Piedmont Imaging Center was located in the North Dale Shopping Plaza in Charlotte, about an hour's car drive from campus. Josh had explained to Kallie that the center offered the university free usage of its facilities in exchange for a small financial stake in any potential future profits the program might garner stemming from its brain and behavior research. The plaza was anchored at one end by a Target and on the opposite end by a Michaels. Piedmont Imaging was dead center, snuggled between a shoe boutique and a store specializing in the resale of used clothes. Josh parked his Taurus next to a cart-return bin and then the three of them—he, Kallie, and Veronica Ross—hustled out of the car and went inside. A pretty receptionist smiled pleasantly at them as they waltzed past her and through a door leading to the backrooms where the MRI scanner was located.
Josh set Kallie up in a little side room where she was shown a fifteen-minute video about MRI and fMRI. Although she'd gone with her mother a couple of years ago when her mother had had her MRI scan, Kallie hadn't known that MRI stood for magnetic resonance imaging or that fMRI stood for functional magnetic resonance imaging. In fact, before the video she hadn't known there was even such a thing as fMRI. After the video was over, Veronica came into the room and had her fill out a questionnaire similar to the one that had been discussed on the video. The series of questions were to determine if she had any issues, such as prior surgery, ear abrasions, or metal in or on her body that would affect her being inside the scanner. It didn't take her long to check off the long list of 'no' boxes.
After she finished the questionnaire, Josh led her into another room. This one was adjacent to the room where the scanner was located. It was a tight little room with a glass window, through which the scanner was clearly visible. “The images will be captured here,” Josh said, pointing to two computer monitors on a table.
“Oh cool,” Kallie mumbled. She watched as Veronica sat down in front of one of the monitors, and then Kallie followed Josh into the adjoining room.
“I trust that this big boy needs no introduction,” Josh said. He stood next to the MRI scanner. The machine looked like a big, plastic spool of thread. “This is going to be just like the video, except, of course, for one exception which I'll explain in just a minute. You're going to lie on this table, and we'll put this coil over your head.” The coil looked like a storm trooper helmet, except that this one came with a mirror attached. He explained that the mirror was not for her to look at herself, but instead, while she was inside the scanner, she'd be able to see anyone standing at the end of the table. Next, he pointed to a plastic ball that was connected to the scanner by a short, white cable. “If you want to stop the test for any reason, just squeeze that. It's called a panic-ball.” After Kallie nodded her understanding, he continued. “The coil also has a microphone and earphones attached. You'll be able to talk to and hear us.” He waited for a heartbeat. Then he resumed, “After you're all set up on the table, it'll retract into the scanner. Once the imaging begins, it's going to be loud. Some people equate it to a jackhammer digging into the road. But as the video explained, it's just the magnetic field doing its thing. But unlike in the video, we will not be doing a fMRI scan today.” According to the video, a fMRI scan was basically an extension of a MRI scan. Except in the case of a fMRI, she'd be given a call button to select her response to a series of questions or choices, which would enable the scanner to detect what area of her brain was responsible for different activities or thought patterns. “Instead, we're going to do a 'resting state' scan.”
“A resting state scan?” Kallie repeated.
“Yes. In a resting state scan, you simply lie there. We won't try to artificially stimulate your brain in any way. We do these types of scans occasionally in order to get base images of the brain at rest, so to speak. But in your case, as evidenced by the constant sensations you've been experiencing, the brain may not be in a resting mood, which is one of the reasons why we consider you a gift to our project. Before, we've had to artificially induce déjà vu like sensations in our test subjects. But since you've been experiencing them on a regular basis, we're hoping to capture images of naturally occurring déjà vu sensations.”
“How long will this take?” Kallie asked anxiously.
“It's hard to say,” Josh admitted. “Ordinarily, an fMRI scan would be about forty-five minutes. But in this case, the resting state scan could be a couple of minutes or a few hours.”
“You're going to wait until I have a sensation?”
“Or until our time runs out. We have the scanner booked for five hours,” Veronica chimed in from the other room, her voice filtering in through the head-coil which Josh still held in his hands.
Instinctively, Kallie looked at her wrist before remembering she'd removed all traces of metal from her person, which had included her watch.
“It's eleven-twenty-five,” Veronica said from the other room, her voice again filtering in through the helmet-coil.
Kallie looked toward the glass window and mouthed a thank you. She then turned back to Josh. She hadn't planned on the scan taking five hours. It would mean missing her afternoon classes. Before this week, she'd had perfect attendance in all her classes. She wondered briefly about where she could get today's missed class notes and then silently sent up a prayer of thanks that she didn't have any tests today, at least none planned. However, so far none of her professors had shown a penchant for surprise quizzes, although one never knew when the quiz-tide was subject to change. Regardless, she wanted to know what was going on inside her head. Whether it was good news or bad news, she needed to find out something today. “Okay, we'd better get started then.”
“Good,” Josh said. “Let's get you set up on the table.” Before he left the room, he gave her some final helpful tidbits and a reminder that she should remain completely still during the scan.
The scanner was louder than she'd anticipated. But it didn't sound like a jackhammer. To her, it sounded more like the electronic whining sound you heard when you accidentally called a fax line. It was that sound on major blast. She remembered that after her mother's MRI her mother had told her that classical music had played through her earphones during the scan. It had been Mozart's Symphony No. 40 in G minor. The same music Kallie's mother had played for Kallie as a toddler to help her to go to sleep. Kallie still found classical music relaxing and longed to hear some at the moment. But Josh had told her that they didn't want stimulation of any sort and that included music.
After about forty minutes or so in the scanner, she began to get used to the loud sounds and even discovered a rhythm within them. She found herself becoming relaxed, and despite the noise, sleepy. Due to the extreme brightness of the scanner, she'd closed her eyes from the moment the table had retracted into it, and now that she'd mentally conquered the noise, sleep beckoned.
Josh's voice filtered in through the head-coil. “You're doing great. How do you feel?”
“Fine,” she answered. “But I'm getting sleepy.”
“Try to stay awake,” Veronica said. “We'll do a dream-study at another time.”
“I'll try my best,” Kallie said. “But this is extremely boring.”
“I know, kiddo,” Josh said. “Just hang in there a little while longer.”
After another hour, the pull of sleep was overpowering. In an effort to ward it off, she instinctively and quickly opened her eyes. It was as if she stared directly into the sun. She blinked her eyes rapidly in an effort to recoup from the temporary flash blindness. After several seconds, her eyes still felt a little irritated, so she closed them again. But when she did so, a vision as bright and swift as a lightning bolt flashed into her mind's eye. She saw an explosion, a powerful one, of a building. There was shattered glass and body parts everywhere, entangled together like a bloody plate of mixed vegetables. She could hear sirens and horrified screams filling the air simultaneously. It was complete carnage. And she could see it all as clearly as if she was currently watching a television program in high definition.
“Are you getting this?” It was Josh's voice coming through the head-coil. And then Kallie let out a loud wail as she repeatedly squeezed the panic-ball.
* * *
McCarthy found Johnny Swag in the sanctuary, kneeling at the altar. McCarthy moved quietly down the aisle and took a seat on the first pew.
Sensing someone's presence, Swag turned around and immediately spotted his mentor. “Father McCarthy!” he said, and sprang to his feet. “Why didn't you tell me yesterday you were coming into town?”
“I wanted to surprise you,” McCarthy said. “Although with your remembering ability, I didn't think it would be possible.”
The two of them shook hands and embraced. “Well, you succeeded in it. I didn't see it coming.”
Swag led him through a door at the back of the sanctuary to the pastoral chambers. “May I offer you a drink,” he said after they'd entered the chambers and McCarthy was seated on the brown leather couch positioned perpendicular to the large, oak-top desk.
“Scotch and water with a little ice if you have it,” McCarthy said.
“Sure thing,” Swag said. He prepared the drink and brought it over to him. “So what brings you out this way? Business or pleasure?”
McCarthy sipped his drink. “A little of both I suppose, but mostly business.”
“Oh,” Swag said. “Anything I can help you with?”
“Actually, yes, there is.”
Swag sat down beside him on the couch. “All right. What's up?”
McCarthy took another sip from his drink and then placed the glass down on a side table. He faced Swag. “You know I've always been impressed with you. I sponsored your membership into the Alliance. And they've been equally impressed, perhaps more so.”
Swag shifted testily. “With all due respect, how about dispensing with the preliminaries? What's on your mind?”
“The Rogue,” McCarthy said. “The other Rememberers are certain he's here in the States. Somewhere in North Carolina, I'm told. He's changed his name obviously. But he's here. Yet your reports make no mention of him. I've been talking with you weekly and you haven't said a word. Why?”
“I think I'll fix myself a drink,” Swag said. “Care for another one?”
“No, I'm fine, thanks.”
Swag stood and walked to the back of the chambers to the wall-mounted liquor cabinet. As he prepared his drink, he smiled broadly at McCarthy. “My father was a Baptist preacher. For Baptists, drinking of any sort is usually frowned upon. My father never kept any of the stuff around. And his congregation thought that he was the salt of the earth. Few of them knew that he was a drunkard and a womanizer. I keep this liquor cabinet out in the open. I want everyone to know that I am who they believe me to be.” He took a long sip from his drink and rejoined McCarthy on the couch. You were a basketball player, right Father?”
“I was.”
“And from what I understand, you were quite good.”
“I was fair, I suppose.”
“There's no need for modesty,” Swag said. “Four conference championships in a row. Three time consensus All-American. A shot at playing professionally. I'd say that was more than fair.”
“What's the point?” McCarthy said impatiently.
“Exactly,” Swag said. “What was the point? Including high school, you played, what, eight years of competitive ball? If you'd decided to play professionally and had a solid career, you'd probably played what, another ten years or so? And every year it would be the same. You knew exactly how the season would end. Oh, the last team standing may have changed, but ultimately you knew how it was going to end. A team would be crowned champion. The other teams would be disappointed. One or two of them would vow that next year they would be the ones standing on the champion's podium. And the next year, maybe the previous champion repeated or maybe a new champion was crowned. But regardless, the same scenario played out. One team blissfully happy, all the others bitterly disappointed. And every year, it's the same thing—over and over and over again.”
“What does this have to do with the Rogue?”
“Have you stopped and asked yourself why he left?”
“He was disillusioned.”
Swag smirked. “Of course he was disillusioned. But why?”
“I don't see how that matters.”
“It matters because once you know why he left, you'll realize that this has nothing to do with stopping terrorist plots and saving lives, no matter how noble a cause that is.”
“All right then,” McCarthy said. “You tell me. Why was the Rogue disillusioned?”
“For the same reason you decided to no longer play basketball. He wanted more. You see, as a Rememberer he had the ability to see how this thing called life played out. And he had no desire to see how many championships he could win in a row. Or how many times he could lead the league in scoring or how many majors he could collect in a lifetime. Ultimately, he wanted off the merry-go-around.”
“I don't understand,” McCarthy said.
“The reason I can't find the Rogue is because he's changed the game. He's figured out a way to open demonic portals.”
* * *
“You knew about this?” McCarthy asked Boland. He was following behind the bishop in Boland's greenhouse.
“I did,” Boland said, stopping to water a plant.
“Then why wasn't I told?”
Boland ignored the question. The answer was obvious.
“But you told me to rein him in. How am I to be an effective mentor if he knows more than I do?”
Boland sighed. “Most effective leaders aren't skilled specialists in any particular area. They often have less knowledge on certain subjects than the people reporting to them. Leaders simply lead.”
McCarthy didn't respond to that. Instead, they were silent as they continued walking down the aisle while Boland watered his plants. When they reached the end of the row, McCarthy said, “I'm concerned about Swag. What if he suffers from the same disillusionment as the Rogue? With what he knows about A.I…”
Boland held up the watering can, silencing him. “Swag is only a man. Just like the Rogue. Had we known about the Rogue we might have saved him. We'll monitor Swag.”
“And you think that'll be enough?”
Boland smiled. “Well, it's that and prayer.”