by Lewis Wolfe
“You need to start talking to me, then.”
Their eyes stayed locked and Caleb noticed a fear in Jane’s dark gaze that had previously remained hidden. Now, though, in the intimacy of their faces so close together, she allowed him to see it.
She told him, “It’s scary for me to tell you everything. You may want to leave because you won’t understand, or because I’ll scare you.”
“We came to an agreement. I am not leaving, but I do need to understand what’s going on.”
“I will scare you,” Jane said as she studied him. “You won’t understand at first.”
Caleb leaned back slightly against his big, soft pillow. Its comfort stood in stark contrast with the mood that built up in the room.
His life had been a collection of scary and uncomfortable things. Things he could barely understand and that went over his head, making choices for him he had no say in. What was a little more fear in the grand scheme of things? A little extra ignorance?
“I want to know anyway. Tell me everything you have to say.”
Caleb watched as Jane closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was clearly preparing herself for something that she dreaded doing. As if whatever came next had the potential to expand her reality in ways that were dangerous and forbidden.
She was going to have to let him in. Into her world. Into her past? Into her future? Caleb saw that it terrified her.
Courage was a burden reserved for those that were terrified and had something to lose. Caleb knew this was the cruel reality of true nobility. It wasn’t big money; it wasn’t jumping from an airplane or diving with sharks. Courage, true courage, came always from the smallest person in the room that stared down the biggest threat. Not because they wanted to, but because they had to. Because turning back, running, hiding, were things brave people just didn’t do.
Caleb had lost his courage in Iraq. It had abandoned him and he had never gotten it back. Not really. He could still fight and struggle, but his heart was gone. It had been stolen from him by the ginger bastard that haunted his dreams.
Jane still had her bravery. And when she placed her hand on his forehead to show Caleb things he never thought were possible, she gave some of it to him.
JANE ELRING – PART 2
1
(March 12, 2006)
Dr. Alexander Greer stood on the stage of his private lecture hall. Even though the room lay three levels underground, the lighting was excellent and fresh air came through the ducts. All in all, Dr. Greer felt, the guests to his laboratory would be comfortable.
It was important that they felt comfortable. Both with their surroundings and with him, because they decided how much funding he would be getting for the next five years.
Crucial years, he told himself. In reality all years had been crucial and only in the last ten had he actually made significant progress. Progress born from his many failures. He accepted those failures, was even proud of them, and when asked he would say that failure was an important step toward success. He really believed that, too.
He had much to show the people that were visiting him and his staff today. Things that would surprise them, might even scare them.
It was hard to imagine high-level government officials, generals, special agents, and presidential liaisons getting scared. He knew that those powerful men themselves would never expect it either, but they had never laid eyes on Specimen #8.
Dr. Greer checked his setup one last time. The projector; the white screen covering most of the wall behind him. His laptop, too, got one more look-through. Were all the files where he thought they were? How was his internet connection?
Lastly, he checked himself. Was he nervous? No, he wasn’t nervous. Excited, and very much aware of how important this presentation was. Not nervous, though. Dr. Greer knew that he had something that could change the course of his nation. That could protect them, if they just knew how to use it correctly.
The door opened and Maggie, his assistant, came walking through. She walked down the aisle and raised her hand to greet her superior.
“They’re here, doctor. Are you ready to receive them?”
“Of course, Maggie. Please show them inside.”
Maggie reached for the phone in her pocket and dialed a number. She put the phone to her ear and told the person on the other side of the line, “Dr. Greer is ready. Send them through.”
Then Maggie walked onstage and sat down behind the laptop. She would handle all the files that had to be opened so the doctor could focus on engaging his audience. Maggie, too, was astutely aware of what was at stake today.
Soon the small lecture hall filled up with twelve men. Some were in intimidating uniforms, their chests decorated with every award imaginable. Still others wore their usual business suits and, if you passed them on the street, you’d never give them a second look. Then there were those in casual clothes, as if somebody had kidnapped them during an early afternoon game of golf.
Dr. Greer welcomed them all warmly and watched as the men filled out the front row. He observed their stern faces that revealed absolutely no emotion. Still, he knew these weren’t strictly rational men. It would have been much easier if they had been rational men. No, their faces were so stern precisely because they tried so hard to hide the emotions hidden underneath.
When all were seated, Dr. Greer dimmed the lights with a small remote control he carried in his back pocket. Then he walked to the middle of the stage and began his presentation.
“Gentlemen. I will not insult you with senseless pleasantries and extensive greetings. I will, instead, dive right in so we may all maximize our time and energy. There is so much still to do, after all.
“As you are all aware, in the early 1960s government officials started documenting crimes and incidents that eluded all scientific or reasonable explanations. After extensive studies they concluded that the influence of psychic, or even supernatural, elements could no longer be excluded from government policies.
“We are, of course, all familiar with the Phillips incident in 1962, the Robinson crimes of 1971, and the events in Pittsburgh during the summer of 1995 that remain, as of yet, unexplained. There are many other cases that were far less prominent but have lent further credibility to the presence of the supernatural all the same.
“In 1975 we started a proactive approach toward these unexplained crimes and incidents. We reasoned that if supernatural elements could influence the safety of our nation, we should have a tool—or a weapon, if you will—to combat it.”
Dr. Greer turned sideways and gestured toward the white screen against the back of the wall. As he did so Maggie clicked on the first image file.
A collage of seven young girls showed up on the white screen. With each next child the quality of the small photograph got better.
“Based on the research of the late Dr. Roe, we started breeding our own psychics,” Dr. Greer said.
Maggie clicked on the next file and a big photograph with a crying baby showed up on the white screen. One researcher held it in the air as another injected the baby with an unidentifiable substance.
“Dr. Roe’s research suggested that early neurological growth was key to the development of psychic ability and so we injected all our specimens with several growth hormones that stimulated brain development at the earliest age. The child in this picture is two days old.
“Over the years, as we moved from subject to subject, the cocktail we used became more refined and far more potent, of course.”
Maggie clicked on the next picture and another collage appeared. The seven girls of the first file were lying in hospital beds. Some had their eyes closed; others were still aware of their surroundings. All of them looked deadly pale, however, and their bodies had been deformed, with large lumps growing from their necks and shoulders.
“Sadly, we learned that the ordinary human body is not capable of handling the potency of the cocktail we used. All the specimens developed amazing psychic abilities, but all of them a
lso died from a cancer that we weren’t able to treat. They usually lasted no longer than two or three years.”
Maggie found the next file and clicked on it. Quickly the dying children were replaced by the image of a white laboratory room. It was filled with machinery so specialized that none of the visitors had any clue what they were looking at.
“In 1995 we had a breakthrough. We began to understand what kind of genetic makeup would be suitable to host the cocktail we’d injected the previous specimens with. The problem we faced was that no such makeup could be created from only two parents.
“And so we collected DNA from various leading scientists and world-renowned artists under the pretense of a different study. We told them that we were looking for genetic markers that could predict academic or creative talent.
“We started mixing up these DNA strands until we found the right combination. In the end it took as many as eight separate DNA samples to create the one specimen that we predicted could survive the cocktail.”
Maggie clicked on the next file and the image of a young girl appeared on-screen. Her eyes were dark and stood in strong contrast with the blonde hair on her head.
“This is Specimen #8. We created her right here, in this laboratory, and she is currently ten years old and very healthy.
“Specimen #8 has amazing psychic abilities, which we will demonstrate to you later during our presentation. She can both read minds and, very recently, has developed the ability to control them for very short amounts of time.
“Currently her intelligence can no longer be measured by any tool in existence but, of course, we can’t be sure if she’s truly so smart, or if she simply reads the mind of the person testing her to find the correct answers. We do know that we have educated her from the earliest age and that she currently possesses college-level knowledge on all subjects taught, including math, Latin, Greek, history, physics, biology, and chemistry. Recently she has expressed an interest in learning about philosophy.”
Maggie clicked on a video file and paused it immediately, making sure it wouldn’t run before Dr. Greer was ready.
“But of course, you gentlemen are interested primarily in her psychic abilities. Please run the video, Maggie,” he instructed.
The video showed a split screen. On the left was a blindfolded woman walking through what appeared to be a maze. On the right sat Specimen #8, tracing a map with her index finger.
“In this video Specimen #8 is helping one of our blindfolded staff members through a maze we designed. She had previously done the same with mice and even a dog, but this was the first human trial we recorded. She was separated from the maze by five rooms.”
The video played on, showing how the blindfolded woman effortlessly traversed the maze, safely stopping for every wall and turning at exactly the right angles to proceed left or right.
Dr. Greer watched his audience watching the video. He could see that, behind the darkness of their stoic eyes, there grew an excitement that would soon become hard to contain. And they hadn’t even met her in person yet.
After the video ended Maggie closed the laptop. With a deep breath she allowed herself to lean back into her chair.
Dr. Greer took the remote control out of his back pocket and turned the light back on. He smiled as he looked at the group of men briefly talking amongst themselves. The presentation had gone very well so far, but he wasn’t done.
“Gentlemen. Gentlemen. A few more moments of your attention, please,” he said.
The men stopped talking and looked up at the doctor still standing in the middle of what was very much his stage.
“You have seen photographs and a video. But, of course, we can do better than that. Would you like to meet Specimen #8? You may ask her questions and even test her abilities if you so desire.”
The men hesitated for a moment, caught between their fascination and their fear of meeting a girl that might see into their heads. There were, after all, a great many things in there that didn’t belong to any other person.
In the end, however, they all agreed. They wanted to see Specimen #8 for themselves.
Maggie reached for the phone in her pocket and dialed the same number she had called before. She put the phone to her ear and said, “Please bring in Specimen #8.”
Several minutes passed before the door to the lecture hall opened. Soon a young girl came stepping inside, accompanied by the woman that had been in the video with her. Hand in hand they walked toward the front of the lecture hall.
“Please come on stage, guys, we’ve been waiting for you,” Dr. Greer said.
Hesitantly the young girl followed her escort up the small stairs and walked to the middle of the stage. There she stood as the tiniest person inside the large room.
Dr. Greer put his hand on her shoulder and, when she looked up, gazed briefly into her frightened eyes. He found himself incapable of caring about her feelings. She was a specimen, a tool that he had developed, a weapon that he someday hoped to employ. Her feelings, for so far that he even acknowledged them, were not relevant. A thing, not a person. That was how he separated himself from whatever plight those dark eyes might suggest.
“These men here are very interested in the things that we’ve been working on together. We were hoping that you could give us a demonstration.”
The young girl looked at the twelve men watching her eagerly. Their fears and worries frightened her further, and their excitement confused her.
Dr. Greer said, “What we would really like is for you to show us that you can read minds. Shall we try it?”
The girl said nothing. Her dark eyes remained fixed on the men that sat slightly below her, yet seemed so much higher than she would ever be.
“I will ask these men to ask a question inside their heads, and you will answer one for us,” Dr. Greer said. Then he instructed his visitors, “Please hold a question in your mind that you do not mind sharing the answer to. She will pick one out and answer it.”
A few moments passed as the men looked uncomfortably around the lecture hall. Whatever this was, whatever they had started, there was no getting out of it now.
Then the girl said, seemingly out of nowhere, “Green.”
Dr. Greer asked, “Who did the question belong to?”
The girl pointed at one of the generals sitting slightly to the left of the stage.
Dr. Greer smiled. “Would you please be so kind as to share your question with us?”
The general cleared his throat, his muscles just a little more tense than he would have liked them to be. “I, um… I asked what color my wife’s eyes are.”
Dr. Greer nodded, then asked, “And are they indeed green?”
Again the general cleared his throat. His lips had never been this dry, either. “Yes. Yes, her eyes are green.”
Dr. Greer allowed the men a short moment as they burst into gasps of awe and bombarded the general with their questions. Did he feel anything? Had she said anything to him in his head?
Then the doctor clapped his hands and resumed control over the situation.
“Gentlemen! Gentlemen! You can all have a go if you’d like.”
He looked down at the girl that stood silently and knew then and there that his funding for the next five years was more than secure.
“She can do this all day, gentlemen. So let’s have at it!”
2
(August 2, 2014)
Dr. Greer rode the elevator all the way to the bottom, burying himself beneath five floors of his laboratory. The sensation was always a little claustrophobic, but it had gotten better as he matured into his work at the laboratory. His laboratory.
He was the one that had made the research so successful. He who secured grant, after grant, after grant. Pulling all the right political strings was almost as difficult as the science needed to justify it. Assistants came and went; they usually never lasted long around Specimen #8, but he had always held the line.
Dr. Greer was proud. Proud of what he had accompli
shed and proud of what was going to happen very soon. What he had forced to happen, because he knew it was the only way forward even if others disagreed.
The others were afraid. They feared Specimen #8. Not Dr. Greer. This was his laboratory. This was his world, and Specimen #8 was allowed to live in it only as long as she adhered to his rules. It didn’t matter how powerful she had gotten, Dr. Greer believed. He would control her.
The elevator stopped and its metallic doors slid open for the doctor. A long hallway stretched out in front of him, tainted by the blue haze of artificial lighting. The scent that lingered was as clinical as the hallway’s white tiles and walls, as if anything that was allowed to live there did so only under a pervasive scrutiny.
Dr. Greer stepped out of the elevator and made his way through the hallway. His destination was the very last door to the right. The door to her room. The one room where Dr. Greer sometimes did not feel in control. Where maybe, some of the time, he lived in her world instead of the other way around.
He stopped at the door and, without knocking, walked inside.
The room was well lit and the walls were painted a soft yellow. From it came a warmth that, though nuanced, struggled almost violently with the clinical feel of the hallway. A small bed stood in the corner; on it a pile of books lay scattered around. All the walls were decorated with big bookcases, allowing the inhabitant of this small room at least a window to imagine what the rest of the world looked like.
She sat in the middle of the room, at a small black table, on a hard plastic chair. Her head was raised up slightly from the book she was reading, and her dark eyes made contact with the doctor that had just entered her room.
Dr. Greer studied her the same way he would look at a mouse or a chimpanzee. Every detail of her body, her face, and her posture had meaning to him. That small body and young face. The girl was eighteen now but her body had stopped growing when she was fifteen. She had not developed the curves other women her age did and her face had retained a childlike quality. Dr. Greer wasn’t entirely sure, but she was probably unable to have children. These were among the many side effects of the hormone cocktails they had given her.