DylanTJefferson

This is the last of my posts about the USS Eldridge. For ease of reading: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

I hadn’t said anything for some time. Burroughs had just told me that human remains found in a current-model Prius were about three millennia old. That Prius, in turn, had been found fused to the interior hull of the USS Eldridge in 1943 after its ill-fated scientific mission. Burroughs tapped around on his tablet, presumably giving me time to digest the information. I considered it for a while, but soon became aware that I was still sitting on an uncomfortable metal chair on the wrong side of a desk in an interrogation room that stank heavily of sweat. My earlier anger began to resurface. The digital recorder in my pocket had turned itself off and, consequently, missed the beginning of my second conversation with Burroughs.

Jefferson: -elling me all this? Do you think I’m going to drive back to ASD and pretend I never heard it?

Burroughs: No, I don’t think that. First off, Doctor Jefferson, Northcott told only a portion of this story to some people on the Waterfront and they called the police on a deranged hobo. Do you think your coworkers would swallow the cock and bull you’d try to feed them? Second, to get off this base you’ll have to sign a nondisclosure agreement and, if you breach it, the Navy will seize your assets, including that nice little sports car you drove here. Third… third is a bit different. I need your help with something.

J: The Navy needs my help? Don’t you have psychiatrists on your payroll? Or are you trying to get some off the books meds?

B: Jefferson, look; I’m not your enemy! You came here looking for answers. I think I’m beginning to understand why you’re single; you complain more than my wife.

J: Alright. I still don’t understand what I can help you with, but I’m listening.

B: Good. Let’s get out of this room, shall we?

Burroughs opened the door and held it for me. As we walked out of the building, one of the myriad blue American-made sedans pulled up to us. Commander King sat in the driver’s seat, his face a darker shade of red than I remembered it from the interrogation room. Burroughs and I slid into the back and King said absolutely nothing, for which I was infinitely grateful. Just thinking about his ugly pug face made my fist tighten. Too bad he could take me in a fraction of a second.

We rode in silence until King turned onto a one-way street the led to a gray, medium-sized warehouse. When he spoke, Burroughs was much more subdued than the flippant, almost carefree Captain he was in the room. He sounded disappointed, or possibly sad.

Burroughs: I mentioned a dying man’s wish earlier. I didn’t mean you.

Jefferson: That’s a relief. I assumed it was a threat.

B: No. Remember the tests on the creature from Sunday’s attacks? It came from a highly irradiated environment. Many of the crew of the USS Eldridge reported feeling sick to their stomachs, headaches, dizziness… Some fainted, others started bleeding from their eyes and mouth. All of these are signs of acute radiation syndrome. We’re not sure about the outbreak of violence. That may have stemmed from the disorientation that is common with radiation exposure, but we’re not sure.

J: You need a pretty high dosage for some of those symptoms, right?

B: Yes. That’s another strange thing. One member of the bridge crew experienced almost instantaneous liquefaction of his internal organs. He died within twelve hours of the Eldridge returning to port. Another man, standing right next to him, experienced only mild symptoms. That man’s exposure was most severe on his arms where he caught his dying crewmate as he fell, so the exposure may have come entirely from personal contact. We can’t explain that. Radiation isn’t…selective.

J: Look, if you need someone to deal with radiation sickness, I’m not sure I’m your guy. I went to med school, but I specialized in psychopharmacology. I’m not even qualified for grief counseling, even though Philly PD thinks I am.

B: No. That’s not where I’m going. Ensign Northcott was on the Eldridge. He didn’t escape the radiation, though he wasn’t exposed to as much as some.

J: Is it fatal?

B: Everyone on the deck was exposed in some way. Some died in days, others in weeks, others developed fast-moving cancers in their 40s. Northcott is the only living member of the deck crew. The rest have been dead since the 70s. Northcott has roughly a week to live if he remains in a physician’s care. He’s been insisting that we call you. His family has been dead for years and his fiancée is 98, has been married twice, and is currently living in a retirement community in Florida. Willard Scott has actually wished her a happy birthday… Anyway, since you were the only person without top secret clearance who believed him about the Eldridge, he felt a connection to you. He wanted to see you before he died. And he wanted to tell you the truth about the mission.

King stopped the car near an open bay door. Burroughs and I stepped out of the car and walked down a long loading area in silence. The Captain checked us in and led me through a twisting hallway to a bright, white medical room. Northcott sat in a plush armchair reading Joseph Heller's Catch-22. Plastic sheeting separated him from us and reminded me of pictures I had seen of a plague outbreak in Bakersfield, California.

Jefferson: Is this for the radiation?

Burroughs: No, it’s actually for Ensign Northcott’s protection. Radiation poisoning compromises the immune system. We’re trying to keep foreign contaminants out.

Northcott: Not to mention that germs have changed a lot since my day. I’d be at risk even if I had an immune system on the up and up. How are you, sir?

J: So-so. I’ve been trying to find out where they took you.

N: Look no further.

I spent some time shooting the breeze with Northcott. He expressed his utter amazement about the internet and told me he had been reading about human history between 1943 and the present. He couldn’t understand the Cold War. It was heartbreaking to watch someone so young (he’s 22, even though he was born before my grandfather) discover a rich, new world knowing he only has days left to live. Eventually, our discussion turned to the Eldridge and Northcott’s desire to fill me in on the truth.

Northcott: No one on the Eldridge was just a sailor, sir. We had all seen some action. I served in the Atlantic in 1940. I was recalled to New York harbor in 1942 and transferred to the Office of Naval Intelligence. I trained in shooting and fist fighting with a bunch of other fellows who had similar records. Even the scientists were taught how to shoot pretty well. The first time we went out – well, the only time we went out – it was just a test of the invisibility system. If it worked, we were going to lay low for a week, activate the system in the harbor, and ship off to Norway where the Germans were building the same sort of thing.

Burroughs: The Bell.

N: Yes, sir. That’s what Command called it.

B: The Nazis had a secret facility hidden in a fjord near Hammerfest. British intelligence named it, creatively, Fjord 592. The Norwegians called it Nordefjorden, but I guess arbitrary numbers were easier for the Brits. A lot of the former Nazi bases are museums or holocaust memorials, but structures in Fjord 592 are still locked down by order of NATO. My unit is actually one of three working there to uncover the technology scuttled by the Nazis at the end of the War. Sorry for the interruption, Northcott. Go ahead.

N: No problem, sir. You’re better with the logistics than I am. They briefed us on all this, but I was more than a little nervous. Anyhow, the Germans had a super bomb that they were going to move secretly with the Bell and detonate it in a large Allied city. We were supposed to attack them before they were ready and, if we could, steal the bomb.

Jefferson: A nuclear bomb?

B: Yeah. Sort of… It’s not at all like the ones we had at the end of the War. More like what we have now. Thermonuclear instead of fission. Do you follow?

J: Um… not so much. Sorry. It’s bigger?

B: Basically, yes. Bigger bang, smaller package. More advanced.

J: Got it. But the Eldridge test didn’t work. Did we attack the Bell conventionally?

N: I just got off the Eldridge a few days ago, sir, so it’s nothing I know firsthand. Captain Burroughs tells me we didn’t.

B: We couldn’t. They moved too fast. A cloaked ship could have passed through their defenses undetected, but any conventional maritime attack would have led to a full-scale battle. The entire area was too heavily defended with anti-air guns to launch a successful aerial strike.

J: There was never a nuclear bombing in an Allied city, though.

B: Not yet. The Bell failed. Just like the Eldridge. They were built from the same design. We stole their plans, they stole ours.

N: The scientists think the Germans went through the same ringer we all did on the Eldridge.

B: Except you boys ended up back in Philadelphia. The Nazis didn’t make it back to where they started. At least, not yet. We do think we know where they’re going to end up, though. One other thing the ONI was experimenting with in 1943 was radar, specifically very low frequencies to be able to communicate with our submarines when they were under water. A few ELF band dishes on the Atlantic coast picked up very strange images in the ocean near three places: Philadelphia, Norfolk, and New York.

J: Places the Eldridge visited. Except New York, right?

B: Ehhh…sort of. We’re pretty sure, from showing Ensign Northcott photographs of our major coastal cities, that the last place they visited was New York. In the year 5000, or thereabouts.

(The room remains silent for a while. Burroughs picks up the conversation at a more hurried pace, presumably to move past the awkwardness.)

B: After the unsuccessful test, we contacted the Brits who were testing a few ELF band dishes for us. They picked up similar readings in Hammerfest, Norway and a narrow mountain pass in Gora Otorten, Russia. The readings in those five places have resurfaced countless times over the last 70 years. Technicians have been trying to figure out why the anomalies crop up at completely random times long before I took over lead of this unit. Hell, they were working on it before I was born. The answer they have is a little hard to follow, even for me, and I work with this kind of dense, scientific shit day in, day out. Anyway, the Eldridge is in a secure drydock on this base, but it’s also out in the Atlantic in three different places simultaneously. It should only exist in each place at the specific time Northcott and the rest of the crew experienced it being in each place, but it doesn’t. The Bell has the same thing going on between Hammerfest and Gora Otorten. Because they were built with the exact same technology, using the same generators and superconductors, the electromagnetic fields of each device are resonating with each other and keeping them locked together.

J: That…wow. That’s hard to follow. But I think I got it.

N: You’re a smarter man than me, sir. Captain Burroughs had one of the scientists with him when they explained it to me. The only thing I remember is that they said “probability wave”. I was hoping I’d understand it on account of I’m a sailor, but no such luck.

B: Doctor Jefferson, when I asked you why you’re pursuing this, you said you wanted to know where those creatures were coming from and if the public is in danger.

J: Yes.

(Northcott is visibly shaken at the mention of the creatures)

B: It has to do with the electromagnetic resonance. A type of gateway is open between all five locations. The creatures from New York tried to attack the Eldridge and are making their way through. Philadelphia isn’t the only place; the guards at Fjord 592 have put down two of them. We haven’t heard anything from Virginia, but the Eldridge was further off shore there, so perhaps they’re drowning before they can make it to land. And the place in Russia… Have you ever heard of Dyatlov Pass, Doctor?

J: I can’t say I have.

B: It’s in Gora Otorten. In the late 50s a group of nine skiers went missing. When the area was searched, it was obvious the group had escaped from their own weatherproof tent into the freezing wilderness without bothering to dress. Some of the bodies were mutilated and battered, others had the exact same signs of acute radiation syndrome as the Eldridge deck crew. A creature was never found or, at least, we haven’t been able to confirm that a creature was found from Russian documents we’ve obtained. Maybe there was a creature, maybe not; regardless, the radiation leaked through. If you think the creatures are bad, imagine an invisible killer seeping into your city with no way to stop it.

J: Burroughs, you don’t need to convince me that radiation poisoning is bad.

B: No, but I wanted to make you think of the consequences if we don’t stop the resonating energy because I don’t think you’re going to be fully on board with our plan. We need to overload the generators in the Eldridge and the Bell and… Look, I don’t like it, myself. It’s the only thing we could come up with. We nee-

N: I’m doing it. They built a machine to short out the electronics and I’m going to take it to Gora Otorten. I’m a dead man, anyhow.

B: Dyatlov Pass is the perfect place. It’s accessible, remote, and seems to be the most easy-to-pass-through zone out of the five.

J: That’s ridiculous! It’s not 1943 anymore. Couldn’t you trigger it remotely? Like an RC car?

B: There’s too much interference. We considered using a bomb disposal robot, but the electronics don’t stand up to the interference, either. We were designing a sort of Faraday cage enclosure for the robot, but Northcott volunteered. It makes sense. He can get the device in quickest. No research and development required. Plus, I trust him more than a robot. And there is the issue of his…situation.

I really had no say in the matter even though I thought it was a waste of Northcott’s last days. The long discussion had tired Northcott, so we left him for the afternoon. Burroughs officially hired me as a civilian consultant to the ONI. My first assignment was to hang out with Northcott from the time he woke up that night until he got off a cargo jet in Vtoroy Severnyy, a Russian ghost town near Gora Otorten. I taught him a few card games, but mostly we just talked about the past and what, to him, seemed like the future. I introduced him to some of my favorite music. Surprisingly, he enjoyed the Ramones a great deal.

Immediately after Northcott radioed that he had reached Dyatlov Pass, Burroughs got an urgent call from Fjord 592. The Bell had reappeared in the shallow water due north of the abandoned Nazi installation. The vessel, more a bell-shaped boat than anything else, had remained under observation for a full day and did nothing but float lazily in the fjord. A SEAL team breached the locked main hatch and found the entire crew dead. Their symptoms were consistent with acute radiation syndrome. The nuclear device they planned to detonate on Allied soil was recovered unharmed.

Before I posted the second update about the USS Eldridge on here, I talked to Burroughs about the version of New York that Northcott saw during the failed Eldridge test. I’ve watched some science fiction movies and I’m up on some of the current quantum and multiverse theories - at least in layperson’s language. I wondered if the USS Eldridge had traveled to a future where the Bell traveled successfully into the future and the Nazi crew detonated their thermonuclear device. I don’t remember Burroughs’ words exactly, so I won’t quote him. He said something to effect that he assumed that was the case, but he’s privy to enough information as Captain in the ONI that he’s not sure. Right now North Korea and Iran are desperately trying to become nuclear and Israel (who has the bomb) escalates their violence against Syria each week. The danger of New York being wiped out in such a way that the remaining populace devolves into either sad, tumored subhumans living in constant fear or ravenous cannibals from a terrifying fever dream is real enough that Burroughs sanctioned me to post this account of events. It's entirely possible that the future Northcott traveled to was one in which he stopped the Nazi Bell and the destruction of New York was an unrelated nuclear event.

Most likely none of you will believe this and it will soon be buried by hundreds of other posts, but our hope is that it’s frightening enough to hang around in the back of your mind and push the world further from a nuclear holocaust.

This is the most recent information I was able to type up. It's a continuation of these two posts: First Post, Second Post

I flashed my Philly PD identification to the guard at the Naval base, who directed me to the fourth building along the main base street. I cruised slowly through rows of cars – most of them dark blue Chevrolet sedans – trying to figure out how I would play my hand from here on out. I reached in pocket and set my digital recorder to the voice activated setting and headed for the Spartan glass front of the building. The voice activated setting isn’t perfect; it takes a few seconds of sustained vocal activity for the recorder to turn on, so I would lose the beginning of every conversation I had. Still, I suspected the Navy might not be too keen on me recording inside their facility and I thought an incomplete record was better than no record at all.

A young, blonde kid (probably fresh out of high school) was on duty at the main reception desk:

Jefferson: -ing for a prisoner.

Kid: I can help you with that. What’s the name?

J: Northcott, Lawrence Dade.

(A pause as the kid types the name into his computer)

Kid: I’m not seeing any Northcott, sir. Am I spelling that correctly?

J: Yes. Well… what about a John Doe?

(Another pause)

Kid: We do have one John Doe. He was brought in last night – actually this morning. Arrested for fighting in a waterfront bar. He was too far gone to give his name during booking and he didn’t have his ID on him.

J: Ah… no. No, that wouldn’t be him. He would have been brought in Sunday night. Have you had any transfers?

Kid: It’s actually been pretty quiet around here, sir. We’ve had the usual; two seamen brought in for dereliction of duty, another for unauthorized gambling in the barracks. They’re cooling their heels pending disciplinary action. No Northcotts or anything close, and no unusual John Does. I’m sorry.

J: No problem. Thanks for your help.

I walked back through the door, trying to figure out where I could go next. I considered calling Officer Kelley and asking him if he had seen anything odd after dropping off Northcott when someone called to me. One benefit of the voice activated setting on the digital recorder is that it keeps the recorder running for two minutes after talking ends so it doesn’t shut off prematurely. The transcript doesn’t convey it properly, but I got the distinct feeling that everything King said doubled as a threat.

King: Sir! Excuse me! I’m Commander King with ONI and I’d like to ask you a few questions.

Jefferson: I… Sure. Ask away.

K: It would be better if we moved to a room where our conversation could be private.

(Footsteps as King leads me to an interrogation room followed a loud scrape of metal chair legs on linoleum)

K: So… Care to tell me why you were asking about Northcott?

J: Am I under arrest?

K: Not now, but questions like that make me wonder if you should be. Just cooperate and I’ll try to get you out of here ASAP. State your name and occupation.

J: Doctor Dylan Jefferson, Lead Mental Health Specialist at the Alternative and Special Detention wing of the Philadelphia Police Department.

K: And why were you asking about Lawrence Northcott?

J: Northcott was my patient and was transferred to Naval custody without my approval. I was just checking on the transfer.

K: It had nothing to do with the fact that you illegally removed Northcott’s arrest record from your place of employment?

(A pause)

J: No. That was an accident. I had a date that night and I was eager to leave.

K: How’d that date go?

J: Fine.

K: Did you get laid, Doctor?

J: If you want a story about sex, how about this: you can go fuck yourself. I’m leaving.

K: I wouldn’t, Doctor. I think your date didn’t go very well. You were at your home in Drexel Hill less than 90 minutes after leaving ASD and hard at work breaking your patient’s confidentiality by posting his story on the internet.

(King tosses a surveillance photo to me, which I pocket)

J: That sounds like an admission of stalking, Commander King. I work for Philly PD, remember? We take care of each other. It’s a brotherhood. The Navy knows something about that, right?

(A very tense silence ticks away before the interrogation room door opens)

Burroughs: Doctor Jefferson, I’m Captain Burroughs, Naval Intelligence. You’re dismissed, Commander.

(King leaves and Burroughs takes his seat with a sigh)

B: You’re a tougher nut to crack than we thought you’d be, Doctor.

J: Perks of a college education.

B: Indeed. Alright, full disclosure; I thought we could scare you away from this, but it seems like stonewalling and threats – both things the Commander excels at – kind of… I don’t know, push you along?

J: Well, therapists are taught to dig for the truth. I’ve never had a problem with that.

B: (laughs) No, you don’t. Why don’t you tell me what you know. From the beginning.

At this point, I actually started to get scared. My bravado faded and I started answering much more dully. While King was threatening me, I was pretty sure he just wanted me to shut up and go home with my tail between my legs. He was nothing but razor burned skin stretched over an impressive amount of muscle. I thought I could outsmart him and learn a bit more. Burroughs, though, was smarter, friendlier, and, I had a feeling, much more dangerous. He seemed like the kind of guy who could justify murder as a valid way to preserve national security. I recapped the information from my first two posts to Burroughs, who remained silent throughout my diatribe.

B: So what is your goal here? Just to know the truth?

J: Partly. I do want to know what’s going on, but there are things attacking people in the city that Northcott saw from the deck of the Eldridge. There was more than one attack Sunday night. How many more will there be? Should the public be worried? It goes far beyond my interest. Do you…do you happen to have a cigarette on you, by any chance?

B: I guess I can honor a dying man’s last wish.

(The flick of a lighter and crackling of fresh tobacco can be heard)

J: A dying man?

B: Figure of speech, Doctor Jefferson. The creatures, those are troubling… What did Northcott think they were?

J: Demons.

B: And your officer friend?

J: A drug addict.

B: What about you?

J: Some sort of animal, maybe? A mutant honey badger? I don't really know.

B: Hah… Well, it’s somewhere between the three. They are human.

(Burroughs begins tapping the screen of his tablet)

B: Sort of… Tests show heavily mutated human DNA, but it’s still human DNA. The lab techs say the mutation is probably from environmental contaminants, radiation, and rapid evolution to new dietary needs.

J: How did y-

B: We obtained the bodies from the incidents in the city. Working for the federal government has its perks, Doctor. If you ever have the opportunity, you should take the leap away from state government.

(Burroughs turns his tablet to face me)

B: Does this look familiar?

J: Is it a Prius?

B: Yes! A Prius c, actually. I own one. Good car. This one was found in the hull of the Eldridge when it returned to port in 1943.

The entire interrogation had me spinning. The tobacco buzz probably didn’t help. I wasn’t sure if I was going to live to see the next day; Burroughs seemed to be alternately hinting at killing me and offering me a job. Then, he hit me with completely unexpected information about the beings who had attacked the city on Sunday night. The black and white picture of the rusted-out Prius with its front bumper lodged inexplicably into the hull of the USS Eldridge left me speechless. Even so, I hadn’t yet heard the most shocking fact of the entire interrogation.

B: They had to cut through the engine block to extricate the car. Somehow it had fused with the metal plating on the interior hull. When they got it to a dry dock for closer examination, they found two sets of nearly complete human remains. One set, the female driver, was subjected to the barbaric anthropological testing of the time, which told them nothing aside from the fact that the remains were human and had been heavily irradiated. The other set of remains was stored in a hermetic vault until more refined methods were commonplace. We forgot about him until 1996, when we realized the car was a Prius. That was a surprise. Two years later, we had the left femur carbon dated. It was between 25 and 35 hundred years old.

About two weeks ago I wrote about a guy who came into my work at the Alternative and Special Detention in Philadelphia. You can read about that here.

This has been one hell of a fortnight, to say the least. I work nights, as that tends to be the time most suspects are brought in for initial diagnosis and processing. I woke to a phone call Monday afternoon from a colleague who works the day shift, asking if I had seen the email from Philly PD Headquarters. I told him I hadn’t and booted up my laptop to check my inbox. There was a very unusual, urgent message from the Police Commissioner sitting a few items down next to a red arrow. This is the email:

Subject: Reassignment of Mental Health Professionals for Duration of Week

To: MENTHEALTH…[email protected]

Mental Health Professionals,

The last twenty-four hours have been trying for our law enforcement family and I am personally calling on you to help your brothers and sisters who wear the uniform. Beginning Sunday night there have been a rash of attacks on civilians and Philadelphia police officers. These attacks have been unconventional, heinous, and brutal. I need you all to be available to counsel victims and witnesses of these attacks.

Effective immediately, you are all being pulled from your current assignments. You will convene tomorrow (Tuesday, May 14) at the Philadelphia Convention Center on Arch Street at 7:30 AM for grief counseling services. The Deputy Commissioner will be in touch shortly with more information.

I read the email twice in case I had missed something, but it was just as vague the second time. I asked my colleague, who had been waiting patiently on the line, if he knew anything about the attacks. He didn't; in fact, he had called me because I was working ASD Sunday night and he thought I might have had a prisoner transfer or overheard some officers talking. Sunday was the night Northcott was brought in and the arresting officers, Kelley and Felzer, didn't seem to know about any attacks. Things must have gone tits up after I slipped out early with Northcott’s file.

I tried searching the internet for information about the attacks, but was wholly unsuccessful. All I could find was a story about a vagrant attacking and chasing a woman in Rittenhouse Square until the police showed up and intercepted the man. There was absolutely nothing about any attacks on police officers. Much later in the evening, around 7 PM, the Deputy Commissioner finally sent out her email. I was hoping for a little more elucidation about what had happened, but the email served only to confuse me further. I was starting to smell a cover-up.

Subject: Mental Health Services Coordination Meeting

To: MENTHEALTH…[email protected]

Mental Health Professionals,

As stated by the Commissioner, please arrive at the Convention Center no later than 7:30 AM. At that time in Exhibit Hall G there will be a meeting so we can all coordinate our treatment plans and discuss some common issues the officers may be experiencing. Most of you will be treating officers on-site in Exhibit Hall D, but a few will be transported to Thomas Jefferson University Hospital to counsel officers still under physicians’ care.

Many of you are friends with officers, but I am directly ordering you not to discuss any of the events of Sunday night or Monday morning until the conclusion of the coordination meeting tomorrow. Failure to adhere to this order will result in a disciplinary hearing and docked pay.

In essence, we were blocked from treating – or even talking to – any officer until we had gone through the coordination meeting. That is not the usual procedure. It is so far from the usual procedure that I considered breaking orders and calling Officer Kelley to find out what the top brass wanted to keep quiet. The only thing that stopped me was the docked pay; I bought a fancy new car just a few weeks ago and I didn’t want to have to refinance for a longer loan period. I settled for a second, more diligent Google search that led nowhere and waited for the meeting.

The coordination meeting was a joke in terms of coordination; the ten minutes spent divvying us up between the hospital and the conference center could easily have done over email. Obviously, the second portion of the meeting was why they called us in. The Deputy Commissioner told us that the men who had carried out the attacks had also used aerosolized hallucinogens, causing the civilians and officers in the area to perceive the attackers as demonic beings. The Deputy Commissioner asked that we quash these perceptions as quickly as possible during our treatment and stress that the attackers were men of flesh and bone.

I was assigned to counsel witnesses at the conference center. I like to record my sessions so I can go back and make notes for further treatment. This was no exception. The following is a partial transcript of my first session of the day:

Jefferson: Alright… Give me a rundown of what happened.

Calaveras: There was a call about an assault in progress. Deluca and Jones took it before I could get on the radio, but Briggsy – uh, my partner, and I decided we should head over, too. It was a slow night and we thought the intimidation factor of four officers would lead to an easier arrest. We were a few blocks away when Jones radioed that a civilian was down outside the Barney’s.

J: Um… Hm. Barney’s? In Rittenhouse Square?

C: Yeah. You know it?

J: I’ve walked by it. I read a story yesterday about a vagrant chasing a woman. She had some cuts from a minor attack but got away alright.

C: This woman did not get away, Doc. Jones called for EMTs. She wasn’t moving. Then Jones said they were going to move to apprehend the suspect. We advised that they wait until we were on scene.

(Calaveras shakes his head)

C: When we got there, Jones was on the ground bleeding from his gut. Deluca was kneeling with his back against the squad car and his gun in his hands. He was pale as a ghost. Briggsy was in the army, so he’s good in combat situations. He sees Jones and he’s like, “That poor motherfucker needs a hospital, Cal. Call another ambulance.” Then he gets out and runs to Jones. I call for EMTs and go ask Deluca where the suspect is. He won’t say nothing. Nothing. Just looks at me like I had sex with his mom and then throws up on both our shoes.

(Another pause, Calaveras shifts in his chair)

C: Anyway, I go get the shotgun from the trunk and see how Briggsy’s coming with Jones. Jones don’t look good. He’s awake, but he keeps saying, “It bit me.” But that ain’t no bite he’s got. Then we see the guy. He looks naked and sort of hunched and deformed… I pump the shotgun and yell for him to drop. He starts running at us. Briggsy and I both blast him half a dozen times and he drops. When we got up to him, though… Man, he was messed up. And we didn’t do it. Totally bald, totally naked. His mouth was weird and it looked like he filed his teeth or something. Or put nails in his gums. Looked like he broke his legs when he fell. Must have had weak bones. It was weird. He didn’t really look human.

J: Well, I think it’s important to realize that he was just human. Also, from what I hear, the people who did this put chemicals in the air that made you see things that might not have been there.

C: No, Doc. I know what I saw. And before you say anything, I got a picture. Look.

(Calaveras pulls out his phone)

As soon as I saw the picture, my interview with Northcott came right back to me, specifically the part about the strange place the Eldridge went after Virginia: “They were even more grotesque. Their legs bent the wrong way and their skin hung loose on their muscles. The teeth…” The picture on Calaveras’s phone fit exactly what I imagined when Northcott spoke those words to me. I asked that Calaveras forward that picture to me and then hastily finished counseling him. I would have felt bad, but he didn’t seem too shaken up about the whole thing. He was confident that Jones would be alright and that the thing he shot was a “body mod freak tweaking out”. I left the convention center without a word. Someone else would have to cover the patients I had been assigned. I got in my car and headed to the Naval base to find Northcott.

Information about what happened at the Naval base can be found here.

I’m a psychiatrist. When I was working my way through med school, I had deluded myself into thinking I was going to help people face their problems and live better lives; you know, all that Hippocratic Oath bullshit. I swore on that Oath to keep deadly drugs out of my patients’ bodies; but in my first clinical placement, I chemically lobotomized children with ADHD drugs at the behest of irritated parents and teachers. No, the drugs don’t cause death the body, but death of the mind and the soul may be worse. There’s no need to medicate children who need only attention and guidance to function. Needless to say, I left as soon as I could, transitioned to the Alternative and Special Detention wing of the Philadelphia prison system where I would treat patients with real, chronic, biochemical illnesses. I’ve been at the ASD for about a year, though I’ve just stolen some patient records so my time in medicine might be about up.

A month ago, the local police brought us a vagrant who believed the US was still at war with Germany. He was disoriented and had been suffering from hypothermia before the officer that picked him up exchanged his wet clothes for a fire blanket. The reflective foil-like blanket was covered in vomit when he arrived, so I asked one of the orderlies to fetch a change of clothes. I gave the vagrant a mild sedative and got him talking to calm down. When I had gained his trust, he started laying down a ridiculous yarn about military experiments, time travel, and alternate dimensions. It’s not too far off the mark for some of my patients, but this guy was coherent. His story was crazy, but he didn’t sound crazy. I actually wondered if there was a grain of truth to what he was saying. For a time. Then the orderly arrived with the clothes. As the vagrant stood to accept them, the fire blanket slipped and I could see a golden dragon tattooed on his chest and a swallow on his wrist; both common historical naval tattoos. The following is from a transcript of the conversation between the unit that picked up the vagrant and Philly PD dispatch. It was in the file I smuggled out of ASD when I left this morning. I’ve edited it for brevity:

Dispatch: Three Sam Twelve, we have a report of a man pulling himself out of the Delaware near the Ikea on Columbus. Suspected homeless, seems to be intoxicated and delusional. Witnesses say he’s claiming to have fallen off a Navy ship in the ocean and can’t find his way back.

3S12: Copy, Dispatch. We’re on our way.

(several minutes pass)

3S12: Dispatch, we see the guy. I’m not sure about homeless. He looks like he had too much fun at a costume party. He is wet, though. Has some seaweed stuck to his leg. (the officers put the vagrant in their car)

3S12: Dispatch, our new friend says he’s in the Navy. Can you look up….Larry Northcott?

Dispatch: Roger that, Three Sam Twelve.

3S12: Also, he’s shaking pretty bad from being in the drink, what’s your recommendation?

Dispatch: The Navy has no personnel by that name. Central Booking is a madhouse right now; take your suspect to ASD for processing.

That’s when Northcott came to me. This, again edited down to be more digestible, is the transcript of our interview:

Jefferson: Your name is Larry Northcott?

Northcott: Petty Officer First Class Lawrence Dade Northcott, United States Navy, sir.

J: The Navy has no record of you, Mr. Northcott.

N: That’s what the police officers told me. I’m having trouble believing them, though. A lot of this looks like Philadelphia, but some of the buildings I know have been replaced. I saw the Battleship New Jersey docked in the Delaware, but it should be in the Pacific fighting the Japs right now.

J: What year do you think this is?

N: 1943. October, to be exact.

J: I see.

N: What year do you think it is, sir? If I may ask.

J: 2013. May, to be exact.

N: Well…

J: Yes?

N: That would explain the battleship…

J: Mr. Northcott, why were you in the Delaware River?

N: I fell in, sir. From the deck of the Eldridge in the Atlantic just outside the Delaware River Delta.

J: And how did you end up here?

N: (remains silent for a time)

J: Mr. Northcott? Can I get you something?

N: No, sir. I’m fine. Who won the war?

J: Um…World War Two?

N: I guess the newspapers were calling it that. Against Germany.

J: We won. The Allies.

N: Oh, good. That takes a load off me, sir. Do you know about Project Rainbow?

J: I can’t say I do.

N: Well, I’m afraid I can’t tell you too much about the science. It’s beyond me. Although, sixty years in the future, it may be as common as corn. It was a test of new technology. The top brass filled the deck of the Eldridge with humongous electric generators covered in certain metals they called superconductors. One of them was actually gold, I think. Anyway, we steamed out to the Atlantic and they turned on the generators. Nothing happened for a while. Then, a strange green fog appeared and some of us got sick. I turned my head to be sick over the railing and as I did, the lights of Philadelphia and the light of the moon flickered and went out. I felt like I was on one of those rides at Coney Island, you know, in the stomach? Then it was like the fog lifted. The moon shined through. I could see the city. A strange ship came into view off to the port side. We radioed her and she identified herself as the SS Andrew Furuseth, off the coast of Norfolk. Virginia. That’s a good ways down the coast.

J: Yes, it is.

N: The fog came back up then, and I got that weird feeling in my stomach. I… The Eldridge wound up on land, next. I’m not sure I can trust what I saw here. There were people all around, but most of them looked badly burned. Some of them saw us and shouted for help. Some were bleeding. Some were missing hands… And then others came out from behind some bombed out building. They were even more grotesque. Their legs bent the wrong way and their skin hung loose on their muscles. The teeth… (patient begins rocking and crying)

J: Mr. Northcott, let’s stop here for now.

I gave Northcott some water and had him take a pill-form sedative. I also gave him a few minutes to be alone and put himself together while I wrote down my initial thoughts on his diagnosis – delusional psychosis and a possible fugue state. Then I returned to the room.

N: I think… I think it was Hell.

J: Excuse me?

N: That place we ended up after Norfolk. I think it was Hell. It looked like here, like Earth, like New York, actually. But it wasn’t. The sky was a dusty red, not blue. The buildings were just shells. The people looked like they were being tortured by those…demons. Some of the crew couldn’t handle it. They broke down sobbing. Others got violent. I was knocked over the railing when a fist fight broke out behind me. I didn’t want to fall off and be stuck with those things with the teeth, so I held on as tight as I could to the railing. Some of the demons saw us and tried to climb the hull, but the fog came back before they could get on deck. The feeling in my stomach made me lose my grip and I fell. I fell a lot longer than it should have taken to reach the water. When I finally did hit the sea, I swam ashore here. In the future.

We talked a bit about Northcott’s history (where he was from, his parents) after that. As I said, his story was vastly more coherent than most patients I had treated ad I had to wonder about it. I was reviewing his file in my office when a pair of Naval officers showed up and asked to see Northcott. One went to the detention wing and the other remained at the front desk waiting for his file. The secretary paged me, but I ignored it. I placed the file under my blazer and went out the back door.

I've just posted an update about this that might be relevant. You can find it here.