Knowing (35 page)

“Maybe it’s a time code? There’s gotta be a reason why Harlan wrote it like a fraction without the line between them.”

“No, you wouldn’t write a time code like that.”

“Seventeen has been popping up a lot. You have any idea why that is?”

“There are a lot of numbers and sequences that come up all the time. And while it’s true that math holds the hidden code of our world, I’m not sure every single one of them has a sinister meaning.”

“Maybe it’s not sinister. Maybe it’s just trying to lead me somewhere. That sequence has to mean something or I wouldn’t have found that nurse with the tattoo.”

“Right. Because every single thing you’ve done has been predestined.”

“I didn’t say that.”

He continued to peruse the book. “It’s scary, isn’t it? Understanding that you have no control over your life and the way it plays out.”

“You do have control. You just have to take it.”

He smiled. “Control is a complete illusion, Jane. Unless you’re like Romulus and believe you’re a god.”

She hesitated before speaking. “You let Romulus control you.”

He looked up from the book. “You’re right. But Gabe never allowed it.”

“Gabe’s dead. They won.”

He turned around to make sure Harlan was nowhere in earshot. “As long as Harlan is alive, Gabe is also alive.”

“You think that’s what Gabe wanted? Really? Living out the rest of his ‘life’ in someone else’s body?”

“For awhile…Yeah.”

“You mean, until they kill Harlan.”

“I mean…until Gabe decides it’s time to abandon his host.”

Jane’s head spun. “Wait, what?”

“When the journey is over, there’s no need to keep driving the bus.” The notebook slipped out of his hands, opening to the center and the page with the single “IEB.”

Jane was still trying to sort through Monroe’s logic regarding Harlan’s possible demise. “You have any idea what ‘IEB’ stands for?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t match anything I’ve run into.” He turned suddenly, grabbing his rifle and pistol. “What was that?”

“I didn’t hear anything,” she said, scooting down on the recliner. “Listen, back to what you were—”

He motioned for her to be still and stay quiet as they sat there with the spring wind blowing through the screen. As hard as she tried, Jane couldn’t sense anything that was off. She turned to Monroe. He had his pistol raised to the side of his head with the butt pointed toward the roof. And in that second, she recalled her odd vision where she saw the blurred image of the man with the gun by his head.
Stolen
. That’s the word she came up with then and now she understood it. He didn’t own his own perceptions because all those horrific years had robbed him of his ability to see clearly. His observations and reactions were now tainted with the stain of so much trauma that a sound of a water droplet against a pipe became a reverberating echo that triggered an over reaction.

Hyper-vigilance. Jane had danced with that beast many times, beginning when she was a young girl. It’s waiting for the other shoe to drop and wondering if it will be a slipper or a boot. It’s coming up with five different exit strategies in the space of four seconds. It’s taking “What if?” to levels that defy rational thinking. It’s learning how to take shallow breaths, because inhaling too much air will create an explosion where all the pieces of your shattered life will be tossed into the wind and scattered for miles. It’s the ultimate control game and the one who chooses to play it, is always the loser. But no matter how many times the cycle spins, the one in the hot seat always forgets that most times, whatever one fears usually doesn’t happen. But that doesn’t matter because it means that the odds of something really big happening the next time are increased. And so it goes. The waiting, the measured relief and the anticipation of the next blow.

Jane had done that a million times and because of it, she could easily see the shared suffering in similar individuals. Eyes would connect across a crowded room and while the two of them might never say a word to each other, the dialogue of suffering was present and connected them. It was always in the eyes—the windows to the soul. Through the orbs, Jane sourced her comrades, even if they were wearing veils of deception. It was why she loved to see comic actors play serious roles. That was the only way she could see the brutal pain in the actor’s eyes that first molded him and forced him into the role of a funny man so he could escape the brutality. It was that uncut, almost too-hard-to-look-at torture that grabbed her and made her not want to turn away. The recognition was a shared secret between the two of them and every time she watched one of the comedic movies in a darkened theater, she was aware that no one else in that room truly comprehended the depths of despair that was required to pull off the role.

There are scars that can’t be physically seen. There are wounds that never bleed. Jane determined that in this life, one’s path could be delineated down to two factors. One is the kind of trauma you experience. The second is how you choose to deal with that trauma. Those two factors had charted Jane’s course and colored the palette that had framed her life. She’d learned that when the trauma doesn’t own you, it can’t control you. But being able to unhook your psyche from the oily memories of darker days is a rare gift that isn’t bestowed on many. Looking over at Monroe, waiting like a spaniel on point for the mysterious sound to manifest that only he could hear, she recognized a kindred spirit. He wasn’t even thirty years old but the damage that had been done to him would take several lifetimes to undo. And sadly, whoever he really was on that day when he was plucked out of college and recruited into Romulus was long buried under layers of PsyOps, trauma-induced schizophrenia.

He was done for the night. He detached himself from the conversation as his mind roamed the dirty corners where the monsters hide. Monroe slowly worked his body back onto the recliner and, rifle by his side and pistol at the ready, he closed his eyes and fell asleep. Jane quietly collected the envelope, sliding it into her leather satchel and replaced the items into Harlan’s bag. After gently removing the black notebook from underneath Monroe’s recliner, Jane sunk into her chair. Pulling the blanket over her body, she willed herself to sleep.

When she stirred the next morning, she heard the lyrical tweet of sparrows welcoming the new day. Opening her eyes, she saw Monroe standing up, facing the screen and the rising sun. She watched him tilt his head backward and draw in a deep breath. Then, with eyes wide open, he looked directly into the golden light that spilled up and over the distant low-lying hills. In a voice almost impossible to hear, he repeated the prayer that Harlan chanted whenever he was in trouble. “I will face the darkness, but I will not let it become me. Fear may be present but it will not possess me. I will face the darkness, as the knowing light within my heart and mind leads me home. And once again, I will be free.” He held his focus of the morning light, only blinking twice.

“Hey,” Jane said softly so as not to startle him.

“Hey,” he replied, never taking his wide eyes off the rising sun.

“Aren’t you afraid of burning your cornea?”

“No,” he whispered, as if speaking too loudly would ruin the moment. He continued to stare. “The first light of the day and the last light are safe to gaze into. Gabe taught me how to do it. He said the Egyptians did it. Books will tell you that they worshipped the sun. But that wasn’t exactly true. They’d bend their heads upward at sunrise and sunset to receive the energy and reboot their mind’s eye. They knew a lot more than history books like to talk about. Ancient knowledge is sacred and only those who have the understanding or the ability to convert the knowledge into substance are allowed to discuss it and teach it.”

“Gabe told you that?” she whispered.

He closed his eyes and after a few seconds, turned to Jane. “You don’t throw pearls before swine. You don’t try to educate somebody who is stupid or shallow because they’ll never get it, even when they are surrounded by it. You only put your energy into the people who can make a difference.” He turned back to the sun. “You noticed that the sun is whiter these days?”

It appeared to Jane that whatever character was inhabiting him at that moment was pretty mellow and forthcoming. “Whiter?”

“I talked to a guy who was in his 70s and he told me the sun used to be warmer. Have more of a yellowish, golden glow. Now it’s like white lightening. Stark. I told him I think it’s because back in the day, we remember everything in a warm wonderful glow and now we’re starting to see the stark reality of our collective situation.” He looked at Jane. “It’s as if the sun is sending us a message.”

A thought crossed her mind. She located the greeting card that protected Gabe’s photo and held it out to Monroe. “Check this out, would you?”

He took the card and opened it. “Wow,” he smiled, pointing to the radiating gem in the center of the Pharaoh’s elongated head. “Ajna!”

“What’s that mean?”

“No, no. That’s what you call this.” He pointed to the gemstone.

“The jewel is called an Ajna?”

“No, no!” he said with impatience. “The point where it’s located. Right here,” he touched his index finger to the middle of his forehead.

Jane felt a sudden jolt. While it wasn’t identical, the movement of Monroe’s finger to his forehead was similar to the old man in her vision. “Ajna…” Diving into her satchel, she withdrew Harlan’s notebook and nervously flipped through the pages until she found the one. The word, “Agna” stood out in the center of the page. Jane had interpreted Harlan’s poorly written “j” for a “g.” She poked her finger on the page. “Look at that! It’s right there.”

Monroe grinned. “Yep. Sure is.” Opening the card, Gabe’s photo dropped out. He retrieved it and sadly stared at his friend’s face before reading the inscription.

“That photo was taken when he left on his three-year journey. And that’s part of the prayer that Harlan repeats.”

Monroe’s face softened. “He said he was given that prayer by a medicine man he met. It was a prayer of protection from evil to be said aloud whenever you were in danger or when you were about to die. It was thought to free one’s heart so that if you perished, your heart had already gone ahead to find your soul’s place in heaven.”

They heard a tap-tap at the door. Monroe suddenly jumped to attention as Harlan waved at both of them before sleepily retreating into the bathroom.

“It’s just Harlan. It’s okay.”

“That’s affirmative!” His voice strangely changed, along with his facial expressions.

“At ease, soldier.”

Monroe relaxed and turned to Jane. “I know who he is, ma’am.” He glanced at the photo envelope in Jane’s satchel. “And it all makes sense now why they framed him like they did.” He looked at Jane. “He was found in bed with a black woman whose head was smashed open with her brains coming out.”

Jane couldn’t believe she didn’t make that connection. “Shit. You’re right!”

“That’s what they call ‘humor’ and the rest of us call ‘fucked up.’ That’s a signature—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know, I know. I think it also means there’s a solid link between Harlan’s framing for the murder and whatever those photos are connected to.”

“Same meme. Yes. I’d concur on that.”

Jane wasn’t sure which one of Monroe’s alter personalities would show up next but the vibe was getting
über
militaristic. Before he revved it up and told her to drop and do ten, she figured it was time to exit the location. Excusing herself, Jane gathered everything and packed the van. She took a quick shower and changed into a pair of black jeans and a light blue turtleneck. When she returned to the porch with Harlan, Monroe was standing guard at the door with his rifle cradled in his arms.

“Thank you for letting us stay here, Monroe,” Jane offered.

“My pleasure, ma’am,” he said, spinning around on his heels and saluting her. “You can stop by any time.” He swung open the screen door, holding it open for them.

Jane and Harlan walked to the van and Harlan got inside. After closing the side door, Jane turned back to Monroe. “Hey, I meant to ask you. Do you know the name of the medicine man that Gabe talked to?”

“No, ma’am. Gabe just said he was the medicine man next to Haas.”

Jane took two steps forward. “Next to
Haas
? What? What does that mean?”

“I’m telling you all I know, ma’am,” he stated, staring straight ahead and never making eye contact with Jane.

“Wait a second, the name Haas is important. Haas is mentioned in an ad on page 17 of an old issue of the ‘
Q
’ that I found. The ad referenced a hit on him. I need to know who he is and why Gabe would adopt his name.”

“All forward!” Monroe yelled in a sharp, military bark. He clicked his heels together and readied his rifle.

As much as she wanted to pursue it, there was no way he could maintain any cohesive conversation at this point.

“Please take care of yourself,” Jane quietly said to him.

“Yes, ma’am!” he replied, never making eye contact. “And may I offer you this: trust no one. Sometimes, you can’t even trust yourself which can make life quite interesting.”

She managed a weak smile and drove down the gravel road. When she reached the highway, she took one last look back. He was still standing there, like a frozen solider waiting for the sun to warm the battlefield before his next fight.

Harlan located his anti-rejection drugs and popped his morning dose. “Well, that was different,” he deadpanned.

“It’s
all
different, Harlan.”

“He’s kind of a whack job, Jane.”

“I know. But you’d be surprised how many ‘whack jobs’ have turned out to be my best sources over the years.” She turned to Harlan who was already pleasantly ensconced in the back of the van. “The next time someone tells you hell doesn’t exist, remember Monroe. That son-of-a-bitch will never be free.”

Harlan thought long and hard about his time with Monroe. “What does
capisci
mean?

“It’s Italian for ‘do you understand’?”

“Is that so? Never heard the word until it left my lips.”

She sunk her hand into her satchel and pulled out the postcards. Pulling the first one off the pile, she laid it on the dashboard. “Next stop, O’Rian Park.”

They drove east and then north up the two-lane highway, past acres of farmland where the soil was waiting patiently for the first seeds to be sown. The spring air held the fragrance of renewal as thousands of weeds, grass, flowers and trees awakened once again and remembered their purpose. Jane turned on the radio and found only a few stations that weren’t burdened by static. Vicki Lawrence’s version of “The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia” came on.

“Hey,” Harlan chirped from the back of van, “don’t move the dial. Would you please listen to the words of this song and tell me what the hell it’s about?”

“Not now, Harlan.”

“Can you explain it then?”

Jane listened to the words that she’d heard dozens of times over the years. After one minute, she was lost. “It’s about revenge.”

“Well, no joke, Jane. I know that ‘little sister’ gunned down her sister-in-law and ‘that’s one body that’ll never be found’ but I can’t figure out the rest. Who’s that ‘Amos boy Seth?’ And why didn’t Andy want to kill him first? I don’t get it.”

“Can we please focus on what’s in front of us? Let it go. A lot of songs don’t make any sense.” She checked the side windows. “I still don’t get why you chose ‘Just in Time’ back at that bar.”

“
I
didn’t chose it, Jane.”

“Yeah,
he
did. I want to know why?”

“You want to know why and I say, ‘why not?’”

The song ended and the top of the hour news began. “In local news, it was announced today that Colorado will be hosting three hundred very special guests from Scotland this year. But these visitors are four-legged critters and their new home will be acres of grassland in northeastern Colorado. So, don’t be surprised when you’re driving up in that part of our state and you see several hundred goats, happily chewing away to their heart’s content.”

Jane tuned out the rest of the news. It was far too much of a coincidence. That ground had to be the same grassland that was turned over to The Wöden Group and announced at the recently televised press conference. To anyone else, the news of three hundred goats meant nothing. If anything, the listeners probably smiled, relieved because three hundred goats was a better deal than another oil and gas rig eyesore. But something felt completely off to Jane. She was all too familiar with what information is released to the pubic and what is held back. It happened all the time during high profile murder cases in Denver. A rep from DH would stand at the microphone and appear to be forthcoming with details of the latest killing. But Jane would watch it and tick off the multitude of holes in the announcement. They always held information back but if the news conference was spun correctly, viewers would walk away believing they’d heard the whole story. From that, people would move into their day repeating the half-story to others and before long, it was an accepted “truth.” Only the ones whose ears were trained to know how a murder case really rolls would recognize the gaping holes in the story that trains could slide through.

And that’s exactly where Jane was at that moment—staring at the holes in the story about the happy goats eating grass in northeastern Colorado. Clearly aware of the power players who were involved in this acquisition, Jane found the story seriously troubling. But with nothing to link it to, all she could do now was file it away and hopefully bring it back up when the pieces fell together.

Within less than half an hour and just shy of 9:30, Jane entered Helios, Colorado, a quaint town with a village ambiance. In the center of the main street was a beautifully designed roundabout with a manicured grassy center and a playful statue of children playing with a kite. Realizing that O’Rian Park shouldn’t be hard to find, Jane swung the van down a street that paralleled Main Street and easily saw the park at the end of the road. It was a fairly large area for such a small town, and its mature landscaping and rolling grassy hills made it a desirable destination for families and others who wanted to bask in an architect’s adaptation of nature. A ring of parking spaces, allowing easy entrance from any angle, encircled the park. In the far right hand corner was a baseball field that doubled as a T-ball field for youngsters. About twenty mothers congregated in the center of the park doing yoga while a group of toddlers and preschoolers played off to the side with a caregiver watching over them.

Harlan edged closer to the front of the van, supporting himself against the back of the passenger seat. “Drive around the park, would you?”

His voice sounded different to Jane. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve never felt anything like this before,” he said, in reverie. He flattened his palm against his heart. “My heart…”

“What about your heart?” Jane asked with concern as she continued to troll the parking lot.

“It’s bursting, Jane.” He moved closer to the front.

“Hey, hey, hey! You can’t do that. Come on!” She looked at him and all she saw was a man with a purpose. “Talk to me, Harlan. What is it?”

He waited, his eyes constantly focused on the women in the center of the park. “This is real, Jane. This is
too
real.” He slumped behind the passenger seat.

Jane braked quickly and put the van in park. She spun around. “You okay?”

He held his heart with his huge palm. “I can’t explain it, Jane. I’ve never felt this kind of…”

“This kind of
what
?”

“Love…” He seemed unable to rectify his emotions. Lifting his large frame up, he looked outside the window. “Keep drivin’ around, would ya?”

Jane obliged. As they moved closer to where the women could be seen better, Harlan told her to stop the van and park it. She agreed and stared at the yoga group, scanning them for anything that stood out to her. Seven of the women were pregnant, six were over the age of seventy and four were in their teens. “Seventeen,” Jane said. She was so focused on dissecting the scene that she didn’t hear Harlan open the side door of the van. It wasn’t until his feet were planted on the ground that she turned. “Oh, shit! Harlan!” she yelled with an urgent stage whisper. “No, no, no!” She struggled with her seatbelt and that gave Harlan just enough time to move onto the grass and start toward a large stand of towering aspen trees that formed a small grove.

Freeing herself from the seatbelt, she rushed out of the van and stopped quickly, not wanting to attract attention. She could vaguely see Harlan in the grove, which gave her momentary solace that he wasn’t standing out like a sore thumb. Moving toward the trees in a pseudo casual manner, Jane stood near him. She looked at him and saw a visage that didn’t belong to Harlan. Within that short walk, he’d been transformed. And although she couldn’t be certain, she felt as if she was standing next to someone else.

“We can’t be out like this,” Jane whispered to him. “Come on.”

He didn’t budge. “We came here for a reason, Jane.”

“I know, but I can’t risk anyone—” she saw the yoga group break up and collectively roll up their mats.

Harlan drew in his breath quickly and grabbed his chest.

“What?” Jane tensely asked. “You having a heart attack?”

He was unable to speak and simply replied to her with a shake of his head.

Jane turned back to the yoga class. A brown-haired woman in her late thirties broke away from the group, carrying a mat under her arm. She appeared to be about eight months pregnant. She waved at a pickup truck that was just pulling into the park and carried an eager Australian Shepherd in the bed. A man who looked about forty got out of the pickup with a frisbee and let the dog out of the bed. The dog happily ran toward the woman who greeted it with a warm welcome. As the man sauntered toward her, she smiled and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before motioning that she would be right back. She headed in their direction, walking up the slight incline and past the grove, retrieving her car keys from a side pocket in her yoga pants. Harlan watched every second of every motion she made. The woman opened her car door, a modest Toyota Corolla, tossed in the yoga mat and locked the door. Walking back into the park, she stood just outside the aspen grove and searched for her partner and their dog.

Harlan moved toward the edge of the grove, his eyes focused so intently on the woman that Jane thought he would never emerge from it. Jane gingerly crept behind a trio of aspens and observed the scene. There was nothing else to do now except wait and watch it play out. She watched the woman cautiously. Now that she was closer, Jane could see her much better. She wore a simply wedding band and no other jewelry. There was a calm and kind light around her that was intoxicating. When she moved, she walked with gentle steps and a tender spirit. And somehow, she was familiar to Jane. With that realization, a pungent perfume of roses enveloped her senses. She was catapulted briefly back into the vision she had when she held Harlan’s hand back at the tiny cabin. Jane recalled inhaling the same fragrance as she stood inside a small house with lots of windows that allowed the breeze to waft through. She remembered the sound of a man and woman whispering and kissing in another room and the sense that the love they were making was of the highest expression. Turning back to the woman on the periphery of the aspen grove, she somehow knew in her heart this was the woman on the other side of the wall in that house. She was Marion.

As if Jane’s mind sent that sudden recognition out into the park, Marion turned and peered into the grove. Without one bit of fear, she seemed to know and she took several steps toward the trees. Jane swallowed hard and waited. Harlan never moved a muscle but kept his eyes lovingly focused on her. With one hand cupped on her protruding belly, she took several steps closer and met Harlan’s eyes.

Harlan began to hum so quietly at first that it was nearly imperceptible. But as he continued, Jane recognized the tune. “Just in Time.” She thought he was singing it to her back at the karaoke bar. How foolish could she be? she told herself. Marion walked into the grove, shaded by the towering branches and catkins that hung from the buds. Her eyes filled with tears as she stood there fixated. She turned briefly to Jane, her hazel eyes acknowledging her, and then returned her heart’s focus to Harlan. Still holding her belly with one hand, the tears rolled down her cheeks as she reached out to Harlan, brushing her fingers against his cheek. Her hand drifted to his heart where she rested her hand, pressing it lightly into his body. She closed her eyes and smiled as tears continued to fall and drift down her face. Opening her eyes, she took a deep breath.

“I’ve been waiting for this day,” she whispered to him, her hand never moving from his heart. “I still have the note you gave me. It’s tucked away where only I can find it. ‘Til our hearts meet again, you’ll know me in the strangest of faces.’” Marion managed a sad smile.

Harlan’s eyes swelled with tears as he placed his hand over hers. “Thank you.”

“Marion?” the voice called out from the park.

She didn’t seem to hear it. Jane stepped forward.

“You have to go,” Jane whispered.

Marion didn’t move.

“Marion?” Jane said, seeing her husband and their dog start up the incline toward the aspen grove. “You have to leave now. Please!”

Marion stepped back, never taking her eyes off Harlan. She touched her heart as if to say “goodbye” and walked down into the park to meet her husband.

Harlan immediately collapsed on the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. Jane quickly walked behind him, crouching down and wrapping her arm around his shoulder.

“I’ve never felt anything like that in my whole life,” Harlan cried. “
Never
. That’s more than love. I can’t even put it into words. It’s like seein’ yourself in another person’s eyes and knowin’ you’ve found the missin’ piece.” He got hold of himself. “Have you ever felt that, Jane?”

She wiped away a tear that appeared out of nowhere. “I don’t know.”

He turned to her. “You’d know it if you did.”

They waited until no one was around before returning to the van. They drove in silence for several miles, heading southwest toward the next destination. As her mind began to move back onto the case at hand, she chided herself for not bringing up the mysterious Werner Haas name to Monroe when he was somewhat able to respond in an intelligent manner. She pulled the van over to the side of the road and announced to Harlan that she was returning to Monroe’s house with the idea of getting to the bottom of his “Haas” comment. Just as she started to pull the van away from the shoulder, she saw a police car in the far distance zooming up behind her with lights flashing.

“Shit,” Jane whispered.

As the patrol car moved closer, she could hear the siren piercing the air. Scanning the area, she tried to come up with a suitable escape but fell short each time. The siren screamed with a harsh tenor. She looked into her side mirror and watched the black and white, powering toward her van. “Please, God, no,” she whispered. Jane closed her eyes as if to block it out and felt the air shift as he burned rubber past the van and continued at breakneck speed down the highway. Letting out a sigh of relief, she stuck the key back into the ignition and then stopped again when she spied a fire truck barreling down the highway, with lights flashing and sirens blaring. That truck was joined by two more. As they passed her van, she started feeling ill and lightheaded. She turned the key and tore onto the highway, shadowing the fire trucks on their ten-mile rescue. When she crested the farthest hill, thick black smoke billowed into the bluebird sky. Two miles later, she slowed down. The patrol car, followed by the trio of fire trucks, turned onto Monroe’s road and set up a perimeter around his burning house. Harlan crawled to the front of the van and took in the scene.