Knowing (44 page)

Slipping the band-aid into her jacket pocket, she pulled the locked box toward her. Setting it on her lap, she faltered before sliding the key into the lock and turning it. Inside, was a large legal-sized brown envelope, secured with a wax seal. Breaking the seal, Jane slid out a stack of stapled documents. At first glance, most of the documents were scanned from computer files, but there were also a few handwritten pages, along with some typed passages. The top page was handwritten in ballpoint pen by Gabe and seemed to be a letter of intent. It was addressed to “To Whom It May Concern.”

“Please combine this documentation with the photographic evidence and any corroborating verification you have gathered, as methods most likely have advanced since I left this here. I trust you to deliver this package to the individual on the enclosed letter in a timely manner. This is the only copy available. Many thanks, Gabe.”

Jane re-read his note several times and each time, she felt a growing indignation take over. Here was a dead man trying to clean up his loose ends and needing Jane to complete that circle. She was nobody’s minon and, yet, curiosity took charge. She began reading. The whole thing sounded like science fiction, but, sadly, their plan was deadly and devastatingly serious. Gabriel had painstakingly gathered together covert files from Romulus’ databases as well as supporting evidence from various sources and outlined what could only be described as the most hedonistic attempt at usurping psychological control over the masses. And, like everything Romulus conceived, it came at the expense of someone else. The problem was that, in this case, that “someone else” was a child.

From what Jane was able to ascertain amidst the mix of scientific documentation and the observations that Gabriel established, Romulus had hired Werner Haas to investigate how to take the consciousness from a human organ and cleanly transfer it into another body. However, it was determined by Romulus that the “sanctity” of the donor and their specific organ must be “compliant with the proposed agenda and meaningful outcome of the experiment.” Jane knew that whatever words were chosen were done with purpose. The word “sanctity” seemed out of place. To her, that implied purity and even a sacred quality. But as the hours passed and she read every document, Jane agreed that “sanctity” was indeed a requirement.

It was given a title. “Project S.O.U.L.” [Sourcing Optimal Uncalcified Light]. For all intents and purposes, it was a mining expedition, with the “mining” taking place in the deepest caverns of the brain. And the treasure they were after was none other than the human pineal gland. Based upon compelling studies that were included in the packet, the “health” of one’s pineal gland determined one’s ability to see outside of himself and potentially perceive every secret in the universe. But after the age of six, as Jane learned from her previous research, this tiny endocrine gland became encrusted with calcium until it gradually grew inactive. But the next line on the page really got Jane’s attention.

“Imagine being able to see through the eye of a child?” the document read. Suddenly, the song on the Patsy Cline tape made twisted sense. However, instead of “eyes” as Patsy sang, this document specifically mentioned the single “eye.” And
this
“seeing” was about
perception
and awareness, rather than visually acuity. To “see through the eye of a child” was Romulus’ objective with their experiment. To accomplish it, they needed two things: “a young pineal gland from a pure subject and an application method that was painless and effective to administer the serum.” As Jane read further, she felt like she’d been sucked into the middle of a nightmarish scene. According to Haas’ typed notes, “the most advantageous environment to remove the child’s pineal gland is during periods of heightened trauma and terror, thereby allowing a massive flow of DMT to saturate the gland and
optimize
it.” Jane read the sentence again. “Optimize?” she said aloud. Jane immediately thought about the photographs of the children in the Congo village, with their clean, surgical cranial incisions. It was beyond anything she could have envisioned. But she was also reminded of a term Saul used when he talked about the way Romulus looked at the populace. “Commodities,” he told her. “We’re only as useful as what we can offer them.”

The fact that the macabre idea was even discussed, let alone put into action by locating a distant tribe and using them as part of the experiment, showed Jane that there were no limits to what “the company” would do. It seemed that Romulus truly was into “capturing the hearts and minds” of the populace to use for their own “vision” and benefit. And, she theorized, through that stolen insight, they hypothesized that through regular “doses,” they would enjoy immortality along with infinite power over the populace. But the further she read, the more she wondered about the second part: how the “imprint of the pineal,” as they called it, could be easily taken into their bodies and utilized. Turning the pages, she found a document titled, “The Serum.”

Scanning it, Jane realized that when Gabriel put together his investigation, the process used to take in this “insight” was still on the proverbial drawing board. But one paragraph caught Jane’s sharp eye. It discussed the possibility of an injection. However, because that involved a certain amount of discomfort, it was proposed that a less invasive method should be explored. The last line of the paragraph sent a chill up her spine. “Our goal is to make this therapy effortless. If it were possible to accomplish it from drinking a daily beverage that masked any peculiar flavors, this would be the preferred method of administration.”

“Holy shit,” Jane mumbled as she ruminated about the land grab in northeastern Colorado. There had to be a connection. Jane recalled the comment from the CEO of The Wöden Group at the news conference and how he thanked the “influential, forward thinking minds who helped make this happen.”
Forward thinking
, Jane thought to herself. The more she mulled over a nefarious association between The Wöden Group and Romulus, the faster the pieces began falling into place. And the biggest piece of all was the announcement of those three hundred “very special” four-legged guests from Scotland who would be grazing on their grassland.

While she couldn’t be certain, Jane began to formulate a theory. They wanted an “effortless” way to administer their dose and suggested that a “daily beverage” would be the preferred method. Jane stared into the darkness that circled the van. “Goat milk,” she said. It wasn’t that far fetched. She’d already seen how science had the capability to breed a “spider goat” by genetically altering a goat’s embryo with the DNA of the spider. When the goats lactated, they produced a spider milk protein that was converted into a silk fiber, stronger than Kevlar. Was it possible, she wondered, to somehow genetically alter a goat’s embryo with the fluid from the young pineal gland, create a mutated “pineal goat,” thus producing the ultimate delivery system for the most powerful milk on the planet?

But, like everything else they devised, the milk would only be reserved for them. It was strange, Jane thought. Here was a group bent on exploiting consciousness because they didn’t have the God-given abilities or the inclination to study and develop their own intuition. They wanted the quick fix—the one-step solution to enlightenment. And they were willing to hire as many brilliant people as it took to advance the process. But once their usefulness was drained, they were eliminated. She recalled
The Q
magazine’s page seventeen “ad,” dealing with the hit on Mitchell Cloud. Somehow, he must have secretly been part of their early process. When he died, the press referred to him as “the eccentric microbiologist who was obsessed with goats.” Such a dismissive, throwaway line that the public chewed and spit out, Jane mused. But if they’d known the depths of Cloud’s “obsession,” she didn’t think they’d trivialize his life’s work.

And Werner Haas? Yes, he had to die too. They couldn’t have a major player like Haas still sucking up the air when they launched the final stage of their experiment. Romulus could have sent anyone to kill him but they sent Gabriel. Perhaps, they truly did not understand how deeply Gabe was connected and wired into the unseen world. Maybe they never thought he’d go through Haas’ files or open the cabinets and gather data. Maybe, Jane wondered, because Romulus lacked what they coveted—a heart, a soul and clean, pure insight—they made a cardinal mistake and hired the one man who would attempt to bring them down.

Combing through the last pages, Jane found a cover letter addressed to Jim Baptíste at the
Denver Post.
It was dated three days before Gabe was killed. In it, Gabe reiterated their previous telephone and email conversations and thanked John again for having the courage to look into this story. “Courage,” Gabe wrote at the end of the letter, “comes from the Latin root word
cor
, which means heart. I hope your heart is strong, Jim.” Turning over the large folded envelope, Jane noticed that Gabe addressed it already with no return address and seventeen, one-dollar stamps. Either Gabe thought mailing costs would skyrocket by the time she found this or he was sending her a not-so-subtle message.

Turning on her computer, Jane checked on the next puzzle. Using the Congo as her template, she searched for the degrees, minutes and seconds of both the latitude and longitude coordinates that mirrored seventeen degrees north and thirty-three degrees west. She arrived at one location: Jomba. It was located just west of the Ugandan border in what looked to be a remote and isolated territory.

She brought out the ghastly photographic evidence of their “experiment.” They would certainly lead credence to Gabe’s assertions. Sliding the separate envelope with the photos underneath her packet, Jane rested her head on the seat. She was exhausted and felt the strain beginning to weigh heavily on her. Sleep hovered close by and she willingly succumbed to it.

When she awoke the next morning, Harlan was gone. Looking down at her lap, the stack of documents and the envelope of photos were also missing. Jane burst out of the van, spinning in circles in search for Harlan. She called out and heard nothing. Running over a short hill, she found him. He was seated cross-legged with his eyes closed and allowing the morning sun to warm his face. Next to him were the envelopes, along with a large map and another folder. She approached him carefully, not sure if he was aware of her presence.

“I hear you,” he quietly said.

“You scared the shit out of me…again…”

He turned to her, opening his eyes. “Were you ever gonna tell me about this? Or did you think I was too dumb to understand it?”

“I was going to wait for the right time,” she stated, hunkering down on the ground.

“When? When you figured I evolved more?” He turned away. “I’ll be honest with you, I don’t get half of what’s written in there. But I sure as hell catch the gist. Them photos sure drive the point home.” He let out a tired breath. “So, I guess we gotta find ourselves a post office.”

“Not yet.

“You waitin’ to collect more facts?”

“No.”

“Then why are you waitin’?”

“I’m not sure.”

Harlan showed irritation. “Okay, check this out,” he drew the map closer to him, laying it flat on the ground. “Based on the address you got for Wanda—”

“What—?”

“Would you let me finish before you jump my shit?” He opened up the separate folder that held Wanda’s photo and information. “Based on where you think she is right now, we have to go right through her location in order to get to Chimney-O.”

“Chimayo.”

“Whatever. The point is, you are seein’ your sister.”

“
Half
-sister.”

“Whatever.” He stood up and looked at Jane, studying her face. “If you’re gonna disappear, you owe it to yourself to at least find out what she looks like. If you don’t do that, it’ll dog you forever, Jane.”

She turned away. “That’s exactly what he said to me before I left.”

“Hank?”

She nodded.

“Smart man,” he said, walking back to the van.

When she returned to the van, Harlan was swallowing his morning dose of drugs. “We have to make one stop before Wanda. It’ll be quick.”

The drive to New Mexico would take just under three hours. But thirty minutes later, and five minutes before nine o’clock, Jane rolled into the last small town in Colorado she could find that had a pharmacy. Parking across the nearly empty street, Jane observed the brick building and vacant lot. While Harlan chowed down on a breakfast of leftovers from the CSA, Jane kept her eyes peeled on the pharmacy. A small Prius rolled up and parked as a gray-haired woman in her early seventies got out of the car. She unlocked the front door and turned over the “Open” sign in the window.

“I’ll be right back,” Jane said, lowering her lighted ball cap over her forehead.

“What are you doin’, Jane?”

“I feel a cold coming on. Maybe they’ll have some Vitamin C.”

She slipped out of the van and, glancing around the area, crossed the road and walked into the pharmacy. The older woman was in the far back, behind the glass window. Jane locked the front door, before turning the “Open” sign around to “Closed.” She eyed the lone security camera in the corner of the room. Spotting a complimentary tea and coffee island, she grabbed the large dishcloth that lay under the coffeemaker. Keeping her head down and avoiding looking directly into the camera, Jane climbed up on a chair and slung the dishcloth over the camera.

“I’ll be right there!” the woman called out from the back.

Jane jumped down, securing her hat lower on her forehead. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself and approached the window. The gray-haired woman walked to the window with a cheerful smile.

“What can I do for you, sweetheart?” the woman asked Jane.

Jane reached behind her body and pulled out the 9mm from her waistband. Aiming it squarely at the woman’s head with both hands, she stared her down. “Open the door, or I’ll kill you.”

The woman moved her hand along the edge of the counter.

“Stop it!” Jane yelled. “Do
not
push the panic button or I will shoot you!”

The woman took a step back from the counter with her hands held up. “I didn’t push anything, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me sweetheart and open the fucking door!”

The woman never took her eyes off Jane as she crossed to the side door and unlocked it. Jane turned the knob and, keeping the pistol on the woman, closed it behind her.

“It’s okay,” the woman gently said. “You don’t have to do this.”

“What?” Jane snapped.

“If you need help, I’ll help you.”

“Where do you keep the stock?”

“In the back room but—”

“Shut up!” Jane yelled. “Show me the room!”

She led Jane around a counter and through a back door with Jane staying several feet from her.

“Okay,” the woman said nervously, “here we are.”

Reaching into her jeans’ pocket, she brought out a piece of paper and handed it to the woman. “I need as much of that as you have in stock.”

The woman read the names on the paper and looked up at Jane with a quizzical expression. “These are anti-rejection drugs.”

“I know! Give me all you have!” she demanded, shoving the gun closer to the woman.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart…I don’t have these in stock.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me!”

The woman’s face changed from frightened to compassionate. “I can get them for you.”

“
When
?”

“I’ll make some calls. It’ll take about five hours to get them couriered up here—”

“I don’t have five fucking hours! I need them
now
! This minute!” The desperation in her voice was palpable.

“Sweetheart, I want to help you—”

Jane charged toward her, grabbing her from behind and wedged the 9mm against her head. “Stop it! You gotta have
something
in this place that’ll work. Give me some fucking generics, I don’t care!”

The woman grabbed the side of the shelf. “Please…please…I know you’re desperate…but please don’t make a bigger mistake.” With that, she began whispering The Lord’s Prayer.

Through the haze of tension, Jane left her body and stood to the side. There she drifted, shadowed by a cloud of malice and falling into the void. She didn’t recognize her own face as it twisted into a malevolent expression. All that was left was for her to submit and allow her conscience to be seared forever. She could sense how easy that would be and she knew if she yielded to the potent demand, there was no going back.

“Give us this day, our daily bread,” the woman whispered. “And forgive us our trespasses…”

Jane moved back into her body as her eyes welled with tears. Glancing to the shelf next to her, she was oddly attracted to a bright yellow box.

“As we forgive those who trespass against us,” the woman continued. “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil…”

Jane reached over and grabbed two of the boxes, shoving them into her pocket. She loosened her grip on the woman and stepped back. “I’m not gonna hurt you…”

The woman turned around to face her. “If you’re in trouble…let me help you.”

Jane moved to the door. “God, I wish you could,” she mumbled before walking into the front room and out the door.

By the time she reached the van, sweat beads were rolling down her face.

“You got a fever, Jane?” Harlan asked her as she turned the van around.

“No worries, Harlan.”

They drove for the next couple hours nearly in silence. All around her, she felt the world pulling away as if it was about to take a long rest. Then she questioned if perhaps it wasn’t the world that was moving away, maybe it was she who was disconnecting from the planet. The feeling stunned her, giving her pause as she contemplated her mortality. The longer she drove south into New Mexico, the more she questioned if she shared a mutual destiny with Harlan. Was their bizarre meeting meant to end in a hail of bullets? If so, what was the point of everything that happened during the last week? If death was assured, then how did she measure her life up until that point? It was in that staggering moment, that she realized she hadn’t allowed herself to really live until only the last few weeks. And even then, she was still a complex work in progress. How could a benevolent God snuff out her life when she was just beginning to figure it out? That seemed a pointless venture on His part. But then the thought crossed her mind that perhaps she’d learned everything she needed to learn and her time was up. On reflection, that also seemed absurd, especially since she was of the opinion that enlightened souls don’t manhandle elderly women, demanding drugs. So, if she wasn’t going to die, what was this feeling? Looking around at the miles of tan and ochre stained high desert, it was still present. There was a heartbeat of sadness but also of reconciliation and renewal. It was the peeling away of the old and the dying, melded in the realization that time was speeding up and each minute was precious. There was chaos in the air but there was wisdom to see it for what it was and not be paralyzed by the fear. As she continued down the windswept highway, she likened the barren landscape to the blank canvas her life had now become. It compelled her as much as it scared the hell out of her.

They drove into the small town of Esperanza, New Mexico just as the clock tower in the town square struck noon. The place looked like an adobe wonderland with one terra cotta structure after another. The New Mexican flag—featuring an ancient Zia symbol that represented the sun—flew proudly above the clock tower. The only information Jane had on Wanda was the location of her halfway house and the restaurant where she worked. Her anxiety turned into panic as she rolled the van in front of the halfway house and parked. Harlan held the open file in his hands, checking Wanda’s mugshot against the stream of faces around them.

“She’s not here,” Jane quickly suggested.

“Give it time, Jane. It ain’t like you called her ahead of time and told her to wait at the curb.”

Harlan suggested they drive the short distance to the restaurant, which took all of three minutes, including parking. After half an hour, Jane was ready to call it a day when a woman walked out of the restaurant and headed around the corner into an alley that framed the building.

“Jane? That’s her!”

Jane felt her heart shudder. “Yeah. I know.” She pulled the 1967 black and white photo of her mother and Harry Mills out of the file and grabbed her wallet. “I’m doing this alone, Harlan.” She got out of the van and walked with hesitation to the mouth of the alley. Peering midway down the alley, she spotted Wanda edging closer to the side and then hiding quickly behind a huge commercial dumpster.

“Shit,” Jane murmured, figuring her timing couldn’t be worse. She jogged down the alley, slowing her pace as she moved within twenty feet of Wanda. The first thing she saw was Wanda’s waitress cap peeking out from the top edge of the trash. The second thing she heard was the frantic flicking of a butane lighter. “Hey!” Jane shouted.

Wanda slammed her body against the large metal container and spun around. “Who’s there?”

Jane was taken back by the voice. It sounded rather weak. “Wanda LeRóy?” she asked, realizing she sounded way too much like a cop.

There was a slight pause. “Yes?” she said, still obscured.

Jane’s mouth went dry. “Come out, would you? I need to talk to you.”

Wanda carefully slipped out of the shadows. She wore a soft pink uniform and a nametag with a pink ribbon and tiny brass angel glued on it. Her dirty blond hair was swept in a neat bun, exposing her ten earrings in one ear and seven in the other. Looking down at her fingernails, they’d been chewed to the quick. Her teeth were stained with nicotine and in desperate need of a dentist. She looked underweight to Jane, as her uniform hung a little too loose around her waist.

“What’s going on?” Wanda asked in a soft voice.

Jane stared a little too long. “What are you smoking?”

“You a cop?”

“You doing drugs?” Jane quickly asked.

Wanda brought out cigarette and lighter. “Yeah. Nicotine. It’s the hardest one to quit, you know?”

“Yeah. I hear you.”

She tilted her head in a puzzled manner. “Who are you?”

She hesitated again. “Jane. My name’s Jane.” She couldn’t stop staring. It was jarring to her, but at the same time, mesmerizing. It was strange and yet familiar. They were the same height and, looking into Wanda’s eyes, she couldn’t help but see a reflection of herself. It was in the way she licked her lips and looked off to the side when she answered a question. And there was the sigh. Somehow, across the channels of space and time, her other half had learned to sigh exactly the way Jane sighed in pitch perfect harmony. Wanda’s body was ravaged by time but her mind hadn’t agreed to it. She could still talk herself into believing she was twenty-one years old and invincible. Somehow, even after all the abuse from the drugs and the hard lifestyle, Wanda hadn’t lost that optimistic spark. It was still there in the corners of her eyes, battling for dominance.

“What do you want?” Wanda asked.

Jane swallowed hard as she held out the photo. “The woman on the left…” She hesitated, realizing she hadn’t rehearsed a damn thing. Of all the meetings to come to unprepared, this wasn’t the one.

“What about her?”

“Her name…Her name is Anne LeRóy.”

Wanda’s eyes widened. “What?”

“That’s your birth mother. And the man next to her is Harry Mills. That’s your father.” She handed the photo to her.

Wanda stared at the photo, her body gradually shaking.

“Please don’t tell me you need a drink.” Jane nervously said. “Are you okay?”

“No. I need to sit down,” she faintly said.

They walked down the alley and across the street to a small park. Taking a seat at a picnic table, Jane waited until Wanda calmed down.

“You going to ask who I am?”

Wanda looked at Jane, her brown eyes studying every line and crease. Finally, she replied. “I think I know.”

“You know?” Jane asked, skeptically.

“I’ve been looking for you my entire life,” she said as her eyes teared.

“I don’t understand.”

“When I lived at the orphanage, it was pretty bad. On visiting day, I’d get all dressed up in a fluffy dress that was only reserved for that occasion. And I’d sit perfectly still in the front window seat. And I’d wait. When the lady who ran the place asked me who I was waiting for, I told her I was waiting for my sister to show up. Of course, she laughed at me and told me I was an only child and that nobody was ever going to come for me.” A tear rolled down her weathered face. “But I never stopped waiting. I just knew. I can’t explain it. Somehow, I’d meet the part of me that I always knew existed and I would know her when she showed up.” Wanda gave the photo another good gaze. “She looked like a lot of fun. Was she?”

“When she conceived you, she was having a lot of fun. By the time I was conceived five years later, the only ‘fun’ was in dysfunctional.” Jane observed her. “I think maybe you got infused with that early lighthearted quality and I got stuck with the miserable end.”

Wanda looked up at her. “Are you miserable?”

The question came out of left field. “Isn’t everybody nowadays?”

“It’s a choice though, isn’t it?”

“Oh, fuck. You’re in AA, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. It’s part of my probation. Why?”

“Because I can name it and claim it with the best of them.” She spied the cigarette pack. “You mind?” Jane took out a cigarette and lit up. “I’m only going to have three puffs.”

“I say the same thing,” Wanda smiled, taking a drag on her cigarette and admiring the photo of Anne again. “What was she like?”

“I never knew that side of her,” Jane offered, pointing to the photo. “By the time I showed up to the party, she was pretty beaten down. I realize now that part of that had to do with you. She used to stare out the kitchen window a lot. I thought she was trying to figure out how to disappear from my father. But now I wonder how many times she was thinking about you and wondering where you were at that moment.”

Wanda choked up. “That’s when she and I were thinking of each other.”

“Why do you say that?” Jane took another hit.

“Because I’d be walking along and for no reason whatsoever, I’d think of her. I had no idea what she looked like but I knew her by heart. And I’d wonder at that moment, now why in the world did that thought pop into my head right then? That’s when I realized it popped into my head because I was catching her thought on the wings of the angels.” She leaned closer to Jane. “I’m very intuitive. I sense you are, too?” She smiled. But a shadow of sadness quickly overcame her. “When did she die?”

“When I was ten.”

She was taken back. “And I would have been…”

“Almost fifteen.”

“Fourteen. Yeah. I remember. I changed right around that time. I’d been doing okay up until then but I recall just losing my anchor, so to speak—”

“You did…so to speak.” Jane shook her head, sucking in another dose of nicotine. “My fourteenth year didn’t turn out so great either. You lost your anchor and I lost my mind. I’ve been looking for it ever since.”

“You didn’t lose your mind,” Wanda said with a wry grin. “You lost your heart. Don’t worry, I get them confused too.”

“What do you mean I lost my heart?”

“Your willingness to love. Your fear that if you love too much, the fall will destroy you. The knowing that losing the one rock in your life can change everything and leave you paralyzed to the point where love becomes too fraught with peril. Believe me, I get it. But what are the options, right? Living alone? Hangin’ on by a thread? Counting the days until you drop from this world? No, I don’t care what the question is.” she said wistfully. “Choose love as the answer.”

“Sounds like a bumper sticker.”

“It’s the way I live my life. I’ve made a lot of bad decisions, I grant you that much. But I’ve loved and I’ve lost and I’ve loved again. It’s easier to slay a dragon than it is to love another human being with every fiber of your soul. To give that much, to risk that much, is more than most can handle.” She set down the photo. “You know what I think? I think people are afraid their reserves will become exhausted and a big hole will form in their heart. They’re afraid that nothing will come to fill that empty space. And just the
fear
of that possibility is enough to make a strong person run from a chance at happiness.”