by Laurel Dewey
It was given a title. “Project S.O.U.L.” [Sourcing Optimal Uncalcified Light]. For all intents and purposes, it was a mining expedition, with the “mining” taking place in the deepest caverns of the brain. And the treasure they were after was none other than the human pineal gland. Based upon compelling studies that were included in the packet, the “health” of one’s pineal gland determined one’s ability to see outside of himself and potentially perceive every secret in the universe. But after the age of six, as Jane learned from her previous research, this tiny endocrine gland became encrusted with calcium until it gradually grew inactive. But the next line on the page really got Jane’s attention.
“Imagine being able to see through the eye of a child?” the document read. Suddenly, the song on the Patsy Cline tape made twisted sense. However, instead of “eyes” as Patsy sang, this document specifically mentioned the single “eye.” And this “seeing” was about perception and awareness, rather than visually acuity. To “see through the eye of a child” was Romulus’ objective with their experiment. To accomplish it, they needed two things: “a young pineal gland from a pure subject and an application method that was painless and effective to administer the serum.” As Jane read further, she felt like she’d been sucked into the middle of a nightmarish scene. According to Haas’ typed notes, “the most advantageous environment to remove the child’s pineal gland is during periods of heightened trauma and terror, thereby allowing a massive flow of DMT to saturate the gland and optimize it.” Jane read the sentence again. “Optimize?” she said aloud. Jane immediately thought about the photographs of the children in the Congo village, with their clean, surgical cranial incisions. It was beyond anything she could have envisioned. But she was also reminded of a term Saul used when he talked about the way Romulus looked at the populace. “Commodities,” he told her. “We’re only as useful as what we can offer them.”
The fact that the macabre idea was even discussed, let alone put into action by locating a distant tribe and using them as part of the experiment, showed Jane that there were no limits to what “the company” would do. It seemed that Romulus truly was into “capturing the hearts and minds” of the populace to use for their own “vision” and benefit. And, she theorized, through that stolen insight, they hypothesized that through regular “doses,” they would enjoy immortality along with infinite power over the populace. But the further she read, the more she wondered about the second part: how the “imprint of the pineal,” as they called it, could be easily taken into their bodies and utilized. Turning the pages, she found a document titled, “The Serum.”
Scanning it, Jane realized that when Gabriel put together his investigation, the process used to take in this “insight” was still on the proverbial drawing board. But one paragraph caught Jane’s sharp eye. It discussed the possibility of an injection. However, because that involved a certain amount of discomfort, it was proposed that a less invasive method should be explored. The last line of the paragraph sent a chill up her spine. “Our goal is to make this therapy effortless. If it were possible to accomplish it from drinking a daily beverage that masked any peculiar flavors, this would be the preferred method of administration.”
“Holy shit,” Jane mumbled as she ruminated about the land grab in northeastern Colorado. There had to be a connection. Jane recalled the comment from the CEO of The Wöden Group at the news conference and how he thanked the “influential, forward thinking minds who helped make this happen.” Forward thinking, Jane thought to herself. The more she mulled over a nefarious association between The Wöden Group and Romulus, the faster the pieces began falling into place. And the biggest piece of all was the announcement of those three hundred “very special” four-legged guests from Scotland who would be grazing on their grassland.
While she couldn’t be certain, Jane began to formulate a theory. They wanted an “effortless” way to administer their dose and suggested that a “daily beverage” would be the preferred method. Jane stared into the darkness that circled the van. “Goat milk,” she said. It wasn’t that far fetched. She’d already seen how science had the capability to breed a “spider goat” by genetically altering a goat’s embryo with the DNA of the spider. When the goats lactated, they produced a spider milk protein that was converted into a silk fiber, stronger than Kevlar. Was it possible, she wondered, to somehow genetically alter a goat’s embryo with the fluid from the young pineal gland, create a mutated “pineal goat,” thus producing the ultimate delivery system for the most powerful milk on the planet?
But, like everything else they devised, the milk would only be reserved for them. It was strange, Jane thought. Here was a group bent on exploiting consciousness because they didn’t have the God-given abilities or the inclination to study and develop their own intuition. They wanted the quick fix—the one-step solution to enlightenment. And they were willing to hire as many brilliant people as it took to advance the process. But once their usefulness was drained, they were eliminated. She recalled The Q magazine’s page seventeen “ad,” dealing with the hit on Mitchell Cloud. Somehow, he must have secretly been part of their early process. When he died, the press referred to him as “the eccentric microbiologist who was obsessed with goats.” Such a dismissive, throwaway line that the public chewed and spit out, Jane mused. But if they’d known the depths of Cloud’s “obsession,” she didn’t think they’d trivialize his life’s work.
And Werner Haas? Yes, he had to die too. They couldn’t have a major player like Haas still sucking up the air when they launched the final stage of their experiment. Romulus could have sent anyone to kill him but they sent Gabriel. Perhaps, they truly did not understand how deeply Gabe was connected and wired into the unseen world. Maybe they never thought he’d go through Haas’ files or open the cabinets and gather data. Maybe, Jane wondered, because Romulus lacked what they coveted—a heart, a soul and clean, pure insight—they made a cardinal mistake and hired the one man who would attempt to bring them down.
Combing through the last pages, Jane found a cover letter addressed to Jim Baptíste at the Denver Post. It was dated three days before Gabe was killed. In it, Gabe reiterated their previous telephone and email conversations and thanked John again for having the courage to look into this story. “Courage,” Gabe wrote at the end of the letter, “comes from the Latin root word cor, which means heart. I hope your heart is strong, Jim.” Turning over the large folded envelope, Jane noticed that Gabe addressed it already with no return address and seventeen, one-dollar stamps. Either Gabe thought mailing costs would skyrocket by the time she found this or he was sending her a not-so-subtle message.
Turning on her computer, Jane checked on the next puzzle. Using the Congo as her template, she searched for the degrees, minutes and seconds of both the latitude and longitude coordinates that mirrored seventeen degrees north and thirty-three degrees west. She arrived at one location: Jomba. It was located just west of the Ugandan border in what looked to be a remote and isolated territory.
She brought out the ghastly photographic evidence of their “experiment.” They would certainly lead credence to Gabe’s assertions. Sliding the separate envelope with the photos underneath her packet, Jane rested her head on the seat. She was exhausted and felt the strain beginning to weigh heavily on her. Sleep hovered close by and she willingly succumbed to it.
When she awoke the next morning, Harlan was gone. Looking down at her lap, the stack of documents and the envelope of photos were also missing. Jane burst out of the van, spinning in circles in search for Harlan. She called out and heard nothing. Running over a short hill, she found him. He was seated cross-legged with his eyes closed and allowing the morning sun to warm his face. Next to him were the envelopes, along with a large map and another folder. She approached him carefully, not sure if he was aware of her presence.
“I hear you,” he quietly said.
“You scared the shit out of me…again…”
He turned to her, opening his eyes. “Were you ever gonna tell me about this? Or did you think I was too dumb to understand it?”
“I was going to wait for the right time,” she stated, hunkering down on the ground.
“When? When you figured I evolved more?” He turned away. “I’ll be honest with you, I don’t get half of what’s written in there. But I sure as hell catch the gist. Them photos sure drive the point home.” He let out a tired breath. “So, I guess we gotta find ourselves a post office.”
“Not yet.
“You waitin’ to collect more facts?”
“No.”
“Then why are you waitin’?”
“I’m not sure.”
Harlan showed irritation. “Okay, check this out,” he drew the map closer to him, laying it flat on the ground. “Based on the address you got for Wanda—”
“What—?”
“Would you let me finish before you jump my shit?” He opened up the separate folder that held Wanda’s photo and information. “Based on where you think she is right now, we have to go right through her location in order to get to Chimney-O.”
“Chimayo.”
“Whatever. The point is, you are seein’ your sister.”
“Half-sister.”
“Whatever.” He stood up and looked at Jane, studying her face. “If you’re gonna disappear, you owe it to yourself to at least find out what she looks like. If you don’t do that, it’ll dog you forever, Jane.”
She turned away. “That’s exactly what he said to me before I left.”
“Hank?”
She nodded.
“Smart man,” he said, walking back to the van.
When she returned to the van, Harlan was swallowing his morning dose of drugs. “We have to make one stop before Wanda. It’ll be quick.”
The drive to New Mexico would take just under three hours. But thirty minutes later, and five minutes before nine o’clock, Jane rolled into the last small town in Colorado she could find that had a pharmacy. Parking across the nearly empty street, Jane observed the brick building and vacant lot. While Harlan chowed down on a breakfast of leftovers from the CSA, Jane kept her eyes peeled on the pharmacy. A small Prius rolled up and parked as a gray-haired woman in her early seventies got out of the car. She unlocked the front door and turned over the “Open” sign in the window.
“I’ll be right back,” Jane said, lowering her lighted ball cap over her forehead.
“What are you doin’, Jane?”
“I feel a cold coming on. Maybe they’ll have some Vitamin C.”
She slipped out of the van and, glancing around the area, crossed the road and walked into the pharmacy. The older woman was in the far back, behind the glass window. Jane locked the front door, before turning the “Open” sign around to “Closed.” She eyed the lone security camera in the corner of the room. Spotting a complimentary tea and coffee island, she grabbed the large dishcloth that lay under the coffeemaker. Keeping her head down and avoiding looking directly into the camera, Jane climbed up on a chair and slung the dishcloth over the camera.
“I’ll be right there!” the woman called out from the back.
Jane jumped down, securing her hat lower on her forehead. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself and approached the window. The gray-haired woman walked to the window with a cheerful smile.
“What can I do for you, sweetheart?” the woman asked Jane.
Jane reached behind her body and pulled out the 9mm from her waistband. Aiming it squarely at the woman’s head with both hands, she stared her down. “Open the door, or I’ll kill you.”
CHAPTER 26
The woman moved her hand along the edge of the counter.
“Stop it!” Jane yelled. “Do not push the panic button or I will shoot you!”
The woman took a step back from the counter with her hands held up. “I didn’t push anything, sweetheart.”
“Stop calling me sweetheart and open the fucking door!”
The woman never took her eyes off Jane as she crossed to the side door and unlocked it. Jane turned the knob and, keeping the pistol on the woman, closed it behind her.
“It’s okay,” the woman gently said. “You don’t have to do this.”
“What?” Jane snapped.
“If you need help, I’ll help you.”
“Where do you keep the stock?”
“In the back room but—”
“Shut up!” Jane yelled. “Show me the room!”
She led Jane around a counter and through a back door with Jane staying several feet from her.
“Okay,” the woman said nervously, “here we are.”
Reaching into her jeans’ pocket, she brought out a piece of paper and handed it to the woman. “I need as much of that as you have in stock.”
The woman read the names on the paper and looked up at Jane with a quizzical expression. “These are anti-rejection drugs.”
“I know! Give me all you have!” she demanded, shoving the gun closer to the woman.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart…I don’t have these in stock.”
“You gotta be fucking kidding me!”
The woman’s face changed from frightened to compassionate. “I can get them for you.”
“When?”
“I’ll make some calls. It’ll take about five hours to get them couriered up here—”
“I don’t have five fucking hours! I need them now! This minute!” The desperation in her voice was palpable.
“Sweetheart, I want to help you—”
Jane charged toward her, grabbing her from behind and wedged the 9mm against her head. “Stop it! You gotta have something in this place that’ll work. Give me some fucking generics, I don’t care!”
The woman grabbed the side of the shelf. “Please…please…I know you’re desperate…but please don’t make a bigger mistake.” With that, she began whispering The Lord’s Prayer.
Through the haze of tension, Jane left her body and stood to the side. There she drifted, shadowed by a cloud of malice and falling into the void. She didn’t recognize her own face as it twisted into a malevolent expression. All that was left was for her to submit and allow her conscience to be seared forever. She could sense how easy that would be and she knew if she yielded to the potent demand, there was no going back.
“Give us this day, our daily bread,” the woman whispered. “And forgive us our trespasses…”
Jane moved back into her body as her eyes welled with tears. Glancing to the shelf next to her, she was oddly attracted to a bright yellow box.
“As we forgive those who trespass against us,” the woman continued. “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil…”
Jane reached over and grabbed two of the boxes, shoving them into her pocket. She loosened her grip on the woman and stepped back. “I’m not gonna hurt you…”
The woman turned around to face her. “If you’re in trouble…let me help you.”
Jane moved to the door. “God, I wish you could,” she mumbled before walking into the front room and out the door.
By the time she reached the van, sweat beads were rolling down her face.
“You got a fever, Jane?” Harlan asked her as she turned the van around.
“No worries, Harlan.”
They drove for the next couple hours nearly in silence. All around her, she felt the world pulling away as if it was about to take a long rest. Then she questioned if perhaps it wasn’t the world that was moving away, maybe it was she who was disconnecting from the planet. The feeling stunned her, giving her pause as she contemplated her mortality. The longer she drove south into New Mexico, the more she questioned if she shared a mutual destiny with Harlan. Was their bizarre meeting meant to end in a hail of bullets? If so, what was the point of everything that hap
pened during the last week? If death was assured, then how did she measure her life up until that point? It was in that staggering moment, that she realized she hadn’t allowed herself to really live until only the last few weeks. And even then, she was still a complex work in progress. How could a benevolent God snuff out her life when she was just beginning to figure it out? That seemed a pointless venture on His part. But then the thought crossed her mind that perhaps she’d learned everything she needed to learn and her time was up. On reflection, that also seemed absurd, especially since she was of the opinion that enlightened souls don’t manhandle elderly women, demanding drugs. So, if she wasn’t going to die, what was this feeling? Looking around at the miles of tan and ochre stained high desert, it was still present. There was a heartbeat of sadness but also of reconciliation and renewal. It was the peeling away of the old and the dying, melded in the realization that time was speeding up and each minute was precious. There was chaos in the air but there was wisdom to see it for what it was and not be paralyzed by the fear. As she continued down the windswept highway, she likened the barren landscape to the blank canvas her life had now become. It compelled her as much as it scared the hell out of her.
They drove into the small town of Esperanza, New Mexico just as the clock tower in the town square struck noon. The place looked like an adobe wonderland with one terra cotta structure after another. The New Mexican flag—featuring an ancient Zia symbol that represented the sun—flew proudly above the clock tower. The only information Jane had on Wanda was the location of her halfway house and the restaurant where she worked. Her anxiety turned into panic as she rolled the van in front of the halfway house and parked. Harlan held the open file in his hands, checking Wanda’s mugshot against the stream of faces around them.
