The Descent (Detective Louise Blackwell)

by Matt Brolly

  The drink had an immediate effect, the tension melting away as the alcohol seeped into her bloodstream. She stood, wobbling slightly as she drew a line connecting the images of the three women on the crime board. Beneath it she wrote DMT and connected that to the image of Sally’s companion, Mr X.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Joy was painted on Megan’s face. It was visible in the loose way her limbs moved as she walked across the street to greet Amy as she left work. Although Amy felt a tang of envy, she couldn’t begrudge her friend. She could tell Megan wanted to tell her everything there and then. She was about to speak when Amy introduced Nicole, who’d been standing behind her as if using Amy for protection.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ said Megan, with a look of confusion.

  ‘We were going to get an ice cream,’ said Amy.

  Megan’s features hardened and she didn’t respond.

  ‘That’s okay, I’m feeling tired,’ said Nicole. ‘Why don’t you two go and I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  The tension was obvious in Megan’s body and Amy wondered what had come over her friend. ‘Okay, Nicole, if you’re sure.’

  ‘I’m sure. I’ll see you tomorrow. Nice to meet you,’ said Nicole.

  Megan raised her head, something akin to a grunt escaping her mouth. Amy stared at her as Nicole walked away.

  ‘What?’ asked Megan.

  ‘That was a bit rude.’

  ‘I’m sorry, it was. I just need to tell you about last night and I couldn’t with her there. Please apologise to her for me tomorrow,’ said Megan, the lightness in her eyes returning.

  They walked towards the pier, then down on to the sand. The sea was halfway in, the white foam dissolving as it broke on to the shore. Megan skipped along by the side of Amy, trying to say everything at once. Amy found herself tuning out, her senses focusing on the light sea breeze, the hint of salt in the air, the tingle on her exposed skin from the sun.

  ‘We took it again. Together,’ said Megan, as they walked behind the old building where the Tropicana water park had once been.

  The words filtered through to Amy and she stopped walking. ‘DMT?’ she said.

  Megan nodded three or four times, as excited as a child. ‘It was a full dose, like when . . .’ She stopped, still smiling, as she referenced the others who’d passed over.

  ‘He injected you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And Jay took it as well?’

  Megan’s eyes were wide in amazement. ‘He took it first,’ she said. ‘I sat with him. He looked so serene. He talked to them and told me they were waiting again.’

  ‘And were they?’

  Megan started crying. ‘Yes. It was even clearer than when I smoked it. They held my hand and showed me. I truly understand now, Amy. They’re waiting for me. I know something better is waiting for me, isn’t that incredible?’

  Amy hugged her friend. ‘They’ had different names. ‘The guardians’, ‘the entities’, ‘the guides’, ‘the aliens’. Amy had been sceptical when Jay had first told her about the drug, about what she could expect. She’d done pretty much everything by then, except thankfully stopping short of injecting herself. She’d certainly taken her share of psychedelics – mushrooms, LSD, among others – and the one thing she’d known was that no two trips were the same. She’d experienced such different reactions herself, and had seen the wildly varying effect the drugs had on others. She knew more than one person who’d taken things too far, who’d been permanently affected by taking them. When Jay had met her she’d been off them for years. She’d heard about DMT, yes, but it had never been widely available so she’d never taken it.

  She’d laughed when Jay told her about the guardians. She’d heard rumours but when it was said aloud it sounded ludicrous.

  ‘It’s well documented,’ Jay had said, amused by her humour. ‘Thousands of people over the world have had the same experience. How could everyone be having the same trip?’

  He told her about his time in Peru, how he’d joined an extreme-travel group and spent months with two Amazonian tribes where he’d eventually taken part in the Ayahuasca ceremony. ‘It is life to them. They are still connected, we,’ he’d said, pointing to the build-up of street lights and office buildings, ‘have lost our way.’

  He’d given her some books to read and she’d agreed with much of what he’d told her, yet she was still doubtful up until that day he’d let her take the drug properly. He’d taken her camping, a remote spot he knew on the Brean peninsula. He’d given her little tastes before but that had been the first time he’d offered to inject her.

  The thought of using a needle had troubled her, she’d seen the fallout from shared needles in her past, but Jay had been meticulous about safety. He’d never forced her. The choice was hers to make. When she’d agreed he’d acted as a counsellor, his words soothing and guiding, as the DMT hit her bloodstream. He’d told her what she could expect – the sense of floating, the swirling geometries, the waiting room and the guardians – and although not exactly as she’d imagined, his predictions had come true.

  The memory of what happened next had never faded. She’d heard enough drug tales over the years, had experienced moments where she’d felt connected beyond anything in her normal life, but this eclipsed everything. The world dissolved and she became part of something else. It was more a feeling than a sight, a blurring of colour and sound. She felt it within her and knew – at the time and afterwards – that it was real. The two guardians were in the floating waiting room. They didn’t speak but explained to her that they’d been waiting for her to break through, and as they led her into a maze of colour and shapes she began to see the outline of two figures.

  She hadn’t needed to explain what had happened to Jay. He’d known. And although Amy was naturally suspicious of most things, she’d believed in the power of the drug from that moment onwards. Her belief was only cemented from the testimonies from everyone else in their little group, Megan included, who’d experienced such similar reactions.

  And when Jay had told her that one day she could leave this world and go to that special place, she hadn’t been scared, she’d been desperate to go.

  ‘What happened afterwards?’ said Amy, hating the hint of jealousy in her voice.

  ‘We stayed the night together,’ said Megan, blushing.

  Amy had never slept with Jay. They’d never discussed the reasons why and she knew he hadn’t slept with the others; at least until it became their turn to move on.

  Amy was unable to control the rapid beat of her heart. ‘Does this mean . . . ?’ she asked Megan, who was staring at her with a look of such serenity that it was difficult to hold her gaze.

  ‘This weekend. Jay will be messaging us all soon. He asked me to leave something,’ said Megan, handing her a piece of paper.

  Amy unfolded the note, both of them crying as she read about Megan’s life. Amy took her friend’s hand. ‘I’ll miss you,’ she said.

  Megan grabbed her tightly. ‘Death is not the end. I’ll be waiting for you.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Louise called Dr Forrest first thing in the morning. Although she would have liked to see the man face to face, a journey to Exeter felt extreme for what could amount to nothing more than a lecture on drug-taking, and there was too much to do at the station.

  The doctor was understanding. ‘That’s fine, how can I help?’ he said.

  Louise was surprised by the high-pitched tone of his voice, disappointed by her own preconceptions. ‘Dr Everson mentioned to you that traces of DMT have been found in the three suicide victims in our town in the last few weeks?’

  ‘Yes, a very tragic situation,’ said Forrest.

  ‘Is there anything in your research that would link the taking of DMT to suicide?’

  ‘Not specifically,’ said the doctor.

  ‘What can you tell me?’ she asked.

  ‘What is your understanding of DMT?’ asked Forrest.

  ‘From my discussions wit
h Dr Everson, I know the basics. I know that it is a hallucinogenic.’

  Forrest cleared his throat, a squeaking sound passing through Louise’s earpiece. ‘I understand. I will confess, Inspector, I have been giving your case some thought since Dr Everson brought it to my attention. What piqued my interest was the suicide notes. This idea of a connectedness, another world. I can email some literature on the subject. There has been some interesting long-term analysis of DMT and this idea of another world, or a parallel universe has been prevalent. A particular quirk has been the feeling in many subjects that what they have experienced has been real.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well, the usual hindsight response after taking a hallucinogenic, LSD for example, is an acceptance that the experience was essentially a chemical trick of the mind. However, many users of DMT contend that their experience was a real one, that the drug transported them to another world or plane of existence. Furthermore, they tend to be able to recall the experience in greater detail even many months after taking the drug. And then there are the guardians.’

  ‘Guardians?’

  ‘Many of the volunteers in DMT trials claimed to have been met by guardians in these parallel worlds. They can take many forms – my particular favourite is the description by Terence McKenna, who called them “self-transforming machine elves” – but they do seem to be a constant as an experience to many who take the drug.’

  ‘This sounds like the stuff of science fiction,’ said Louise.

  ‘Doesn’t it just? As yet, we don’t know for sure why users have such similar experiences. The nature of researching such phenomena makes it very difficult to quantify. However, some users of DMT often become convinced of the existence of an afterlife. I am only speculating of course but maybe this was a factor in the decision of the women to take their lives. Fascinating though. Another possible avenue you may wish to explore would be the connection between DMT and NDEs.’

  ‘Again, you’ll have to elaborate, Dr Forrest.’

  ‘Apologies, I can get caught up in the jargon. NDEs are near-death experiences. I’m sure you’ve heard of those. Many patients who technically die, maybe undergoing cardiac arrest during an operation, often claim to see things like a light at the end of the tunnel, or have an out-of-body experience where they see themselves on the hospital bed. Again, we have no real explanation for this, but there are certain consistencies between the recollections of NDEs and those who have taken DMT. Perhaps this might give a hint as to the motivation of these three women. Fascinating stuff, isn’t it?’

  Louise didn’t comment on the man’s fascination and bit her tongue rather than reiterate that three women were dead. Certainly the link to near-death experiences was of interest. If the DMT had somehow convinced the women of an afterlife, it could be a motivating reason for them to take their own lives. ‘Coming back to these guardians, I still find it inconceivable that everyone who takes the drug sees the same thing.’

  ‘Not everyone of course, and I would argue it’s not exactly the same thing, as these so-called guardians have different appearances. Furthermore, the most extensive clinical research so far conducted used sixty participants and only half of those reported experiencing a different plane of existence and encounter with a guardian. Obviously, the very fact that the subjects are taking a highly hallucinogenic drug makes the findings difficult to interpret. Many volunteers were unable to fully describe what they saw, and then there is the possibility of habitual influence.’

  ‘By which you mean . . . ?’

  ‘In a layman’s term, what the subject experienced could arguably be influenced by other factors including their surroundings and the people they were with when they took the drug. And of course, you would have to consider the purity of the drug itself. There are countless possible derivatives and the drug could be mixed with other narcotics.’

  ‘What you’re saying is that people who are given DMT could be prompted to see specific things.’

  ‘I am saying that is open to debate but certainly the scene and setting is pivotal to the hallucinogenic experience. You wouldn’t want to take any psychedelic in the wrong frame of mind or in an extreme situation. The commonality of the guardians is still something that is yet to be fully explained. But yes, it is conceivable that a user could, to a certain extent, be open to the possibility of suggestion. I’ll send you some literature. Please keep me informed and I’d be happy to help further.’

  Louise hung up and drank her third coffee of the day. She checked on her parents before leaving for work, unsurprised that Paul hadn’t called.

  She thought about her conversation with Dr Forrest as she made her way to the station. All the talk of other worlds, guardians and aliens, and near-death experiences made her feel like she was still dreaming. That she’d heard such explanations from a renowned scientist, on the recommendation of a Met specialist, made it all the more confusing.

  A rainstorm greeted her as she reached the police station. It was as if summer was over, gone in a few glorious days. A grey sky hung low over the station. The car park was already full and Louise sensed the heightened activity as she entered the main entrance. She wasn’t sure what everyone was working towards. Was it finding out why the three women had taken their lives? Or was the station fighting the inevitable feeling that there would be more suicides?

  She scrolled through the new pile of notes waiting for her on her desk, the lists of sightings of Sally’s companion with follow-up information. She logged on to see twice as many emails waiting for her including an email from Dr Forrest with the literature he’d promised. Louise wasn’t sure she had the heart to tell the team that the case had something to do with little green men just yet, but she clicked on the links anyway.

  Louise was no scientist but she didn’t see anything comprehensive in the articles she read. There appeared to be a lot of conjecture though Forrest had been right about the constant reference to guardians. At the moment the information was more harmful and confusing than helpful, and she was glad when Thomas placed a coffee cup on her desk.

  ‘Boss.’

  ‘Thank you, I need this,’ said Louise, drinking the coffee as if it were quenching her thirst.

  ‘Thought you’d like to know, we have something of a lead for our mysterious man. Three callers have given the same name for him. Jay Chappell. May I?’ said Thomas, looking at her keypad.

  ‘Sure.’

  Thomas loaded Facebook and located a profile for Jay Chappell. His page hadn’t been updated in over a year but the blurred profile picture was a good match for Sally’s companion. ‘We have an address in Newport, Wales. Local CID are on their way now.’

  ‘Never let it be said the press aren’t helpful,’ said Louise.

  ‘There’s more. Not sure what it means but Coulson has found some online groups that Chappell is a member of. I’ll send you the links over. Some weird, other-world shit.’

  Louise’s chest tightened. ‘Can you be more specific than “other-world shit”?’

  Thomas laughed. ‘Sorry, that is a bit vague. Here,’ he said, touching her arm as he typed on her keyboard again. ‘Something to do with the Peruvian rainforest. Some tribe he went to visit.’

  ‘That is something,’ said Louise, scanning the information. She’d seen enough coincidences in her time not to get carried away but as she read about Chappell’s foray into the rainforest, and his testimony about Ayahuasca, the DMT tea, she found it hard not to get her hopes up.

  However, she was still surprised when an hour later Simone led the man into the office.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  A collective hush descended over the room as Louise walked over to Simone.

  ‘This is Jay Chappell. He’s just been processed by the front desk,’ said Simone.

  ‘I saw my picture in the paper last night,’ said Chappell. He was taller than he’d appeared on-screen, at least 6’2”. He was smiling at her. Not in an unkind way, more like he was amused to be finding himself at
the station.

  ‘DI Louise Blackwell. Thank you for coming here. Simone, please find an interview room for Mr Chappell. That’s if you’re okay answering a few questions?’

  ‘Of course, however I can help.’

  ‘I wish the job was always this easy,’ said Thomas, as Louise returned to get her notebook.

  ‘I’ll interview him alone. You watch from the video link, see if you spot anything,’ said Louise. ‘Get Coulson there as well. Make sure it’s being recorded properly.’

  Chappell stood as she entered interview room three, a glass of water in front of him.

  ‘Thanks again for coming to see us so soon, Mr Chappell. It must have been a bit of a shock seeing yourself in the papers.’

  ‘It was but not as much as seeing the news about Sally. And you can call me Jay.’ The early amusement had faded from the man’s eyes, replaced by a studious seriousness.

  Louise explained the formalities, offering Chappell legal representation if he felt it necessary while trying to sound as light as possible about their conversation.

  Chappell waved the suggestion away. ‘No, I know why you wanted to speak to me. I was with Sally the other day not long before she . . .’ His hesitation seemed genuine, his eyes watering as his words faltered.

  ‘Could you tell me what your relationship was to Sally Kennedy?’

  Chappell sniffed, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve known her for some years. We’re good friends, though I don’t see her as often as I would like.’

  ‘You were holding hands on the pier,’ said Louise, keeping her tone light as if her comment didn’t really mean anything.

  The man shrugged. He had an intense way of looking at her, his eyes never leaving hers. Louise imagined most people would find his gaze unnerving, or flattering, depending on their viewpoint. ‘Friends can hold hands can’t they?’