Chapter Thirty-Seven - Richard Bellamy
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Richard Bellamy
THE WINDOW OF the white sedan was cracked as an orange ember appeared to float in the darkness, Bellamy sat in his car pulling a deep drag from a lit cigarette. The night folded around him, glancing at the clock, 9:30 PM. Through the window of the diner, he watched as Jason and Ethan took a seat at their booth. Their face shadowed under the dim light of the nearly empty diner.
Bellamy didn’t need to be a brilliant psychologist to interpret their body language. He watched as Ethan peered stoically through the window of their diner booth, Jason watching him concerned. The session with Bellamy had Ethan rattled — Good, Bellamy thought.
He continued to watch, turning over his car’s heater every few minutes to stay warm. The outside weather was damp and cold — large clouds loomed overhead promising a wet, heavy snow. Bellamy’s stomach churned with anticipation, remembering the incredible potential Ethan demonstrated tonight.
Such raw potential, percolates just below the surface. He hadn’t seen this much potential in a while, not since Naomi. He adjusted his rearview mirror as a campus duty officer slowly cruised past him.
The night he discovered Naomi’s potential had started like any other. The lab was quiet, the familiar rhythmic hum of computers and equipment idling throughout. Bellamy was leaning over his desk, reviewing data, when the knock first came.
“Come in,” he said mindlessly, he continued pouring over the charts, without looking up.
Naomi entered, her face pale and drawn, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion. She clutched her arms tightly as if literally holding herself together.
“I can’t do this anymore, Dr. Bellamy. I feel like I’m going to crack under the pressure,” She said, her voice hoarse.
Bellamy set down his pen and stood, “Naomi, what’s going on?”
She seemed to crack at the seams with his question, Naomi took ambled over to a chair and collapsed. “The visions won’t stop. I see things — terrible things — people dying, disasters. I can’t sleep. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
Bellamy moved to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder, “You’re under immense pressure, you’re writing your dissertation, managing my lab, and we are preparing for a huge psychology conference. It sounds like the stress is just getting to you.”
Naomi nodded in disagreement, “No, it’s more than that. These are real images. I can see things happening for they happen.”
Bellamy stalked around his desk, taking a seat in front of her, “Your gifts are starting to show?” He asked.
“I think so, you were right,” She said.
Naomi had been among the very few with who Bellamy had revealed his true scientific aims. She had been a special referral made by a case worker who worked closely with military scientists aimed at researching neurological attunements. Naomi having hailed from the foster care system, required special attention, and when approached by the caseworker, Bellamy had relished the opportunity to mentor a young woman — perhaps he was making up for the death of his daughter, or it was something else. He treated Naomi as a daughter, offering every resource he had at his disposal as a professor at SSU. By folding her into his lab and becoming her academic mentor, he was able to keep an eye on the precise moment her abilities would manifest. Like clockwork, under the appropriate amount of stress, Naomi now sat in his office experiencing visions.
“Naomi, these abilities are a gift. They come with challenges, but we can work through them,” He said.
Before he could say more, the lights dimmed in his office, the lamp flickering. Her body stiffened, her eyes rolled back in her head. She violently convulsed, her breathing hitched as she slid from the chair to the floor. Bellamy knelt beside her, panic rising in his chest.
“Naomi! Stay with me!”
But as quickly as the seizure came, it went. Naomi opened her eyes, they radiated a rose-gold light, “Papa?” she said.
Bellamy froze. “The voice was unmistakably Isabelle’s.” His throat closed, “Isabelle?”
Naomi — or Isabelle — smiled faintly. “You have to let me go. You can’t fix this.”
Bellamy’s breath caught. For a moment, a brief shining moment, he believed he had done it. But how? He had bridged the gap between life and death. But as Naomi’s body slackened, her own voice returned, weak, and confused.
“What…happened?” She rasped.
Bellamy’s expression hardened, helping her up back into the chair. Naomi’s head swam, she perched her elbow on the armrest and supported her head. He watched her for only a moment before deciding what to do. He had seen his daughter emanate through her, she spoke to him — as a child. This was the closest he had ever been to proving his theory.
“Stay there child, I’m going to get you some water,” He stood up and moved around his desk. Reaching into the top drawer, he produced a syringe.
Rounding on Naomi, he spoke softly, “It’s alright, Naomi. You’ll rest now.” With dexterous ease, he slipped the syringe into her arm injecting her before he could protest, and her body went limp.
It had taken everything Bellamy had, he was able to sneak her out of the Henderson building and to the faculty parking lot with little suspicion. As an aging academic, he had lost much of his strength from his days with the Harvard rowing club. Getting her from his car to the makeshift lab he had constructed in his basement was considerably easier. It was a shabby space, dimly lit. The walls were lined with aging medical equipment and hastily scribbled notes. He gently laid Naomi on a cot, her breathing steady but shallow.
Bellamy had converted an old tool benching to a lab table, he pulled a stool up and began jotting quickly.
“Describe what you see,” he said, his voice was yet insistent.
Naomi’s eyes fluttered open, her speech slurred. “A boy…a bright light. It’s too far away to touch.”
Bellamy scribbled furiously, “And the light? What does it mean?”
She groaned, turning her head, and the room spun. “I don’t know…too loud.”
Bellamy leaned back, tossing his pen onto the workbench. For weeks, he had pushed her, testing the limits of her abilities. Yet, she had only embodied Isabelle once, and her premonitions were inconsistent at best. He reviewed his notes. What was keeping her from accessing the deeper reaches of her attunement?
Grabbing the pen, he underlined: Lorazepam?
To keep her compliant and calm, Bellamy had spent the last two weeks injecting four milligrams every six hours. He hated every time he did it, but it was for the sake of his research. But his supply was running low and his source from the Sibley-Palmer Medical Center refused to provide him more.
Was the medication dulling her senses? Blocking her access to the deeper cognitive reaches of her attunement? He glanced at the framed photo of Winona and Isabelle on the makeshift lab table. His heart ached. If only he could perfect this, then he could be with them again. He could warn Winona to get the treatment earlier, he could help Isabelle before she lost her grip on reality.
One evening, after another fruitless session, Naomi stirred on the cot next to Bellamy. “There’s someone else,” she murmured.
Bellamy looked from his notes, his pulse quickened as she stirred again, “Someone else? What do you mean?”
She moaned, “An attuned. A powerful one. He’s a chess piece in a bigger game — beyond this world.”
Bellamy’s mind raced. A new subject? Untapped potential?
After an exhausting week, Bellamy struggled to keep going at the pace he was keeping. Maintaining appearances at the university and conducting sessions with Naomi at night was taking his toll. Slowly, he had begun tapering her dose down, trying to find the right mixture to keep her calm and compliant while unblocking her abilities. After learning of another attuned on campus, he had become obsessed with expanding her abilities, learning all he could, but to no avail. Calling it an early night, Bellamy left his lab earlier than usual, lumbering up the creaky basement stairs to sleep.
After hearing the door slam shut, Naomi stirred. She was groggy, but aware, she saw her chance. She stumbled to her feet, her mind swimming from the drug, while Bellamy had used restraints, they were easily untethered. He was a psychologist, not a prison guard after all. With a trembling hand, she undid her restraints and made her way out of his house.
She ran to the only place she could think of, campus. Bellamy’s modest home was only a block away from the Spire from there she would get her bearings and figure out her next steps. As she arrived to the central quad, the Spire looming above her, her head cleared enough for the voices and visions to bleed through. She knew she had to get to higher ground, something told her she needed to get above the noise. Then her head would be clear enough to decide what to do next.
Pushing through the thick foliage surrounding the Spire, she raced to the top. She could see all of campus, the lights twinkling so beautifully. The Halloween carnival was in full swing, just on the other side of campus. As she stepped out onto the ledge, she felt the sounds dissipate, the silence beckoned her forward. Her head was clear, the seduction of silence was intoxicating.
With just one step forward from the ledge, it could be hers entirely.