Well, seeing the thread that Nikolaj is running, I figure that I really ought to share some of my work as well. This is also sci-fi but I am intentionally staying soft on the science so that I can concentrate on the character interaction.

The bit that I am giving you is only part of a larger story that is itself part of a larger series that I have been working on with a friend of mine. However, this part I wrote fully on my own and published without consulting my co-author, so it is fully my own work. Let me know what you think.

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Epilogue

New York City

7/6/79

Richard Powell stopped at the airport newsstand and bought a copy of the London Times.  Right on the front page he saw that the Queen was to preside over the 1,000th seating of the Parliament of the Isle of Mann later today.  Had presided, he corrected himself.  He was after all five hours behind British time on this side of the pond.  This would probably be his last real news for some time.  Everything in the American press seemed centered around either who was sleeping with whom in Hollywood or with the nuclear reactor that that the Yanks had nearly blown the top off of a few weeks earlier. 

Making his way to the Port Authority stand, he booked a limousine to Chappaqua.  Apparently in America it seemed that limousine meant a shared van but no matter as long as it brought him to Alexander Ripley’s home.

A few days ago, his old friend had called him, obviously under some stress.  He had not been able to explain why he needed Powell to come to the states but obviously it was a matter of some importance.  No matter, he loaded his luggage into the back of the van and climbed aboard with the other business travelers.  A bit more than an hour later, he felt something big happening but not nearby.  Whatever it was he received a name.  Josie, whoever he was clearly was in trouble.  However, the impression only lasted for a few minutes before being abruptly cut off.  That could only mean one thing.  Josie had died catastrophically.

Not long after that, the van reached his destination.  After removing his bags, he stood at the gate and rang the bell but no one answered his summons.  Alexander Ripley must have felt the psychic shock of Josie dying and he may have been floored by the impressions he received.  Well, Powell thought to himself, no time like the present.  Flinging his bags over the fence, Powell climbed over himself and headed down the drive to his old friend’s house.  Arriving at the house, he found it to be locked.  Of course something as simple as a home lockset was no deterrent, Powell having made his way through much tougher locks in his day.  It was the work of a moment to let himself into Ripley’s home.

Powell found Ripley in the living room lying on the couch.  Fortunately, he was conscious but he had clearly been knocked for a loop.  “Did you feel that?” Ripley groaned.  Clearly, he had taken quite a blow from whatever had happened.

“How could I not?” Powell replied.  “I assume that would be the reason why you called me?”  Powell hoped that that was not the reason but when Ripley had called, he did not gather the impression that he was being invited to a party.

“Yes, but never as intense as this before” replied Ripley.  “Someone is experimenting with high level psychic power.  Somewhere in Kansas if I am not mistaken.”

***

Over the following week, Alexander Ripley had filled in his friend and former patient on the psychic impressions he had been receiving these past few months.  The intensity had been growing for some time now.  But the death of whoever Josie was on the previous Friday had brought the most intense sensations yet.

Ripley had traveled to several cities in an attempt to narrow down the location where such dangerous experiments were taking place.  That such experiments were dangerous was something that both men knew inherently.  After all, neither of them had been anything other than run of the mill before volunteering for their respective experiments themselves more than a decade earlier.  Perhaps run of the mill was an understatement as both men had worked in the intelligence services of their respective governments before volunteering for their trials.  Richard Powell working for British intelligence had developed telepathy and Alexander Ripley working for the American equivalent became an empath.

***

The two had met after the British Government had requested help from the American Government.  Richard Powell had been on a mission in Tangiers where he had been captured and tortured.  His captors knew nothing of his powers until, in a moment of extreme pain, he had sent a telepathic call for his captors to stop.  However, they did more than stop, everyone in the immediate area had simply died where they stood.

When the men of the Special Air Service had arrived to extract Powell, they had found death everywhere.  In some cases, men still held whatever tool they had in their hands at the final moment.  In a basement, they had found Powell sitting against a wall with his arms wrapped around his knees, his head in his lap.  No one could make him talk let alone stand up.  Every attempt to move him had met with the men running away.  Later, they would report that they had felt that they had been ordered to leave the area but no one could say who had given the order.

In desperation, the Brits had called on their American colleagues for assistance.  Sending Alexander Ripley over had been either serendipity or genius, perhaps both on the part of the American government.  Powell had nearly died of dehydration before Ripley had made it to Tangiers but once there, Ripley had been able to relieve Powell of enough stress to allow medics to approach him and start an IV line going.

Several days later, Powell had recovered sufficiently to be walked to a waiting airplane.  Ripley had not fared so well and he had to be taken to the same plane on a stretcher.  On the flight, two intelligence operatives attempted to debrief Powell.  However, although Powell could be led by the hand where he needed to be, he would not be induced to talk.  However, by the time the plane had brought the two men to England, the two men had recovered sufficiently that the story of what had happened began to emerge.  

The two men had become inseparable as one or both of them would begin screaming if more than a single wall came between them.  As the months wore on, the two men recovered to the point where they were finally able to part ways.  Yet after the experience they had shared, neither one was ever able to work military intelligence again. 

Ripley returned to school and became a psychiatrist treating people who had slipped into catatonic shock.  Powell, for his part, had chosen early retirement and had settled into a quiet life in the small village of Port Merion, Wales.

***

Chappaqua

7/12/79

Ripley was in the kitchen making tea.  Powell had just turned on the television to watch a PBS news program, thinking to himself, this is the only American television actually worth watching.  Then a psychic shock like no other before hit both men.  Powell dropped to his knees and was just barely able to find a chair to sit in when he heard the teakettle shatter in the kitchen.

Realizing the blow that Ripley must have taken, he forced himself to his feet despite the fact that the psychic force had not abated.  Standing up straight was more than he could manage but he did make his way to the kitchen to find Alexander Ripley on the floor shaking as if he was having a seizure.  All that Powell was able to do was to turn his friend on his back and prop his head up so that he would have an airway.  Powell sat on the floor holding Ripley like that for a timeless interval before the shock faded.

Ten minutes after the shock had ended, Ripley came around to the point where he could sit up.  Powell was able to walk to the refrigerator and find a bottle of orange juice.  The two men drank directly from the bottle, passing it back and forth for some time until it was mostly gone before they had recovered sufficiently to discuss what had happened.

Ripley was the first to speak.  “What did you get?” he gasped.

Taking a breath, Powell replied, “He has been tortured.  Tortured and drugged.”

“More than just torture, I fear” this time from Ripley.  “Who ever he is, he has lost his awareness of time.  This could have been happening for a fairly long time.”

Powell stood up and pulled out one of the kitchen chairs.  “Can you get up yet Alex?” he asked his friend.  Seeing that Alexander Ripley was not quite up to the task on his own just yet, he held out a hand saying, “Never mind, let me help you.” 

A moment later, Ripley having taken a seat and Powell having returned from the icebox with more juice (and two glasses this time), Ripley took a swig of the golden beverage and asked, “Did you get anything about who he was or more importantly where?”

Taking a moment to consider the swirl of impressions he had received, Powell replied, “I think the man’s name is McGee.”  Pausing for a moment he continued, “Yes, I am certain, it is someone named Jack McGee.”  Powell took a drink from his glass before continuing “Regarding the location, all I saw was the front entrance of the library before he was distracted.  The scene jumps as if he was thrown abruptly.  How much did you get?”

Ripley was finally beginning to come back to himself.  “He was hunting something I think.  Or something was hunting him.  He was not clear on that matter.  I suppose the drugs must have clouded the issue.”  Pausing a moment he continued, “What was that you said about the library?”

“He was on his way to library when something happened” Powell offered.  Pausing to reexamine the mental impressions he continued, “I think I have something we can use.  I saw the sign over the door.  The library is named for someone.  It is the Jason Garrick Public Library.  But where would that be?”

Had he had more time to recover, Alexander Ripley would have laughed.  As it was, the most he could manage was a quirky half smile.  “Have you been retired that long Richard?  Bring me the telephone and the pad and pencil.”

Powell brought the telephone handset from the wall along with the writing set and dialed a number that Ripley dictated.  After the call had been answered, he listened to the one side of the exchange that he could follow.  Ripley recited a string of numbers and letters.  A moment later he said to whoever was on the other end to look at the inactive accounts.  Then he told whoever was on the other end not to worry before asking where the Jason Garrick Public Library was.  As the answer came back, Ripley wrote something on the paper.  A moment later he asked if there was anything of note on the location.  More writing followed then Ripley thanked whoever was on the other end and gave Powell the phone to hang up.

After returning the phone to the wall unit Powell asked, “So what does your older brother have for us?”

“The Jason Garrick Public Library is in Center City Kansas.” Ripley replied.  “And oddly enough, the power went out citywide twenty minutes ago after a level five fluctuation in the lines.”

“Level five you say?” Powell continued.  “That would take at least two generators tripping at the same time.  What does your older brother have to say about that?”

Ripley replied, “This is interesting, the boards show all the generators in the area as normally active.  Whatever caused the event had nothing to do with the utilities.”

“Then I think we should travel to Center City.” Replied Powell.

“Agreed” came Ripley’s single word reply.

An hour later, the two men were packed for an overnight trip to center city.  Ripley was still shaky from the shock so Powell drove them to the airport for a hastily arranged flight to Center City.

Fin (for now)…