by Brian Toal
Sharon shrugged her shoulders, "Not many, I guess."
"Right, because it’s almost impossible - the human lifespan isn't long enough. But eventually, although it will take me a few years, I will have achieved a knowledge level in a multitude of fields that would be unattainable by anyone else in the world. With that knowledge base, what would I be superbly suited for?"
"God... I don't know."
"Business - in this century and time. A CEO of a large corporation. With my ability to accumulate knowledge in a wide variety of fields, I would rise through the ranks of any corporation, until I was eventually in a position of influence. Then, because of my broad expertise, I could move that company into multitude of markets. If a company was able to profitably coordinate a diverse portfolio in manufacturing, mining, agriculture, research and development and communications, it would effectively rule the world.”
“Okay. Let’s say for a second I believe you and this machine has endowed you with a superb memory so you can head up this empire you’re talking about. But what about all of these other changes that have occurred to you?”
“Remember I said, in this century and time I would go into business. A thousand years ago I would have gone into government; back when there were absolute rulers - kings and queens. A significant advisor who was always correct would also have had great impact upon the world. Now..." Chris paused as he pondered how to put his thoughts into words. "As you say, I also have telekinetic skills. At first, I didn't understand why I had that ability. I thought possibly it was just a side effect and my main job was to learn and store information, hence my Eidetic Memory. Now, I don't believe that is true. I think I have been made telekinetic on purpose. What is the main advantage of being telekinetic?"
"Chris, I don't have the slightest idea." Sharon had turned in her seat, as much as her seat belt would allow her, her attention focussed on every word Chris was saying. But her face reflected a stunned disbelief at his conclusions. "What you’re saying is far too strange for me to even begin to comprehend."
"Protection! That is what my telekinetic ability is for. Yes, I can move cans of Coke around and turn TV sets on and off, but its main purpose is my protection and I have little control over its reflex when I feel threatened or frightened. It’s like a blink of an eye, a subconscious reaction. It would be very, very difficult for anyone to do me harm. Anyone that I could see anyway. I could push them away or kill them in a second. In times past when there were court intrigues and killing off one's competitor was almost accepted, this skill would have been an absolute necessity for my survival. In fact, I suppose I could fix myself, if I was stabbed or shot with an arrow - better than ancient medicine could have, anyway. So..." Chris paused, reaching behind him for his can of pop. "...I think others have been found before. At least three times.”
"God...Chris this is so confusing. Why...why would it want to do this and why has done it to you? You’re only twelve."
"That, I believe, was a mistake. It’s not that powerful on its own. I think it could be destroyed quite easily. Cut open, even with ancient tools. So I believe it’s programmed to capture the first human who is foolish enough to stick their head inside of it." Chris grimaced ruefully. "Which I was stupid enough to do. But it really doesn't matter who it initially captures. It would normally control them so effectively that they would be a virtual slave to its wants and needs. In my case however, I was snatched away before I regained enough control over my body functions to resist, although it tried with its remote abilities to prevent my removal, and that is why Todd was hurt. Then Aunt Beth stabbed me with a sedative and bandaged my eyes because of the bruising around them. That effectively stopped its ability to fight back and when she had me flown a couple hundred miles away, it lost contact and I was set free, although its programming was still intact."
"Chris, this is scary. You believe that this thing actually wants to dominate you, to...rule you? And if Beth hadn't got you away from it, you wouldn't have been able to leave?"
"Yes, I think it would have owned me. Part of it is in me now. Who knows how it communicates with me? I don't. But, I know it can. And all those new axons are now a permanent addition to my brain. Dr. Murance never even talked about a cure. He knew they were there to stay. It’s going to be part of me and probably have some control over me as long as I live, or as long as it lives."
"Chris this is terrible!" Sharon reached forward and hugged her son to her chest and Chris surrendered, kneeling between the seats and allowing his mother to paw his head and back.
"As your mother says..." Bob spoke from behind the wheel, his eyes on the road. "...this is mighty frightening stuff. How sure are you, that any of it is true?"
Chris turned to look at his father, his mother's arms still wrapped around him. "I can't be sure any of it is. I mean, there is no doubt something has been done to my brain and I have Eidetic Memory as well as being telekinetic. As far as the other stuff...I don't know. It’s just what I believe is probably true."
"If any of it’s true, then we need to get some help. Whatever that thing is back in Detroit, it needs to be shut down, cut up and its parts scattered in some big hole."
Chris nodded and then in a low voice continued. “I’m not sure it will be that easy anymore. I have a feeling it’s recruited a lot of people to its cause. Uncle Charlie and Aunt Beth being only the first. Probably there are a lot more now."
"Like you?"
"No, not at all like me. More like slaves. Protecting it and working for it."
"Christ Almighty!"
Chris nodded sadly. "Yeah. It’ll be real difficult to get to it now."
Bob stood beside Sharon as she spoke into the payphone on the second floor of the Flying J Truck Stop.
"Yes, we’re fine, Beth." Sharon said, the phone pressed to her ear.
"No, we haven't decided exactly what we’ll do yet, but we’re close to making a decision..."
"No, we won't be returning to Detroit anytime soon. But, we may want to contact that doctor you mentioned."
"No, I don't think it’s appropriate to make an appointment. Right now, we’re just having a family vacation as well as taking our time making our minds up about..."
"Chris is fine. He seems to be dealing with his..."
"Beth! I don't know why you’re so insistent on that point. Chris is no danger to anyone. In fact, he is better behaved than ever..."
Sharon paused, her eyes locked with her husband's. "What does she sound like?" Bob asked.
Sharon waved her free hand, motioning for him to be silent. "No, Beth. We’re going to continue up to Seattle. Then we might even take another trip, after that. This has been good for us. Eventually, within the next week, we’ll decide what we all think is best for Chris and you’ll be the first to know."
"Yes, yes. I’ll give you a call when we reach Seattle... Where are we now?" Sharon looked about the phone room hoping to spot something that would identify the town. "I...I don't really know. Someplace in California, a while ago we drove by a city named Corning. Like the cookware they advertise on TV."
"Yes, Bob says we’ll be in Oregon tonight."
"Yes, I love you too. I’ll call you in a couple of days."
Sharon hung up the phone and turned towards Bob.
"What was she like?" Bob asked.
"I don't know... Chris may be right... She's different, then I remember. Real forceful and only interested in what we’re doing with Chris. She didn't seem at all interested in whether we were having a good time. She was only interested in Chris."
"Did she mention anything about Charlie?"
"No. Just...we should get help for Chris, we should take Chris back to Detroit, Chris is dangerous, Chris needs help, Chris should see this doctor fellow, Chris should..." Sharon shook her head. "It was a strange conversation."
"Christ Almighty! What the hell have we got ourselves into?"
Sharon sighed. "I don't know, but I don't think we should count on Beth for help. She’s totally
against Chris and our choice of action at this moment."
"Choice of action!" Bob laughed bitterly. "We haven't chosen to do anything. This has all been too weird and has happened far too quick, for us to decide on anything, but I think we better start deciding."
Sharon nodded. "I agree, but what? How can we check out anything Chris has said?"
"I don't think we need to do anything ourselves. We’re just parents trying to do our best to protect our son. What we need to do is, get Chris someplace safe and let him tell his story. Any doctor can do the same tests that doctor in Detroit did. That’ll furnish them with enough proof, of at least part of Chris' story, that they may decide to investigate the rest. But, I think we have to tell somebody soon."
Sharon nodded. "Yes, I think you’re right. But, who do we tell?"
"I don't know...the police maybe."
Sharon shook her head. "No. I can't imagine explaining any of this to some constable sitting behind a desk. I think we need to get Chris back into another hospital...maybe in Seattle."
"Near your parents place?"
"Yeah, Chris and I could stay at their place, while somebody else figures this out."
"Okay. Let's go for that. We’ll be in Seattle tomorrow anyway. After I get this load off, we’ll head over to your parents and check Chris into a hospital."
Sharon nodded. "Yeah...I think it’s the right thing to do, but let's not tell Chris yet. He’s going to hate the idea."
"So?"
Sharon looked up into her husband's eyes. "Trust me on this, Bob. Let's not tell Chris until we’re at my parent's place - leave the debate until Seattle."
Bob shrugged. "You're the boss. But, I want some answers to whatever the hell is going on soon."
"So do I Bob. I think we all do."
Simultaneously, across three western states, at all police precincts and Department of Transportation roadside weigh-scales, fax machines begin to print out an identical piece of paper.
◆◆◆
INTERDEPARTMENTAL FAX: 786-0985432126
ORIGIN: FBI DETROIT DIVISION
JURISDICTIONS:
CALIFORNIA, OREGON, WASHINGTON STATE POLICE
AND DEPARTMENT OF TRANSPORTION
CHARGES:
Kidnapping, Abduction, Assaulting a Police Officer Other charges under the Child Welfare Act.
SUSPECTS:
Bob (Robert) Adrian McCarter
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 170 lbs.
Hair: Black, parted on left side
Eye colour: Green
Clothing: Unknown
Occupation: Truck Driver - Employed with B+T Trucking (Detroit)
Sharon Nancy McCarter
Height: 5'4"
Weight: 100 lbs.
Hair: Dark red, worn long down the back
Eyes: Blue
Clothing: Unknown
Occupation: Self-employed - Fitness instructor
INFORMATION: Travelling together in Tractor-Trailer Combination. Tractor, white with logo - red on white B+T Trucking, Detroit. License Plate: Michigan HKD 154 (Tractor), JPY 739 (Trailer). Last known location - Corning, California. Believed to be travelling in a Northerly direction - California, Oregon and Washington States. Destination: Seattle, WA. Wanted for the kidnapping and abduction of twelve-year-old boy - Christopher Robert McCarter (Note: of the same family), contrary to court order. Other charges pending. Description of victim follows: Height: 4'11" Weight: 85 lbs. (Height and Weight approx.) Black hair worn long to collar, blue eyes, answers to Chris. Last seen wearing blue jeans, white T-shirt and blue navy coloured windbreaker. Believed suspects are travelling with the victim.
Suspects are not presumed dangerous, but use caution.
Notify: Agent Hugh McLean FBI - Detroit Division upon arrest.
◆◆◆
EIGHT - THREE
Constable Wayne Promutter turned the cruiser into the parking lot beside the diner and turned off the engine. He sat silently as his partner finished writing in his notebook. Above the roof of the restaurant, the Detroit skyline loomed in the distance. The Renaissance Hotel with the brightly lit restaurant at its top towering above the rest.
"Done." His partner spoke. "Let's get some food."
Wayne pushed open his door and stood in the light evening rain. A mist of moisture had already collected across the windshield of the cruiser. "You know..." he commented as he waited for his younger partner to climb out of the car. "I haven't been to this place in about a month. Don't know why either. It's got damn good food."
His partner, Paul Hartwood slammed the car door and stood with his hands pushed against his lower back, easing the cramps the constraints of the car had put into his lanky six-foot-two frame. "We aren't called down to this part of the district much any more."
"Hey. You know, you’re right." Wayne pushed the door-lock button down and closed the driver's door. "We haven't had a call down here for...Christ, got to be close to a month."
"Yeah, but I'm not complaining, plenty of shit going on over in the south end."
"Yeah, yeah. But when I think about it, it's kind of weird. What ever happened to that junky that lived at the corner of Beechwood and Oakwood? Christ, we were over there a couple times a week."
The two officers walked across the rain slicked parking lot towards the doors of the diner.
JOE'S DAILY SPECIAL: Roast Chicken, peas and carrots, mashed potatoes and gravy. Includes dinner roll, Jell-O or rice pudding and beverage. $5.95
"Same specials." Paul commented as they passed the wooden sandwich board standing forlornly in the rain.
"Yeah, I always liked their food... But what happened to that guy? Jenkins or Jergins I think his name was. Always had a bunch of hookers holed up at his place."
"Don't know. Maybe he got hauled in." Paul pulled open the glass door for his partner and followed Wayne's wide shoulders down the aisle of the brightly lit restaurant. Booths with cracked leather seats ran the length of the aisle, terminating at a doorway marked, Rest rooms Are For Customer's Use Only. There were only four other customers.
"A couple of coffees." Wayne spoke as the waitress walked down the aisle towards them. "And I'll have the special." He added as they slid into one of the booths.
"Same here." Paul called after her, his eyes moving over her firm buttocks as she nodded and then turned away.
"So, you think that Jenkins guy finally got busted?"
"Don't know." Paul answered. "We could check."
"Naw. It doesn't matter. I just got used to going there, the guy was harmless enough."
"Yeah, well how about that guy over on Elmwood. The guy who kept blowing away his neighbour's dogs."
"Oh fuck ya!" Wayne smiled. "The Korean guy. The guy with all the poodle pups in the cage. The neighbours thought that he was eating them."
"Yeah, him."
"Or that guy over on Oakwood." Wayne added to their list. "The fucker who beat the shit out of his kids."
"I hear he got put away."
"Yeah, probably, but how about that crazy fucker that lived on the corner. The one with all the guns registered under his brother's name. We used to get called to that address at least once a month."
Jason Trenton was scared. He wasn't supposed to be scared. He had been cured of his fright. The past four days had been the best days of his life. He had finally belonged. Belonged to a brotherhood. A group of people who cared and he had actually been part of them. He had no longer been different. He had no longer needed. No longer did he need to open the door to the room hidden behind the bookcases in the basement. No longer did he need to lust over the collection of photos it had taken him so long to accumulate. No longer did he slip into the wards at night long after his charges had gone to sleep, his normally friendly face, contorted in lust and unholy desire. He knew them all, his ready laughter, smiling face and caring hands had touched them all. Touched them all in the legal places - patted them on the head, held their hands in play, helped them out of their wheelchairs.
Respected and trusted as one of the only male orderlies on the ward, he was very careful. He was equally careful during his mid-night exploits. Choosing the ones he wanted to explore during the day and then coming for them at night. Coming for them when their medication had taken its full effect. Clothed in their baggy hospital-issue pyjamas, his hands moved over them, their thin chests hot under his touch as he pulled the material back. Then exposed in their little-girl nakedness he had worked on them. Taking pictures of his exploits to salivate over for years to come.
And he had been so careful. Never telling a soul - never suspected by anyone. Until four days ago, when he had attended the staff party. He had passed out, or at least he thought he must have, but he had woke up feeling better than he had in twenty years. Refreshed, clear-headed, able - and most of all - free. Free from the constant longing, and the constant secrets and the constant fear. And he belonged. For the first time in his life he belonged. He had no shameful needs, or irrepressible desires - he was like everyone else - and they embraced him as one of them.
But now they knew. All of them knew. Everyone. People he had never even met! He had become part of them and they had forced him to share. All of his thoughts and all of his deeds had been pulled from him. Spread among the minds of the others, and then the one, the controlling one had decided. Decided he could not be part of them, and if not a part of them, then he could not be.
Then the fear had started again and he knew they were coming.
EIGHT - FOUR
'All Trucks Enter Weigh Scales - One Mile' Bob McCarter brought the revs up four hundred rpm's and dropped one gear into seventeenth, in preparation to pulling off the interstate. Chris shifted in the passenger seat beside him with the gear change, his eyes opening from a short nap. Sharon continued to snooze on in the bunk behind them.
"What’re you doing, Dad?" Groggily, he looked about, trying to determine the reason for the gear change.
"There is a weigh scale up ahead, I've got to pull into."
"Where are we?"
"A couple hundred miles south of the Oregon border. I had hoped to avoid all the scales in California. These guys can be a little difficult to get along with." Bob added.
