LITMIR.BIZ

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She said the project she’s working on might be connected somehow with my experience, but that she’d explain her reasoning after meeting Doogie. We agreed on the basics, and I thought we were done when she asked another question:

      “How are you, Javier?” I actually paused to consider that question. Most people ask you that, but normally it’s an ‘I really don’t give a shit, I’m just being polite’ question.

      “We haven’t talked for ages. How are you?” she repeated.

      “I’m doing well, I guess. A little tired because these dreams prevent me any restful sleep.”

      “Still trying to save the world?” I could sense she was smiling when she asked that one.

      “I don’t know if I’m saving anyone at all,” I chuckled.

      “I know what you mean.” I could hear her sigh and stretch. “All these hours, all these hopes, and it seems we’re only scratching the surface.” I instantly thought of Doogie and my dreams. “How are you eating?” she continued. “Are you taking care of yourself?” I quickly recalled the chilidog scene.

      “I’ve dropped weight, actually. Riding the bike more, but the working hours are affecting that, as well as my sleep.”

      “Join the club. But if what I’m thinking about your Doogie is connected to what I’m working on, we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other.”

      “I would not complain.”

      “Really?” she giggled. “You mean you’re not attached yet?” I laughed then.

      “What do you think?” I huffed, knowing that she already knew the answer.

      “Good night, Javier. Try to sleep well tonight. We may have a big day tomorrow.”

      “Thank you, Ivana. I’ll try. Good night.”

      After we hung up, I finally had some time to unwind. I showered, poured myself a glass of red wine and relaxed on the couch to answer Brittany Tuckman’s text. I thanked her for her message and lied that I didn’t find her brother, but that I got some very good leads and was optimistic. I told her that I would check my schedule for the coming weeks, and that lunch sounded great. Just in case she wanted to call or have a text marathon, I made sure to tell her that it had been a long day and I was about to go to sleep. I sent it and received a reply not 10 seconds later: Dream of me, Doctor. Good night. I grinned, and finally went to bed, not knowing what my dreams would hold. Turned out, I dreamt of nothing. . .the best sleep of all.

      The next morning as I was dressed for work, I turned on KTVU Channel 2 to get the morning traffic report which was simply a habit I had done for years. I didn’t need the traffic report; it was always the same: “It’s heavy on all lanes going into the Caldecott Tunnel as you make your way into Berkeley, Oakland and San Francisco. . .”

      But occasionally, there were stories that the anchors would report that had nothing to do with the Bay Area, but were interesting enough to make you believe that life in other places was always worse than where you lived. I was preparing breakfast as one such story popped up. It was about Russia. I didn’t pay much attention to it; I was deep in thought about how to present Doogie to Dr. Livancic; if, in fact, he came back to meet me at the park that evening.

      “In St. Petersburg, Russia, a retired general who served during the Cold War in the former Soviet Union, confessed on his deathbed that he ordered the execution of over 100 Russian villagers in a forest in 1980.

      “The exact location of the execution is unknown at this time, but Colonel General Mikhail Kirolovka, 78, who served over 40 years and is dying of cancer, swears that he personally gave the order for his men to open fire on unarmed civilians.

      “The validity of the story is still in question; however, several men who claim to have been present at the alleged tragedy are stepping forward and confirming it. Among them is recently retired Lieutenant General Leonid Barsaklev, who was a young captain at that time.

      “He claims he has proof of the event, despite over three decades of silence. Barsaklev says that the events of that night have haunted him all these years, and he has drawn hundreds of images, objects and mathematical equations that he says he sees everyday in his dreams.”

      “WHAT?” I said as I dashed back into the TV room.

      “Shown here is a Russian newscaster holding the drawings up to the camera. One prominent image that Barsaklev has drawn over a thousand times is this picture of a round shiny disc, gleaming with unusual shapes and lights within.”

      I stood frozen as I looked at the photos the Russian newscaster held up one by one. “That’s my disc!”

      “So far, the story is being treated with skepticism in Russia. Mental health experts believe that both men are suffering from Schizophrenia or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder induced by years of combat experience, said experts working for the Russian government. The government and the military discount the stories and have reported that no such execution ever took place.”

      I reached for my cell, and in that instant it rang. It was Dr. Livancic.

      “Good morning, Ivana!”

      “Did you see the news about the Russian generals?”

      “Yes, just now! You, too?”

      “I did, and when I saw the drawings of the disc, I thought of your description concerning your dreams.”

      “Do you think they’re connected?”

      “I don’t know, but what’s more compelling than the disc were the images of mathematical equations.”

      “Why?”

      “When you get to Orinda, I’ll let you know; better yet, I’ll show you.” I noticed Ivana’s voice was laced with nervous concern.

      “Okay, I’m about to leave my house now. But I’ll try to get Doogie to Orinda before night fall.”

      “Javier, one last thing. I’m calling in a friend to lend us some of her professional insight on your case and mine. Professor Zelda Snow.”

      “Who’s that?”

      “She’s a Quantum Physicist; presently the head of the Physics department at UCLA. She’s worked with NASA, Lawrence Livermore Labs, also taught at MIT. I called her after I talked with you. She’s coming up for a few days. She’ll be here this morning.”

      “Do we need that kind of firepower?” I asked, wondering why we needed a science whiz on the team.

      “When you come and see what I’m working on, you’ll understand.”

      * * *

      As usual, the traffic was horrendous on the freeway, but it gave me time to listen to my recordings of Doogie over and over again. The distinction between his normal, mentally-challenged voice and his perfect voice was even more startling as I listened with more attentiveness. His knowledge of space and the stars was amazing and unusual. I first thought he could have learned it all by watching Discovery Channel or any other scientific show, recorded the information subconsciously where it lay dormant until called forth.

      I immediately thought of Savant Syndrome, a condition in which a person with a mental disability demonstrates extraordinary capacities or abilities far in excess of what would be considered normal. One very common factor amongst all savants is that they possess a prodigious memory and detailed-focus skill for particular subjects. These are just clinical adjectives for their skills. But realistically savants perform at genius levels; they are considered prodigies of their particular skill, rivaling identically-gifted masters who have no impairments at all. They are generally socially deficient and consistent with Autism Spectrum Disorder, but can perform flawlessly at mathematics, art, music, calendar dates, and spatial skills. They can access less-processed information that is subconsciously within all human brains, one theory suggests, and bring it forth on demand.

      But that

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