In The Company of Wolves_Follow The Raven

by James Michael Larranaga

  Why can’t that fat kid focus on his grandfather once in a while?

  Quin stepped out of his truck and jogged up the driveway, the heels of his boots knocking on the pavement. “Let me help you with that,” he said, easing the twelve-pack from beneath Hawk’s arm.

  “Oh, I coulda got that. He insisted on carrying it,” Slim Jim protested.

  “I only wanted to carry one can,” Hawk muttered to Quin. “I’m thirsty and he’s sucking on that Mega Gulp.”

  “I’ll take it from here, Hawk,” Quin said, grabbing the twelve-pack and the grocery bag. He heard Slim Jim sigh and slurp his soda.

  When Quin opened the door, the first thing he noticed was the mess in Hawk’s living room: bags of chips and popcorn on the couch and beer cans stacked on the wood mantel of the fireplace. He’d seen frat houses on campus cleaner than this. The dead giveaway was the Xbox on the floor in front of Hawk’s flat-screen TV.

  “You entertaining guests, Slim Jim?” Quin asked, setting the twelve-pack and bag on the kitchen table. Hawk opened the carton and popped open a Coke.

  “I had some bros over last night. Hawk’s cool with it, right?” he said to his grandfather as if this were some kind of alibi they had agreed to. Hawk guzzled his Coke without responding.

  “How late were they here?” Quin asked.

  “All night. You can’t serve beers and then send them out onto the roads,” Slim Jim said, as if he and his buddies were suddenly sober drivers.

  Quin pointed at Slim Jim. “Don’t take advantage of Hawk. Clean up your mess and stop making this your crash pad.”

  “What the…? Why you sticking your finger in my face, bro? You got nothin’ to say about it,” he said, rocking back on his heels.

  “Your aunt, the one in prison, is concerned about Hawk,” Quin reminded him. “She asked me to check in on him and this is my house call.”

  “God knows why she brought you here,” Slim Jim muttered under his breath.

  “Because she doesn’t trust you to watch after him.” Quin hated to dig up this family’s dirty laundry. Hawk had two daughters, one in prison and the other, Slim Jim’s mother, lived in an art commune in the hills of northern California. It was obvious, though, that the old man couldn’t rein in his grandson, just like he couldn’t his own daughters.

  “You’re not family. Go back to your own rez,” Slim Jim said.

  “I will.”

  Nobody said a word; Slim Jim squinted as if he’d misunderstood what Quin had just said. They’d had arguments like this many times but Quin had never agreed to leave before.

  “When are you going?” Hawk said.

  “In a few days.”

  Hawk’s brown eyes met his and Quin knew his elder was proud and sad at the same time. He had once told him that in life’s journey, paths cross, sometimes over and over like twine and sometimes rarely, like the switchback trails on a mountain pass. For the past five years, they were as tight as twine, but Quin felt they were about to unravel. He looked around the house, at the dishes in the sink, a stack of newspapers and pizza boxes near the back door by the garage. Hawk was looking at the mess too.

  “You going alone?” he asked, the Coke can shaking a bit in his hand.

  “Unless you want to come with me.”

  The old man’s expression lifted, his tan forehead wrinkling high in surprise, as if he couldn’t believe Quin had read his mind.

  “You’re goofin’, right?” Slim Jim said.

  “No. If Hawk wants to tag along, he’s more than welcome. How about it?”

  “No way,” Slim Jim said.

  “I’m not asking you, I’m asking him.” Quin turned to Hawk. “How about a vacation, old man?”

  Hawk raised his can like a ceremonial cup. “I would be honored to see your homeland.”

  “You can’t haul him halfway across the country down to the desert,” Slim Jim protested. “That heat could kill him.”

  “Neglect could kill him, too. Shit, it’s only for a few weeks. Think of it as a vacation for him and you,” Quin said. “You can party here all you want while Hawk is away, but once he returns, you’d better have this place cleaned up. And start thinking about moving out.”

  Slim Jim glanced around the house, probably imagining all the wild times he and his homeboys could have if Hawk weren’t there. He seemed to warm up to the idea. “A vacation sounds good, I suppose.”

  Hawk and his grandson shook hands and hugged. Quin knew this trip could ease a growing tension between the two, but he also knew he had spoken too soon. He should not have offered to take Hawk along without planning and thinking through what this really meant.

  “Before you pack your bag, Hawk, I have to visit Helene Woman of the Storm and explain it to her.”

  “Good. I’ll go with you and make sure she gives this her blessing,” Hawk said. “Who wants tea?”

  The next training session with Agent Kruse and the others from the Paranormal Team had been rescheduled twice, and this time Kruse had moved the location. Instead of a conference room, he’d upgraded them to a lecture hall on the first floor of the security hospital. Quin had walked by this room many times as physicians gave lectures or pharmaceutical reps demonstrated new technology. There were ten rows of leather seats with drink holders and pullout desktops. Rachel was already seated in the middle of a row with her sketch pad while Kruse stood at the front of the room talking to Dr. Hayden and two men in suits.

  Dillan wandered in and stood silently before saying, “What’s up?”

  “A big room with a small audience,” Quin replied. “Where’s Susan?”

  “Dismissed!” Dillan said, mocking Agent Kruse’s tone. “We’ve been practicing our asses off for two days without you and she cracked. She had a nervous breakdown in here yesterday, shouting obscenities and throwing pens and crumpled sheets of paper at Kruse.”

  “Wait a minute. When he rescheduled this session, it was because he only wanted to work with the three of you?” he asked Dillan.

  “So we could zero in on the target, your sister,” he clarified. “He didn’t want to waste your time, I guess. We’re the support team, you’re the star, and Susan was just sent back to the minor league, the psych ward.”

  “Why not treat her on an outpatient basis?” Quin said, looking at Dillan, who was fidgety, scratching his knuckles, ignoring the obvious. Quin knew the answer. Other recruits in the early weeks of boot camp were sent directly home, but Susan was too fragile for that; she’d need time to recover from the emotional side effects of remote viewing training. As the training progressed and became more intense, those who were dismissed were sent to the psych ward for what Kruse called “evaluation,” or what the recruits knew was really a suicide watch.

  “Despite her meltdown, we had a good session yesterday. We found your home in the desert,” Dillan said. “What were your parents doing living way out in the middle of nowhere?”

  He ignored the question and watched Dr. Hayden excusing herself from Kruse and the two FBI agents before walking to the back of the room.

  “I’d better get seated. It’s almost showtime,” Dillan said as he joined Rachel in their front row.

  “How are you today, Dillan?” Dr. Hayden asked.

  “Peachy,” he said, without looking at her.

  Dr. Hayden was nervous as well, dressed to impress in a gray suit with a silver necklace and more red lipstick than usual. What was going on here? Why was everybody on pins and needles?

  “Good morning, Quin. You ready?” she asked.

  “Who are they?” he responded, nodding to the two men talking to Kruse.

  “They’re from bureau headquarters in DC.”

  “I thought this was our field test. Why is he inviting others to watch?”

  “Agent Kruse has been very impressed with what Rachel and Dillan have found so far. And he only invited two people from headquarters for this session.”

  Quin still wasn’t satisfied with her answer. Two was two too many. “What happene
d to Susan yesterday?”

  “It was time for her to go.”

  “Dillan said she snapped.”

  “I can’t speak about her situation.”

  “Then I’ll visit with Susan myself,” he said.

  “Not yet,” Dr. Hayden replied.

  “What’s going on? Dillan’s a mess, scratching like he’s got fleas. Look at Rachel sitting there like a robot.”

  “Remote viewing is hard, exhausting work, and I do my best to treat each of you based on your individual needs,” she said, as if she were apologizing.

  “When can I visit with her to find out why she crashed?”

  “Agent Kruse will explain everything. I want you to know that I’m reducing your dosage, which you will take with you when you leave today.”

  Kruse had promised Quin there would be no more drug tests, but the news that Dr. Hayden was reducing his medication after increasing it in January was an even bigger surprise. “Why do that?”

  “You said you’re numb and we want you to feel normal again; we’re listening to you.”

  “It’s about time.”

  “When you’re out in the field, you’ll be in touch with your team. You and I will do our sessions by phone.”

  Dr. Hayden reached out and shook his hand. “Remember in January when you told me how young wolves eventually need to leave their pack to find a new one?”

  How could he forget those long conversations where she had asked him about his childhood? At first he’d hated those talks; he didn’t like somebody rummaging around in the dusty corridors of his mind. But over time, he liked retelling her his stories. And when she took notes, he knew she was really listening.

  “I want you to know how much I’ve enjoyed working with you,” she said, lowering her voice.

  Enjoyed…as if it were over? Did she think he’d run off into the desert to hide, or was this assignment turning out to be more dangerous than they had expected? The video screen lit up, casting Dillan and Rachel as silhouettes against a wall of white. Kruse and his colleagues from the bureau began walking from the front of the room toward him, suit jackets swaying.

  “Good luck,” Dr. Hayden said.

  Still distracted by the bright light, silhouettes, and the men walking up the aisle, he said, “Huh?”

  “I’m wishing you good luck, Quin.”

  Blinking, he saw squiggles of light as she walked past him to the back of the room. Then Agent Kruse stood in front of him. “Good morning. Quin, I want to introduce you to Agent Clark and Agent Backstrom from FBI Headquarters in Washington.”

  Both men were built like linebackers, with wide shoulders, and hands in their pockets. Clark had a thinning crew cut and Backstrom had a wavy comb-over and a thick mustache. Quin noticed Kruse hadn’t told him their first names…that must be how it was the higher you climbed the bureaucratic ladder.

  “Congratulations on apprehending Ben Moretti,” Agent Backstrom said, as if Quin already had a reputation in Washington.

  “You’re either really talented or incredibly lucky,” Agent Clark said with a touch of jealousy.

  “Maybe I’m both,” Quin said.

  The bureau men exchanged a glance, as if maybe they’d made a bet about him before he arrived.

  “We’re looking forward to this field assignment,” Backstrom said to Kruse.

  “Aren’t we all?” Quin added.

  Kruse loosened his tie, ready to get to work. “Today, Rachel and Dillan will zero in on potential locations for the ground search. As you collect evidence in the field, Quin, I’ll share that with Agents Clark and Backstrom.”

  “And what will they do with it?” he asked Kruse.

  “This is a pilot program. They’ll share our data with bureau headquarters.”

  “So you can get more funding or so we can find my sister?” Quin’s attitude apparently offended Kruse and surprised Clark and Backstrom.

  “It isn’t an either/or situation. This could be a win for you and the bureau,” Kruse said.

  Quin nodded. “Let’s get started then.”

  The approach Kruse used in this lecture hall was similar to what he’d used in the small conference room for the past six months. He had Quin sit in the same row as Dillan and Rachel, while two chairs to Dillan’s right, Agents Clark and Backstrom were seated, and Dr. Hayden sat three rows behind the remote viewers.

  Kruse walked back and forth in front of the large screen above him, holding a remote to control access to the Internet. Quin felt nervous tension from him; Kruse’s voice was dry and sometimes cracking. He sounded nothing like the calm mentor who trained with these paranormals every week. There must be a lot of pressure for him to deliver something credible to headquarters.

  “Remote viewing is not a new science. In 1995, Congress asked two independent scientists and statisticians to assess whether $20 million spent on RV research had produced any quantifiable results. Unfortunately, politics plays an important role in funding projects, and after the terror attacks on 9/11, RV science was brushed aside. But I’m here to show you that it works. Let me explain what RV is: similar to how our computers are connected to the global Internet, our subconscious minds are connected through global consciousness. And just like how a hacker can access your wireless router to access the Internet and burrow into almost any computer for information, a trained remote viewer can tap into a signal line to retrieve information. Does that make sense?” Kruse said, looking over Rachel, Dillan, and Quin to his colleagues from the bureau. “Yes, Agent Clark?”

  “Can anyone be taught this technique?” Clark asked.

  “Good question. Anyone can learn the basics of remote viewing, but a very small percentage of the population is accurate on a consistent basis. The people I train, such as Rachel, Dillan, and Quin, are not old-school psychics who self-proclaim their powers. They must be selected and tested to make it this far. In my experience, the most reliable viewers are right-brain dominant, more creative than they are analytical. They already see and feel the physical world differently than you and I do. Many of them live with bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, or somewhere on the autism spectrum. It’s interesting to note that our viewers today, Rachel, Dillan, and Quin, are left-handed and excellent artists.”

  “Susan was left-handed, too. What happened to her?” Quin asked.

  “She suffered from over-training, where the viewer becomes burned out and can no longer tap into the signal,” Kruse answered abruptly.

  “When will she be back?”

  “It’s unlikely she’ll return to the program, Quin,” Dr. Hayden replied.

  He craned his neck and saw her standing at the back of the room with her arms crossed. It was obvious she wasn’t pleased with Agent Kruse.

  “Has she lost her ability entirely?” Backstrom asked.

  “No, what I mean is that if a viewer reaches burnout, they can no longer tap into the matrix. We had many former viewers in our earlier research suffer from exhaustion before they were released from the program.”

  Quin looked over at Dillan and Rachel, who were whispering. Dillan turned to him, mouthing the words, What the fuck? Agent Kruse didn’t just recruit and train talent at mental institutions, he left his wreckage there, too.

  “I assure all of you, Susan is fine and we have no reason to believe our team here is in any danger,” he said. “Continuing on…this matrix can be envisioned as a vast, three-dimensional geometric arrangement of dots, each dot representing a discrete information bit. Each geographic location on the earth has a segment of the matrix corresponding exactly to the nature of the physical location. Over the past two days, I’ve worked with Rachel and Dillan, who had no idea what targets I wanted them to search for. To them it was just another training session. But this time I assigned random code numbers to Quin’s childhood home, his yard, and photos from the crime scene where his parents were murdered and his sister was abducted. Basically, we were doing a Stage I and Stage II viewing to see if Rachel and Dillan could tap into the matrix and
see the desired location. And I think you’ll find the results impressive. First, I will show you on the screen behind me what each of them sketched, and then actual photos.”

  Quin swallowed and his stomach churned as he sank into his seat, laying his head on the back of the chair. This was like preparing to watch a horror movie where you don’t know how you’ll react and you don’t want anybody observing your reactions, either.

  Kruse pressed the remote and the room went dark except for the glow of the white screen. He clicked to bring up the first sketch. “Stage I is where we’re looking for a broad geographic location, such as an island, a mountain range, or a desert.”

  Two sketches appeared on the screen and Quin recognized the drawing styles. Rachel used sweeping lines and Dillan’s sketches were always heavily shaded with jagged strokes of his pen. The images were similar: a square, and nothing much else. Rachel’s looked like a large box with a smaller one to the left.

  Kruse pressed the remote again. “And here’s the target. I wanted them to see Santa Cruz County, Arizona. And notice how similar their drawings are compared to the map.”

  “My sketch is more accurate,” Rachel observed. “The county isn’t square. It juts out to the west.”

  “It took you like ten minutes longer to come up with that,” Dillan replied.

  Here we go again, Rachel and Dillan arguing like an old married couple. Why can’t they admit they make a good team? Quin thought.

  “Let me understand this,” Agent Clark said. “In a missing persons case, tracking dogs might be used to follow a scent, but you gave Rachel and Dillan no scent to follow, and they zeroed in on the exact county where the crime happened a dozen years ago? They had no prior evidence to review?”

  “Correct, but there was a scent. I have knowledge in my mind and I had assigned that knowledge to random numbers that essentially act as an address for a remote viewer,” Kruse said. “Let me show you the next images from when we moved to Stage II and gathered more details of the location.”

  On the screen appeared the small, two-bedroom, ranch-style home that Quin remembered so well. Rachel’s sketch was the house from the front with the stone path and small cacti in his mother’s rock garden under the kitchen window. She had even written the word purple with an arrow to the front door. How could she know that? Dillan’s sketch was from further back, a lonely house in the desert with a swing set in the front yard. Amazing!