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Only the Future is History
by Rich Lewis
***No portion of this text may be reproduced or copied without the expressed written permission of the author. If you have comment or questions please email the author. You may print a single copy of this novel for your personal enjoyment, which must be destroyed upon completion.***
CHAPTER 4
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Dr. Jerry Scholten had been twenty-nine in 1962. He had graduated from the University of Arizona with his doctorate in archeology, and was asked to work on a newly discovered find in southern Arizona. The director of the project was Dr. Michael Keith. Keith was then over sixty, and an expert on ancient North American Indian cultures. Along with Dr. Scholten, he had two other assistants for the project. The lesser known of the two was Dennis Jorgenson. He was a graduate student at the University of Arizona. The second assistant was Dr. Tim Roe. Dr. Roe would later gain fame in working on another newly discovered archeology site in Mexico, and later on Crete.
The site of the cliff dwellings had been discovered by a mountain hiker, who had traveled well off the usual paths for the area in the Sauced mountains. Realizing he had discovered something unusual, he made note of his location and reported sitting the cliff dwellings to the archeology department at the University of Arizona. After sending Dr. Roe to investigate, Dr. Keith had put together a team to visit the site that summer.
Although the cliff dwelling was not as big as the more famous discoveries of the Anasazi cities, it was markedly different. To begin with most had been found near the New Mexico-Colorado border. On arrival, they had found quite a few artifacts, something plainly pointing to the fact that this site had not been disturbed for over a thousand years, probably due to the fact it lay in a remote area of the Luke Air Force Range, where very few hikers wandered in. To all members of the archeology team the site seemed very promising. They quickly set up tents, and had supplies brought in from Tucson. They were also fortunate that the Air Force had recently added the area to it's training base, and put in a road to the site, off highway 85, which ran through the range.
After three weeks on the project, things began to happen, and very few of them good. They had made a series of discoveries of rooms that were filled with artifacts, such as bowls, vases, and other pottery items. Some of these items even had writing on them, but for the time that had been overlooked. Dr. Roe was the first to notice some of the artifacts were disappearing.
As work continued, accidents began to take place at the site. On a supply run, the truck Dennis Jorgenson had been driving had crashed on the mountainside, killing Jorgenson. The sheriffs department from Gila Bend had determined the brakes had failed. The Air Force had yet to take any interest in anything that went on at the site. It was shortly after Jorgenson's accident that the wall drawings had been discovered behind a hidden door in a cave. It was also at this time that a George Maklin had joined the project.
Dr. Scholten explained that Maklin had been sent down by the air force. Supposedly he was there to make sure things were handled properly, and that there would be no further disappearances of artifacts or accidents. From the beginning Scholten said he had disliked Macklin.
With the discovery of the hidden room and the cave drawing, Scholten explained how he and Dr. Keith had begun an intense search for any more hidden rooms in the rear of the cliff dwellings. They hoped to find more like the one that had been discovered by Keith yielding the wall drawing. While they were doing that, Dr. Roe continued to catalog the new finds, and take a closer look at them.
It was on the second day of their search that another room was found. Dr. Keith had discovered part of the wall in one of the dwellings was false, and a second room lay behind it. No one knew why, but the next day the room collapsed when Dr. Keith was inside, sealing up the entire cave.
Scholten paused for a moment, as if he was back at the site again. His hands trembled as he remembered, as he gazed out the window with a far off look in his eyes.
"I was suppose to be there with him that morning, but Tim had asked me for some help. He had found some symbols on one of the vases that he said he had seen before, and he was sure it hadn't been anything from the Anasazi Indians. We heard the rumble from within the cave dwelling and rushed to the room."
Dr. Scholten rose from the chair and stared out the window in the den. He was visibly shaken from telling his story of his 1962 experiences.
"We were of course too late. The whole cave had come crashing down. Right after that, Maklin and the air force decided to close down the project. Roe and I were sent back home with nothing."
Scholten slowly turned to face me. His passive, far away gaze had been replaced. He appeared almost angry.
"The picture of the cave drawing you saw in the book was more of a fluke than anything else. Maklin confiscated all the artifacts and any pictures we had on the site. Kept saying something about preserving the secrecy of the site's location. Said too many souvenir hunters would descend on the place if they knew where to look which would cause numerous problems for the air force. The picture in the book was one my wife had taken when she had visited the site. Maklin and his crew didn't think about it when they were closing down the project. I didn't think about until a month later when she had the film developed. When I wrote the book on the Anasazi, I just included it."
Dr. Scholten paused and then sat back down behind the desk. He took a sip of his coffee, and turned back to face me.
"For some reason I had a lot of visitors after the book went to the publisher. They made sure the location of the site was edited, but let the picture stay, mostly at the insistence of the publisher. I've only had one other person, besides the Air Force's men, come and ask me about the location of the site, and that was fifteen years ago. Never did hear what happened to him. To my knowledge, the site has never been reopened."
For a few moments we both sat in silence. I was trying to absorb all the details that Dr. Scholten had given me. I looked back at him, and now noticed how tired and fragile he looked. He was after all in his late sixties, and I knew he had lead a hard, eventful life in his line of work. Archeology was a very demanding science. He sat staring over my shoulder at the picture he had shown me. Even his physical strength failed to hide the mental fatigue from his profession.
"After that," he began again, "I was offered the position I have now, as head of the archeology department at the University of Arizona. Last I heard of Dr. Roe, he was over in Europe somewhere. Never did hear anything about Maklin again."
For the first time in half an hour I spoke. "Did they ever get Dr. Keith out?"
"Yes. The air force went in and dug him out the following week, after they had cleared us out. We had the funeral a couple of days after that."
"But they never let you back in?"
"No, and it always seemed damned strange the way they closed up the area. Never understood it."
"I think I can relate Dr. Scholten."
"Enough Dr. Scholten," he said. "Just call me Jerry."
"Fine, and call me Jarrett."
"Okay Jarrett. How does your new find tie in with that project in '62?"
"Quite simple. The picture of the cave drawing that you had published contains the same type of symbols as those found in Crete. Someone then, like now, didn't want any kind of a connection being made."
"So how did you make a connection?," he asked.
Not leaving out any details this time, I explained how Dave Jenkins had made the connection, and how my project had quickly been shut down like his had. Once again silence enveloped the room as we both sat contemplating the information each of us had received. I really had no idea what to do next besides the obvious, and Dr. Scholten was the one who suggested it.
"How would you like to take a little trip Mr. Scott?," he asked as he picked up the telephone. I just nodded as he began talking on the telephone. It seemed that was the only option I had. I needed evidence and was determined to do whatever it took to get it.
That afternoon we headed for the cliff dwellings. Dr. Scholten had borrowed a pick up truck from his nephew who lived in Tucson, and we had bought a few supplies. He had spent a few minutes explaining to his wife that he was taking me to see an archeology site he had worked on. She shrugged, uninterested, and went about her domestic chores. I returned my rented car, and Scholten picked me up at the rental agency. It was almost five o'clock when we started out, so traffic was heavy. It was now officially the weekend.
Jerry informed me that it was about a two hour drive to Gila Bend, where we could spend the night. Then it was about a three hour drive from there to the cliff dwelling site. The drive down was beautiful, but quiet. Dr. Jerry Scholten seemed very tense the closer we got. I imagined he was having mixed feelings about returning to the archeology site.
We stopped for some dinner, and then we checked into one of the two hotels and sat around discussing some of his other projects. About eleven we decided to turn in and try and get some sleep. I drifted in and out of sleep, but never slept for any great length of time. My mind was working overtime. The suspense of seeing the archeology site had my mind constantly turning.
The next morning we both were up and about long before our seven a.m. wake up call. We ate breakfast, and stopped at a convenience store to buy some sandwiches for lunch and gas up the truck. By eight o'clock we were turning off highway 85 and heading back into the Sauceda mountains. I wondered to myself what we would find there, as I took in the beauty of the morning sun on the mountains.
The first forty-three miles passed rather quickly. The dirt road we were traveling on had been well kept. Dr. Scholten explained that there were a number of target sites along it. At the forty-three mile mark there came a fork in the road. The well traveled road veered off to the left, and away from the mountains. The road we took could have barely been called a road. It was scarcely a trail now, overgrown by years of little use. It looked as if it had been used once or twice in the recent past as there were fresh ruts in the road made during the last rainy season. It was also posted as being US Government property of the Luke Air Force Range.
For what seemed like days we crept along the forgotten road. The high grass hid the rocks and ruts on the road, giving us a very bumpy ride. After a few miles we came upon a fence, with a small gate. I got out and opened the gate, noticing the sign.
"Now entering a restricted area. Trespassers will be prosecuted."
The
sign gave me a sense of foreboding and gloom. We were now going somewhere that
was off limits to us, an area forbidden to civilians. Using the bolt cutters
Jerry had loaded the night before I made short work of the chain and opened the
gate. Almost too easy. I figured the Air Force was not overly concerned about a
high volume of traffic clear out here. Maybe we should have turned back as well.
Scholten pulled the truck through and I replaced the gate.
From there it was still another fourteen miles, weaving through the mountains
and an hour and a half to our destination. I hoped we would reach it.
As we pulled around a small hillside an hour after the gate, I could begin to make out the cliff dwellings. They sat back against the hillside, and with the overgrowth they were difficult to see. Even when we were within a hundred yards of them they were masked by the tall grass and the shadows of the cliff. They presented an almost haunted, ghost-like appearance.
"Well, this is it," Jerry said as he shut off the truck. There was an eerie quiet when the engine of the truck ceased. For a moment we both just sat and stared.
"Not going to find anything sittin' here," Jerry said as he opened his door. I followed suit and got out. We loaded up a small pack each, Scholten carrying our lunch, and an old schematic drawing of the cliff dwelling that he had drawn from memory the night before. Being the younger of the two, my pack carried a shovel and pick, as well as some rope, and other tools we might need inside. I also opened my bag in the back of the truck and slung my camera around my neck.
With Jerry leading the way, we started up the old path to the cliff dwelling. It was a short but steep hike. At the base of the dwelling we stopped to rest. Jerry regained his breath and without further conversation he began walking along the base of the cliff dwelling, which was about forty yards long, looking for the access point. Pulling up a couple of large clumps of grass, and bending over a young tree he exposed a small doorway.
"This wasn't part of the original dwelling," he said. "We had to put in a ground entrance to make it easier for us to get in and out. When we had first got here, Jorgenson had to scale the front up to the first level and lower a rope. Once inside, we dropped down to the basement and punched in a doorway."
Pulling out a flashlight, Dr. Scholten entered the doorway. Fumbling for my flashlight, I quickly followed. As I crawled in behind him I continued to listen to his explanations of the cliff dwellings.
"The bottom layers are pretty dark,"he continued, his voice echoing in the damp chamber. "They didn't put any windows down low, just lowered ladders from the first level to get in. Protected themselves that way."
I did not bother to comment on Scholtens remarks. I had done my reading on the Anasazi and their cliff dwellings, but decided Dr. Scholten was just making idle conversation. Once in awhile he would volunteer some tidbit of information that was interesting, yet rarely valuable to me.
Once inside, we found a ladder up to the next level of the cliff dwelling. The lower level of the dwelling was very damp and dusty, and I wanted to get somewhere where there was some light.
Climbing up the ladder, I emerged into the second floor room, and the light increased from the window in the wall. Jerry was already ascending the next ladder up to the third level. I had no doubt that he was heading straight for the cave where Dr. Keith had been buried.
Upon entering the third level through the floor, we turned down a small hallway. As we walked along, there were doorways into the rooms that faced the outside. The air was still musty from the dust of the clay that formed the walls. It amazed me that this dwelling was still standing after all these years. Jerry Scholten moved through the dwelling as comfortably as he did his own home, as if it had just been yesterday that he and his fellow workers had last been here.
As if reading my mind, Dr. Scholten explained how the dwellings had been built as we walked along the outer hallway and turned deeper into the dwelling.
"They used trees and built a frame for the dwelling, then enclosed the frame with the mud bricks, "he called, "The floors are laced with timber for strength." Once again we had to turn on our flashlights as it began to get darker.
"We're almost there Jarrett," he said. I wondered how much this little venture bothered him. After a few more steps he stopped and pointed. "This is the first hidden room we found. Go ahead, take a look." He motioned for me to enter.
Ducking my head I stepped through the doorway into the room. On the far wall was the drawing, exactly as it had appeared in the picture in the book. It was painted on the rock wall of the cliff. I took out my camera and snapped a few pictures of the drawing, then drew closer to inspect the symbols. I was now sure of their identification. There were two symbols which were the same as those from the Crete tablet. I now had hands on, physical evidence of the Linear C symbols, and on the North American Continent on top of it.
"Come on," Scholten called. "I want to have a look at the other cave."
I stepped through the doorway and followed him down the hall. He seemed rather impatient, in a great hurry to continue our exploration. We did not have far to go before he stopped. This time Dr. Scholten lead the way into the room. From behind him I asked.
"Did you get a look at this room before?"
"Only a brief look. We opened it up and Keith went in. It was pretty late, so he just took a quick glance around, and we called it a day." It had of course been the next morning when the walls had come tumbling down around Dr. Keith.
Entering the room I noticed there was a lot of rock and dirt debris on the floor, but the room had been dug out to a point. I imagined that they had dug just far enough to recover Dr. Keith's body. Jerry began inspecting the wall to his right, so I turned to the left.
"See anything?," he asked. I flashed the light against the wall, and began inspecting it. At the back of the room, about four feet off the floor I noticed the beginnings of a drawing, but the rest of it was buried behind the dirt and rock from the cave in.
"Yeah, there's the corner of a drawing over here," I answered, unslinging my pack. Jerry came over and held the light while I tried to clear away the dirt with my hands. I began to make progress, and the dirt slid to the floor, over my feet. I stepped up, and continued to remove the dirt from the wall, gradually exposing most of the drawing.
The drawing was similar to the one in the other room. It depicted some type of a hunt by the Indians, and had a series of symbols beneath it. Wiping the dust off the drawing with my hand I noticed there were two symbols I recognized. I now had two drawings that tied into the mysterious Linear C language in Arizona.
I cleared away a little more of the dirt to expose the entire drawing and noticed something else. On the far side of the drawing, where the rock wall began to turn, marking the end of the room, the rock had a different look about. I motioned for Scholten to look.
"It's burnt," he said. "burnt from some high output of heat."
I turned to look at him. "Like the heat given off from a small explosion." He nodded his head affirmatively.
"Wouldn't take much to make this place come down around your ears, would it?," he asked me, already knowing the answer. Dr. Keith had been murdered. I took a couple of pictures of the drawing and then replaced my camera into its case. We stood looking at the cracked fissure where the charge had more than likely been placed, when I heard it.
An instant later, Dr. Scholten heard it too, and turned and headed for the door. Outside of the cliff dwelling you could hear a whoop-whoop sound. There was a helicopter approaching.
Quickly we headed for the front of the cliff dwelling, almost crawling through the doorways that separated each chamber. At a window in one of the old rooms we could see what was happening outside.. About fifty feet off the ground was a U.S. Air Force helicopter, swooping down over the area. We sat and watched for a moment and the helicopter flew up over the next hill and disappeared down into the valley.
"Looks like time to get out of here," I said.
"Did he see the truck?," Jerry asked.
"I don't know, but I don't think we should hang around to find out."
We started down the long hallway, and down the ladders to the lower level exit. Again we could hear the helicopter making a pas over the area. We picked up our pace in exiting the cliff dwelling, hoping to escape unnoticed.
"They must know we're here," I commented.
"Probably. Just don't know where to look."
We quickly hiked down the trail to the truck, and I took some deep breaths because I was somewhat winded from our run to the truck, Jerry looked pretty beat. Tossing my pack into the back bed, and my camera onto the seat I began to get in the truck.
"You drive," Scholten said. He was puffing pretty bad from the quick exit of the cliff dwelling, sweat rolling off his forehead.
"Not as young as I used to be," he said as he climbed in, still trying to catch his breath. Again I could hear the sound of the helicopter returning.
Starting the engine I began back down the road. Resisting my urge to quickly speed away, I kept the truck in low gear. If we took off quickly, the truck would raise enough dust for the helicopter to spot us, and I really did not want to be explaining to the military police why we were snooping around in the middle of a military installation.
Rounding the corner of the road, away from the cliff dwelling, I spotted the helicopter, and I had no doubt he had spotted us as well. Considering the fact that the two archeologists riding in this truck had each had their projects pulled out from under them, I came to the conclusion I was not going to get out of here with my camera intact. The helicopter pilot spotted us, and then began to move in for a closer look. I continued to drive at a nice easy pace, for nothing else, to buy time. I fumbled with my camera case, got the camera out, and began finishing off the roll, clicking off the remaining pictures. Once the roll was finished the camera rewound itself and I began to fumble with removing the film.
Scholten, finally realizing what I was doing took the camera and extracted it from the camera. Handing the film back to me, he put in a fresh roll, snapped off a couple of quick pictures, and replaced the camera into the case.
Now I was faced with the problem of what to do with the roll of film from the cliff dwelling. I had no doubt both Dr. Scholten and I were about to be searched as the helicopter began to take a position directly in our path. Reaching up under the seat of the truck, I wedged the roll of film between one of the spring wires and the foam
padding. It felt like it was secure enough to stay, but I really did not have time to check it. I hoped no one would find it.
The helicopter was now on the ground, as were a squad of United States air force policemen, all sufficiently armed to scare both Dr. Scholten and myself quite severely. I brought the truck to a standstill, and the servicemen quickly surrounded the truck and demanded that we get out. Neither Dr. Scholten nor I offered any argument, and followed their instructions. Once out, we were politely motioned to assume the spread eagle position up against the truck. I felt very uncomfortable with my face being mashed against the hood of the truck and an M-16 pointed at my head, but felt very little inclination to object.
We were quickly frisked, and I felt my wallet being removed. Behind me I could hear a voice read off Dr. Scholten and my names for the group, yet I could not see the voice yet as the pressure remained against the back of my head.
"Mr. Jarrett Scott," the voice said, "Mr. Scott, you are a long way from home." My feeble attempt at an answer was met by an increase of pressure against the back of my head. I decided to let the voice carry out his scenario.
"Let me tell both of you gentlemen," the voice continued, "that you are both trespassing on United States military property, which gentlemen is a felony, not to mention the fact we could have shot you on sight."
The voice paused for a moment, as if to let what he had just said sink in a little deeper. I realized we had taken a bigger gamble coming here than I had first imagined. Suddenly the pressure against my head by the M-16 released, and the voice began to speak again.
"Fortunately for you two, this is not a high security area. " I turned and faced the voice for the first time. It was a young lieutenant, probably just barely in his twenties, and enjoying our predicament immensely.
"You did see the sign marking this property gentlemen, didn't you?," asked the lieutenant.
"Of course sir," spoke Scholten from the other side of the truck, "I'm afraid it's my fault. I worked on an archeology project a number of years ago and just wanted to take a quick peek. Jarrett was quite against it, but I persuaded him to drive out here."
The lieutenant just sat and stared at the two of us for a moment, then shook his head to himself and turned and started for the helicopter. I looked at Scholten, raising my eyebrows at him, but this gesture went unnoticed. Quick thinking Dr. Scholten, I thought to myself.
"Staff Sergeant Michaels" he called, "search the vehicle. You two stay where you are." I certainly hoped they would not spend too much time doing a very careful search, and find the roll of film. Two men made their way towards the truck, and I began to sweat.
As the men quickly went through the truck, the lieutenant returned to the helicopter. We could both see him inside, using the headset of the copilot. More than likely he was checking on us back at the base. I looked at Dr. Scholten and raised my eyebrows at him again. This time he caught my expression. He just shrugged, and turned to watch the two airmen search the truck.
Just as I had guessed, the only thing they came out of the truck with was my camera. By now the lieutenant was on his way back from the helicopter, and was given the camera.
"I'm sorry gentlemen," he began, as my heart began to sink. "I'm going to have to expose the film in your camera." The lieutenant opened the camera and removed the film, and handed the camera back to me. He then motioned for his men to load back into the helicopter.
"I talked to HQ back at the base, they said to tell you to get the hell out of here and don't come back. I guess the captain doesn't feel like filling out all the correct forms on you if I brought you in."
The lieutenant reached to grab his hat and raised his voice as the helicopter began winding back up to lift off. "So gentlemen, it's been a pleasure, now get the hell out of here."
With
that he turned and scrambled into the helicopter which quickly lifted off. Dr.
Scholten and I did not waist any time as we quickly jumped back into the truck
and headed down the old road. For the time being I just left the film in its
hiding place under the seat. I was indeed glad it had not been discovered.
Still, one other problem had been added to my list. My name had been called in
to the Air Base, and probably a computer check had been run on me. If someone in
New York was looking for me, they would now have a way to find me. Time was no
longer on my side.
* * * * *
Our drive back to Tucson was very uneventful. Once we reached the highway, Dr. Scholten slept most of the way back. I suspected he'd had a lot more activity today than he'd had in quite awhile. I was very grateful for his help.
On reaching Tucson, Dr. Scholten instructed me to drive to the university. Being one step ahead of me, he said we could use the photography lab to develop the film. That way we could have duplicates, which would give me several ways to get the pictures back to New York.
It did not take long to develop the film, and for the most part the pictures turned out well. By the time we finished it was almost eight-thirty and we were both very tired. From Dr. Scholten's office I called the hotel and checked to see if they had a room, and Jerry drove me there.
I was reluctant to leave any of the pictures of the cliff dwelling drawings with Dr. Scholten, but he insisted on keeping a set. He said after over thirty years he finally had something from that 1962 project, and no one was going to keep it from him. Stating that he would lock them up in his safe, I did not argue too long, figuring if something happened to the two sets of duplicates, and the negatives I had, I would still have a way to get to his set. I also felt I owed him at least one copy of the pictures.
After a few quick goodbyes I got out of the truck and Dr. Scholten put the truck in gear. "Make sure you let me know what happens," he said to me as I closed the door.
"You bet, Jerry. You take care."
"I will," he said, a soft smile coming to his lips. He looked very tired, yet very satisfied from our adventure. Pulling away from the curb he headed for home.
I
turned and entered the hotel, and headed for the reception desk. All I wanted to
do now was get a room and go to bed. Before I could do that I still had a few
errands to run. The hotel lobby had a few people in it, but seemed pretty slow
to me. Probably a normal Saturday night in Tucson, but definitely slow by my New
York standards. When I finished registering for my room, I decided I would give
Carolyn a call and see how things were back in New York. I decided first I
should mail one set of the pictures back to my apartment in New York. I would
sleep a little easier knowing at least one set of the pictures were safe in the
U.S. mail.
Stopping at the gift shop I bought some envelopes and stamps and went up to my room. I decided I would mail the negatives to my apartment, and send one set of the pictures to Gary Nelson's business address. The last set of the pictures I'd keep with me. Returning to my room I filled out the envelopes, then returned back downstairs and dropped them in the hotel mailbox. The next thing on my list was to call Carolyn. It was almost ten o'clock now, which would make it almost midnight back in New York. I decided against making the call. I stopped downstairs at the gift shop again, bought a candy bar, and headed upstairs to bed. About the only thing I could think of right now was getting some sleep.
For almost the first time in three years, I slept in past seven a.m. I got up and showered, packed up my suitcase, and headed downstairs. I still had over three hours to kill before my return flight to New York. I decided before breakfast I would stop and call Carolyn. Setting down my suitcase at the base of the phone, I dialed the number, then turned to face the lobby.
Although I did not know it, I was fortunate the building operator did not recognize my voice when I asked for Carolyn Williams. It only took a second before she picked up on the other end.
"Hello, Ms. Williams," she said.
"Why good morning Ms. Williams, How are you this fine morning," I said, trying to rub it in that I was on a semi-vacation.
"Jesus Christ," she blasted back at me. "Boy is your butt in a lot of hot water."
"Whaa-at?," I replied dumbfounded. What a way to greet a fellow co-worker out exploring the mysteries of time.
"Jarrett," she said. "I've had Paulson and Erickson climbing all over me this morning. What in the hell have you done now Jarrett."
"Slow down a minute Carolyn. What's going on."
"This morning," she began, "Mr. Paulson and Mr. Erickson paid me a visit. It seems some Air Force captain called up Erickson at home yesterday trying to verify that you worked here. Said they had you and Dr. Scholten trespassing on military property."
For a few seconds I didn't hear anything Carolyn was saying. If the army had called New York, whoever had been after me now knew exactly where I was, and the fact that I had been with Dr. Scholten.
"Carolyn," I tried to interrupt, "Carolyn." After my shouting into the phone she became quiet.
"Carolyn, did Erickson mention Dr. Scholten by name."
"What?," she replied, somewhat upset that I had cut her off. "Yeah, he knew his name. Look Jarrett..."
"Carolyn, I gotta go," I said rushing my words. She attempted to say something more but I did not hear her. I hung up the phone and headed for the front desk. I had to get a car. If New York had known about contact between Scholten and I since yesterday then they had had plenty of time to get here. I was suddenly very worried about Dr. Scholten. If these people who were trying to stop me were as resourceful as I thought they were, Dr. Jerry Scholten and his wife could be in a lot of trouble. I had to warn him, now.
Driving
like a madman I headed for Windsor Avenue. As I turned the corner onto Windsor I
could see I was too late. There were already two police cars at the Scholten
residence, as well as a city morgue vehicle. I drove up next to the small crowd
that was forming and tried to see what was happening without getting too close.
Getting out of the car, almost in shock, I made my way up through the crowd. I
could see one stretcher in the vehicle already, and a second was currently being
brought out.
Panic
set in and I fought to maintain control. I eased myself back through the crowd
towards the car. I felt as if I was wearing a siren. Sweat poured from my brow,
my heart throbbed loud enough to close off my hearing. It seemed as if
everything was moving in slow motion.
I
started the car, the noise seeming unreasonable loud, and eased away from the
curb. Slowly I drove to the corner, turning away from the Scholten residence.
There were police and men in suits everywhere, dark sunglasses hiding their
emotions, and their eyes. I felt as if they were fixated on me. As soon as I
cleared the block, I accelerated and drove. I didn’t know where, just away.
After
several hours of contemplation I made plans. I would board a return flight,
still under my assumed identity. Maybe whomever was involved had yet to stumble
on to that name. I wasn’t thinking strait, and I knew it. I donned a hat,
changed clothes, and prayed.
It all seemed a blur. I was in shock, involved in something I had no ability to handle. I arrived in New York, took a cab home, eyes darting everywhere. I went home. Once I got there I locked the door, put a chair against it. I sat huddled on the couch, trembling. Why did I come home? They knew where I lived. What could I do? Somehow, I drifted off to sleep.
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5/10/2001