“The images were fairly accurate?”
“More than that,” he said. “They were spot on. The second image,” he paused and took a deep breath. “That was accurate, too.”
Scott sat forward to hear the thin man clearly. He spoke softly.
“My wife of fifteen years died about thirty years ago. She was all I had. We had no children. Cancer took her and most of my savings. I had to sell my store. I remember her funeral like it was yesterday,” he said with a slight tremor in his voice.
“Thank you, Mr. Watkins,” Dr. Blackwell said. “Mr. Kimball?”
The younger man sat up straight. “That was amazing,” he said. “The first three stories seem right-on accurate. I remember rescuing the little boy.” Then, as an after-thought, “How did you know I was a firefighter?” he asked Scott.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. Not before now,” Scott said.
“You told him, didn’t you?”
The doctor just shook his head.
“Wow. Like I said, I rescued that kid in one of my first fires. That was very realistic.”
Dr. Blackwell looked like he had just received the Nobel Prize.
“Last summer my wife and I, and yes, I met her in the bar you described, we went to the Grand Canyon. I’ve never been to a more beautiful place.”
Scott looked at Dr. Blackwell and half-expected him to jump up and high five him.
“But the other two—the church fire and the hospital or retirement home or whatever that place was, I’ve never been there. Those must have been from someone else.”
“Interesting,” Dr. Blackwell said. “Scott, perhaps you’re recalling another vision you had recently?”
Scott shook his head. “I don’t remember,” he said.
With that, Dr. Blackwell called the gathering to a close. Both men said they’d gladly bring others to have “readings” with Scott and suggested he might get rich if he wanted to charge.
After they left, Dr. Blackwell turned to Scott. They talked about the meeting and Scott’s successful ability to relive their experiences. Scott bounced on his toes as he walked out of Dr. Blackwell’s office. He had it. He really had it! Now, if he only knew what it was.
***
Scott found it impossible to hold it in. Grace was already home when he arrived. He floated into the kitchen where she prepared supper and hugged her from behind, dancing around the kitchen floor and nibbling on her neck. She turned around in his arms and welcomed him home with a deep kiss.
“It was incredible,” he said, pulling away. “Blackwell had two guys there I’ve never seen before and I saw visions from their past! I read them like a book! They were more clear than any of the dreams and hallucinations I’ve had in the past. This is a lot better than reality TV.”
“Reality TV is not that good, anyway,” Grace said.
“Yeah,” Scott answered. “Bad analogy. But it was like I was there. I lived those experiences.” He felt alive, as if he were just coming out of a coma.
“And they all were true?”
“Well, all but two. We didn’t have an explanation for that. But those guys were flabbergasted. One guy was a firefighter and I had visions of him fighting fires and taking a vacation and meeting his wife. I had never met him before and didn’t know what he did. The other guy once owned a hardware store and I saw his grand opening.”
“What kind of drugs did he give you?”
“Nothing. It was harmless. Something called Alprazolam.”
“Hmmm. We use it at times at the hospital, but usually in small doses,” Grace said. “You could probably get the same relaxing feeling after smoking a good joint.”
“Doc said it was a small dose. Don’t worry.” He stared into her deep brown eyes.
“I’m glad you had a good day,” Grace said. “I’m fixing tacos. Wanna help?”
“Tacos,” Scott said. “We should go out for steak and champagne. I feel great!”
“Seriously?”
“Let’s do it.”
Grace removed her apron and headed back to the bedroom to change clothes. Scott followed her, jabbering about his session with Dr. Blackwell.
“I’m still concerned about the meds.”
“Oh, it’s fine. Dr. Blackwell says it’s okay. We ought to take this on the road,” Scott said. “We could make millions!”
“Slow down there, Houdini,” Grace said. “One day at a time.” She slipped out of her jeans and sweatshirt and in a matter of moments wore a nice dress, heels, and pearl earrings. She splashed on some perfume and the scent filled the room.
Scott watched her as she brushed her hair in front of the mirror and decided to try his own experiment. As he watched, he tried to relax and let visions of Grace come into his mind. He waited. Nothing. He tried harder to relax his mind. Still nothing.
“What are you doing?” Grace asked as she stepped away from the dresser.
“I’m just relaxing.”
“Were you trying to read my visions?”
“Uh, no.”
“Listen buster,” she said walking over to where he sat on the bed. She stood between his spread legs and pulled him close to her. “If there’s anything you want to know about my past, my life, my experiences, all you have to do is ask. I’ll tell you. You don’t need to read me.”
He kissed her lips. “Got it.” He pulled her down on top of him and pressed his lips to hers, feeling like a teenager dating the prom queen.
“We should hurry or we’ll have to wait in line at the restaurant.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll wait in line. But I won’t wait for this.” He began to slide her skirt up so he could reach her.
“If this is one of the side effects of your medication, I suggest you take more,” Grace said as she raised her hips to allow him to tug her panties off.
When they walked through the kitchen to the back door, Grace noticed something was missing. “Gumby? Gumby?”
The boxer slinked around the corner on soft feet, looking as guilty as a kid in a candy shop when the owner was gone. His ears laid flat against his head which hung low. “Did you eat the hamburger?” Graced asked the guilt-stricken dog.
“What? A whole pound of burger?”
Gumby turned around and went back into self-imposed isolation in the living room.
They both chuckled as they headed out the backdoor.
***
It now all began to make sense. Past images, events, visions that had tortured Scott became clearer.
As it does when you’re in college, time had passed much too fast. Grading periods came and went and his parents seemed pleased with the scores. Grace came to visit the Moores for the Thanksgiving of Scott’s junior year and in the early spring he proposed.
They planned a summer wedding soon after he graduated. Grace, who had taken a job at a local hospital spent most of her time planning for the big event and Scott spent most of his time in her apartment. Julie would be the Maid of Honor and Scott’s geeky roommate would be the Best Man. Gowns and tuxedoes were chosen, a church was reserved, invitations were mailed and Scott and Grace awaited the approaching date.
One day while prepping for finals in his room, the hall payphone rang, snatching his attention away from his org. dev. textbook. Scott hustled through the door and stuck the black handle to his ear. A coed he barely knew shouted hysterically over the phone, mumbling something about Julie and Zombie Coffee. An icy chill slid down his back. He felt light-headed, as if he’d had a beer or two or three late at night.
He started running, again, out the door and across the quad toward the Zombie Coffee Shop. A battered, mangled wheelchair lay in the grass just beyond the crosswalk. Something dark and gooey covered the asphalt, staining the white crosswalk stripes. Students mingled with shoppers and shop owners to gape and stare.
Scott felt nausea creep inside his gut that threatened to explode from his throat. His hands began shaking. He knew inside what had happened. He somehow saw it in a dream or
a hallucination or some sort of strange phenomenon. A sense of emotional grief mingled with guilt covered him. He would never see his friend, Julie, again. He could have prevented this if he’d just warned her.
Then he saw Grace. She sat alone on a nearby bench. Books were splayed on the ground around her. She cradled her face in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably.
Scott knew he couldn’t worry about his own feelings since she was so immersed in her grief. He suppressed them to help her. Ignoring the cold stares of bystanders, he sat beside Grace and covered her in his arms. She shifted her position, lifting her face from her hands, and buried it in Scott’s shoulder. Her arms wrapped around his neck in a vice grip. Scott started to cry, couldn’t stop the rush of emotions, for his own loss, but also out of deep empathy for Grace.
They must have stayed like that for half an hour. People moved on. Someone sprayed down the blood stains in the street. Life kept going. At least, for them.
Scott stood up, gathered her books, and took Grace back to his dorm.
***
Dinner was at The Stone Tavern, an enchanted restaurant filled with soft lighting and fragrant smells of steaks cooking over charcoal flames.
“To an incredible future,” Scott said, raising his glass of wine. “I can see it today.”
Grace held her glass with a smile and tapped it to his. Then her smile changed.
“Scotty,” she began. “There’s something that has been bothering me.”
“What? This thing has such amazing potential…”
“Yes, but what if something goes wrong. What if there are side effects.”
“The tests are going great. There are no side effects.”
“Not yet. Scotty, I love you dearly, but I would die if something bad happened to you.”
“What could go wrong. Dr. Blackwell knows what he is doing. He’s a professional and…”
“What if he isn’t giving you Xanax, but something else? Maybe the medication causes hallucinations.”
Grace was playing nurse again—Nurse Nervous Nelly anxious and cautious.
“They’re not hallucinations. They’re actual visions…of peoples’ lives. We’ve shown that.”
“I don’t know. I need to be sure you are safe.”
“Okay,” Scott said. “If I could get a pill to you, could you have someone at the hospital test it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Dalman, one of the lab techs. He could probably do that.”
“Then, that’s the plan. I’ll pick a slow day and fool the doctor into thinking I took a tablet. Then, maybe fake a vision or two and complain of a migraine. You can take the medication to Dalman for testing.”
“I think we should go to the police,” Grace said. “Dr. Blackwell may be dangerous.”
“My visions certainly won’t hold up in court. Just a little longer. If the pill is fake we can take this case to the police.”
“Okay,” Grace said. “This whole thing frightens me.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Me, too.”
“I just don’t trust him.”
“Which brings up one more thing I’ve gotta do,” Scott said, rubbing his chin.
“I think you’re enjoying this so much you don’t want to let it go.”
Scott sat up straighter, surprised Grace would challenge him like that. “That’s not true. I have no reason to risk my life for this study.”
“Then what are you going to do, Scotty?”
“I’ve gotta get inside Dr. Blackwell’s head.”
***
A couple of days later, Scott got a break. Dr. Blackwell had just given him his pill for the morning. Scott fetched a cup of water from the water cooler and came back into the office sipping from the cup.
“What are we doing today?” Scott asked.
“I thought we might do some random readings,” the doctor said.
Scott feigned illness. “So you don’t have a formal test today? I’m fighting a bear of a headache.”
“Really? Let me take a look.” Blackwell took a small light and studied each of Scott’s pupils, one at a time. Then he slipped a digital thermometer into Scott’s mouth and jotted down the findings. “Doesn’t look like you have a cold.”
“Yeah. I just didn’t sleep well last night,” Scott said. “Grace had a movie on and it kept me awake.”
“Oh, which one?”
“One of those SAW films,” Scott lied and regretted not choosing a better movie title before the meeting.
“I wouldn’t think of Grace as a slasher fan.”
“She usually isn’t. She just stumbled onto this one and we couldn’t turn it off. It kinda freaked me out.”
“I can imagine,” the doctor said. “Have you taken the Alprazolam, yet?”
“Yeah,” Scott lied, again. He could feel the tiny pill in the palm of his hand. He worried that he might sweat and cause it to melt. “I just gulped it down.”
After a moment of thought, Dr. Blackwell said, “All right. You’d better wait here at least an hour, to let the effects wear off. I don’t want you driving right after taking a tablet.”
“Okay, Doc,” Scott said.
“You can relax on my sofa if you wish,” Blackwell said. He retrieved a jacket from a coat rack in one corner of the room. “Elizabeth,” he called to the receptionist. “I’m going to run downtown for a bit. I shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours.”
“Yes, sir,” she called back.
Scott laid back as instructed. He raised his head from the arm of the sofa to look about the room. When he was sure he was alone, he shoved his hand into the pocket of his jeans and let the pill slip out from his palm. Then he removed his hand and crossed his arms over his chest. He closed his eyes.
Daily doses of the medication had made him more tired than usual. He found he napped more than before, often in the early afternoons. Even though he had not taken the pill today, he did feel tired. He welcomed the coming rest.
He woke with a start a bit later. Looking at his watch, he saw two hours had passed. He shook off the sleep and rose from the couch, a bit wobbly. Grabbing his coat, he wished Elizabeth a good afternoon, bounded out the door, and headed for the hospital.
Grace met him outside the emergency entrance. She took the pill and then kissed him on the cheek and told him she’d let him know what she found out when she got home.
Four hours later, Grace walked in the door and announced, “Alprazolam, prescription quality. Twenty milligrams.”
“There was nothing unusual about the tablet?”
“Dalman said it contained traces of human sweat, but otherwise it was a prescription drug.”
“So, what’s that tell us?”
“Sounds like the visions are real and the drug is a catalyst, just as Blackwell said. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or scared,” Grace said.
“Both.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next week was filled with breakthroughs, each better than the other.
On Monday, before the test began, Dr. Blackwell explained that it was important that Scott touch each person he was about to read. “Physical contact, of some sort, is critical. It’s obviously not important to touch an individual through the entire event. A single touch will do.”
Three subjects came into the room and Scott chose a middle-aged housewife over a soccer mom and Dr. Blackwell’s temporary receptionist. He touched her elbow as if to guide her to her seat. She was an interesting read. He saw her wedding to a short man with an already-receding hairline and the weddings of her three daughters, each to men shorter than they. Scott had one false vision, as they had chosen to call them, with the woman. He saw her as a young woman at a book signing, autographing copies of a novel. It turned out she had never published anything.
“And did you see anything from the other women in the room?” Dr. Blackwell asked.
Scott shook his head.
“Well I, for one, feel cheated,” the soccer mom said, arms across her chest.
; On Wednesday, they had lunch at China Pearl, a popular and crowded restaurant down the road from the doctor’s office. Scott popped a pill, walked about the restaurant, bumping into several people as he had been instructed, and fifteen minutes later told tale after tale of one diner after the other. One man had received an Eagle Scout award. Another was arrested for embezzlement. A woman’s visions included a ménage à trois with another woman and a man. One woman vacationed with what appeared to be her family in Hawaii. Scott caught a street sign for Honolulu.
Dr. Blackwell admitted that they had no way of verifying any of those visions, but pointed out that it was important to be able to choose visions from a large selection of people.
Scott gave the doctor a sly look and then said, “Watch this.” He marched to the Boy Scout’s table. Squatting down, he asked, “Excuse me. You look very familiar. Have we met?” He reached out his hand and shook the man’s. “I’m Larry Sanger.”
“Hi, Larry,” the man said, shocked look on his face. “I don’t recognize you…”
“I know,” Scott interrupted. “Scout camp. I remember you from scout camp.”
“Camp Woodruff?” Confusion on his face morphed into curiosity.
“Yeah!”
“Well, I’ll be,” the former scout said.
“Did you ever make Eagle?” Scott asked.
“Sure did. You?”
“Nah,” Scott said. “I met girls my junior year of high school and dropped out.”
“Do you know where other guys at that camp are? Jake? Greg?”
Scott begged off, saying something about the Army and returned to their table. “How’s that for verifying a vision?”
“Impressive,” Dr. Blackwell said.
“Yeah,” Scott said, and slipped into silence. Something didn’t feel right. He felt lewd, like he was snooping through a man’s private photographs of his naked wife after a night of wild drinking. When he told Dr. Blackwell his feelings, the doctor just suggested that he enjoy the perks.
2nd Sight: Capturing Insight Page 7