She regarded him curiously, briefly wondering if any of what he'd just said was only a religion major's defense of his intellectual territory. “Just a lot of general stuff.”
“There's more stuff there; you just have to know where and how to look for it.”
“So you know something about it?”
He hesitated. “Listen, this is a dangerous area to wade into.”
“What do you mean?”
“We're talking about matters of the occult. Demons. Darkness.”
“Are you serious?”
“Very. Eternal return is part of the forbidden knowledge. It's related to the Knowledge of Good and Evil.”
“Are you saying like Adam and Eve?”
“I am. It wasn't knowledge that the Creator wanted man to have, at least not yet. But once the apple was bitten, the knowledge was ultimately released.”
“Released to whom? I don't have it. I imagine most people don't either.”
“Most of the information was resealed and kept away from mankind. Throughout time, what little that leaked out was often ridiculed as being mythical or of the devil. People were encouraged to shun it and not to seek it. But some people refused to listen to the Church and learned as much of the forbidden knowledge as they could. Thus, they were said by the Church to be devil worshippers. Originally, occult simply meant knowledge of the hidden. The word comes from the Latin word, occultus, which means clandestine or hidden. But the church was so successful in linking it with Satan that Satanism became the word's overriding association.”
“If what you're saying is true, then why would Father McCarthy come to me? Why tell me what he told me?”
“I don't know. Is this Father who he claims to be?”
“I looked him up on the internet as well. He's definitely a Catholic priest.”
“Okay, assuming he is who he says he is, and he is representing the Catholic Church, then there's got to be some major reason why they're confiding in you about eternal return.”
“Well, it's no doubt related to my remembering ability and this potential major terrorist act.”
“Possibly. But since when did the Church get into rooting out terrorists? And why not simply contact the authorities?”
“Contacting the authorities is exactly what Father McCarthy warned me not to do.”
“Warned you?”
After Father McCarthy made his declaration about her visions, she'd asked Seth to wait for her in the living room and then she had the priest follow her into the kitchen. McCarthy sat opposite her at the table, placing his briefcase down by his feet. It took him only an hour to completely blow her mind with his spiel on remembering, eternal return, and terrorist acts. He'd also said that Reverend Johnny Swag would be instrumental in helping her to refine the ability, enabling her to identify the next terrorist attack in plenty enough time to prevent it.
“This all sounds kind of creepy,” she'd said.
“It can be,” Father McCarthy said. “But Swag can help you. He's been trained in developing the remembering ability. I understand he's very good at what he does.”
“So, when or if I'm able to remember the exact details of the impending attack, I'll take that information to the authorities?”
“No,” Father McCarthy said strongly. “That's what you mustn't do.” He picked up the briefcase, placing it on the table between them. Seth came into the kitchen at that precise moment.
Father McCarthy froze, eying Seth suspiciously.
Kallie stood up and quickly ushered Seth out of the kitchen. “Please wait for me in the living room.”
“What's going on Kallie? Who is this man?”
“You've heard who he is.”
“I mean who is he to you?”
She stopped in her tracks, right in front of the entrance to the living room. “What are you asking me?”
“I think you know what I'm asking you,” Seth fumed.
She could feel her heart rate speeding up. Her eyelids pinched together until they were nearly closed. She was looking at him, but was barely able to make him out. Her words strained out slowly. “Just who do you think you are?”
“You know who I am. I'm Seth Winters,” he said facetiously. “The date you've rudely kept waiting in the living room.” And with that, nearly two hours of carefully laid groundwork evaporated.
Her pinched eyelids suddenly reversed themselves and she stared at him with wide-eyed intensity as if seeing him for the first time. “You're also a jerk! You don't own me, Seth Winters. Not tonight, not ever.”
“I know I don't own you. I'm only concerned about you.”
“You can keep your concerns to yourself,” she said.
“You're acting ridiculous. You shouldn't let strange men into your house.”
She smiled wickedly before marching over to the front door, yanking it open. “You're exactly right. Good night, Seth Winters.”
Seth looked at her as if she was beyond words, and then as if to punctuate the point, he left the house without saying another thing.
When she returned to the kitchen, Father McCarthy had opened the briefcase. “Sorry about the young man,” he said.
Kallie wiped a tear away. “It's nothing.” She nodded at the opened briefcase. “What's this?”
“It's proof as to why you should proceed with caution before going to the authorities.” He removed the photographs from the briefcase and then closed it, placing it back on the floor next to his chair. With subdued flair, he lined the four 8x10 black and white stills side by side on the table, upturning them toward her.
She instantly recognized one of a plane flying into the World Trade Center. It was from the 9/11 terrorist attacks. Two of the other photographs also showed terrorist attacks. One was of the original World Trade Center attack in 1993 and the other one showed an explosion aboard a ship. She thought about her high school research paper, which ironically had been about terrorist attacks on US soil. She stared hard at the 93 WTC terrorist attack photo, a chill surging through her. The feeling was similar to the eeriness she'd felt when watching the black and white footage of President Kennedy at the Dallas Airport on that fateful November day, moments before he entered the last motorcade he'd ever be in—alive. It was strange watching a man who at that moment had no idea that he'd be dead in less than an hour.
The World Trade Center had survived the 93 attack, but eight years later, the outcome would be decidedly different. Her eyes moved hastily to the picture of the ship explosion. Recognizing the theme of the photoset now, she knew the ship was none other than the USS Cole. The ship had been attacked by terrorists in 1998. She began to feel uneasy and looked quickly to the next photograph. This one was not of a past terrorist act and she felt a soupcon of relief. The federal building captured in the photograph sat boldly undamaged underneath a clear blue sky with beams of sunlight haloed around its roof. She picked up the photograph, staring at it for a long moment, before looking curiously at Father McCarthy.
“That's the Strom Thurmond Federal Building in Columbia, South Carolina,” Father McCarthy said. “If it hadn't been for one Phillip Beamer, that building would've been destroyed and about two hundred innocent people killed.”
She was familiar with the name. Phillip Beamer had been in the news recently. “The suspected terrorist?”
“He was not a terrorist. He was a Rememberer, just like you.”
She was speechless.
“Until the authorities had him killed,” McCarthy continued.
“Killed?” she finally managed, barely able to say the word.
McCarthy stabbed the 9/11 photograph with his index finger. “We live in the most powerful and technologically advanced country in the world. How could nineteen foreigners carrying only box cutters commandeer our planes?” He moved his finger to the World Trade Center bombing photograph, stabbing it with equal fervor. “Records show that the authorities had an informant who told them of the planned World Trade Center bombing in plenty of enough time for them to ha
ve prevented it. Yet, they chose not to.”
“Why would they choose not to stop an attack?”
“It's a good question,” McCarthy said. “But I'm afraid it's one that I do not have the answer to. I simply do not know. Nor do I know why they decided to stop the attack on the Thurmond building, but had Beamer killed anyway. It doesn't make sense. But it's that uncertainty of what they might or might not do as to why we believe it's dangerous to alert the authorities about what we know. We're not looking for credit or publicity. We just want to save lives.”
“Who're we?” Josh asked when she'd finished.
“What are you talking about?”
“You said that Father McCarthy said that we're not looking for publicity. We only want to save lives. Who are we?”
“I don't know,” Kallie said. “I didn't ask him.” She studied his face for a moment. “You don't believe him?”
Josh didn't answer her question. Instead enquired further, “You really believe the government killed this Phillip Beamer character because he'd tried to prevent a terrorist act?”
“I don't know. But Phillip Beamer is dead, and from what I can tell, the government has been slow to release details concerning his death. In any event, I'm not talking about some obscure AM radio personality sprouting nonsensical conspiracy theories here. Frank McCarthy is a Catholic priest.”
“Nut jobs can come from all walks of life,” Josh said.
“Really, you too?” Kallie said.
“I'm sorry,” Josh said, “but this is a lot to digest.”
“I know. That's why I'm telling you. I trust you. But I need you to take this seriously. I need you to take me seriously.”
“Fair enough,” Josh said. “How did McCarthy find you?”
“From Reverend Swag,” she said. She told him about her grandmother calling Swag after Kallie had told her that she was a member of Swag's church.
“And Swag's the one who's going to help you remember.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that's something.”
“Do you know Reverend Swag?” she asked.
“Sort of, he's kinda famous in these parts. He was known as little Johnny Swaggert, the boy preacher. His father had him in the pulpit preaching by the age of six. He was all fire and brimstone. People used to come from miles around to hear that little dude shout the word. They say he knew the Bible backwards, forwards, and sideways.”
“It sounds like there's more to this story. What happened?”
“His father happened,” Josh said. “His father purported himself to be a man of the cloth, as well. He took his son all around the county saying that both he and his son were the chosen prophets of God. But Willie James Swaggert really was only a shyster who pimped out his only son and bilked people out of their money. He was later convicted of fraud, embezzlement, and just being an all-around asshole. Little Johnny Swaggert spent the last of his teen years bouncing around foster homes. But eventually, he got himself together, came back here, got a degree from Bengate, and went back to preaching. I think that surprised a few people. There were those that thought that maybe his experiences with his father would've jaded him, hardened his heart, and made him cynical towards religion. But redemption is the word they bandy about now for the most part when they talk about him. I've been to his church a few times. He's not a bad preacher. He's baptized quite a few Bengate College people. I think Professor Sampson joined his church a couple of years ago.”
“Really? Professor Sampson doesn't strike me as the religious type.”
“Yeah, well,” he paused.
“What about his mother?”
“I don't know if Professor Sampson's mother is even alive.”
“Not Professor Sampson's mother, silly, Reverend Swag's.”
“Oh, I don't know. I think she's dead. But don't quote me on that. Anyway, when was the last time you experienced a déjà vu sensation?”
“This morning. I'm not as freaked out about them now, especially since I've learned about the probable cause.”
He regarded her understandingly. “Still, I suggest you follow up with your doctor, if for no other reason than to play it safe. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said. After pausing a moment, she said, “You never answered my question. You don't believe Father McCarthy, do you?”
“No, I don't, but I don't disbelieve him either. Let's just leave it at I'll have to research it some more.” He checked his watch. “We better head back. It's about time for the session to start.”
She nodded her head. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not calling me a nut.”
He smiled. “You're too beautiful to be a nut.”
As they walked back toward the lab, she said, “Oh, by the way, Professor Sampson's mother is still alive.”
“World of wonders,” Josh said. He looked as if he was going to ask how she knew, but then decided not to.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Kallie stopped short of following Josh into the lab. She stood frozen just before the room's entrance, marveling at the sight of the other students. Most of the chairs in the room were occupied by a warm body. This was the first time she'd seen any of the other project participants and all of them seemed happy to be here. An excited first-day-of-school like chatter filled the room. Though Kallie hadn't made many friends at college, she still scanned the room, hoping to find a familiar face. But she didn't see anyone she even remotely knew. She slunk to her seat, suddenly feeling like the new kid at school.
Josh went to the front of the room, taking his seat at the front table next to three of his colleagues—Cedric, Evan, and Marcus. The four of them sat facing the class. Only Veronica was absent, and judging by the way the four of them kept checking their watches and looking at each other, the group's lone woman's tardiness had the ironic consequence of being unexpectedly expected. Their shared conspiratorial looks screamed, “Ain't it just like a woman.” Wisely, all of them had the good sense not to utter a word of public criticism. Especially since more than half of the project participants were of the fairer sex. However, after ten more minutes and still no Veronica, Josh obviously crossed his patience threshold. With a quivering lower lip, he commenced the session.
“May I have your attention,” Josh began, raising his voice above the din. A few seconds passed before the chatter tapered down and eyes focused on him. “Thank you,” he continued. “Each of you has been selected to continue forward in our Déjà vu /Memory Study. By now, you've all completed the one-on-one interview session, the individual memory activity, and have gone through the MRI scanner. We're now ready to proceed with the group memory exercise. In this exercise, each of you will enter the same virtual reality simulation as the other members of the group. None of you will be able to control where you go or what to explore. We're going to guide you through the simulation. We want to ensure that all of you will be exposed to the same thing at the same time, although we can't control what you decide to focus on while in the simulation. What's observed while in the simulation will be entirely up to the individual. The purpose of this portion of the study is to see what effect, if any, group memory has on individual memory, or to determine if there is such a thing as group memory, and by way of extension, group déjà vu. We plan…” he paused, evidently distracted by the person who'd just come into the lab and stood at the door. Kallie followed Josh's eyes to the door. It was Dr. Frost standing there, and judging by the anxious expression on her face, coming back to the lab hadn't been on her agenda.
“Excuse me,” Dr. Frost said. “Cedric, I'll need for you to take over the presentation. Josh, I need to see you and Kallie Hunt.” Without waiting for a response, Frost turned on her heels with military precision and went back out into the hallway. Kallie shared a quick ‘WTF look’ with Josh before they mutually and nonverbally decided that whatever it was that Frost wanted with them wasn't going to wait. They both scrambled toward the door. As she stepped into the hallway, Kallie felt a childli
ke apprehension brewing inside her as she heard Cedric's awkward attempts to pick up where Josh had abruptly left off.
Dr. Frost stood in the hallway with Veronica and a middle-aged man whom Kallie had never seen before. Veronica, looking as anxious as the professor, smiled awkwardly at Kallie and Josh. The man, handsome and casually dressed in blue Dockers and a yellow button-down shirt, looked putout, as if he were being forced to bear witness to something that had nothing to do with him.
“Follow me,” Frost said to the improbable foursome. She led them down the hall to a conference room. Inside the room, Frost went to the head of the conference table. Veronica and the man sat in the first two chairs to her right. Kallie and Josh sat opposite of them on the other side of the table. After everyone had settled into their seats, Frost looked at Kallie and Josh, and then nodded at the man. “This is Special Agent Dennard Bennett.”
“He's my uncle,” Veronica blurted out.
Frost shot Veronica a quick piercing look. “Yes,” she continued with a trace of irritation. “In addition to being Miss Ross' uncle, Agent Bennett is also with the Department of Immigration and Customs Enforcement, aka ICE.”
Though she looked intently at Dr. Frost, Kallie could feel Bennett's eyes on her, studying her. Images of terrorist attacks and the name Phillip Beamer crossed her mind suddenly, sending chills down her spine.
Frost pulled a sheet of paper from the folder she'd laid on the table. After putting on reading glasses, she read from the sheet. “The privacy rule of The Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act or HIPPA is intended to protect the privacy of individually identifiable health information,” she paused and glared for a long moment at Veronica. And then, after apparently being satisfied that Veronica had accurately deciphered the meaning of her not so subtle glare, she continued. “Section 164.502 of the Federal Register's Department of Health and Human Services final ruling on Standards for Privacy of individually identifiable health information states that: Protected Health Information includes individually identifiable information in any form, including information that is transmitted orally, or in written or electronic form.” She put the sheet back into the folder. “Now, we've gone over HIPPA extensively before. And I've continually stressed our responsibilities in protecting the privacy of our research subjects. It's not just a moral obligation, but we have legal responsibility, as well.”
Rememberers Page 14
