Forgotten Witness

by Rebecca Forster

  “She’s lovely, Josie.” Faye interrupted Josie’s thoughts. “I still can’t believe she’s here.”

  “Me either,” Josie murmured.

  Emily looked even more beautiful because she was lying amidst the riot of colors and exotic appointments that Hannah had so lovingly arranged and reluctantly left behind. It was nice to have this room occupied again.

  “Are you going to be okay on the roll away?” Josie asked Amelia.

  “Sure. I’ll probably be awake half the night anyway.”

  “I hope not. You all need to rest,” Faye said as she left the room. Amelia followed, only to pause at the draped easel.

  “Do you mind?” Josie shook her head. Amelia lifted the sheet and looked at the last painting Hannah had done. The woman who was a combination of Josie and Hannah looked back at them with clear, wise eyes. “She looks like Emily.”

  “I guess she does. Kind of prophetic,” Josie answered.

  “Kind of weird. I hope Hannah comes home soon. You’ll have your whole family here.” It did not escape Josie’s notice that Amelia sounded melancholy. That was understandable. Seeing the home Josie had waiting for Emily underscored how alone she was in the world. Amelia shrugged a little as she said: “I didn’t know what I was giving any of them.”

  “I know. It’s okay,” Josie answered.

  Amelia lowered the sheet, turned off the light and followed Josie into the dining room where Faye was setting out coffee. The overhead had been dimmed, the room looked cozy, and Stephen Kyle was regaling Faye with the story of their escape from the island of Molokai as he organized the paperwork in manageable piles.

  “I can tell you, I thought Josie was a goner for sure. Bright girl, that. Getting out of the house the way she did.”

  “And what way was that?” Faye asked.

  “Here she is. She can tell you herself.”

  “I wish it was that heroic,” Josie laughed. “It was pure reaction. Self-preservation. Johnson lit the gasoline and it just erupted. That woman’s body protected me to a point but my head was up. I fell off the bed when I got burned. There was nowhere to go but back against the wall. It was so dark and I hadn’t noticed there was a closet. I just wanted to get away from the heat so I went in but it turned out it was connected to the one in that room where Amelia had been sleeping.”

  “You were lucky that lock was broken on my side or you never would have gotten out,” Amelia said.

  “That’s the truth. The hall was engulfed so I couldn’t go down the main staircase. I went through your room and across to Emily’s. Luckily he hadn’t done such a good job there. I was able to make it down the back stairs and get back to Amelia and Emily.”

  “Looking the worse for wear, I can tell you,” Stephen added. “I’ve been patching her up since I met her.”

  “And then we came right home,” Josie said. “I had no idea how we were going to manage that since Emily had no identification. I couldn’t get her on a plane.”

  “That was never a worry,” Stephen insisted. “I told Josie I knew everyone on Maui, including a lovely reclusive gentleman with a private airplane. A private plane only needs a flight plan. No security, you see. Did I tell you that we listed the passengers as Aolani, Anuhea, and Malia? I don’t think Josie found it amusing, but I certainly did.”

  “A brilliant ploy,” Faye agreed even as she cast Josie an amused look.

  “Ah, Josie. Amelia. Finally, I’ve found the perfect woman. Faye agrees I’m brilliant. Now, if only she liked Scotch.”

  “No one is perfect,” Josie said as she pulled out a chair.

  Amelia sat opposite Stephen at one end of the table and Faye to Stephen’s left. They stared at the crumpled papers and dirty files that had been taken from the cave, the notebooks that Amelia had gathered quickly before they left the island, and the things Ian Francis had thrust into Josie Bates’ hand that started the journey.

  “So,” Faye murmured.

  “So,” Josie echoed. “I guess I’ll start at the beginning.”

  She picked up the plastic bag imprinted with the image of The Robert Lee and took out the lock of hair and the notepaper with the manic writing.

  “I think this is a lock of mom’s hair and then there is this.”

  Josie got up and brought Ian’s notes to Faye.

  Rememberrememberemembermk

  Poor thingpoorgirl isamarigold.

  Ultraartichokechatter!Marigold.

  195319751982SWGBS1986EB.

  “Once I found Emily, I forgot about this stuff. But given what we found in the cave, this makes sense now. Emily and all the residents were victims of a government run program. Look here.” Josie leaned over to point at the notes. “The end of the first line is MK. Ian wanted me to remember what MK was. I didn’t know what that meant then, but I do now.

  “The second line seems to be about Emily. We assume Marigold is the name of the program at Ha Kuna House.

  “Next line down actually a history of covert government programs.

  “The final line refers to the dates relevant to the start of each program.”

  “I’ve run down most of them. There were thousands of people involved in those operations back in the day,” Stephen added.

  “Before we left, we did some quick research. Artichoke and CHATTER were the code words for early programs dealing in mind control. Artichoke was the navy, isn’t that right, Stephen?”

  “Right. The big program was called MKUltra and that was sanctioned in 1953,” Stephen answered. “Hospitals, universities, research facilities and individual scientists from the United States and Canada, even England, were all taking part although it’s been proven that many did not realize the insidiousness of the thing. The United States even employed Nazi scientists in the early days because they had experience with human experimentation in the camps. I think we can safely surmise that your father, Amelia, was an unwitting victim even in his capacity as a researcher.”

  “I know he was. I’ve read enough in his journals now to see that he was slowly putting it all together,” Amelia said.

  “I imagine we’ll find records giving instructions that he be neutralized or whatever they call it,” Stephen surmised. “What easier way to keep him silent than to do to him what was done to the residents. These drugs could be administered without the knowledge of the victim. That’s what I find so frightening. That one could be plucked up and made to disappear that way is almost unfathomable.”

  “But it was easy,” Josie said as she reclaimed her chair. “The army used their own enlisted people as subjects. They branched out to mental patients and transients. These people were specifically chosen because they had no family or community ties. There was no informed consent. They were subjected to experimental drugs and later physical torture. Sleep deprivation. Rape. Electrocution. I can’t imagine how horrible it must have been for them.”

  “What’s truly amazing is that they kept meticulous records of how these people were dosed, the different medications, the length of sleep deprivation and their reactions. When they passed away, they simply boxed up the records and stored them,” Stephen added.

  “We may never have everything, but I’m betting there’s enough in that cave to sink a whole bunch of people. Reynolds for one, but he’s already dead,” Josie said. “I still think it’s amazing Emily led us there. The chair she was sitting in had restraints, so did the tables. We found an electroshock machine. We have to assume she was tortured.”

  “You know that’s probably why she collapsed the day you took her for a walk, don’t you?” Amelia said. “She thought you were taking her there.”

  “I know that now,” Josie answered. “But when we needed a safe place, she must have known that cave would be the last place Johnson would look.”

  “So were the people in the house still being tortured?” Faye asked.

  “No, I would have known. I think we were just watching them until they died.” Amelia looked around the table and saw that Stephen and Josie
were nodding.

  “MKUltra was publicly exposed in the seventies,” Josie added. “They thought they destroyed all the documents but some survived. There were hearings and trials and a lot of outrage.”

  “Everyone involved was prosecuted,” Stephen said. “I suppose the general public thought that was that.”

  Josie pointed to the notes again. “1986 with EB right after it. We’re assuming that’s Ian’s reference to Emily’s admission. We don’t know what the third date is or whose initials they are but Ian was trying to put this into some kind of context for me. He just couldn’t communicate well enough to tell me straight out.”

  Faye picked up some of the papers and looked at them, “It’s like a horror movie. I didn’t think things like this happened here.”

  “It wasn’t just these. There were many more,” Stephen said. “Project Paperclip. One called Midnight Climax where subjects were drugged and taken to government run brothels in San Francisco. I surmise Ian was trying to tell Josie that Marigold was also an offshoot of MKUltra. I haven’t been able to find anything on it in the public domain like the others. I assume that is because it is still a current program.”

  “But to what end?” Faye insisted.

  “Control,” Stephen suggested.

  “Curiosity,” Amelia offered.

  “Because they could,” Josie answered and then asked Faye: “Do you have the information Michael Horn sent?”

  “Here you go.” Faye handed it over and Josie spoke while she laid it out.

  “This man is continuing a lawsuit initiated by his grandfather who was a victim of MKUltra. His grandfather committed suicide before it got to the courts. Horn must have known about Ian’s work because when he saw the notice of Ian’s death in the paper that made mention of me he started calling. I’m sure he thought I had information for him. If I had called him, it would have saved us a lot of grief. I’ll read this complaint tonight, and then contact him when we’re a little clearer on what we have.”

  “So, if I extrapolate that this is something the government doesn’t want anyone to know about, then maybe someone in government ordered Ha Kuna House razed.” Faye raised a brow. Hearing the thought spoken out loud was sobering but even Faye wasn’t convinced. “But you’re still alive. Emily is here.”

  “The body count was correct. There was an extra girl in the house and Emily was with us. That meant that there were still five people in the house plus Reynolds. No one knew Amelia or I had spent the night. Everyone just assumed we were where we were supposed to be: Amelia at her house, me on Maui, and Emily in her room.”

  “And I received notification through the court as attorney of record for Josie that Emily was dead. Case closed. Josie has no legal standing and therefore could not claim her mother’s body. They referred me to a contact at MPS if she’s interested in follow-up. But I guarantee you that by the time anyone inquires about the remains, they will be gone. All neat and tidy,” Stephen said.

  “Whoever is responsible for this was wise enough to know that killing a handful of people the world forgot about was preferable to doing anything to me. That would have raised questions,” Josie added.

  “Oh, that reminds me,” Faye said. “I ran Peter Johnson like you asked. He is not a nice fellow.”

  “Is he in the service?”

  “Not anymore. He was dishonorably discharged. Drug trafficking. He has been employed by Blacknight Security. I don’t know if they placed him at Ha Kuna House though.”

  “A mercenary?” Stephen breathed.

  Josie answered. “Maybe the feds should look around the place. Hawaii’s notorious for its pot farms and that house was sitting on forty acres. Maybe that’s what he was taking care of.”

  “Which adds another dimension to the tragic fire,” Stephen suggested.

  “If that’s what he was doing. It’s not our concern unless he shows up on my doorstep,” Josie said.

  “God help him if he does,” Stephen said.

  “But I still want to know how Emily got there,” Faye insisted.

  “I think my father put her there. I don’t know why. I don’t know how he pulled it off, but the evidence doesn’t look good.” Josie put her hands on the table and pushed back.

  “What are you going to do now?” Faye asked.

  “I’m going to get some air.”

  ***

  Michael Horn put on his favorite sweater and over that a sweatshirt that had seen better days. He had on his fleece lined sweatpants. He pulled on his gloves and a watch cap. He left the television playing as was his habit. Not that it would deter the people who concerned him, but the sound of it always gave him the feeling that things were normal when he opened the door again. So the TV stayed on when Mark went out for his evening run.

  On the porch, he jogged in place and gave himself an energetic hug. It was going to be a horrendously cold winter considering the end of fall was already freezing. He looked around the neighborhood. The Meisen’s lights were on. Mrs. Garfield’s upstairs lights shined. In the early dark, the houses looked a million miles away. That was too bad. He wouldn’t mind waving at a neighbor now and again or lingering over the fence for a chat. That’s what he got for being able to afford a place with acreage.

  Inside, the phone rang but he decided if he didn’t leave right then he’d simply go inside and fix himself a bowl of soup and call it a day. He tapped down the steps, saw his breath in the air and thought he should consider moving to a smaller place. Then he picked up speed and fell into a nice rhythm and, as always happened, he found himself smiling. Running made him feel free of responsibility and worry. The crisp air carried the sound of his running shoes hitting the pavement. He paid no attention to the car that approached him, illuminated his face, and sped past leaving him in the dark again.

  He should have paid attention to the car that came from behind. That one didn’t pass. That one plowed into him, tossing him high in the air. He landed in the field near a windbreak of cypress.

  The last thing he heard was a woman screaming at someone to send an ambulance; the last thing he saw was his grandfather walking across the field toward him.

  Mind control (also known as brainwashing, coercive persuasion, thought control, or thought reform) refers to a process in which a group or individual “systematically uses unethically manipulative methods to persuade others to conform to the wishes of the manipulator(s), often to the detriment of the person being manipulated”. The term has been applied to any tactic, psychological or otherwise, which can be seen as subverting an individual’s sense of control over their own thinking, behavior, emotions or decision making. – Wikipedia

  CHAPTER 28

  While the others slept, Josie went to the hall closet and took down the box that contained everything her father thought was important. The tape across the seams was yellow and brittle and the box was deep, wide, and unwieldy. Until now it had simply been something that moved with her and been stored because she knew what was in it.

  She put it on the floor and opened it up. Inside, she found his uniform and a Dodger’s baseball hat. There were twelve love letters from him to Emily and Emily to him, but Josie could only stomach two given what she knew. In a manila envelope, she found what she had been looking for. Joseph Bates’ honorable discharge dated 1982, four years earlier than she’d been led to believe. No one had made a mistake. Archer hadn’t misheard. Here was the proof that her father lied for years. She tossed it aside and dug in again.

  She found a coffee cup from Lake Tahoe, a reminder of her parents’ honeymoon. The handle had been broken and her father used it to hold his pens. There was an empty bottle of perfume. Josie held it to her nose and smelled the slightest scent of Shalimar.

  She found pictures of Emily, each more beautiful than the last: a wedding photograph, Emily in a bathing suit holding a fancy drink, Emily in a hat in front of church, pregnant with one hand resting on her stomach. Emily and Josie standing in front of the house in Texas. Josie lingered over tha
t one. Her mother’s arm was around her shoulders as if protecting her. Josie was tall and gangly even then, smiling, and having no idea that she shouldn’t be. Josie would keep the ones of her mother and her, but not the wedding picture. Everything her father had owned was going out in the trash, and she would never think about him again.

  Josie kept the holster that had held her father’s service revolver, the one that was now in the drawer of her bedside table. She would sell the holster with the gun. It had no meaning for her any longer. Her father didn’t really protect her when she was young, his gun wouldn’t protect her now. There was no magic and she always thought there had been.

  There was another envelope filled with her report cards, a picture of her in her volleyball uniform just after she heard she won a scholarship, and a picture of the two of them at her law school graduation. Her father had been so handsome, so disciplined, so smart and supportive. Now she added actor and deceiver to his list of credits. The question was why?

  She took an old-fashioned photo album out of the box, sat on the hall floor with her back up against the wall, and balanced it on her outstretched legs. There were pictures of her father as a boy. Josie had barely known her grandparents on either side so the pictures meant little to her.

  Finally, Josie grabbed her father’s dress uniform jacket and searched the pockets. She found his dog tags, a set of keys, a coin and she found something she didn’t expect: a small blue velvet box. In the dim light coming from the kitchen, in the silent house, Josie felt incredibly alone the minute she touched it. She wanted to put it back and forget she ever saw it. Instead, Josie flipped the top, took one look at what was inside and closed it again. Her head fell back against the wall. Her hand dropped to her lap.

  “Damn,” she whispered.

  Here it was, the last nail in her father’s coffin. Inside the box were her parents’ wedding rings. Not just her father’s but her mother’s, too. Josie had spent so many years accusing her mother, convicting her of desertion without evidence and in absentia, and the guilty party was the one with who stayed behind. All those years and he could have put an end to Josie’s grief.