by Gary Starta
Intrigued with her theories, Diggs continued to pour through web page after web page, sifting and drifting along an intertwining vine of inter-dimensional philosophizing. Some of the theorizing was metaphysical. One site maintained that Atlanteans could access ninety percent of their brain capacity, as opposed to the ten percent humans presently use. “Atlanteans could see beyond the five senses, viewing auras of rainbow color all around living objects.” But not a single site mentioned the crystal’s need for a power source or that Atlanteans were handicapped by any kind of chemical imbalance.
Diggs realized the answer would not be posted on the Internet. She deduced her theories to one simple one. The crystal in its need to sustain power draws upon man’s carnal hungers to feed. The course of action was plain and simple. Lukas Schenker must be separated from the stone. But the most difficult task would follow. Once in possession of the crystal, Diggs pondered what she would do with it. Handing it to anyone in authority was out of the question, not with three people dead and one man missing.
What could they foolishly hope to achieve with this power? A musical prodigy who ends his virtuoso performances by banging his piano bench over the heads of his adoring fans? A genius that looks with wonder upon the sky one minute and then crushes the bug beneath his shoe in the next? So once again, Diggs strained her brain trying to conceive just how she could put the crystal back into hiding. But no ideas came. She finally fell asleep sitting upright in her chair, while 6 a.m. sunlight streamed down on her face.
***
In the course of the new day, Lukas Schenker would ride on his bus, destined to become a New York City tourist. As he rode, it dawned on him that sleep was no longer a requirement. It was as if he existed in a waking dream state. The contradiction amused him. He stared into a Styrofoam cup of coffee he had bought from a street vendor. His image was cast in it. But he did not see two eyes, a nose, and a mouth staring back at him. He only saw a rainbow.
Turning his sights to the windows, Shenk spied huge, wiry structures peering down on him. The public knew them as transmission towers. Their purpose: to transport electric voltage to power a host of inanimate objects or to provide signal strength for cell phones.
But people like Col. Tom Wolvington knew better. These people affectionately referred to them as GWEN towers. GWEN towers would power people, transporting all the EM waves needed to brainwash the American populace. With them, a network could be created, independent of any computer. People like Shenk would form this network, interfacing biology with technology.
So as Lukas drank in the ominous images of these GWEN towers, they did not represent a cold and calculating means to enslave humanity. They were merely a power source. They stood there, ever confident, like great, steely giants. Beams horizontally crisscrossed these structures at their midway points. The lady seated next to Shenk commented that they reminded her of gunslingers, arms drawn at their side, waiting to fire. But Shenk remained eerily silent. He could not envision any threat whatsoever. He was not Don Quixote after all. Towers were just towers and windmills were just windmills.
***
After meeting Palumbo, the colonel returned home to keep up appearances. This time, he found Alyssa there, watching TV in the living room with her feet propped on an ottoman.
She was prepared to fight fire with fire.
“Why do you expect me to be here for you?” she charged. “You never told me you were going to Texas.”
“I couldn’t dear, you know, it was confidential.” Wolvington backed down, hoping to establish a cease-fire. He was not about to push the red button on his relationship today. He knew Alyssa was right. He blew her off, so she blew him off.
The scenario enticed him to think about the future where the two of them would be telepathically connected, eliminating the need for verbal conversation. In the future, talking would become optional. The colonel laughed to himself. This is going to make a lot of husbands very happy, this no talking thing...”
But the small problem began to itch at him again. How was he going to solve the crystal’s chemical dependency problem? He could barely keep Alyssa off the booze long enough to speak coherently. And here he was, about to face the ultimate junkie. Well tomorrow was another day to hope for a miracle. Another day to find scientists as capable as the Schenkers.
And as his mind continued to wrangle with his newfound predicament, Alyssa blurted out of nowhere, “This crystal thing apparently hasn’t heard the phrase ‘turn the other cheek.’ So how can you expect it to make you godlike when it’s out there exacting revenge like a barbarian?”
The colonel was amazed. Alyssa had been keeping up with the news. He couldn’t wait for verbal communication to become optional, because right now he couldn’t think of one white lie to answer his girlfriend’s question.
***
As Shenk traveled and the colonel squirmed, Eugene Campbell tracked. He had hunted prey before, but this was the first time it came in human form. So instead of searching for prints and broken twigs among a densely wooded forest, Eugene began the hunt in a luxurious hotel suite. The difference in setting was remarkable.
If you wanted to find an animal you got close to nature, but if you wanted to find a man you surrounded yourself with four white walls. Eugene knew modern day man was well out of touch with his past long before he heard of the Arrowhead Killer. For this reason, he agreed with Agent Diggs that psychic hunting was possible in a one-hundred-and-fifty-dollar-a-night hotel room.
Eugene decided late morning was as good a time as any to begin his vision quest. He drew the curtains and placed a lighted candle on a table. His father, Jake, had taught him to utilize symbols in the hunt. Eugene substituted man-made light in place of natural sunlight.
Satisfied with the setting, Eugene took a seat on the floor and opened his palms. In the left were strands of Schenker’s hair. In the right was a rose quartz crystal. Eugene tilted his head to the ceiling and began to focus on the third eye chakra. As he did, an ultraviolet light glowed within the quartz. It snaked its way out of the crystal and into Eugene’s nervous system. Traveling up Eugene’s spine, the light finally came to rest at the center of his brain. It had crossed his retinohypothalamic track—a biological highway that links the retinas with the hypothalamus. Schenker had previously destroyed this brain region in his first two victims in an attempt to withdraw seratonin. But he also may have unconsciously wanted to decimate this track so his victims could not psychically make an imprint of his image in their visual cortex. The crystal had been quite thorough in its escape plan. With the aid of Schenker’s DNA, Eugene Campbell was able to see along this visual conduit. He would soon establish a brief connection with the retinohypothalamic tracks. They would allow him to see Shenk’s future or the well-laid plans of the arrowhead.
***
Eugene Campbell braced himself for the worst. Would he witness a brutal beheading or slash fest? He took a deep breath as the first images flashed before him. The pictures were elongated. Colors were out of place. But there was enough detail to discern the setting was a large American city. As the link fed him more and more images, Campbell reasoned the city was New York. Crowds rushed, horns blared and neon signs danced with the skyline. However, he needed to press on, to find something definitive which could reveal Schenker’s whereabouts.
Pressure began to build at the base of Eugene’s brain. The sensation was nearly unbearable, but Eugene continued for the sake of humanity, for the sake of his father. A sign eventually popped up like a banner ad on a web page. It welcomed him to the Bronx. A blur of wild animals housed in cages snarled and hissed. Campbell was momentarily taken aback. Visions were always visual, nothing more. Now, there was sound. How could this be possible? As he reflected upon the powers of the arrowhead, his hands began to shake. He couldn’t hold on much longer. He pleaded with his nervous system to withstand a few more seconds. He needed at least one specific vision before severing the link. Despite the pain in his head, Eugene had become entranced
.
He was now as curious about the experience as he was about the information retrieval. The link transported him to a crowded theater. Instead of a movie, a street sign flickered on a screen. He was on Eighth and Fifty-sixth. The sign flashed again—Fifth Avenue. A portrait hung in a gallery. Blackness ensued. The visions ended. Eugene fell backwards. Lying sprawled out on the floor for what seemed an hour, Eugene fought to monitor his heart rate. He found himself gasping for air as if he had actually tracked his prey in the forest.
When he found the strength to return to his feet, Eugene was immersed in complete darkness. The candle’s flame had extinguished itself. Eugene did not bother wasting time to open the curtains or turn on a light. With sweat matting his silver-black hair against his forehead, he emerged from his room and staggered to the hallway. He only had to knock once and a door opened. Caitlin stood there, filled with anxiety, waiting for his report.
“What do you have?” she asked. As soon as the words left her lips, Diggs wished she could have taken them back. Upon further inspection, she noticed how the quest had taken on a toll on Eugene. By the same token, Eugene’s disheveled appearance told her he had successfully linked with Schenker.
Diggs led him into the room and directed him to a chair. She retrieved a bottle of water from the mini refrigerator, allowing Eugene a few more seconds to pull himself together. She tried to quiet her impatient internal voice. It told her the clock was ticking. So she reasoned with it. This man is willing to damage himself for the cause. Surely, we can allow a few more seconds to elapse in the name of civility.
As Diggs carried the water to Eugene, Rivers popped out of the bathroom, looking and feeling sharp. She was dressed in a dark brown blazer. The lapels of a stark white dress shirt flopped over the jacket, accenting it superbly. A plum lipstick highlighted her pouting lips. Her hair was feathered in tiny curls and waves. Her almond-shaped ebony eyes sparkled, exuding complete confidence in her appearance and abilities. Eugene drank in this vision. His mind screamed: Hello, Hollywood! The historian began to wonder if his vision quest or Deondra’s goddess-like appearance was responsible for keeping his heart racing.
He glanced back at Diggs to accept the drink. Her hair was lopped unevenly to one side of her head. She wasn’t wearing one stitch of makeup. Dressed in a cranberry-colored bathrobe, Caitlin Diggs resembled a desperate housewife more than an FBI agent.
Eugene gulped water as the two agents silently assessed each other’s wardrobe.
Diggs wished Rivers would take it down a notch and leave the catwalk to Victoria Secret models. Rivers stood there, hands on hips, biting her tongue. She was having difficulty believing she was actually part of an FBI manhunt. She perused Diggs’ informal attire with contempt. An eye full of Eugene Campbell didn’t make her feel any better. He looked as if he had just spent the last hour wrestling grizzly bears. If Eugene didn’t give them some information soon, Rivers was more than ready to strike out at Diggs. What methodology would Diggs recommend next, a trip to a palm reader, perhaps? What a waste of time, she muttered underneath her breath. Then Eugene Campbell finally spoke.
He told the agents that Schenker was headed for New York City. He recanted every vision with the utmost clarity. It wasn’t hard to fathom that Diggs was a lot more impressed with Eugene’s findings. Rivers paced back and forth like a nervous dental patient until Diggs shoved a chair in her direction.
“Well I guess we head for the Big Apple,” Rivers said, ignoring Diggs’ hint to take a seat.
“I think we should sit tight for now.” Diggs’ face was expressionless.
Rivers couldn’t believe her ears. She motioned for Caitlin to join her in the bathroom for a private conference.
“That won’t be necessary,” Eugene responded. “I will return to my room to rest.”
“Before you go,” Diggs asked, “when do you think you’ll be able to hack into Schenker’s head again?”
“Tomorrow, perhaps.” Campbell responded quietly. His eyes were vacant. He felt as if he had failed the agents. His visions placed Schenker in one of the biggest cities in the world. How on earth would they find him there? For that very reason, Diggs chose to ignore the revelations. She would explain her logic to Rivers once Eugene had departed. But Rivers was already lashing out at her before the door had a chance to close.
“I can’t believe you’re not going to consider this man’s information—and after placing the bureau in this position.”
“What position is that, Agent Rivers?” Diggs demanded.
“A position that says the FBI operates on superstitions. That it ignores all protocol and any semblance of formal investigative training. Essentially, that we condone fortune telling.”
A thin smile formed on Caitlin’s lips, but she was not laughing.
“The information we just received from Mr. Campbell is correct, Agent Rivers. It’s not based on superstitions or wives’ tales. His visions reflect Schenker’s current state of mind. He’s living a conflicted life right now, because the crystal is accessing different parts of his brain. Schenker’s primitive or ancestral mind is causing him to murder. But his higher order brain center is also fighting for dominance. It may be evolving due to gene mutation perhaps. In any event, it’s alerting Schenker of his full potential. The visions of an art gallery may represent a need for cultural nourishment. It tells me he’s evolving. So I don’t believe he went to New York in search of victims. He’s chasing something else there.”
Rivers stewed in silence for a moment. She hated to admit Diggs’ assessment was sound. She realized her burst of anger had shamed her. Perhaps it was a calling from her ancestral mind? She began to speak softly, ready to resume her role as biochemist/special agent.
“I have been studying the effects of electromagnetic frequencies on the brain. These frequencies could be responsible for changing DNA patterns within a cell. So if Schenker is evolving, shouldn’t we work to arrest him ASAP?”
“I agree time is of the essence, Deondra.”
Rivers reasoned Diggs use of her first name had signaled a truce. She waited for Caitlin to conclude her thought.
“But if we run to New York, we may wind up wasting time.”
“And so you propose?”
“I propose we allow Eugene Campbell to try his psychic hacking again tomorrow. In the meantime, we can alert NYPD to be on alert for Schenker. Maybe they’ll get lucky. Deondra, it may come as a shock to you, but suspects are sometimes apprehended even when protocol and formal investigative training are ignored.”
Rivers laughed, picturing the angry image of herself a few moments ago. Still shaking her head, she dialed her cell to alert Ed Hoyt about Caitlin’s premonition. She would make a silent pact with herself; if Hoyt found even one drop of saliva on Geoffrey McAllister’s shirt, she would never question Caitlin’s methodology again.
Chapter 31
It was Lukas Schenker’s day off. Having just arrived in the city after spending hours riding in a bus dressed as a woman, the eighteen-year-old had good reason to be antsy. He had been surrounded by a group of blue-haired woman on the bus trip. All they could talk about was their grandchildren. Baby Carrie skinned a knee. Sidney found a turtle. Little Jason got a B on his first spelling test. Their stories and lives were all quite unremarkable. By the trip’s end, Shenk was more than ready to take a bite out of the Big Apple. The fact he was running from the law and dressed in drag was just an afterthought.
The moment he stepped off the bus at the NYC Port Authority, Shenk began to think about the city’s duality: so much culture, so much congestion. He was reminded of this as horns blared and a parade of yellow cabs whizzed by him long before he got his first look at the Empire State Building. In truth, Shenk was filled with duality himself. Never mind that he looked like a chick right now. His inner being had transformed him the past few weeks, overhauling his entire thought process. He now freely editorialized about the sights and sounds that surrounded him.
Shenk had no doubt
as to why so much crime was committed here. The social worker Alice spoke to him as he stood amidst a jostling crowd waiting to cross an intersection. “Barbarity usually emerges even when the most civilized and advanced minds are strewn together in a polluted, crowded, brick and mortar environment.”
He stepped off the curb and crossed a street, experiencing a peaceful easy feeling—kind of like that old Eagles song. If he could just share his crystal with the millions who lived here, maybe they too would become cleansed because they would finally be able to focus on the only thing that mattered—family values.
Shenk believed he was living proof of this newfound clarity. He envisioned himself starring in an infomercial, telling the masses how they could experience the serenity he was enjoying right now. The torrential onslaught of taxicabs on the street did not daunt him. The pedestrians who rudely jostled their way around him did not faze him.
This was because he only existed to hunt his “selected” prey. And today, as far he could “smell,” there were no targets in the vicinity. The descendants of the cavalrymen did not live here. Oh, there was always an off chance one could be visiting here. And if they were, Shenk would access his biological Internet to seek them out. Lukas smiled at an image. He pictured one of them with a digital camera wrapped around his neck, pointing at the skyscrapers and smiling idiotically like a patient doped up on laughing gas. He would intervene, to wipe the smile off their ignorant face. No…October would not be a good month for sightseeing.
Shenk tried to distract himself from thinking about the descendants. It was impossible. He thought about men like Lawrence Evans who had gone on with their daily business, oblivious to the fact that their ancestors had killed people in the pursuit of the American Dream. Each time he flexed a muscle, he could feel a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. God had empowered him to drain the life out of those wrongdoers. It was simple as squeezing an orange. Shenk continued to amuse himself with these thoughts as he strode along the sidewalk of Forty-first Street, watching a bunch of well-dressed muscle heads pass him like they were God’s gift.
