terroristic suspicion will hang over her like a dark fog. It may even hang over you. And some people, regardless of what the government may say later, will still believe your friend's a traitor and a terrorist. Because why else would the government have held her so long?” Noll leaned back in his chair mighty pleased with himself. It was always good to show one of the egghead-types what a good batch of commonsense looked like. He could tell the kid felt a little defeated, but he was probably nonetheless thinking awfully hard on what Noll had just told him. He'd slumped back in the metal-back, his chin nearly resting on his chest.

  “Okay,” he finally said. “Maybe you're right.”

  “Of course, I am,” Noll said, confidently. “My advice to you is to go on home and let the wheels of justice roll a bit. In the end, everything will work out the way it's s'posed to.”

  * * *

  After leaving the office, Josh drove forty minutes down Hwy 74, heading toward Maxton. He was going to Madame Isabel's house although, as far as he knew, she was still missing and likely dead. But if ever he needed a psychic or fortuneteller, it was now. Where had they taken Kallie? Not that he had a plan to free her even if he did know where she was. Still, if he just knew where they were stashing her, then just maybe….

  It was a foolish idea, he finally told himself. Psychic abilities weren't likely to have transferred from wife to husband. And there was little chance her husband would turn over Madame Isabel's Book of Origins, if it in fact existed, to a complete stranger. He drove ahead a couple of miles before U-turning at an opening in the highway and heading back to Bengate.

  He arrived back at his apartment at five minutes after six. It seemed to be a hopeless situation. He hated to admit it, but officer Noll had been right. He couldn't contact the media. Kallie wasn't a terrorist and eventually the government would arrive at that same conclusion. And when they did, Kallie had every right to live her life as normally as possible and not under the taint of terroristic suspicion. But to be fair, living normally might not exactly be in Kallie's cards. There was something unique about her, something even beyond her remembering ability. He could sense it.

  He powered up his computer and briefly considered going into one of the occult chat rooms. But he decided against it. There was still something he didn't know about Kallie and eternal return, but he knew that he'd gleaned all he could from the chat rooms and the internet. He stared blankly at the screen for a few moments before powering the computer back down.

  He walked over to the loveseat, plopping himself down on it, his feet dangling off one end. It was not the most comfortable position, but he was tired and not thinking clearly. He only needed to catch a couple of z's and then he'd be able to tackle this thing with a full head of steam. There was a way to help Kallie. He just hadn't figured it out yet.

  He'd just about drifted off when he heard someone knocking at his door. Reluctantly, he pulled himself away from sleep's edge and walked groggily over to the door. He leaned against it without bothering to look through the peephole. “Yeah?”

  “It's Cedric.”

  Josh opened the door to find both Cedric and Veronica standing there. Rubbing his eyes with both fists, he nodded them inside.

  “Dude, you look like you haven't slept in weeks,” Cedric said.

  “I feel like it, too,” Josh said. He sat down at the kitchen-nook table, indicating for them to do likewise on the loveseat. “I won't be able to sleep until I find out where Kallie is. Bengate Police will only say that she's in the government's custody. But they won't tell me where.”

  “I know where she is,” Veronica offered.

  Josh's eyes widened as he looked at her, and then to Cedric who was nodding his head, confirming. “How do you know?”

  “My uncle,” Veronica said, dropping her head.

  “Yeah, apparently Kallie had left Maggie a note saying that she was off to take part in an onsite memory project and if there were any questions she could call Veronica, which Maggie did the next day. Veronica confirmed the project and told her that it would only last a couple of days, but after Kallie hadn't come back after a week, Maggie got worried.”

  “Why wasn't I told about this?”

  “I
haven't seen you,” Cedric said. “Our next group session isn't until next week. Maggie didn't find out you'd stopped by the house asking about Kallie until late last week. Her housemate's message had only said that Kallie's boyfriend had stopped by. Maggie assumed she was referring to Seth. Anyway, when Veronica didn't return any of her calls, she asked me what I knew about the memory project. Of course, I didn't know anything about it. So I went over to Veronica's apartment to find out.”

  But Josh had been looking at Veronica when he'd asked the question. Veronica stared intently at the floor beneath her feet. Finally, she looked up and met his eyes. “Look, I'm sorry, okay? My uncle told me he needed to ask her about the UCB Center bombing. He told me Kallie had information about it. That she was somehow involved. He showed me pictures. I thought she'd only be gone a couple of days.”

  “They can hold her indefinitely,” Josh said, his nostrils flaring. “She can't call anybody. Her grandmother has probably worried herself to death.”

  “I'm sorry,” Veronica said. Her eyes started to tear.

  Josh waved a dismissive hand. “Never mind that now. Where is she?”

  Veronica sniffled and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hands. “Fort Bragg.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  At 8:50 the next morning, Josh stood outside the late Professor Sampson's history class. The class was temporarily being taught by Liz Suggs, one of Josh's former classmates. Josh hadn't seen her much since they'd both finished undergrad. He'd heard that she'd decided to go to law school, but had delayed it in order to work, hoping to save enough to take a huge bite off the tuition.

  Seth was the next to last student to leave the room. Josh stepped away from the room's entrance, not wanting to draw Liz's attention. He knew she probably had another class to teach on the heels of this one and most likely wouldn't have time to chitchat, but he didn't want to take the chance. He'd love to catch up with her, but he wanted to hit the road as soon as possible. If he'd known where Seth lived or had had his number, they could have left for Fort Bragg either late last night or first thing this morning. But all he'd known was that Seth was in Kallie's MWF 8 o'clock class. He'd meant to get here before the class had started, but he'd overslept.

  Seth, looking surprised when he saw Josh standing near the steps, mumbled a “Hello” and started to walk past him.

  “Wait,” Josh said. “Do you feel like a road trip?”

  At a quarter to ten, they left Seth's apartment and hit highway 74, blowing past the Bengate Police Department's white-stone four room building just as a collared priest walked inside it. They'd decided to take Josh's Taurus. Seth's Mustang was newer and faster, but offered little in the way of a backseat. Although they had no idea how they would accomplish it, they had no intentions of coming back to Bengate without Kallie.

  Josh had packed several days' worth of clothes and encouraged Seth to do the same. While Seth packed, Josh told him all he knew about Kallie's current situation. He included his conversations with officer Noll, stressing the officer's warnings about involving the media, and ending with what Veronica and Cedric had told him last night. Josh and Seth agreed that Kallie's grandmother should be told what was going on. Seth had met the grandmother once before and knew how to get to her house, which was the main reason Josh had wanted Seth to ride with him in the first place. That, and the fact that he believed Kallie and Seth had broken up prematurely. He remembered how Kallie looked whenever she talked about Seth. Her face lit up. She'd been really into him. And now, despite Seth's attempts at nonchalance, Josh could see the same thing in Seth. He missed her. Josh suspected that part of the couple's problems may have had something to do with Kallie's remembering ability and Seth not knowing anything about it. If that was the case, he hoped that they could work through it. Regardless, he wasn't going to mention anything about Kallie's ability to Seth, as he didn't believe it was his place to do so.

  They rode in silence for a while, lost in their individual thoughts. When they were about an hour outside Lumberton, Seth spoke, “Do you think she'll want to see me?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Josh said. He wanted to add more, but decided not to. Even that short statement was pure speculation. He hadn't spoken with Kallie to confirm it, but he genuinely believed it. And when he looked over at Seth who'd gotten quiet again, he saw a young man who genuinely wanted to believe it.

  The highway sign stating that Maxton was only twelve miles away came up before Josh was ready for it. He knew they'd reach the town before Lumberton and that he would go to Madame Isabel's house once they did. He just hadn't figured out how he would explain the little deviation in plans to Seth without adding something about Kallie's remembering ability.

  “What gives?” Seth asked after Josh turned off the main highway.

  “Just got a quick stop to make,” Josh said, kicking the proverbial can five minutes down the road.

  The husband's old Chevy truck was parked desolately in the driveway. Josh parked the Taurus alongside the road in front of the house. Even from here, he could feel the sadness hanging over the house. He opened the car door to get out.

  “Who lives here?” Seth asked.

  Josh ignored the question. “Wait here.”

  It took ten minutes for Madame Isabel's husband to come to the door. Josh had started to leave despite the presence of the truck in the driveway and the sound of movement coming from inside the house. Maybe the old man didn't want to be bothered. But at that moment, the front door creaked open.

  The man looked curiously at Josh for a long moment before an expression of recognition creased his face and he smiled faintly. As the man continued looking at Josh, it was only then that Josh realized that he didn't know Madame Isabel's husband's name. Josh and the husband were never formally introduced, having met under unusual circumstances. Her real name was Bella Mae Raiden. But Josh didn't know if Raiden was a maiden or married name.

  “Hello, sir,” Josh said. “I don't know if you remember me.” The man looked much older now than he had before. Evidently he'd worried himself sick about his wife's disappearance. Even with his light smile, Josh could tell there'd been no good news concerning her whereabouts.

  “I do remember you,” the husband finally said. “She said you'd be back. And you are.”

  “Who said I'd be back?” Josh asked with rising excitement. Without thinking, he tried looking past the husband into the house. “Is Madame Isabel here?”

  The husband stepped outside onto the front porch, looking past Josh and toward the Taurus. “But she said there'd be two of you. Where's the other one?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  “Dang if that preacher ain't called you right,” Noll said. He leaned back in his chair, regarding Farther McCarthy from head to toe.

  “What do you mean?” McCarthy asked.

  “He'd said you'd come around here. A Catholic priest, wearing the clerical collar.” He lightly brushed the back of his hand across his neck as he said this. “And by George, here you are in the flesh.”

  “When did he tell you this?”

  “The other week shortly after it happened. He didn't seem too agitated about it all though. Took it all in stride. Me, I felt the devil himself at work in the place. The church, I mean. The things those kids did….”

  “Kids?” McCarthy said.

  “Sure it was kids,” Noll said, his face contorting for emphasis. “Couldn't have been anyone but kids. Yeah, I know their parents would say that their young'uns weren't as bad as it appeared. Will say that maybe they'd been a little bored and had gotten a little carried away. But to me, if you go pissing on the Holy Book, then you're as bad as it appears, and worse!”

  “Do you know who vandalized the church?”

  “No sir, I hadn't got the slightest clue. But we've got other churches here in Bengate. And believe me, sure as I'm living and breathing, those little hell rats are going to do it again. The devil's in their blood, you see. They won't be able to help themselves. And when they do, you can
best believe I'm going to nail their hides to the wall. Now that's a campaign promise you can make book on.”

  McCarthy simply nodded his head. “Did Reverend Swag tell you where he was going?”

  “Nope, he didn't and I didn't rightly ask. But he'll be back soon.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “One reason is that he told me that he would be. And secondly,” Noll said, as he reached under his desk, pulling out a set of keys. He handed the keys to McCarthy. “He's expecting to meet with you. He said there's something he wants you to see in his chambers. He said it's on the computer. I guess it was a small miracle those hellacious devils didn't go trashing about in there.”

  McCarthy took the keys, looking at them suspiciously as he turned them over slowly in his hand.

  “That big one opens the side door to the church,” Noll said. “The others are to his chambers and what not. He said you'd be able to figure it out. I expect you'll be safe over there. The ones that did all that damage won't likely make a return trip over there anytime soon. The place is still a mess.”

  The church smelled awful. McCarthy was reminded of the time a few years back when one of his parishioners, a twenty-six year old husband and father, had lost both his wife and three year old son in a deadly vehicle crash. The family's Dodge Caravan was a mangled total loss. The insurance company, worried about storage fees and its own bottom line, had requested that the husband get over to the salvage yard ASAP to remove any personal effects from the vehicle so they could move the salvage to their own storage facility. Devastated by the loss and without family and friends in the area, the young man had asked McCarthy to accompany him to the tow yard. The young man hadn't known how much seeing the family vehicle in its current condition would affect him. There were only a few things left in the van, all of which were of sentimental value only, some pictures, CDs, and a few of the son's toys. Included amongst the items was a small sippy cup of milk that had spoiled. As soon as the young man opened the van door, the rancid odor of spoiled milk mixed with the scent of the young wife's dried blood on the dash panel had rushed out to McCarthy, who'd been standing a few feet back. How the young man had withstood the odorous onslaught, McCarthy would never know. But he himself had doubled over and vomited.