314 Book 3 (Widowsfield Trilogy) (22 page)

“A soul?” asked Oliver.

“If that’s the term you want to use, yes. I spent several years studying how cultures around the world regarded death, and the soul. And one thing that I continued to come upon, time and again, was the act of human sacrifice being a part of religious ceremonies. I developed a theory about this, and it got me a lot more attention than I ever anticipated. And not the sort of attention anyone would want.”

“What was your theory?” asked Oliver.

“It’s complicated, but the basic premise was that since MacDougall had proven that energy left the human body at the moment of death, it stood to reason that the energy must either dissipate or be transported someplace else. Since we were never able to find a way to identify the energy that was leaving the body, then there were only two options: either we hadn’t yet discovered a way to identify the energy, or it was disappearing from this dimension.”

“To heaven?” asked Oliver as he looked at the
CORD.

“Perhaps,” said
Vess. “But wherever it went, the mere fact that we’d proven there was such a thing as a ‘soul’ was monumental. That’s how I was introduced to a group of religious historians that had been cataloging examples of human sacrifice and how nearly every culture in history had become obsessed with it in some form or another. They read my paper and asked to meet with me to compare notes. Their work focused on how human sacrifice had been tied to religious zealotry. They were fascinated with how cultures all across the world had been obsessed with the same idea: That sacrificing a living creature, and oftentimes a human, could appease their Gods. These beliefs were so similar that it was reasonable to believe that it was an integral part of the human experience. Combined with my studies on the energy of the soul, it wasn’t hard to come to the conclusion that sacrifice might actually play some part in the appeasement of a deity.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Oliver.

“Oh I am, and I also understand your disbelief. All the greatest evolutions of science have been met with intense skepticism. This is just another example. Humans have been obsessed with murdering one another since the dawn of man. Whether it’s a virginal girl being sacrificed on an altar, or a million young men shipped across seas with guns, we’ll never stop trying to kill one another. Once you accept that every human death results in the disappearance of energy, it becomes reasonable to suspect that this energy is a resource to some other place, or some other being.”

“God?” asked Oliver. “Are you saying that God needs our energy? Like we’re some sort of Earth-dwelling battery or something?” He couldn’t help but snicker at the thought. It seemed beyond outlandish.

“Perhaps,” said Vess. “We know, without question, that mankind has been murdering one another in the name of their creator for centuries, and we know that cultures all across the world have parroted the idea that human sacrifice can be used to appease their God. Would it be so unfathomable that there’s some truth to a belief that so many unrelated cultures have shared? After all, we’re more than happy to accept the more tangible things those cultures gave to us, like agriculture and medicine. Why shouldn’t we pay closer attention to their beliefs about other things?”

“You said it yourself yesterday,” said Oliver as he started to become argumentative. “We proved that the sun is a ball of gas and not a chariot.
Right? Same thing is true here. Agriculture and medicine have tangible results. Science relies on that. It relies on evidence.”

“And I’ve given you evidence,” said
Vess. “We proved that human beings have souls, and that those souls vanish upon death. The next step is finding where that energy goes. And that’s all this is,” he slapped his hand against the CORD. “This is our attempt to open a door to where our souls go. This device could explain why mankind is obsessed with war. If we discover that there’s a need for our energy past this gateway, in whatever dimension lies beyond it, then we might be able to explain the darkest part of the human experience. We might finally know why humans are so desperate to kill one another.”

“Because God wants us to?”

“Could be,” said Vess. “Wouldn’t that be something? To discover the desire to kill is divine.” He laughed, but Oliver was too stunned to laugh with him.

“I had no idea that’s what this was about,” said Oliver as he looked at the
CORD.

“Our theory was outlandish, certainly, but it had enough of a foundation in fact to get us noticed. I never expected the attention the paper would receive.
We started getting contacted by other groups, some of which had dubious intent to say the least. Some of them wanted to discuss our findings, and others wanted to provide evidence they’d uncovered. An archaeologist got in touch with us and even sent out some items he’d dug up at a ritual sacrifice site in South America. Then, suddenly, the military was knocking on my door because of how ‘dangerous’ they thought my ideas were. And while they never confirmed my suspicions, I’d heard from other sources that Hitler himself had become interested in my theory. From that point forward, all research related to my work ceased to exist; at least in the public eye.”

Oliver looked at the open door of the
CORD and suddenly comprehended what Vess had meant when he said there had been two people present during the first experiment. “Wait, are you going to put someone in there as a…” he couldn’t finish his sentence.

“As a sacrifice?”
Vess finished the sentence for Oliver, and then nodded. “Yes. But not just anyone. This machine requires someone with a special talent: A psychic.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not, I assure you,” said Vess. “The government was obsessed with competing with Germany and Russia in every way they could back when they recruited me. It wasn’t just the atom bomb, and the CORD that they were interested in. Rumors swirled that Hitler was obsessed with psychic phenomenon, and so the United States government began funding studies into it as well. While it was rare, they were able to find people that exhibited enhanced senses. Of the various types of extra-sensory perception they encountered, the ones that were the most dramatic were the ones known as psychometrics. That’s the ability to pull information out of inanimate objects.”

“And there are really people that can do that?” asked Oliver.

“Oh yes,” said Vess. “And they can do quite a bit more than just that, when trained properly.”

Oliver was stunned. “That’s incredible. I’ve never believed in any of that. I remember watching a show about a skeptic that was offering to pay someone a million dollars if they could prove that they had that sort of ability. He debunked all of them.”

“Of course he did,” said Vess. “He worked for us.” He snickered as he put one hand on Oliver’s shoulder. He massaged him for a moment before continuing, “Back when the government was in charge, they went about their search for psychics in a horribly inefficient way. Surprise, surprise,” Vess smirked and rolled his eyes. “But once The Accord took over research of this project, they came up with a far more efficient way to find subjects. It was unbelievably easy to stage events like the one you mentioned. People who claimed they had special powers flocked to those studios in droves, each promising that they could claim the million dollars. The majority of them were frauds, but the ones that demonstrated actual ability were given the chance to do it in front of an audience. The event was staged so that they couldn’t win, of course, and they were shocked when they were debunked on live television. After that, they disappeared from public view, and no one ever cared what happened to them.”

“And what did happen to them?” asked Oliver, concerned that he knew the answer.

“They came to work for us,” said Vess. “But don’t worry, the ones that proved their abilities earned a lot more than a million dollars in their time. We reward talent. The Accord has employed many psychometrics, and has worked hard to find out how best to unlock their abilities. The most powerful psychometrics have even learned how to control other people’s minds merely through touch. Take a gander through some of the more famous assassinations in recent history. You might be surprised how many assassins out there have no idea why they set out to kill their victims, as if during the act they were performing someone else’s will. Not that the man I’m bringing here today was ever that powerful though. He barely understood his own abilities by the time I put him in the machine.”

“So the person you’re bringing here was with you back in 1943?”

“Yes, he was,” said Vess.

“Does he remember what happened during the time frame that you forgot?”

“If he does, he’s not talking about it,” said Vess.

They heard the clang of metal from above, and both looked to see that the door was opening. The two guards that traveled with
Vess entered slowly, with a stretcher between them. They maneuvered along the thin catwalk and then down the stairs. Oliver could see that a man was lying on the stretcher, but a blanket had been pulled over his entire body, including his face, as if they were carrying a corpse.

“Here’s the very first true psychic I ever met,” said
Vess as the guards brought the stretcher over to them. The old man lifted the sheet to reveal a horrific sight.

The man on the stretcher looked skeletal. His eyes were open and bugged out due to the lack of fat puffing up his facial features. His skin sagged, similar to
Vess’s, but it was clear that he’d been laying on his back for the majority of his life, causing his loose skin to pool at his sides as if he were a wax figure melting away. His lips drooped as well, and saliva fell from the corners of his mouth, which it had been doing long enough to cause severe, inflamed wounds. His jaw jutted forth, accentuated by how his flesh sagged, and his teeth were yellow and long, the gums having receded back far enough to reveal the beginnings of roots.

What first appeared to be a corpse then revealed itself to be alive. The man on the stretcher was breathing, a throaty, wet gasp that came in quick
succession, and his tongue was moving, causing a slopping sound as if a snake were writhing in a bucket of water. His eyes were open, and a clear gel had been smeared over them.

“Oliver,” said
Vess, “meet Lyle Everman.”

Branson

March 13
th
, 2012

4:30 AM

“A sacrifice?” asked Alma, though she didn’t take her eyes off the man they were speaking about.

Michael Harper had his hands in the air, and Paul was still trying to convince Alma to give up the gun. She had the trigger pulled partially back, a mere centimeter from firing.

“Yes,” said Rosemary as she struggled to speak between pained gasps. “Trust me. You have to trust me.”

“Alma, honey,” said Paul, “give me the gun. He’s not worth it.”

“Sure he is,” said Alma with dark humor as she continued to point the gun at her father.

“No, he’s not. Think of what you’d be giving up. Think of the kids back home that are waiting for Miss Harper to teach them guitar in that new music room. Alma, think of us. If you shoot him, you’re putting an end to what we just got started again. Come on, babe, I’m looking forward to the rest of our lives together. The last thing I want is to have to go to a prison to see you.” He put his hand on hers, and this time she didn’t pull away. “Give me the gun.”

She relented, and let Paul take the gun from her. She apologized, and then went over to the bed to relieve
Jacker, who looked like he was about to pass out on top of Rosemary.

“What the fuck do you mean by sacrifice?” Michael started to walk toward them, but Paul quickly halted his progress by pushing him back with one hand while pointing the gun at him with the other.

“The town wants you back,” said Rosemary. “It wants you and Ben. It’s up to me…” She grimaced as Alma pulled aside the wrapping that Jacker had bunched up around the blade. “It’s up to us to get you back there.”

“And kill me?” asked Michael. “So you’re just a bunch of murderers?”

“I’m not killing anyone,” said Jacker.

“Neither am I,” said Paul, but then he smirked at Michael.
“If I can help it.”

“We’re going to have to take her to the hospital,” said Alma after examining Rosemary’s wound.

“No, no,” said Rosemary. “We have to get back to Widowsfield. The nurse there can help me. Take me to Helen.”

“That’s a bad idea,” said Alma. “You’re bleeding too…”

“We can’t risk it,” said Rosemary. “We have to keep it a secret that we were here. And we have to leave as soon as we can.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you people,” said Michael.

“You’ll go wherever I damn well tell you to.” Paul waved the gun in Michael’s direction.

“So that you can use me as a sacrifice or something?
You think I’m just going to get in a car with you and go back to that fucked up place? No way.”

“This guy’s an ass,” said
Jacker, “but he’s right. I don’t want to go back to that place either. This whole trip has been a nightmare. The last thing I want to do is willingly jump back into it. We should count ourselves lucky and just get the hell out of here.”

“What about Rachel and Stephen?” asked Paul.