The Light From Other Suns (The Others Book 1)

by V. E. Lemp

  “I imagine I’m going to be placed on leave.” Mark’s voice was perfectly calm. “So I say we give the Tarrows a call and tell them to expect us within the week.” He smiled. “Might as well make good use of the free time.”

  SIX

  Thinking over everything she had heard and seen in the last few weeks, Karen made only brief comments during the first hour of the drive to New York. From time to time she snuck glances at Mark’s stoic profile. “How’d you know you’d end up on leave?” she asked at last. “It wasn’t your fault. That man invaded your home.”

  “It’s policy. I’ve been warned off this investigation many times. I knew my superiors would be displeased to hear of any related incident, no matter who was at fault.”

  “Doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Well, that’s the government for you.”

  “And what do you think that man meant? About violence and all? That was odd.”

  “I don’t know. He probably thinks disclosing a few secrets will make the average citizen take to the streets, pitchfork in hand. An old argument, used by people who stand to lose the most if the truth comes out.”

  Karen frowned. “I hope this forced leave doesn’t harm your career. Although I’ll admit, having seen you in a tough spot, I’m glad you’re accompanying me on this expedition.”

  A faint smile crooked Mark’s mouth. “I do have my uses.”

  “But I’d hate to think you might lose your job.”

  “Not to worry. I’ll be fine. My superiors must slap me down a peg or two. Protocol.” His smile widened. “But, as I said, I have my uses. Few though they may be, they are quite specialized. Not something my bosses intend to toss away.”

  “You’re not going to tell me exactly which agency you actually work for, are you?”

  “No.”

  Karen sat back, pondering Mark’s reticence in conjunction with his intense interest in her recent sleep sketches. He’d immediately requested permission to show them to someone who might know more about such things. Karen was reluctant, but Mark assured her his associate could be trusted.

  “So what did your contact say about my drawings?” Karen asked, after a few more minutes of silence. “Or haven’t you had time for that?”

  “No, she’s seen them.”

  “She? That’s different.”

  “Why? I work with a lot of women these days. It’s not an old boys’ club anymore. Anyway, to answer your question, my associate was intrigued by your drawings. She wondered if you had any more.”

  “No. Before those, I hadn’t sketched anything in my sleep for many years. The older ones—I gave those to the Morpheus Project team. I’m surprised you never saw them.”

  “I’m not,” Mark said. “I wasn’t told much about that project. Or at least, little that was true.”

  “So did your associate have any idea what the sketches mean?” Karen glanced at him, but his face betrayed no emotion.

  “She had a theory but wasn’t ready to discuss it. I’ll let you know when she gets back to me with specifics.”

  “Very well. I suppose I must be patient. Not always my strong suit.” What the hell? Did Mark just smile at that comment? The nerve. Karen took a deep breath before speaking again. “By the way, who’s taking care of the cat?”

  “My neighbor. She always volunteers. I just have to say the word.” He flashed a grin. “I think she has designs on me.”

  “And you don’t mind taking advantage?”

  “The cat must be fed.”

  “How very expedient of you.”

  Mark shrugged. “I’ve never given her reason to hope. If she wants to create a relationship out of thin air, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “Except allow her to feed the cat.”

  “Exactly.” Mark glanced at Karen again. “I prefer to build relationships based in reality.”

  “Always a good plan. Though I guess I don’t have enough experience to back up that statement. I don’t concern myself with such things these days.” Bitterness rose like bile in her throat. “That ship has sailed.”

  Mark kept his eyes on the road, but Karen could sense his heightened interest. “Did you love him that much, then?”

  Karen stared out the window. “Yes.”

  “And you still do,” Mark said quietly.

  “And I still do.”

  After that confession, they were both silent for some time. As they approached the city the traffic worsened and Mark focused on navigating the heavily traveled roads.

  “You’re an excellent driver,” Karen said.

  “Well, I work in D.C.” Mark expertly guided the car through the maze of vehicles. “Those drivers are even crazier. Now where does one park in Jackson Heights, Queens? Not on the street, I hope.”

  “Tarrow said there’s a driveway. Apparently it’s some kind of row house or duplex, not far from the airport.”

  “Thank God. I’ve no desire to see my car sideswiped while it’s sitting still. They don’t pay me enough to replace vehicles that frequently. Now, could you pull out those directions and act as navigator? I’ve exhausted my knowledge of this area.”

  Karen grabbed the print copy of the directions Myron Tarrow had emailed her and read them aloud. After several wrong turns they finally found the address and pulled into the short driveway.

  “Well then”—Mark leapt out of the car—“let’s see what Mr. Tarrow and his daughter have to say.”

  “Certainly hope it’s something useful.” Karen followed him to the front door of the tall, narrow, brick duplex. “But I’m afraid it’ll be a lot of nonsense.”

  “You never know. Sometimes the best answers come from strange places.” Mark pressed the doorbell.

  Myron Tarrow answered the door immediately and ushered them into a hallway paneled in ebony wood. A steep staircase in the same dark tones dominated the hall.

  “We can sit in here.” Tarrow led them into one of the rooms facing the street. “I hope you don’t mind if I skip the formalities. Ariel’s still at her piano lesson, and I’d like to talk to you before she gets home.”

  It was a room that would do justice to the wildest imaginings of a Pre-Raphaelite. Carved, dark-wood furniture combined with crimson velvet upholstery gave the room the lush feel of a Victorian parlor. Several unlit oil lamps, their frosted globes etched with windblown roses, hung from the top rail of the paneling that covered the lower half of the walls. Karen looked over at Mark, who raised his eyebrows and mouthed something about succeeding and excess.

  Tarrow motioned them toward a small settee upholstered in finely worked petit point. Karen sat down carefully, worried about the stability of the curling legs of the piece. She flinched as Mark sat next to her. The settee was not really large enough for two people, and Mark’s knee pressed heavily against her leg. She leaned away to make more room for his shoulder and bumped her head against the carved back.

  “I’m so glad you could come.” Myron Tarrow sat in what looked to be the room’s one comfortable chair. “When Ariel told me her dream I knew I had to speak with you.”

  “But not over the phone?” Mark asked.

  “No, certainly not. Considering your area of expertise, Mr. Hallam, I think you’d appreciate not discussing such things over the phone.”

  Mark’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly do you know about my area of expertise?”

  Tarrow waved his hand. “Oh, one hears things. I like to keep my ear to the ground. I’m on so many watch lists I feel it’s only fair to keep apprised of those monitoring me.”

  “Watch lists?” Karen repeated. There was no place for her to put her elbow without jabbing Mark in the ribs. Seeming to sense her difficulty, Mark slid his arm through the crook of her elbow and pulled her closer to his side, resting his hand on her thigh. She stiffened, although it was the best way to share the restricted space. Karen shot Mark a look under her lowered lashes. He kept his gaze fixed on Myron Tarrow.

  “Why, yes, I’m afraid my inquiries into ce
rtain unexplained phenomena have always troubled the authorities,” Tarrow said. “But I’m sure Mr. Hallam knows all about that. You must get him to explain it to you later, Ms. Foster.”

  Karen tapped her foot as anger knotted her stomach. Obviously Myron Tarrow and Mark knew things that had been kept from her. Well she was getting sick of being the only one who didn’t understand some secret code. She shot Mark another look, noticing he didn’t seem as unnerved by Tarrow’s comments as she felt, which made her even more suspicious about what he was keeping from her.

  “So what’s this information you feel such a great need to share, Mr. Tarrow?” asked Mark.

  “It’s about the dark-eyed people, of course. The ones in Ariel’s dream and those you’ve encountered, Ms. Foster. Is that correct? You’ve met them, I believe?” Tarrow turned his gaze on Karen. There was a searching intelligence behind those clear gray eyes.

  “Yes.” Karen winced as Mark’s fingers tightened on her leg.

  “And dreamt of them as well?” Myron Tarrow examined Karen with interest. “I see I’ve guessed correctly. Well, I believe I know something of what these creatures may be. And since my daughter appears to have developed a strong connection with you, Ms. Foster, I thought I should share what I know.”

  “It’s Karen, and what do you mean by ‘creatures’?”

  “I mean nonhuman entities, of course,” Tarrow said without blinking.

  Karen stared at him. “You must be joking.”

  “No, I don’t think he is.” Mark’s resigned expression was baffling. It was as if he’d received confirmation of some long-anticipated calamity.

  “Mr. Hallam is not shocked. Not like you, Karen. I rather suspect he’s heard something of this before.”

  “Only rumors.” Mark pulled Karen back down onto the settee as she instinctively jerked upright.

  “You see, Karen,” Tarrow said, “there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our leaders’ philosophies. Or agendas, I should say. They don’t want the average person thinking too hard and long about the possibilities of, shall we say, extraterrestrial beings? It doesn’t suit their plans.”

  “You’ve no proof of any of this, of course,” Mark said.

  “I wouldn’t say that, exactly. I don’t possess absolute, undeniable proof. Truthfully, if I did, I probably wouldn’t be sitting with you right now.”

  “You mean they’d kill you to keep it quiet?” Karen elbowed Mark. “Like Alex? Is this what you thought all along? The Morpheus Project had something to do with aliens?”

  “It’s one possibility,” Mark conceded. “Not necessarily highest on my list, but yes, another thread to follow.”

  Karen stared at him for a moment, her eyes narrowed. She was sick and tired of all those cryptic remarks and allusions. Tired of dancing around topics, just to maintain some rational view of the universe. Fed up with isolating herself, or allowing others to lie to protect her. Maybe that had been necessary in the past, but she wasn’t a foolish young girl anymore. It was time to face the demons that had invaded her life. She turned her focus back on Tarrow. “So these creatures, they’re some kind of ETs?”

  “I’m not sure of that. My sources provide conflicting information. Some say they’re merely emissaries, not the aliens themselves. I am certain they’re somehow connected with forces not of this world. What that means, I can’t tell you. It’s difficult to tell the rumors from the truth. The government,” Tarrow added, with a pointed glance at Mark, “is quite adept at spreading misinformation when it suits their purposes.”

  “What purpose would that be?” Karen asked.

  “Oh, telling tall tales that taint all UFO reports as the ridiculous imaginings of deluded imbeciles. Throwing every report of an anomaly into the same file, whether they’re obviously fakes or not.” Tarrow spread out his hands. “Then every report, legitimate or not, looks fake. A clever strategy.”

  “Not my line of work,” Mark said.

  “I never said it was. But I imagine you’re aware of the practice.”

  “Yes.” Mark slid his arm out from under Karen’s and rose to his feet. “I’ve had to sift through fabricated reports many times.” He walked to the small fireplace and leaned against the elaborately carved mantle.

  “So we’re more closely aligned than you may think, Mr. Hallam,” Tarrow said. “It’s what I do on a daily basis. Trying to find proof to convince even the most hardened skeptic. That’s my life’s work, although I don’t expect it to be completed in my lifetime.”

  “But how does the Morpheus Project fit into this? I assume it does, somehow.” Karen scooted to the edge of the settee. “What do my dreams have to do with anything?”

  Tarrow appraised her carefully. “Communication? That’s my theory. What better way for nonhuman beings to talk to us? Some of my sources think projects like the one you were involved in were meant to see if these beings, or some beings at any rate, could communicate with us through dreams.”

  “And Ian Vance would’ve known about this?”

  Tarrow smiled gently. “My dear, Vance designed the project. He would have known everything, don’t you think?”

  Karen sat in silence, aware both men were watching her—Tarrow with interest and Mark with concern. “And Alex,” she said at last, “found out.”

  “Alex Wythe? The researcher who was killed in an accident probably not so accidental? I imagine so.”

  “There’s no proof of any of this,” Mark said firmly. “I’ve been looking for evidence to link Vance to Alex Wythe’s death for a long time, but I run into roadblocks everywhere. If you have information, I hope you’ll share it, Tarrow.”

  “I don’t know if I have the facts you need, but I may be able to get you an appointment with him. Vance, I mean. I know someone who works at Exocorp. They feed me bits of information from time to time, and they have access to Vance’s calendar. If you were to be scheduled for an appointment, under other names, of course, would that help?”

  Mark regarded Tarrow intently. “Indeed.”

  “I’ll see what I can arrange.” Tarrow rose to his feet. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must ask you to leave. Ariel will be home at any moment, and I’d rather you not be here when she returns. She knows quite a bit about what we are discussing, but I prefer to limit her involvement, for safety’s sake. If someone is watching”—his gaze swept over Karen and Mark—“I’d rather they not imagine she’s had any direct contact with the two of you.”

  “That’s probably wise.” Mark pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket. Grabbing a pen from a side table he scribbled something on the paper and handed it to Myron Tarrow. “This is my personal number. Not entirely untraceable, I’m sure, but close. Call me when you arrange that appointment.”

  “I’ll do that.” Tarrow tucked the paper into his shirt pocket.

  Karen stood and walked to where the two men were standing. “One more thing, Mr. Tarrow, if you don’t mind.”

  “Yes?”

  “I used to sleepwalk and draw in my sleep but that stopped … until recently. In fact, before that, I hadn’t remembered a dream in ten years. Now it’s all started up again. What do you make of that?”

  “Someone is attempting to contact you?”

  Karen felt both men’s eyes on her. “Someone? Or some alien beings?”

  Tarrow shrugged. “Given your history, that’s certainly possible.”

  “According to you, anything is possible.”

  “Isn’t it?” Tarrow smiled. “I will say, my dear, that Ariel’s quite concerned about you. And judging by her words on the matter, I don’t think all the danger comes from Ian Vance or his collaborators.”

  Mark touched her shoulder. “Let’s go, Karen,” he said softly. “I think we can figure out the rest on our own.”

  Karen shrugged off Mark’s hand. “But you’re willing to help, Mr. Tarrow. If we ask?”

  “In the pursuit of the truth,” Myron Tarrow said, “I’m always willing to help.”


  Karen waited until Mark pulled the car out onto a main road before turning on him.

  “You never mentioned this particular theory.”

  “Because it’s only a theory. And an unproven one, at that. I admit my investigations have uncovered information that could lead me to believe what Tarrow says is true. But I’ve no intention of going after Vance based on unfounded rumors.”

  “If Tarrow gets us the appointment, you’ll go?”

  “In a heartbeat.” Mark glanced at her. “It really is just a theory, Karen.”

  “But you’re not saying it’s wrong.”

  “No. I’ve seen enough over the years to know better.”

  Karen pressed her back against the car’s leather upholstery. “Seems entirely too fantastic.”

  “And yet, based on your own experiences, could you ever believe it?”

  Karen sighed deeply. “That’s the thing. That’s the terrifying thing. I can.”

  “It gets easier,” he said gently, “over time.”

  “I certainly hope so. Otherwise, how do you bear it?”

  “Drinking helps,” he said, with the ghost of a smile.

  “Then let’s stop somewhere and get very drunk.”

  “Sorry, I have to drive.”

  “Then drive straight through, and we’ll get drunk when we get there.”

  “Where? Your place or mine?”

  “Oh, yours. You have an extra bedroom.”

  “Ah yes,” Mark said. “There is that.”

  Despite the chaos of her thoughts, Karen fell asleep and didn’t wake until they reached Mark’s house. She had to be guided, half-asleep, into the living room, where she tumbled onto the sofa and refused to move until Kate jumped on her back and yowled into her ear late the next morning.

  Mark was already awake and sitting at his kitchen table. “Coffee?” He pushed a full cup toward her. “By the way, I think you have a text.” He held up her cell phone, which she’d apparently dropped the night before.

  Karen glanced at it blearily, then came fully awake and sat in one of the kitchen chairs. “It’s from Drew Bronski. Says he has some information for us. Maybe this is the break we need.”