6
The Institute
Paul arrived at The Institute, an imposing Victorian house on a side street in Chelsea, London, on December 8th 1959. The sun had already started to set, casting a twilight glow over the city. Since his last visit to London, the air quality had improved, with no pea-soup smog to clog the lungs. However, in many ways it felt like nothing had changed. Little, if any traffic stood on the side streets. Children still played out, although some were being called in for tea. Boys played with hand-crafted guns, made by whittling away a stick or lump of wood with a penknife, and girls either pushed their dolls in prams or played hopscotch. Chimney sweeps with sooty faces made their way home on their pushbikes, long-handled brushes, rods, and dust sheet strapped on tight.
He stood on the doorstep and tapped loudly with the brass knocker, not sure what to expect. The elegant front door had a large stained glass effect window in it, and an additional window high up above the door. It added some character to its otherwise imposing Victorian architecture. No one answered so he tapped again. Looking around whilst waiting, he noticed a red, Route Master Double Decker bus stop on the adjacent main road. A few people jumped on the back, and a man chased after it as it pulled away.
Finally, a woman answered the door. She appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties, judging by the first etchings of age in her face and the mature style of dress. She seemed somewhat stiff and awkward, but when she saw him she smiled, revealing a slightly warmer side to her personality.
“You must be Dr. Paul Eldridge. Mr. Richardson informed me last week you were coming to work with us for a while. My name is Miss Tynedale. I’m his administrator and housekeeper. Please, come in.”
Paul stepped inside the hallway. It contrasted radically to The Establishment’s warm interior, with white walls and chequerboard tiles on the floor, which gave it a clinical feel. An imposing Victorian staircase with ornate spindles and newel posts faced the door. Miss Tynedale took Paul straight through to a small office on the ground floor, and closed the door. Nothing like the offices back at The Establishment, this sterile room had rows and rows of books on shelves, and several filing cabinets likely to be as full as the shelves. The simple and minimalistic furniture comprised a desk, two chairs, and a lamp, aside from the cabinets and bookshelves. The pale green paint on the walls looked ancient, giving Paul the impression this place wasn’t particularly homely.
Would he enjoy it here?
“We’re honoured that you’ll be working closely with us,” Miss Tynedale declared. “You come with the highest commendations.”
“Thank you,” Paul responded.
“This is the more human side of Mr. Richardson’s business. He has a number of…investments he’d like you to investigate.”
“When will I meet these people?”
“Tomorrow, everyone will be in testing then. For now, you can get yourself rested and settled. We’ve prepared a room on the top floor for you, where you can make yourself comfortable for the rest of the day.”
She led him upstairs and on the way up, he got a glimpse of the upper floors. Pictures of scientists adorned the walls and he gazed at Newton, Heisenberg, and Einstein, to name a few. On the first floor, he saw a few men in lab coats enter and leave one of the rooms, although the second floor seemed more subdued.
Miss Tynedale presented Paul with another sterile room, which had an iron-framed single bed, blanket box, chest of drawers, wardrobe, and spindly chair. Paul put his suitcase on the floor at the end of the bed, and closed the fine drapes at the large dormer window.
“Supper is served at 7:00pm. If you wish, we can bring something to your room.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I’ll take it downstairs.”
“Breakfast is served between 7:00 and 9:00am. When you’ve finished, please meet me in the office. You have a busy day ahead.”
She closed the door on her way out and he parted the drapes, watching the activity on the streets below. Then he just sat on the bed, feeling quite deflated.
“Jesus Christ…what am I doing here?”
***
He slept restlessly, as it took time to adjust to a new bed and this one wasn’t particularly comfortable. Initially he dozed, dreaming of his little cottage but the dream became disjointed, tainted by sounds of the city. Around 3:00am, he woke and sat bolt upright in bed, disturbed by a presence in the room. He looked to the window, and saw a feminine figure by the drapes framed by moonlight, which startled him for there shouldn’t be anybody in the room.
“Miss Tynedale?”
The figure didn’t turn to meet his gaze or reply, which disconcerted him further.
“Excuse me, but this room is private. You shouldn’t be in here.”
Finally, the figure spoke. “Where am I?”
Paul attempted to hide his jitters. “You’re in my room, please leave.”
“Where is your room?” she continued.
“You’re in The Institute, and I strongly believe you have no right to be in here.”
“The Institute?”
“Yes, and you must leave.”
She paused, as if considering Paul’s words then she made a decision.
“There is a better time and place for this,” she declared, and promptly vanished before his eyes.
Paul heard a clatter, as if something had fallen to the floor.
A feeling of coldness washed over him and he felt sick. The experience left an aura of surrealism and he began to question if he was actually awake, as lucid things could happen on the verge of consciousness. Even though he’d subjected his mind to LSD in the preceding years, this appearance had a more disturbing aspect to it. He sat quietly for a while, but finally resumed his slumber.
Sleep lasted until the morning and he awoke to the light of dawn, barely remembering the interlude from 3:00am. His rational mind had accepted the experience as part of the dream state. He rose and moved over to the window, to part the drapes but on doing so, he trod on something sharp. Wincing, he bent down to look and found an ornate hair pin on the floor, which he picked up and admired with some curiosity. It was certainly very beautiful, set with gems arranged into six numbers, 787878, which seemed odd for a hairpin. Someone must have loved it, for it looked well used. It could have been here a while, unnoticed without piercing the foot of a visitor until now. Then he had a flashback of 3:00am. The female figure had vanished with the sound of something clattering to the floor.
No, there couldn’t be a connection…the female figure didn’t exist while the hair pin was a material object.
He took breakfast downstairs and sat in the huge communal living area, a more homely room than the rest of the house. It had delicately patterned 1940s wallpaper, which was green and yellow, and a slightly threadbare carpet with a traditional pattern on it in green and brown. Numerous old sofas sat around, looking well used, while a sideboard with a gramophone and Bakelite wireless on it suggested entertainment took pride of place. Three round teak tables stood in the imposing bay window area of the room, and Paul took a seat there, ready to dine.
While drinking his tea, he handed the hair pin to Miss Tynedale and explained that a previous visitor must have dropped it. She turned it over in her hand.
“Hmmm, I don’t recognise it and frankly, there haven’t been any female visitors to that room for a number of years. I could ask the chambermaid though.”
That had to be the answer, it belonged to the chambermaid.
As Paul finished his tea, she informed him, “They’re almost ready for you upstairs. Everyone is looking forward to meeting you.”
He wondered exactly how extraordinary these people were, and what abilities they may possess.
***
Paul and Miss Tynedale entered Room 7, a clinical looking place with tables and chairs that had partitions between them. Two young women sat in the room, one with fair hair and a Japanese girl.
“This is Emilie,” Miss Tynedale said, introducing the fair haired woman.
She had a simple elegance about her, with her long, fair hair plaited and gently pulled back to reveal a fresh face. Slightly freckled, she had startling blue eyes, a short nose, and a wide mouth. She wore modest clothing: a flowered dress to her knees, and flat shoes. Paul got the impression she had a nuance of self confidence yet was quite shy, an odd blend that gave her an interesting allure.
“Bonjour Monsieur,” she said, revealing her true nationality.
“Bonjour Mademoiselle,” he replied.
“She’d like to give you a demonstration of her abilities,” Miss Tynedale interjected.
Paul felt receptive so Emilie continued, handing him paper and a pen.
“Parlez vous le francais?”
He gestured with his hand, indicating not very much.
“Please sit behind the partition and draw a picture,” she told him.
Paul did as she asked, and twiddled the pen before commencing to draw. He scribbled a diagram, featuring some electrons orbiting a nucleus and when he’d finished, he admired his scrawl and put the pen down.
“Look at your picture, and see it in your mind,” Emilie instructed.
He stared at it, taking in every line and each blob of ink where the pen had paused. Emilie concentrated, closing her eyes so she could visualise what Paul had drawn, then she herself began to scribble. After a few minutes, she put down her pen.
“This is what you drew,” she said, “come and see.”
He picked up his picture and they compared. Close, pretty damn close. Her picture represented a more artistic rendering of his electrons and nucleus. She’d accurately visualised his drawing in her mind, unless she’d cheated. Emilie smiled coquettishly.
“I receive thoughts and pictures from the mind of another,” she explained. “Your English word for this is telepathy, I believe.”
Paul looked to Miss Tynedale, who gave nothing more away while Emilie appeared to mentally scan him. Her disclosed ability made him conscious of his thoughts.
They moved over to the Japanese girl, who sat alone at a small round table. Miss Tynedale introduced her as Sakie, this petite girl with long dark straight hair, beautiful oriental eyes that could have melted Hitler’s heart, and compact little body. She had the skin of a teenager, showing no signs of ageing or cellular degeneration. When they approached, she gestured for him to sit opposite her.
Sakie took a compass out of her pocket, placed it on the table, pulled her chair closer and suspended her hands above it. Paul watched closely. She moved her hands over the top of the compass, slowly at first then she gathered momentum, introducing bodily movements so that finally, the whole of her body performed a circular action. The needle of the compass first began to quiver in response to her hands. As her bodily movements increased in intensity, so did the needle’s response. It sputtered around at first, but began to do something amazing. At the peak of her movement, it spun wildly, total at the mercy of Sakie’s ‘magic trick’. When she decided she’d had enough, she relaxed her hands and body and the needle returned to normal.
After some thought, Paul said, “You must generate some kind of magnetic force.”
“That is exactly what we believe she does,” Miss Tynedale stated.
A compass responded to the magnetic north pole by pointing towards it. For that needle to spin as it did, it must have been exposed to an aberrant electromagnetic field. Paul wished he’d brought his equipment today to test her, right there and then. As he hadn’t, he vowed Sakie would be the first to have her EM field measured, if that was what Max wanted him to do.
She peered at him and said, “Finish.” Her Staccato manner suggested she was a girl of few words.
“Thank you Sakie,” said Paul, keeping it brief, assuming she knew little English.
Miss Tynedale led him out of Room 7 and they crossed the landing to enter the room opposite. Inside, Paul saw four sets of round tables with chairs, two of them occupied by a man and a woman, albeit not at the same table.
The woman had pleasant, friendly features and she was slightly overweight. Paul estimated her age as late twenties and she had long, dark, wavy hair. Her eyes were large and brown, with a friendly twinkle in them. The man on the other table looked quite athletic although a little severe. His shrewd eyes scrutinised Paul and he seemed quite determined, although not hostile at all. Aged around thirty, he had sandy coloured hair and wore a fine gold necklace. They both sat quietly at their respective tables, waiting for something.
“This is Beth and Peter, who have both been with us several years now. Peter was born in Switzerland, but he lived in England previously.”
A non-descript woman in a lab coat entered the room, carrying two envelopes. In turn, she opened them and handed the contents to Beth and Peter, who placed the received information on the table. The woman in the lab coat spoke.
“Your subject today is a young woman, who has been missing for six months. Her mother has heard nothing and wishes to know if she’s passed on.”
Simultaneously, they picked up their own copy of a photograph and Paul watched as they studied it. Beth closed her eyes and stroked the picture with her index finger, while Peter concentrated intensely.
Beth responded first.
“She’s telling me that the day she disappeared, she was walking by a secluded section of the river. A man approached her to ask for help finding his dog, then he proceeded to take her into the trees…oh…”
She fell silent, so Peter continued the story.
“She was raped and then strangled… her body is buried in a clearing near to where she disappeared. There is a natural dip in the trees… I can give more precise instructions on how to find her.”
The woman in the lab coat produced a map, handed it to Peter and he placed his hands over it lightly. While he did so, Paul became aware of Beth studying him with fascination.
“There’s a strong spirit who watches over you on a regular basis,” she told Paul.
He didn’t know what to think. These tests and the abilities of the subjects didn’t appear to have any scientific basis, although nevertheless, they piqued his curiosity. Beth continued to focus on him.
“The blitz…”
Those two simple words opened his heart but before Beth could continue, Miss Tynedale led him away.
“There’ll be another time and place for a personal reading,” she informed him. “We cannot prejudice the test. I take it you clearly understand the nature of Beth and Peter’s abilities?”
Paul nodded, regretting the interruption. He genuinely wanted to hear Beth out.
“Contact with the deceased, I would suggest.”
She gave a nod of approval and gestured to Paul to follow her, while he gazed back at Beth, who tried to mouth something at him. He shrugged and figured there’d be another time and place for what Beth wished to impart.
In another room, Paul found two men, again seated at different tables.
“This is Oscar and George,” Miss Tynedale introduced.
Oscar was a stocky Afro-Caribbean man with a pleasant smile, mellow brown eyes, and a huge shock of curly hair. In his early twenties, he exhibited a typical laid-back Barbados demeanour whereas George, his companion, looked quite the typical English gentleman in his hat, which almost entirely covered his salt and pepper hair. He had the aristocratic nose of a lord and a slim frame, and appeared to be anywhere between late thirties and mid-fifties.
They each sat a table and in front of them lay a map, plus paper and pen. Miss Tynedale pointed out that each map had a location highlighted in contrasting ink, and when she indicated, both men seemed to drift off into some sort of trance. After a short while, they began sketching and scribbling notes, which Paul found intriguing. Finally, Miss Tynedale began to clarify what they were doing.
“This is a form of psychic reconnaissance we use on a regular basis, to uncover what is hidden in secret locations and to check on the movements of enemies.”
She passed him George’s scribbles and he saw that they’d drawn buildings and equipment reflecting, he guessed, what was actually at the location indicated on the map.
“How does this work?” Paul enquired.
Oscar described the process.
“It’s like my eyes and mind travel to another place, but my body is still here. I see distant places.”
Paul mused upon this explanation for a moment.
“Hmmm, it’s like a particular kind of distance vision… remote viewing.”
Miss Tynedale smiled, as all the demonstrations appeared to have aroused Paul’s curiosity.
“That’s all for today,” she concluded. “There is another resident who’s currently in hospital. She’ll see you as soon as she returns. Mr Richardson would like to speak to you though.”
They transferred downstairs to the office and Paul expected to find Max in there. Instead, Miss Tynedale picked up the telephone and dialled out. After a pause, Paul could just hear Max’s voice on the other end of the line.
“Yes, he’s here,” she said, “I’ve made the introductions.”
She handed the receiver to Paul and before he could say anything, Max outlined his objectives.
“Now that you’ve met my residents, I’ll let you in on the reason I moved you to The Institute. There are technicians at The Institute to assist with and monitor a series of tests, this isn’t your role. Your objective is to use your background in physics and quantum theory to explain the workings, or the source of their abilities.”
This certainly took Paul by surprise.
“Okay. Will this be purely theoretical, or will evidence be required?”
“I’m looking for a hypothesis initially,” Max stated, with focus. “Eventually, I’d like an in depth analysis of their abilities, with a report on each individual.”
Paul indicated he understood and the phone call ended. Miss Tynedale looked at him with expectation.
“Wow,” was all he could say.
***
In the morning, Miss Tynedale surprised him further at breakfast with an invitation. At that moment, he’d actually drifted off into some parallel reality, looking philosophically out of the window. After she cleared her throat, he gave her the full attention she required.
“Some of the residents have the day off and they’re going to visit the Natural History Museum. They’d like you to accompany them.”
Now, that was a pleasant surprise.
“Well, tell them I’d be honoured,” he responded.
He wondered which residents were going. When Emilie, Oscar, and Beth entered the room, they answered his silent query. Sitting down at the adjacent table, they took breakfast together. The three psychics appraised the eminent physicist who’d come to work with them, a little shy of making conversation. Before long, they’d all put their coats and scarves on, and were on their way.
They took the underground and alighted at South Kensington, then proceeded along Exhibition Road to the museum. Two women walked by, pushing perambulators and almost ran them over, but they managed to dodge them at the last minute. A telegram boy in his navy blue uniform with red piping and pillbox cap passed by, bring news of a birth, marriage, or death to some family on a nearby street.
The museum came into view. Paul was impressed at the architectural splendour of the building, although the others didn’t pay as much attention. Emilie watched an old man with a flat cap on his head, who was deep in thought whilst smoking a cigarette.
“Penny for his thoughts?” Paul queried.
“He is just worrying about his family, his son is sick.”
They entered the museum, sorted out the admission and tried to orientate themselves in the reception area. Paul steered them over to the first area and proceeded to view the dinosaurs and animals, which Emilie gazed at thoughtfully. It seemed like a good opportunity to get to know her better, and he sidled over to her.
“So… you can really read minds?”
She smiled in that coquettish manner.
“That is why I live at The Institute.”
Hmmm, that didn’t seem to get the conversation flowing, so he tried to probe further.
“Are you reading my mind now?”
A person could feel strangely exposed in her company. To what extent could she uncover someone’s secrets?
“I can close my mind if I wish,” she replied, “It’s just like shutting a door, because otherwise, there would be no surprises. If life is written in advance, the thrill disappears, and life becomes dull.”
He wondered if Emilie had ever pierced Max’s inner sanctum and pondered it quite intensely. She gave him a wry look.
“There are some things that we should not know,” she declared, “and I do not wish to probe.”
Okay, he’d potentially touched a raw nerve.
The four of them studied the bones of dinosaurs and then moved onto a different exhibition, based on Egypt. Oscar and Beth began looking at some reliefs of Egyptian Gods, lingering over the images depicting odd hybrid creatures: jackal, crocodile, ibis, and hawk headed people.
“The Egyptians believed in the afterlife and the ‘other world’,” Beth said. “They called it the Duat. Their gods inhabited that world.”
Paul pointed to one of the deities.
“I think this figure, here, with the dog-like head is Anubis. He presided over mummification and the afterlife.”
The scene portrayed Anubis weighing a heart with some scales and a feather. Oscar pointed to another character.
“Anyone remember this one, with the long beaked head?”
Paul studied it briefly and then answered, “I’m sure that’s Thoth, the knowledge keeper.”
“Their spirits are still there, in the Duat,” Beth said, “although I’ve never spoken with them.”
She closed her eyes, briefly drifting off into a trance and hanging onto a railing in case she became disorientated. Eventually, she opened her eyes and spoke to Paul.
“Madeleine told me that when the bomb hit, it was instantaneous. ‘I didn’t suffer…the light came for me quickly.’ She wanted you to know that.”
So that was what Beth wanted to impart yesterday.
Paul felt strangely moved and liberated. Logic told him Madeleine was gone but the memory of her still haunted him. He wanted Beth to truly be in contact with her, although his scientific voice insisted on evidence.
His rational mind spoke out, “How do I know it’s really her?”
“On the night of your engagement, you told her that she danced beautifully, like your mother.”
That statement brought back so many memories, of when life was simple… He wanted to believe there was an extension of life after death, however, belief and truth were often two separate entities.
“Does she often watch over me?” he questioned further, as if accepting her spirit did indeed communicate with Beth.
“Sometimes, when the thread of connection between her world and ours is thin.”
“Her world?”
“She says it’s a place which is everywhere and nowhere…it can’t be located. You’d probably describe it as a different reality, in your quantum terms. She wishes you weren’t sceptical.”
Paul felt a little embarrassed, as if he were disrespecting Beth’s abilities.
“I’m not sceptical… this just wasn’t what I expected.”
“She understands,” Beth relayed. “But there is something that she wanted me to pass on.”
Paul looked to her in readiness to listen.
“’You don’t have to be loyal to my memory’, she’s telling me. It’s okay to move on and find happiness. When the opportunity presents itself, I know you’ll feel reluctant but it’s important to take the plunge. There is a woman who will show you great joy…and great sadness. Love is, as ever, a double-edged sword.”
Beth touched his arm then walked away, joining Emilie at the next exhibit and leaving Paul to be alone with his thoughts.
These people he’d met at The Institute, they really opened his eyes. It would be a pleasure to study them.
***
The first week at The Institute offered an easy ride, allowing Paul to settle in and become accustomed to the testing practices. He engaged with the technicians, and spent several days looking through the experiments and logs of all recorded tests. Overall, it gave him a good foundation to work from.
On the eighth day, the missing resident of The Institute returned. A taxi pulled up outside that morning, just as Paul was finishing his tea, and because he sat in the bay window area, he saw who climbed out. The taxi driver assisted an old lady to the door, with her hospital suitcase. Paul heard Miss Tynedale welcoming her back, some shuffling around and then the door opened.
“Someone is very eager to meet you,” she said.
Paul finished his tea and swung his body around to face the door.
“This is Grace,” Miss Tynedale introduced, gesturing to a sparkly eyed, old woman in her mid-sixties. “She’s the longest serving resident here.”
Grace looked quite withered for her years, but Paul caught a glint of intelligence in her eyes. Her white, wispy hair had been tied into a bun, which sat in the nape of her neck. She walked slowly with rounded shoulders, each step carefully calculated, for she was cursed with arthritis and a slight scoliosis of the spine. Paul warmed to her instantly. She was just like somebody’s grandmother, the matriarch who baked cakes and served tea on a Sunday afternoon.
Grace took hold of his hands, and the sparkle in her eyes assumed a luminous intensity.
“Max has told me all about you,” she began. “You’re so important in the Lord’s plan, and that’s the reason you’ve come to The Institute.”
He helped her take a seat at the table.
“I know you think you’ve already gained a certain view on life that elevates you above all the rest, but there’s still plenty more to discover. Your journey will be rewarding, although it will be painful too. You must learn to stay strong.”
He found her words a little disconcerting. “How do you arrive at this conclusion?”
She smiled, revealing a fine set of dentures. “I have always known the truth about people.”
It all sounded fascinating.
“And what is there to know?”
“The future, of course,” she said. “That’s why I’m here.”
Paul was amused but inherently inquisitive, and his body language reflected this.
“I know you must be thinking this is a Victorian parlour game!” she continued. “But I can say with certainty, that you’ll lead an incredibly long life.”
Hmmm, not a great start.
“Well, I guess I’ll find that out eventually. In my long life, will my work become well known?”
She paused momentarily before answering. “In many years time, the world will know your name, but not for the reason you expect. In fact, you’ll not want the recognition, as there’ll be a greater purpose. Your children will be part of this.”
He often felt frustrated that his work hadn’t been published, so anonymity would his last choice. He still found her predictions vague and unconvincing.
“Tell me about these children,” he probed.
Grace seemed more interested in this question.
“Oh yes, there won’t be any for a little while yet.”
“How many will I have?”
As yet, he still felt uninspired.
She frowned, putting her hand to her mouth in an expression of abject confusion.
“I can’t count them, there are too many.”
It was Paul’s turn to frown.
“Well, I’m thirty nine…I haven’t even begun procreating yet. In fact, I’m not married and there’s no love interest in sight.”
A mischievous glint flickered in Grace’s eyes.
“But there will be, you’d better hold on tight.”
For a long moment, they appraised each other. Paul wanted to believe her, but she’d made some quite generic predictions. Did she have any degree of accuracy?
“Are you always right?” he queried.
“No,” she declared, with honesty, “and that’s why you’re here. Not all my predictions are accurate. Max wants to know why some are, and some aren’t.”
“Okay,” he changed tactic. “Can you give me a prediction for this year, a world event…something important so I can check your accuracy for myself?”
She drifted off for a while and during this time, he fiddled impatiently with the teaspoon on the saucer.
“Two dogs…” she announced, finally. “I can see them looking down upon the Earth, and the world is watching them too. They are the new explorers, as will you be too.”
What a strange prediction. He pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket, scribbled it down and sat back in his chair.
“Well, Grace, it’s going to be a delight working with you.”
***
From that point onwards, I researched at The Institute, while Max Richardson continued to develop upon my previous work back at The Establishment. Still today, I don’t know exactly what that continuation entailed, but he paid me well throughout my time at The Establishment to not unduly worry about the exploitation of my findings. At least my work hadn’t been in vain, although, I didn’t find any conclusive proof of the soul. Yes, I’d discovered some tantalising clues, but I never saw my thesis published, which disappointed me.
Working at The Institute gave me a new lease of life. I soon became well acquainted with these gifted individuals and the more I witnessed, the more I believed they weren’t charlatans and were, in fact, highly psychic.
Sakie, for example, was a little eccentric but quite endearing with it. I measured her EM field in the second week at The Institute, and found it to be the most extraordinary spectacle I’ve ever seen. She could drive a compass crazy and short-circuit electrical equipment, sometimes accidentally to her chagrin, whilst listening to something beautiful on the radio, or watching a television programme. (In those days, we only had a choice between two stations, the BBC plus ATV, the commercial channel). Sometimes, she disappeared for several days to carry out contracts. When I asked her about them, she said very little, and not just due to her poor English.
Emilie proved somewhat shy and private, yet cooperative. I performed many experiments on her, to be sure her answers weren’t triggered by non-verbal clues and body language. Her accuracy impressed me, even when the volunteers’ faces were obscured. At that time, I never reached any particular conclusion regarding how she did it, but concurred that telepathy did indeed appear to be genuine, at least in Emilie’s case. Once I became more established at The Institute, I learned she was an interrogator’s assistant, contracted out when the usual lines of questioning weren’t forthcoming.
Beth carried a maternal air about her, while Peter always seemed quite serious. They claimed they could contact spirits and through rigorous testing, their accuracy startled me. Many facts could be checked, providing a good file of evidence. Maybe there is a form of existence after death…death of the body but not of consciousness, or of the soul. Possibly consciousness exists in another quantum state, another dimension even. I wasn’t closed-minded towards that probability.
Oscar proved to be the friendliest resident, whereas George was a great friend for more intellectual conversation. They both produced excellent results with their remote viewing experiments, and their ability to pinpoint what could be found at particular locations around the world bowled me over.
And Grace? Despite my initial reservations, I became very fond of her. A number of other so-called precognitives and modern day seers also came and went during my first year at The Institute, displaying the sort of accuracy that would be expected by chance. They tended to make dramatic, apocalyptic, and religiously tainted predictions about the long term future, which were impossible to verify in our time frame. However, Grace was different. She hadn’t asked for this and in a way, resented her life under scrutiny at The Institute.
Did I believe her?
I recall one particular night in my first summer there and at the time, I was typing at my desk with the Bakelite radio on in the background. A news broadcast caught my attention.
“Good evening, it’s the 20th of August 1960 and the time is 9 o’clock, here is tonight’s news. Soviet dogs, Belka and Strelka, returned safely to Earth after spending a day in space aboard Sputnik 5. They were accompanied by a grey rabbit, forty two mice, two rats, some flies, and a number of plants and fungi, which also survived the trip. They are the first Earth-born creatures to go into orbit and return alive. Scientists hope this will pave the way for the first human being to reach orbit and return to Earth alive.”
I stopped typing and began to fumble around for my old notepad. I found it in the top drawer and flicked through the pages to find something I’d written down eight months earlier. Reading it, I laughed, picked up a pen and drew a huge tick next to it.
“Close enough, Grace, close enough.”
***
Paul became a fully integrated member of The Institute, with the previous facility fast becoming a distant memory. Before long, four seasons had passed and he’d progressed well into his second year there. In the evening, he enjoyed sitting with the residents in the communal living area, proud to be a part of their life. Finding a place to belong gave him a security often absent from his childhood. Prodigies were always the square peg.
In the spring of 1961, his destiny began to drop subtle hints, as fate often does. Television provided the entertainment, and the residents relaxed on the sofas while Paul sat with his notes. Grace entered the room and took up her favourite armchair. The news broadcast came on and George reached over to turn it up, being the nearest. Paul peered over the top of his papers.
“The Soviet Union has successfully launched a manned, spaceship into orbit around the Earth. Present aboard the ship was cosmonaut, Yuri Gagarin, an Air Force pilot aged twenty seven. The spaceship, Vostok, launched about 9:00am Moscow time and completed a flight in orbit, lasting a hundred and eight minutes, concluding with Gagarin safely parachuting to the ground in his ejector seat. Before the launch, he spoke in Moscow of his historic voyage…‘to be the first to enter the cosmos, to engage single-handed in an unprecedented duel with nature – could one dream of anything more?’”
The broadcast showed a news reel of the cosmonaut, the launch, and the subsequent celebration in Russia. Paul listened intently, as did Oscar, George, and Grace.
“Wow, what next, huh?” Oscar said.
Grace cut in.
“The race to the Moon, that’s what. Watch out for President Kennedy in the near future, he’ll show the way.”
George contemplated her words.
“That will be some feat. The human body must be strong enough to withstand not only the journey and the cold airless environment of space, but also the radiation from the Van Allen belts.”
Oscar seemed inspired and wistful.
“We can dream of reaching the stars one day.”
Paul decided to give his scientific offering.
“I entirely agree. There was a time when we believed the human body wouldn’t be able to withstand the speed travelled on a train, or when we believed flight was impossible, but it happened. That’s not to say it will be easy. Mankind has always been destined for the stars, ever since we gazed at the heavens through a telescope.”
Grace looked over at him, with a strangely enigmatic smile on her face, like a geriatric version of the Mona Lisa.
Paul had a sense of déjà vu as he completed a thesis on his findings at The Institute, and he found himself standing before a committee, the ones who pulled the strings for this particular facility. It was a somewhat smaller board, comprising of Max and two funding directors.
They used the communal living area as a makeshift presentation area, with the three members of the board sitting at the tables adjacent to the bay window. It was more informal, as they had cups of tea and a plateful of digestive biscuits on which to pontificate. The residents were either upstairs undergoing testing, or they had the day off. Paul stood before them, notes in hand, and his typed report sat on the table in front of Max.
“Thank you for the time and hard work you’ve put in here at The Institute,” Max began. “Please, summarise your findings.”
Paul cleared his throat and glanced at his notes.
“Although I came to no definite conclusions, I was able to hypothesise on the source and methodology of the residents’ abilities.”
The two funding directors watched him in a deadpan kind of way, but Max’s expression offered more encouragement.
“Let’s start with Emilie. In the case of her telepathy, I surmise that the human brain transmits some kind of radio wave and that Emilie has the ability to receive this transmission. However, the more I investigated, the more I realised that the signal appeared to be almost instantaneous. In a few cases, she received the signal before it was transmitted. It’s possible that light itself is the carrier wave for this signal, or that there’s some other, hitherto unknown process at large.”
The funding directors began to look more interested in what he had to say.
“With Beth and Peter’s ability to contact the dead, the question is…does a part of us live on after death? Does, in fact, the electromagnetic field I measured in humans previously, still exist when the body has deceased? And furthermore, is it possible to communicate with it? Perhaps this field is indeed the soul, and it lives in another reality from our own.”
Max leafed through the more extensive report, to the relevant section.
“Regarding Oscar and George’s remote viewing, I can only deduce that a sensory part of the electromagnetic field leaves the body and travels to another location. They don’t report any data other than sight and sound, but it would be interesting if it were possible to apply smell, touch, and taste to the experience. The field should transmit all this information, through a mind-body relationship.”
His audience now gave him their full attention.
“Sakie has the most extraordinary electromagnetic field. It’s ten times more powerful than anything I’ve previously encountered, and radiates much further from her body than anything measured at The Establishment. It’s almost like there is an…intensity dial somewhere in the brain, which is set differently in each person.”
“And finally, Grace. Last, but certainly not least. Her accuracy goes way beyond what would be expected by chance alone, in terms of specific key points that can be verified. At first, I speculated that the future casts some sort of shadow that can be picked up in the present…an emotional, psychic shock wave that can travel backwards in time, like a theoretical particle called the tachyon. Additionally, I considered that the future is also a direct result of actions in the present. Therefore, predictions become as logical as when we see dark clouds in the sky, we know rain is likely. I’m not sure it’s this simple in Grace’s case.”
“When we look into the future, it exists as a state of probabilities. By that, I mean that until we make an observation, all possibilities exist at once in a quantum never-never land. Grace made a prediction concerning a blonde goddess who will be found dead, lying on her bed, with the phone in her hand. Until someone discovers her body, she is potentially alive and dead at the same time, the outcome has not been determined.”
“Why is this… indeterminacy important?” Max queried.
“It could explain why Grace is not correct all the time, despite her uncanny sense of the future. She sees the most likely possibility, but something can still come along and change the outcome. While the blonde goddess is potentially alive and dead, anything can still happen. If someone was to find her earlier… for example, the outcome will change. There are many probabilities, and many potential outcomes.”
Max nodded while the funding directors flicked through the report.
“Do you think, therefore, that she is seeing a snapshot of one of many probabilities?”
“Yes,” Paul agreed. “Maybe she sees the outcome in one particular universe, while there are other probabilities that are realised in another universe.”
Max pondered aloud.
“If only we could show some proof, a bank of evidence…”
Paul seized upon this quickly.
“There is scope for further investigation. I can draw up objectives for the next stage in no time.”
Max noted the other directors reading the report.
“We’ll let you know when we’ve drawn our conclusions.”
As he was about to leave, Paul shared an observation.
“I noticed Grace is back in hospital again. Hopefully it’s not too serious.”
Max lingered on that thought, longer than Paul thought business-like.
“I hope so too,” he agreed.
***
The hospital ward in which Grace laid had that sickly air of death, and even the vase of flowers lent little cheer to her situation. Max noted how frail she looked, and how her breathing laboured as he took up a seat at her bedside. She smiled with affection when she recognised his presence.
“I’m so sorry I haven’t been in touch recently, I’ve been too busy,” he began.
His apology had real sincerity.
“I know your work is important,” she acknowledged. “It will be long after I’m gone.”
“It’ll happen soon, won’t it?”
“I’m not afraid,” she reassured him. “I will find peace. I know that in your life, you’ll find it hard to be at peace because of the things you’ve done, but I forgive you… God will absolve you too but you’ll need to learn to forgive yourself.”
Then her expression became more concerned.
“But you should treat that child of yours better.”
Max didn’t expect this last statement, as it was such an unlikely scenario.
“What child?”
Grace seemed pained to discuss the matter.
“Like you, your offspring will have demons, spending their entire life searching for peace, but you can still change this. I don’t want you to make a mistake you’ll sincerely regret.”
Max reflected for a moment.
“I’ve always had demons, but you’ve always known that. I like to think I’ve made a success out of ruin.”
She could offer no reply to that, so changed the subject.
“You’ll also be very fortunate, a part of something so important…perhaps the single most significant thing in history. At first, you won’t see it for what it is though, but you won’t be completely blind to it either.”
“What is this event?” he pressed.
“My special name for them is the Shining Lights, but they will cause conflict because of what they stand for.”
One thing sprung to Max’s mind.
“War?”
“Think of it more as a revolution, which a lot of people won’t welcome…especially those who yield power. These Lights will upset some important people and although you won’t see the conclusion, you’ll be a part of its genesis.”
“Who are these people?”
He was truly intrigued now.
“It will all become clear. However, there’ll be one woman…she is a gift to the world, capable of having a great impact on humanity. She must be protected at all costs as once the world discovers what she is, she won’t be safe.”
Max sat with his finger to chin, extremely thoughtful.
“Who is she?”
“Oh, you’ll know from the moment you first meet her,” Grace declared. “The research associated with her must also be protected, especially the primeval number. Many people will be interested in the power of this number.”
“Is this my research?”
His business side wouldn’t stay quiet.
“It will all become apparent, but your first concern is putting The Institute firmly on the map after I’m gone. There is another gifted individual you must find, and bring to England.”
Max became receptive as she closed her eyes to visualise, opening them again quickly.
“I see a girl with a troubled childhood, but this has made her strong, there is much determination in her.”
He nodded so she continued.
“She has an emotional intensity and a fire burning in her heart like no other. Yet…she’s not fully aware of her enormous potential.”
Grace saw she’d aroused Max’s curiosity.
“As strong as she is, she needs you, and you need her. She is deeply unhappy, repressed…unable to grow and be the person she is destined to be.”
As Grace’s breathing became more laboured, Max looked concerned but, nevertheless, she continued.
“To find her, contact Dr Henry Jones as he works with this girl’s father, who’s a professor and teaches at the university. She resides in Tehran, although her mother is an English woman. It won’t be difficult to find her.”
Max took hold of Grace’s hand and they sat together in silence, waiting for the inevitable.
The Institute held the sombre event that was Grace’s funeral four days later. The communal living area hosted the wake, with vases of flowers on the sideboard and wreaths communicating the sense of loss everyone felt. Max sat quietly in her favourite armchair, absorbing the essence of her that seemed to dominate the air, and when Paul saw him, he made his approach.
“I’m sorry,” he gave his condolences. “She was a fine and very talented lady.”
Max turned to look at him, with a sadness Paul rarely saw.
“Not as sorry as I am, she was my mother.”
He rose from the chair and stood alone, gazing out of the window, conveying his unwillingness to converse further. To Paul, this was a genuine revelation and he withdrew, unsure what to say or do, so he picked up the newspaper. The front page news detailed the death of Marilyn Monroe, found dead in her bed, with the phone in her hand.
“Right again, dear Grace, right again.”
He sighed and joined the residents in their time of mourning.
Would anything be the same without Grace?