Jack got in his car, turned on the ignition and just sat there.
Part of his duties at the Pentagon during that time had been working as the government liaison between NASA and the NSA. A very small part of it because, really, what is the threat to national security that could involve NASA? Not very much. No one actually believed aliens were going to come and shoot anyone with nuclear ray guns, but still it had been put on a watch-list. He had believed the report of what it could mean. And now his position as the liaison as well as the NSA department that he worked with, were defunct.
He hadn’t heard any more about what else NASA found. It was more or less put on a back shelf by the government, and him. He knew the report was still there – somewhere. The Pentagon never threw anything away.
But, he didn’t want to alarm the government over something that might not be true. He didn’t find out about this woman in any kind of official capacity. He needed to speak to Mr. Kevron who was now retired. That man’s mind was like a steal trap. Nothing got loose. He would remember what was done at the time on his end, and if the matter should be reopened based on the intelligence he had just gleaned from his sister and her friend. Jack figured it would be better to speak to Kevron in person. He’d take a flight down to Alabama, surprise Kevron. He didn’t want him to tell him not to come.
“But first,” he said out loud, putting the car in drive, and checking his mirror for any oncoming traffic, “I’ll look into who this Justin Dickerson really is.”
Chapter Fifteen
Cleveland Heights, Ohio
September 19, 2011
I had a meeting with my publisher in Cincinnati. My rep was Kate Gianopoulos. She was a young, energetic associate who was totally gung ho about my book.
It was mid-September, and even at ten in the morning it felt like the start of a warm and breezy June day. The remarkably warm day I knew was going to make the trip pleasant, which was good since I was a little anxious.
I made Mase go with me and tried to make him drive my Buick LaCrosse. I was just getting too old to climb in and out of his SUV. But no way, he said, he was not riding ten hours, five there and five back, in my little car. It had four doors. I don’t know what more he could want.
I was pushing forward. Put the book out first. Get the proof second. Then tell the world. But still, with my plan, I was nervous and I didn’t want to face it alone so I dragged Mase along. He was fine with it all. He even encouraged me to “tell all.” I don’t think he realized what he was saying or what he was pushing me to do. His whole life could be ruined. Didn’t he realize that? They would find out about my depression, my bouts of craziness and then pounce on the fact that I believed that man came from Mars. We would all be ostracized, maligned – we’d probably have to change our names and move to another country.
I could picture it . . .
They would come for me, in the dead of night. Their torches blazing, pitch forks in hand, ready to bang down my door and drag me, kicking and screaming, into the streets.
Then I smiled thinking about what would happen next. . . Instead, I would swing open the door, just as they reached it, a bright light shining behind me and hold up, high above my head, the irrefutable proof that I had gleaned as to man’s origins. Touting it like a banner for them to see, nay, for the world to see. Evidence of my claims that would make them falter back, mumble among themselves and cower . . .
“What are you over there smiling about?” Mase looked at me.
“Huh? Nothing.”
Yeah, so I was crazy.
But I had to do something to build up the confidence I needed to face what I had to do. I had to believe that I could make it all okay once I showed the world the technology that our ancestors had left for us. The technology that could make our world better. I had to believe that when I did it my family - and me, would be able to get through it and be okay, even if it included talking to myself in horror movie genre-ese.
I looked over at Mase. Good thing he didn’t know the things that were going on in my head. He wouldn’t ever let me out the house, let alone write a book to tell everybody about it. He pulled over in the gas station on Mayfield and Belvoir.
“Get whatever you need, because we are not making a bunch of stops going down the road.” He looked over the top of his sunglasses at me.
“I’m just gonna get a Pepsi.” I shrugged. He raised his eyebrows as if he didn’t believe me. “You want anything?” I asked.
“Nope. I’m good.”
“I grabbed the pop from the cooler, once inside, then I thought about what he said, “Get whatever you need.” So I turned around and went and grabbed up an armful of assorted snacks – Cheez-It, Snyder Salt and Vinegar potato chips, and some chocolate candy. Lots of chocolate candy. And stood in the short line for the register to pay for it. Someone behind me tapped me on my shoulder. I knew who it was before I even turned to look. I knew that scent anywhere.
“Hi, Professor Abelson.” I turned around and looked down at her 5’1” tall, slender frame. “How are you?” I shifted all my stuff to one arm and gave her a hug with the other.
“I’m well, Justin. Fancy meeting you here.”
I turned to the side so I could talk to her and still follow the line. “I know. You’re not driving are you?” I looked out the plate glass window to all the cars parked at the pumps. I had never known her to drive. Even in her late seventies, Hannah Abelson was the picture of health. She didn’t look a day over sixty, and she swam and walked religiously.
“Ah, do you think me too old to drive, do you? I do own a car you know.”
“No, I didn’t know you owned a car. And no, I didn’t think you too old to drive. I was just asking.”
“Well, I am driving. But, I’m not alone. My husband, Samuel is with me.”
The mysterious husband, Samuel. From what I’d heard around Case no one had ever seen him.
“I’ve never met him,” I said smiling. “You’ll have to introduce him to me.”
She smiled back. “Of course I will, dear. Just not right now. He’s sleeping. Wouldn’t want to disturb him because we just left the doctor’s office, and they gave him some medicine.”
It was my turn to pay. I slid up to the counter. Fishing a crumpled twenty dollar bill out of the bottom of my purse, I glanced back out the window. I wanted to see this husband of hers. Instead I saw Mase finishing up at the gas pump. Aw, shoot, I thought, he’ll want to leave right away. He wanted to drive to Cincinnati and turn around and come right back. He wouldn’t want to wait, or for that matter approve of me hanging around, to spy on Professor Abelson.
“Who are you with?” Professor Abelson asked me.
“My husband, Mase.”
“Oh, how nice. Just the two of you, spending the day together?
“Actually, we’re headed to Cincinnati for the day.”
“Visiting friends?”
“Uhm, no. Aren’t you going to pay for your gas?” She had stepped out of the line and people were moving in front of her.”
“Oh, I’m fine. You were saying?”
May as well start letting people know, I thought. Everyone would find out soon enough anyway. I took a deep breath and said, “I’m on my way to see my publisher. I wrote a book. Actually, this is the second book I wrote about the subject. So it’s the sequel, I guess.”
“Really? What’s it about?”
“Just about some manuscripts I found in Israel a few years back.”
“Manuscripts?”
“Mm-hmm.” I saw Mase holding his door open, looking into the store. “I have to go Professor Abelson.” I leaned down closer to her and patted her on her arm. “You take care now.”
“Justin.” She called out to me as I headed out. Smiling, I turned and waved as I pushed open the glass door.
I climbed back into the SUV.
Looking down at the bag, Mase chuckled. “Now I see what was taking so long. I filled up the car while you were gone.
“I saw Profes
sor Abelson in there. She is like about ninety, out driving and pumping gas. Did you see what car she got out of?”
“Who is Professor Abelson?”
“You know. Hannah Abelson. She’s a Professor Emeritus of Semitic over at Case. She’s a little, I don’t know, eccentric, I guess is the word. She does strange things. Like she just told me that her husband is in the car sleeping.”
“How is that strange?”
“Did you see a car with anyone sleeping inside of it?”
“I wasn’t looking.”
“And no one has ever seen her husband. I don’t think she actually has one.”
“You shouldn’t be so suspicious of people. Buckle up,” he said, pulling out of the gas station.
“I’m not suspicious of “people.” I’m suspicious of her. Can’t we wait until she comes out so I can see what car she gets into?” He glanced over at me and shook his head. I didn’t think that was the answer to my question, I think he was shaking his head because of what I wanted to do. And, I’m sure, he was rolling his eyes behind those sunglasses of his.
“She acts so strange.” I kept talking. “She doesn’t really speak to me. She just stares at me all the time, and other people tell me that she’s always asking about me. I just feel compelled to be nice to her because she’s so old.”
“I never heard you talk about her before.”
“That’s because I don’t have a reason to talk about her. I mean we’re close enough as colleagues. But she kind of creeps me out.”
“You didn’t see her go in?” Mase asked.
“No. She came up behind me when I was standing in line. I knew it was her before I even turned around. She always smells like roses.”
“Roses?”
“Yeah,” I said, and chuckled. “She wears this rosewater, toiletwater, parfum, or something. She’s been wearing that scent ever since I’ve known her. I don’t think she wears any other fragrance.”
“Who would wanna smell like roses?”
“Exactly.”
Chapter Fourteen
University Heights, Ohio
“How could I have not known?” Hannah jammed the butcher knife into the loaf of rye bread that she had set on the counter. She was so angry with herself. “All this time. How could I have not known,” she repeated. “I came here to watch her and right under my nose she publishes a book on the manuscripts.”
And why hadn’t he known? Was she going to have to take care of this herself?
Hannah had been at the gas station to fill up her car. Although she rarely drove it, she always made sure it was ready in case of an emergency. But after she had spoken to Justin she had become so enraged that she had driven straight past her house and went to the Veale Natatorium at Case, and swam for more than an hour. But even that seemed not to calm her. She got dressed and headed over to the Kelvin Smith Library to find Justin’s book. After much searching, and her getting angrier with each passing moment, no book was found by a Dr. Justin Dickerson and she stormed out. Sitting in her car she banged on the steering wheel with both hands, then twisted the ignition, her rage still not settled, and drove home. Walking in her stocking feet, she went into the kitchen.
“I will kill her,” she said, nodding her head and jerking the refrigerator door open. She grabbed the jug of milk and cheese, and slammed the door, flinging them both onto the counter.
“That little imp! Who does she think she is?” The words spewed from behind clenched teeth. The muscles surrounding her nose and lips were drawn tight, the ends of her eyebrows pushed up, her entire face crimson red. She looked like an enraged elf. Hannah grabbed a plate from the cabinet, and jerking the knife out of the bread, her elbow hit the milk and it hit the floor, bouncing several times before resting on its side with a split in the plastic. Milk gurgled out across the floor.
“Dammit to hell,” she said, and made a hissing sound. Spreading her legs, she reached over the puddle to grab paper towels from the counter. Pulling a little too hard to tear off a towel, her foot slipped in the milk and she fell. On her way down she tried to grab the edge of the counter, and then the handle of the drawer underneath it. The drawer and its contents came crashing down on her, the weight of it twisting her arm.
She heard a crack.
•≈•≈•≈•≈•≈•≈•≈•
“I can’t put this gown on. It’s my arm for God’s sake.”
Hannah was in an examination room at University Hospitals. She had crawled, one-armed, into the living room to dial 911. Paramedics had to come and get her off the floor, and an ambulance drove her to the ER. As soon as the triage nurse found out her age, they took her right in.
“Why would I get undressed for you to check my arm? Have the doctor come in,” she said, barking at the nurse.
“It’s a wonder you didn’t break your hip, Miss Abelson.” The male nurse took back the hospital gown she had pushed away.
“Why would I have broken my hip? It was just a slip.”
“At your age, nearly eighty, you have to be careful.”
“Don’t you think I know how old I am, and what I can and cannot do? I don’t need the likes of you telling me.” Hannah bowed her head and looked at him menacingly. “And usually I am very careful. It was just . . .”
“Do you live alone?”
“Pardon me?”
“I just wonder if you need help at home. We have a social worker that could speak to you.”
“I don’t need any help. I do quite well. And, my husband lives with me.”
“Your husband?” The nurse looked down at the sheet of paper clipped to the blue chart. “Do you want me to call him? I don’t see him listed. Or, you don’t want him here with you?”
“What a thing to say. Of course I want him here with me. Samuel. His name is Samuel,” she said, and looked at the nurse out of the corner of her eye, strands of hair in her face, “He’s out of town now. On business. That’s why he isn’t here with me.”
“He still works?”
Hannah let out an irritated sigh. The nurse nodded. “I see.” Putting up his hands as if backing down from a fight, “Well, the doctor’s pretty sure that that arm is broken. And because of your age, we’re going to keep you overnight and make sure no bruising or clotting occurs,” he said. “But by morning you’ll have to have someone come and pick you up. Once we get that arm in a cast, and the doctor releases you, we can’t let you go home by yourself because of your age, and the meds we’ll give you for the pain. Do you have someone you can call?”
“Yes. Of course I do.”
“I didn’t mean anything by that. It’s just that you’ll need to call them before you’re discharged. Or we can call social services.”
“I said I have someone you can call. A good and dear friend of mine. She will not hesitate to come to my aid. I have her number written down. Would you hand me my purse, please?”
The nurse reached over to the chair where Hannah’s purse set, her shoes slid underneath. Picking up the purse, he handed it to her.
“Thank you.” Hannah snatched the purse with her good arm. “I know I have it here somewhere.” She pushed back the wisps of hair that had fell around her face, and searched down in her purse. She pulled out a wallet and checked in the zippered section of it. “Yes, here it is.” She handed the card to the nurse. “Call her. Let her know I’ll need a ride tomorrow. She’ll come and get me.”
The nurse nodded his head. “Justin Dickerson?” he read off the name. Hannah nodded. “Okay. Is this the right card. You said ‘she’ would come and get you. So, Justin is a girl?”
“Yes. Why else would I give you that card?”
“I was just checking.”
“Well call her and let her know. She’ll come right over. She will come and pick me up. You needn’t worry about that. And, that’s Doctor Justin Dickerson.”
Chapter Fifteen
Coming back from Cincinnati, I got a call on my cell that I needed to pick up Professor Abelson at University H
ospitals the next day. She had broken her arm. Fell in some spilt milk, the nurse told me, and they were keeping her overnight.
Crazy lady.
Why would she give me as her contact person?
Where was her husband, Samuel?
The next morning, I dreaded going over to UH to pick up Professor Abelson. I don’t know why, but her staring at me all the time, and that awful rose-scented crap she wore just made me less tolerant of her. I always feigned niceness when I saw her. Still she must need me. The Bible said you should help others, you never know when you might be “entertaining angels unaware.” Could Professor Abelson be an angel?
Nah.
I decided to take my sister Claire with me.
“Wait until you smell that icky cologne she wears,” I said to Claire when she got in the car. “You’ll probably faint.”
“I’m sure it couldn’t be that bad, Justin.”
I just glanced over at her.
But once we got there, Claire seemed to like Professor Abelson right away, and Professor Abelson seemed to like Claire. Soon as we got back to where they had her, the two of them clicked. Professor Abelson let Claire push her out of the emergency room’s observation unit after telling the nurse on duty that she couldn’t, even when the nurse insisted it was her job. Professor Abelson just grinned at Claire, and told her what a beautiful girl she was, and “Oh, how smart you are. A medical doctor? And that’s so wise, Claire,” she said. “To keep up with your medical license while you do research work. You never know when someone may need your help.” She squeezed Claire’s arm and said, “Aren’t you just the cat’s meow?”
The cat’s meow? I mouthed to Claire, and scrunched up my nose. What the heck? I just stood by. Next time, I thought, I’ll just send Claire.
Irrefutable Proof: Mars Origin I Series Book II Page 8
