“Are you playing with girls again,” his father teased. “Are you growing up to be a little girly boy? Can’t you play with boys your age? Talk to me, girly boy!”
But he couldn’t. When his father got this way, he couldn’t say a thing. His throat contracted and water blurred his vision.
“Oh, now you’re gonna cry? You’re a homo, aren’t you?”
He ducked to avoid another slap to the face.
“Git out of my sight, you gay. I can’t stand a gay.”
Thankfully, his dream faded as another came to the front.
Something was whining, no squealing. He didn’t realize what it was until he could see. The vision became clear and he saw a puppy in a small dog crate. The puppy shook like it was cold. The boy held the cage over a small pond of water. In an instant, he pushed it completely under water and watched as the puppy struggled to get out. He pulled the crate out of the water and the puppy blew water from his noise and began barking and yapping loudly. He laughed and dunked the crate again.
This time the puppy was coughing and sneezing when he pulled the crate from the murky water. He laughed again at how helpless the little dog was. He felt good—powerful.
He pushed the crate down again.
Scott opened his eyes, wide awake. He lay in a small bed in a little bedroom. The pillow was soaked in sweat. A chest of drawers stood in the corner. He saw a small window high up on one wall. Climbing on the bed, he looked through the window. A wooden privacy fence blocked most of his view. Beyond the fence, another house and then another and another spread out into the distance.
Two doors exited the room. One was open. It led to a bathroom. The other was closed. He tried to open it, but it was locked. Someone had turned the locking mechanism around so the lock could be activated outside the bedroom.
The visions Scott had read had unnerved him. As in all of the visions, Scott felt he was doing them, living them as he read them. Yet, these were so perverse it made him sick to think he may have experienced them.
He pounded on the door. It opened, almost instantly. A short, squat young man with thick buck teeth, thick glasses, and a stringy goatee came inside and said, “Sit on the bed.” The size of his teeth gave his words a light lisp.
Scott did as he was told, realizing the visions he just had were from the guy standing in the doorway.
“Are you feeling all right?” Bucky asked. “The medication you received is…”
Scott interrupted. “Where’s Blackwell?”
“He’s making arrangements.”
“Where am I?”
“Can’t tell you,” Bucky answered.
“Who are you?” He could call him “Bucky” but he thought that might not be a good idea.
“Yeah, you’re feeling fine. And Dr. Blackwell’s right. You ask too many questions.”
“So what’s your name?” Scott asked.
Bucky paused for a moment and ran stubby fingers through his goatee hair. “Kyle,” he said. “Call me Kyle.”
“When will Blackwell get back?”
“Soon.” Kyle snickered and closed the bedroom door behind him.
***
“Hello, Scott. Did you have a nice nap?” Blackwell said when he marched into the bedroom about an hour later. Creepy Kyle followed him and stood guard by the door. “Kyle told me you were awake. Wonderful.”
Scott sat up on the bed. The little bedroom was beginning to remind him of the jail cell he had been in after he read Jeff Gray.
“Here’s the deal,” Blackwell said, pacing back and forth before Scott. His pacing, impeded by his injury at the cross-walk, was awkward and slow. “You will have the ability to use this room, your bathroom, the living room outside this door, on occasion, and the kitchen. The other rooms of the house are out of bounds. You cannot leave this house unless I take you outside. Is that clear?”
“I know how it goes,” Scott said. “If I try to escape, you’ll kill my dog.”
“Oh, no,” Blackwell said. “Kyle, here, has your address. He will kill your dog.” Kyle grinned from the doorway, looking like an evil Bugs Bunny.
Scott had a quick mental snapshot of the boy killing the puppy. He didn’t want this wacko anywhere near another living creature.
“Then he will kill your wife,” Blackwell added.
Scott felt his fists squeeze tightly by his side.
“Come into the living room where we can talk comfortably,” Blackwell said.
Scott followed the odd pair through the doors. The living room was furnished in Early American Goodwill, apparently several years and several tenants ago. Dingy curtains clung to the sides of a big picture window. Blinds prevented them from seeing anything beyond the house.
A recliner sat across from the sofa. A small TV occupied a corner of the room, tethered to a video game console. The walls were bare. The kitchen was much smaller than the small one in Scott’s house. A microwave oven sat next to a toaster oven on the counter. An aging refrigerator groaned beside an oven splattered with grease stains. Otherwise, the kitchen was empty.
“Tonight, we have access to an MRI lab at a nearby university,” Blackwell explained. “All three of us will go there and we will get some complete scans of your brain. We’ll also have blood drawn. Finally, I hope to have time for some basic X-rays of your skull,” he said, almost sounding giddy.
Scott didn’t like the thought that Blackwell might poke around in his brain and he shivered to think Kyle might be helping him, but realized if they were preoccupied with him, they couldn’t bother Grace.
“You will be blindfolded whenever you leave the house with us. The less you know about where you are, the safer we all are, don’t you agree?”
Scott wasn’t sure if he did.
“After all of our tests are over, we won’t bother you again. You will be able to go about your life as if you never met me,” he added. “It’s going to be a long night, so you may want to take advantage of the remaining hours this afternoon to get some sleep,” Blackwell said.
Scott returned to the room. He heard Blackwell lock the door from the outside. Someone, probably Kyle, flipped on the television in the other room. Within a moment loud explosions, gunfire and recorded voices alerted Scott that Kyle must be playing some first-shooter video game.
He let the noise fade away and allowed himself to rest. He couldn’t sleep. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to sleep again.
***
Several hours later, Scott was blindfolded and hooded and walked to the car. After about an hour, the car came to a stop and he was dragged inside a building. Once inside, the covering was removed and he squinted at the bright overhead lights. As soon as his eyes had adjusted, he searched for information—anything; documentation, logos, t-shirts—to reveal the name or location of the lab they were in. He assumed they were in a university.
A wooden door to one side opened and a bald man with a large cranium that looked out of proportion to his thin body entered the room. He smiled a hideous, toothy grin and welcomed Blackwell to the facility. Neither man offered to shake hands, but the skinny man leaned in to talk quietly with Blackwell.
“This is Dr. Gartside,” Blackwell announced, “a noted neurosurgeon here at this university. He will be helping us with our work.”
“Dr. Grimm,” Scott mumbled.
The weird old man keyed a number into a keypad beside a metal door and the four men slipped inside. Fluorescent lights switched and flickered on overhead, illuminating the sanitary room. Scott changed into a hospital gown and sat in an armless chair where Blackwell extracted some blood. Dr. Gartside gathered several pieces of equipment from various cabinets and drawers and placed them on a stainless steel cart. Kyle stood in one corner and watched.
“Dr. Gartside will run some tests on the blood while we proceed with our examination,” Blackwell said. “I’d rather not have to rent this room more often than I need to. It’s quite expensive.” Dr. Gartside looked up with the same creepy grin. Blackwell must h
ave provided a sizable bribe for the use of this facility.
“Tonight, I’d like to get some baseline images of your brain activity. We will start with a Magnetoencephalography examination.” He said the word in a tone of arrogance, as if only he and Dr. Gartside would understand. He was right. He led Scott into another sterile room that contained a strange, cream-colored device that looked somewhat like the tube on a park waterslide. It opened to an unusually long bed on rollers. Scott laid on the bed and Blackwell used a pen-shaped tool to stroke the area around his head, explaining this procedure provided a roadmap of his brain which the computer would use to guide the test. He gave Scott a pill of Alprazolam, and said, “In a moment I’m going to want you to read Kyle. This equipment will help me understand which portions of your brain work as you receive your readings.”
At that point, Scott realized that the doctor’s information about his trip with Grace was limited. He knew they were away, but apparently didn’t know that Scott had the ability to read people without medication. He tucked this information away in case he might need to use it later.
Blackwell added, “I will be behind the glass window in that room while we perform this test. It is important that you remain perfectly still so we can collect accurate data.”
Scott lay still, as instructed, while Kyle rolled his bed inside the tube. He thought of Grace and the agony she must be enduring, not knowing where he was or if he was safe.
“All right,” Blackwell’s voice boomed over the intercom. “We are ready to begin. Scott, I want you to relax and allow yourself to read my assistant, Kyle.”
He did as he was told. He had perceived the three individuals and started to move close to one when a searing pain burned between his ears. He screamed. He tried to sit up but the device covered the top part of his forehead and he couldn’t pull his head out. “Stop! Make it stop!”
Blackwell, followed by the bumbling Kyle, rushed into the room. Kyle pulled the bed back and Blackwell moved close to Scott’s head. In his haste, he had failed to replace his dark glasses, revealing the hideous orifice that once was an eye.
“What did you do?” Scott asked. “You had it up too high.”
“There is no ‘high’ setting on the device, you idiot,” Blackwell said. He moved around to the side of the bed and his eyes drew wide. “Get me the first-aid kit.” Kyle left the room and returned with a white plastic box containing the bright Red Cross logo. He also brought in Blackwell’s glasses
“What happened? What’s going on?” Scott asked.
Blackwell wiped some ooze from his cheek and slipped the glasses on. “You’ve had a little fissure open up. It’s nothing to be concerned about.” He dabbed an anesthetically treated pad of gauze to Scott’s neck just below his ears. “There, that’s better,” he said.
Dr. Gartside entered the room and inspected the tunnel at the base of the device. He used a white cloth to rub the headrest. Scott turned his head to see a crimson liquid on the cloth. “What the hell?” He placed his right hand to his ear lobe and pulled away bloody fingers. “What have you done to me?”
“Apparently, there was a reaction to the magnetic impulse produced by the MEG device. Obviously, whatever gives you the ability to read visions is ultra-sensitive to magnetic fields. We won’t be using devices like this anymore.”
“We won’t be using any devices anymore,” Scott said. “I’m out. My head feels like it was squeezed in an electric vise. Jesus! You tased my brain. I don’t want anything to do with this.”
“Now, calm down,” Blackwell said. “We’ll use less invasive techniques and take it slowly. If you have any pain, we’ll stop the procedure immediately.”
“Did you subject my twin brother to this study?”
Blackwell’s demeanor changed from apologetic to irritation. “Why, yes we did,” he answered matter-of-factly. “I had to find out if you had the same response. It was really a short burst.”
“You son of a bitch,” Scott fumed. “You knew what was going to happen and you still did it.”
“All in the name of science.”
“Science, my ass. You could have fried my brain.”
“I didn’t.”
The two men glared, waiting for the other to blink.
Blackwell broke the silence. “Let us continue with our research.”
“No deal,” Scott said. “I’m not going to do this shit.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Blackwell said, facing Scott. “Just give me a reason…”
“I know, you’ll have Kyle drive back to my house.”
“Yes, and he will wake your sleeping wife,” he threatened again.
Scott looked at Kyle.
He smiled a gruesome grin that made Scott dread him even more.
“We must be careful with these tests,” Dr. Gartside said, stroking the outside of the device. “This is extremely delicate equipment.”
Blackwell ignored the remark and instructed Kyle to help Scott off the bed. Scott followed him to the control room and eased down carefully into a comfortable chair.
“Go help Gartside clean the machine,” Blackwell barked at Kyle and the assistant went back into the room with some paper towels and cleaning spray.
Scott had just learned another piece of important information. It must be past midnight back home. Blackwell threatened that Kyle would ‘wake up’ Grace. Assuming she normally awoke at six or seven in the morning, Scott figured she was less than five hours away by car. It wasn’t much, but he would take any information he could get.
“Obviously the MEG scan did not work, so we will try a couple of other non-invasive experiments while we still have access to these facilities.” He started with an EEG test, which used sensing devices placed on Scott’s scalp. He had to scrape tiny areas in Scott’s skin to attach the conducting pads.
“Jesus,” Scott said, ducking his head. “You call this, ‘non-invasive’?”
The test lasted almost an hour, during which Scott was videotaped and asked several questions and, at times, shown a tiny, flashing light.
Scott was given other tests throughout the night using various machines, and began to wonder if the tests themselves might kill him. At any rate, he didn’t want to take any more. He’d been poked and probed and questioned ’til he hurt all over. His brain had been subjected to magnetic waves, light, electricity, radiation, and other sources he never knew existed. More than anything he wanted to go back to the house and rest. “Can we go now?” he insisted.
Blackwell nodded. They straightened the lab materials and prepared to leave. Dr. Gartside stayed behind to enter information into a computer.
Scott welcomed the blindfold. They were leaving.
***
The next morning, Scott entered the kitchen hoping to find breakfast—bagels, cereal, anything. Instead, laptop computers, reams of printed documents, and thick hardback books filled every empty space in the kitchen and dining room. Like a bottom feeder, Blackwell first scooped up this information from that source and then that information from another source. Kyle was busy doing assignments on demand, as Blackwell called them out. “Print that report,” “Look up this drug,” and, “Tell me where that source was?”
Scott got the feeling that was how Blackwell “earned” his doctorate in the first place—by focusing solely on the subject and farming out the grunt work to undergraduate students.
“Do we have any breakfast?” he asked no one in particular.
“Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” Kyle called from behind a laptop screen. “By the fridge.”
Scott slapped some smooth peanut butter onto the side of a white slice of bread and married it with another slice. He also found milk in the refrigerator and helped himself to a glass. Across the room the television silently played a broadcast of a regional news station. His photograph filled the screen and, “Missing” appeared above the picture. Beneath it, words announced a reward would be given to anyone with information about the whereabouts of Scott Moore.
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He had seen reports like this throughout his life. Some announced nefarious characters who had absconded with something valuable—money, paintings and worse, children. Others declared innocent individuals who had vanished as Ray Sawyer had in the mountains. Sometimes the missing people were never found. More often than not, they did manage to eventually turn up. As Scott hoped he would.
Blackwell noticed Scott was staring at the television. He snapped to Kyle, “Turn that damn thing off.” The screen went blank.
“What we have done,” Blackwell said, turning back to Scott. “We’ve analyzed your blood to determine what is in there besides, well, blood. Then we compared the parts of your brain that produce some of the chemicals and endorphins that exist in your blood to try to understand how your brain enables those psychic capabilities. We’ve also attempted to locate the source of your ability. It appears to be primarily in the cortex, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Then, we can reverse-engineer this, using some documents I found from Dr. Dekhtyar’s original works that will help confirm our notion to create our own psychic-producing formula.”
“Good. So when can I go home?”
“Mr. Moore. If all goes well, we will return you to your home within a few days.”
Scott didn’t put much stock in Blackwell’s estimates. He wondered if he would ever get home. Munching on his peanut butter sandwich, he recalled the vision he had had of he and Grace in the mountains, worried that it might be another false vision.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
That afternoon, Scott was confined to his room when someone knocked on the front door. Now he knew how Gumby must have felt, locked away from anything and everything that was happening just belong the door. He tried to listen to the conversation in the other room, but the voices were soft and muffled. Sitting on the bed, back to the wall, he allowed his mind to wander. His wife…his work…his dog…
2nd Sight: Capturing Insight Page 18