by Jen Haeger
“Um, no, none for me, thank you.”
Closing my mouth, I shake my head. Roger is a true professional and maintains his smile as if we’re not acting like total idiots.
“Just let me know if you need anything.” He gives us a wink and then he’s gone again.
A funeral giggle escapes my lips. It might be the several sips of wine on a mostly empty stomach, or my fear that Kristina will confirm I’m a madwoman, or my now clinical lack of sleep, but everything including and especially Roger seems utterly hilarious. Then I see Kristina stifle a chuckle, and I am seconds away from losing it and creating a scene. It’s only when another diner passes our table, his WHISP following behind like a dutiful servant, the hysterical laughter is quashed. The mirth on Kristina’s face is also gone now and suddenly it comes to me how selfish I’m being.
I never even considered she might be blissful in her ignorance of what WHISPs could be capable of. She might harbor her own unease, soothed by telling herself WHISPs are only strange and not dangerous. In order to make myself feel better, to feel justified and correct, I’m pulling the rug out from under her and burdening her with knowledge she didn’t ask for. Damn, I’m a lousy friend. But I’d already dragged her into it with me. She can’t un-hear what I’d said.
“I’m sorry to dump this scary shit on you without warning. I should’ve…I don’t know, given you some kind of heads up.”
Kristina shakes her head. “Well, I can’t say all this makes my day, but come on, Sylvy, you’re my best friend. This is what best friends are for, to hold our hands and go with us when we go into dark places. Besides, I’m a grown-ass woman. I can handle scary shit. Do you even remember my last boyfriend?”
Taking a bite of her ravioli with gusto, maybe to prove her point, Kristina then points to my plate with her fork. Watching her eat has renewed the hunger in my belly driven back by the bread, so I also take a bite, though the pleasure of eating is lost in guilt and anxiety. Kristina swallows a few mouthfuls before speaking again.
“What I was going to say before, was I’m following you, but, sweetie, there’s still a lot of what-if’s coming off of your theory.”
“But that’s just it. After talking with Dr. Silverman, the biggest thing I realized was we really don’t know anything about WHISPs and what we do know may be obsolete already. There’s nothing to say whatever WHISPs started out as, they still are. Nothing to prove they aren’t constantly changing based on the factors affecting them.”
After taking a sip of wine, Kristina purses her lips. “Well, even if WHISPs could commit murder, why do you suspect a WHISP in these murders?”
“It’s the simultaneous murder thing. It would be really hard for two people to coordinate near simultaneous slayings, especially when one of those murders seems random. But if it were a person and their WHISP…theoretically no problem. Also, I just can’t get over the lack of evidence of a Chester cult. I mean, she gets some fan mail, all serials do, but nothing we can trace back to a cult, and there’s been nothing on the internet. You’d have thought someone would’ve seen or heard something.”
“Anything else?”
When it’s all said aloud, my case is pretty flimsy, and I come to the realization my conviction about WHISPs being used as weapons is mainly in my gut. Wracking my brain for more solid evidence, I only come up with one thing and it’s tenuous, at best.
“Well, the cell phone company records did report a weird signal surge and phone malfunction of one of the victim’s cells around the time of her murder, and it sometimes happens around WHISPs.”
Kristina is quiet for a time as she finishes her ravioli and I dutifully consume my fettuccini. Her silence is making me nervous. She wipes her mouth and then folds the napkin and places it on the table with measured precision before turning her attention to me.
“We’ve known each other a long-ass time, Sylvy. I was right there with you when your parents were killed, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here for you when you were going through hell with the Chester case. You’ve had to deal with some horrible things in your life. But you dealt with them as best you could. I know you’re not completely over what happened to your parents—the nightmares. I know it haunts you and makes you sensitive to…things. But I also know you, and I’ve seen you follow your gut before. I’ve never known it to lead you astray, never known you to go after something half-cocked.”
“But…”
“Well, you know it’s not much to go on right now; otherwise, you’d be telling the FBI about it instead of me. I think you need something more concrete.”
“I know I do, but where am I going to get more evidence? Dr. Silverman is a foremost expert on WHISPs and he doesn’t know jack about them. Besides, he certainly hasn’t been doing his testing on serial killer WHISPs, more like people who are trying to cope with having them.”
Finishing off her wine, Kristina clears her throat and draws back her shoulders. “I, um, might be able to help you with that.”
“How?”
“There’s a guy I used to date when I was still living in New Jersey. We broke up when I found out he was part of an underground anti-WHISP organization. He was only involved in recruiting, but he once mentioned his organization was ‘digging into’ WHISPs and what they really were, etcetera. Now, maybe he didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, and it’s not like we’re talking about scientific research, but maybe they could help at least get you a solid lead on where to find more information.”
“Why do you think they’d help me? If they’re shady, they’re not going to want to spill their guts to a cop.”
“If they know you’re the detective who put away Rachel Chester, they might talk to you. I mean, think about it, if you tell them you’re investigating another case where the suspect has a WHISP, they might see this as an opportunity to show the world that WHISPs are evil. Now, it probably wouldn’t be a great idea to tell them that you think a WHISP is killing people…” The edges of Kristina’s lips curl in a small smile.
“Do you still have this guy’s contact info?”
“Yeah, sadly I do. Very occasionally he sends me flyers for anti-WHISP rallies and stuff. I should’ve blocked his e-mails, but you know how lazy I am sometimes.”
My echoing smile quickly fades.
“What?”
“I just had a thought. If the FBI finds out I’m contacting an anti-WHISP organization while working a high-profile case, I’m going to be in a shit-ton of trouble.”
“What’re they going to do? Fire you?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“After the third anti-WHISP bullying incident, we had to withdraw her from school, and after about three months she wouldn’t leave the house anymore. The doctors were clueless, and we just didn’t know where else to turn.”
Excerpt: My Daughter is Not a Monster
It only takes a day for Kristina to set up the meet with her old beau’s group. It’s called CAW, Citizens Against WHISPs, and when I do a little digging into their reputation, shady doesn’t quite cover it. The organization was international, if you counted branches in Canada, and was implicated in various crimes ranging from intimidation to kidnapping and murder. In no way was it a good idea for me to be going to talk to them alone and without backup, but I needed answers and didn’t see any other options for getting them. I had two contingences in place: one, if I didn’t call Kristina by an agreed time, she was to notify Crone of where I’d gone, and two, if anyone found out about the meeting, I’d say I’d gotten an anonymous tip they might be involved somehow, but given my history, I’d wanted to check them out on the down low first before more rumors got started. Both safety nets were admittedly flimsy, but every minute ticking by was a minute nearer to another murder and I didn’t have time to set up better ones.
When I drive up, the meeting site, a non-descript warehouse in the Bronx, owned by a holding company, does not fill me with good vibes. I park on the street and apply the car’s alarm, not because I think that anyone will care a
bout a car alarm going off in this neighborhood, but because tripping it will disable the ignition. It’s an older model Ford Focus, so it shouldn’t be terribly appealing for car thieves for stripping, and there isn’t anything to steal inside. Still, no sense in asking for trouble.
From the outside, the warehouse gives the impression of casual vacancy. Weeds erupt through cracks in the surrounding concrete, one of the ground floor windows is boarded up, and the mailbox post has an address spray-painted on it but lacks a mailbox. However, there are subtle signs of maintenance. While the chains on the several gates are old and rusty, each sports a shiny, new lock. Additionally, I spot a few repaired windows and a newer-looking security camera over the main door. Also raising my suspicions of occupancy, the windows have a reflective coating, making it impossible to see inside.
I’ve been instructed to use a side door and ring a buzzer. I comply and am rewarded with the answering buzz and click of the door unlocking. Having an itching desire to draw my gun, I turn the knob and push the door open. Inside is dark save the grey light from the grey day peeking in through the open door. I can’t see much of the interior, and over thirty years of police training are screaming at me not to go inside. Ignoring training, I step up but keep a hand on the edge of the door, unwilling to let it fall shut.
“Hello?”
“Back here, Detective.”
I’d expected such a shadowy organization to have a gravelly-voiced spokesperson, but the voice carrying down the hallway is a woman’s, light and airy. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I drop my guard and release the door. Once it shuts, a light comes on overhead. The hallway has a concrete floor and metal walls but is dust and cobweb free. I walk toward the source of the voice and find an office with a functional, though cleared, metal desk and a metal file cabinet. A strawberry blonde woman of average height in a grey skirt suit is in the process of locking the file cabinet when I arrive at the door. Gorgeous in a sharp, meticulous way, she’s clearly used to making both men and women uncomfortable with her appearance, the blouse beneath her suit leaving little to the imagination by way of décolletage.
“Sorry, I had some paperwork to finish. Lila Grant.”
“Detective Sylvia Harbinger.”
We shake hands politely and I have to remind myself this woman is part of a group who probably murders people. I meet her grey eyes briefly then scan the room again. Seeing no chair other than the one behind the desk, I’m wondering how the interview is going to work when she waves a hand toward the door.
“Shall we?”
I follow her down the hallway and up a flight of spiral metal stairs to the second floor and another hallway. Roughly halfway down, there’s an open door which she enters. This office is much cozier, with a large window, which, on any other day, would be basking sunlight onto a large wooden desk with a high-backed velvet desk chair. A typical black and red chevron-pattered rug and two black leather chairs complete the furnishings. Mentally, I note CAW’s financials seem intact if not flush. Lila sits behind the desk and I take a chair in front.
“Now, I’m given to understand you have some questions about WHISPs.”
“I do. I need to know more about how WHISPs interact with their humans, how far away they can drift from them, how the particles are affected by human thought and other factors, that sort of thing.”
“Mmmmm, and I have your word these questions are not officially part of any police investigation or action and you are asking them solely as a concerned citizen.”
Must not roll eyes. “Right.”
“Also, these personal questions are not in regard to any activities CAW may or may not engage in, and anything I say cannot be used against either myself or CAW.”
“Ye—”
“Further, if I explain to you how any of the information I disclose was obtained, it will be assumed this ‘how’ was enacted by a separate entity.”
My molars grind together. “Fine.”
“I’ll need your signature on this document.” She slides a paper across her desk along with a pen.
I skim through it then sign it and slide it back to her. “Thorough.”
Glancing at the signature, she then slips the document into a folder. “Should be. I’m a lawyer.” She looks up at me. “Right, now that’s taken care of, I believe your first question was asking about the length of the tether.”
“Yes.”
“You are assuming, of course, there is an actual physical tether between source human and WHISP. All of our…all evidence in this group’s opinion points to the contrary. There have been recorded instances where a WHISP was able to be separated from its source human by hundreds of miles and still remain intact.”
Shit. “But I thought the human’s magnetic field was what kept the WHISP together.”
Lila shakes her head. “A common misconception. Once formed, the WHISP is nearly autonomous from the source human.”
“So WHISPs can just wander around without their humans? Why don’t people know that? Why have I never seen one do that? Why do the ones I’ve seen stay so close and only move when the human moves?”
“I’ve…the recorded instances I spoke of were under experimental conditions. Most WHISPs are caught up in the magnetic field of their host and forced to mimic their movements, but once separated by, oh say, six and a half feet, some then exhibit independent movement or movement directed by other outside influences.”
I grip the arms of the chair to keep from shivering. “What outside influences and how did you experimentally separate a WHISP from its source human? I was told it couldn’t be done.”
“Nonsense. Separating WHISP from human is just a matter of introducing a very strong magnetic field to pull the WHISP particles away, or introducing a sufficient electromagnetic barrier between human and WHISP. And as for influences, we’ve se—heard of other humans weakly influencing separated WHISPs, high voltage power lines, electromagnets, large computers…well, I think you get the idea.”
“Does it hurt?”
A tiny crease appears between her slim brows. “Does what hurt?”
“Ripping a WHISP away from a human by force. Does it hurt the person?”
“I already told you there isn’t an actual physical tether.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Her eyes narrow. “Yes. It hurts. Significantly.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“The officer involved in the shooting of an unarmed man with a WHISP was acquitted of all charges today after the jury agreed with the defense’s claims the man threatened the officer and tried to flee the scene. This is the fourth incidence of alleged anti-WHISP violence by Las Vegas police officers in the past six months.”
Fox Local News at 7 Las Vegas
“But if there’s no physical tether, than why would it hurt?”
Lila sighs. “Personally, I’d say it’s psychosomatic, but it’s theorized since some of the WHISP particles come from the source human, the loss of the electrical input from those particles triggers a pain response.” Her eyes flicker away from mine and she licks her lips. “Also, there’s other repercussions of the forced separation.”
“What do you mean, repercussions?”
She folds her hands on top of her desk and her gaze returns to my face. “The separation may damage the source human.”
A chasm opens up in my chest. “Damage? What kind of damage?”
“Psychological...perhaps neurological.”
I open my mouth, but Lila sighs heavily and continues, “A source human which has been forcibly separated from its WHISP for extended periods of time may exhibit clinical signs of post-traumatic stress and certain, how shall I say, neurologic deficits.”
“Brain damage?”
“Well, I wouldn’t put it quite that dramatically, but I guess you could say that.”
“You’ve done this to people? What the hell’s wrong with you?”
Lila’s mouth all but disappears in an angry, thin line.
“Now, now
, Detective, you’ve already signed a document stating nothing I say here should or can be considered incriminating in any supposed criminal offense. I am merely answering your questions as a courtesy, one I can revoke at any time.”
Wrathful blood rushes into my cheeks. I would love to slap handcuffs onto this smug woman’s wrists right now, but I’m alone here, without backup, and legally, I’m on very thin ice. Also, I still need answers and I don’t know anywhere else to get them. “Okay, so let me just do a little recap here. There is no physical tether connecting a WHISP to a human.”
“Right.”
“And WHISPs can therefore be separated from their humans and experimentally have been separated up to hundreds of miles without the WHISP dissipating, but it’s painful and…damaging for the human.”
“True.”
My train of thought derails. What if Chester was damaged by WHISP separation before she became a killer? She was found competent to stand trial. Still… My stomach twists into a knot of uncertainty and I have to swallow back the lump of guilt in my throat. “How long before damage occurs? You said an extended period of time, what’s extended?”
“It probably varies person to person, but we’ve seen significant damage begin within an hour.”
“An hour, okay.” Getting back on track. “And WHISPs separated more than six feet no longer move in response to their humans, but are influenced by other electromagnetic forces.”
“Six and a half feet, but yes.”
It’s a lot of disturbing information to process, but it isn’t answering my main questions. “And, have you ever seen a WHISP moving without a clear outside influence affecting it?”
“Yes.”
“Why would it do that? Could it be moving because of residual, um, like thought energy from the human?”
“It seems plausible, but also WHISPs have been shown to shed particles in places they spend a lot of time, a person’s residence for example, and they’re sometimes drawn to these shed particles.” Straightening a notepad on her desk, she clears her throat. “Of course, there are other interpretations.”
