Atmosphere (26 page)

"We've only got two dead for sure, as far as we know right now. The rest are missing. Regardless, it doesn't matter. Sure and simple, it's definitely a cult. And they're running around carrying out their sick rituals at will."

Frank allowed his three personalities to weigh Hector's assumption as a possibility. In the forefront of their views, they all seemed to agree, that he was right and that no logical alternative existed other than to go along with his immediate speculation: that all this time they've been unearthing the doings of some nationwide extremist cult. "It's really frightening."

"Very much so. Usually, under most circumstances, extremist clans are dangerous only to themselves. But here? This seems to be a unique situation, Charles Manson meets Marshall Applewhite, to the tenth degree."

Frank's detective mind wandered away from the logical postulation, at once spotting a few details that didn't make sense. "You know, I was just thinking... Bobby Lindsay had actually revealed to us that he was involved with a religious group. It was his excuse for the shaven head—"

"There you go."

"—but then how come we never found any evidence outside of his confession and his appearance that there had been any involvement?"

"You also never found the hole in his bedroom floor."

Frank nodded within the silence. "Which I guess leads me to my next question. That hole, tunnel, whatever they said was there in his room. It wasn't there, Hect. We turned the entire house upside down. And then there's the tunnel that Harold Gross slipped away in, in the courtyard."

"That was a cesspool duct, he plucked the manhole cover off it."

"But there was a tunnel leading away from it down below, you said yourself that it had been dug out somehow. And then—and don't keep denying this—but...that object the kid was holding in the alley. I still think it has some significance."

Hector sipped his coffee. "A religious icon."

Frank thought about that. In some countries, people kill others over their beliefs. So it seemed to make some sense that Gross, in a state of religious frenzy, would have risked his life over retrieving the odd statuette. "I agree that everything we've discovered today could easily fall into a case involving an extremist cult—except, of course, the presence of the tunnels. Until these could be explained, I have to keep an alternate explanation under consideration."

Hector grinned incredulously. "What, like aliens burrowed out the tunnel?"

Hector didn't understand Frank's train of thought, that he had three personalities doing battle at all times inside his head, that he possessed varying viewpoints on almost every subject placed in front of him. Did he really believe in the far-fetched alien theory? Not really. Most evidence did indeed point to the existence of a cult. His weak yet rational personality believed in the cult, so did his strong, truth-seeking detective—for the most part. But deep within his irrational-impulsive personality—the one that usually got him into trouble, the one that wanted to shoot the rat in the gutter—some doubts existed with respect to the obvious answers that lay on the surface. It felt that somewhere deep down beyond the obvious, the real truth to the situation sat cloaked. And since Frank remained faithful to all his personalities, he needed to accept this alternate as a possibility, however debatable it seemed, until he could convince himself with sound explanations to
all
possible questions.

"Frank?"

Frank shook away his thoughts. "Yes...I'm here."

"It's almost two, we ought to retire. There's much we have to do tomorrow."

"Wait. I want to see the rest of the web pages, at least the one on the binaural beats."

"Okay, but this is it. I'm asleep at the wheel. Hector rolled the mouse, aiming the cursor over linked page #5:
Alien Methodology Revealed: Binaural Beats Utilized To Manipulate Brainwave Patterns.

BINAURAL BEATS THE RHYTHM OF SOUND AND ENTRAINMENT:

Rhythm is the nature of the universe. Everything moves to its own beat. From the micro-orbits of electrons and protons to the macro-orbits of planets, stars and galaxies. In lifeforms rhythm is even more obvious, from the continuous beating of the heart, to the cycles of the breath. The cadence of human beings is intricately woven into the web of cosmic pulsation.

Soundwaves are measured in cycles per second (hertz or Hz). Each cycle of a wave is in reality a single pulse of sound. The average range of hearing for the human ear is somewhere between 16,000 Hz. and 20,000 Hz. We cannot hear extremely low frequencies (ELFs), but we can perceive them as rhythmic, and the alien body has cleverly utilized this function to their advantage.

Entrainment is the process of synchronization, where the vibrations of one object will cause the vibrations of another object to oscillate at the same rate. External rhythms, such as in ambient music, can have a direct effect on the psychology and physiology of the listener. Slower tempos from 48-70 BPMS have been proven to decrease heart and respiratory rates, thereby altering the predominate brainwave patterns, directly affecting behavior.

Binaural beats are continuous tones of subtly different frequencies—most common in techno music—which are delivered to each ear independently in stereo via headphones. If the left channel's pitch is 100 cycles per second and the right channel's pitch is 108 cycles per second, the difference between the two equals 8 cycles per second. When these sounds are combined they produce a pulsing tone that waxes and wanes in a "wah-wah" rhythm, which quite effectively seizes control of various parts of the brain, based on cyclical dissimilarities. Binaural beats are not an external sound; rather they are subsonic frequencies heard within the brain itself. These frequencies are created as both hemispheres work simultaneously to hear sounds that are pitched differently by key mathematical intervals (window frequencies). The brainwaves respond to these oscillating tones by following them (entrainment) and both hemispheres begin to work together. Communication between the two sides of the brain is associated with flashes of creativity, insight and wisdom on some levels; pleasure, eroticism, and primordial yearning on others.

The four main brainwave patterns are BETA, ALPHA, THETA and DELTA. Each has a characteristic blueprint and produces a distinctive state of consciousness. BETA waves (14 cycles per second and above) dominate the normal waking state of consciousness when attention is directed towards the outside world, and are initially optimized by the alien body process. ALPHA waves (8-13 cycles per second) are present during dreaming and light meditation when the eyes are closed, and are broadcast by the alien body in external form through the use of radio frequencies. THETA waves (4-7 cycles per second) occur in sleep and are dominate in the highest state of mediation. In deep meditation and deep sleep, DELTA waves (.5 to 3 cycles per second) are experienced. The optimum level for deep thought is in the realm of THETA. When in THETA, the senses are withdrawn from the external world and focused on then inner one. DELTA waves endow a total evacuation from existence and provide the most profound feelings of peace. Ultimately, through the alien hypnosis, DELTA waves are predominant, and present during all of the subject's activity.

By strategically placing and moving sounds around the head and body, the sounds are experienced in subjective spaces. This can enhance and modify the perceived experience of them. Primarily effective when listened to through headphones, these soundtracks create precise locations in three-dimensional soundscapes. A determinate combination of alien pulse and binaural beats associated with techno music results in the attainment of hypnosis suitable for carrying out the alien body methodology (more on alien methodology in linked page # 4.

Ruefully yours,

[email protected]

Hectors eyes looked as if glass had been blown across them; beneath, dark prune-like rings. "I know you're very tired," Frank said. "But we do have to consider this as a possibility, Hect. We've seen all this today, and I'm guessing there's more similarities in his other pages. We need to read them."

"I don't think I can do that right now, Frank. I'm pushing twenty-four hours. I'm beat."

Frank rubbed his eyes. "Tomorrow, before we leave, can you print the other essays out?"

"Sure." Hector move the mouse, performed a few clicks. "There. I've saved them on my hard drive."

"Thanks," Frank said. He hesitated a moment, then rubbed his hands together. "So what's the plan for tomorrow?"

Hector turned the computer off and stood up. His bones made a cracking noise. "Ouch...let me sleep on that one Frank. I'll let you know in the morning. I'll get you a pillow and a blanket. Try to get in a few hours, okay?"

Frank nodded, although he knew sleep would be hard to find. His body wanted it but he wasn't too sure his mind would allow it. "I'll try my best."

Hector left and returned with a white pillow and a large blue comforter.

"Thanks, Hect."

Hector retreated in silence, then turned and said, "Tomorrow's probably gonna be another long day."

Frank closed his eyes.
Dear God, I hope not.

T
he night was black, but far from silent.

Lester wandered the desolate west-end streets for what seemed like hours until he finally caught word of the night's location. Talk on the streets had the site set inside an abandoned warehouse bordering the docks near 18th street, but as it so happened, last minute arrangements had to be made due to a band of undercover authorities that had performed a non-related drug sweep in the area, breaking up the start of the gathering and forcing the troops to reassemble twenty blocks north at 38th street behind an abandoned tenement, just west of Hell's Kitchen.

When Lester finally located the congregation, many had already gathered. He inconspicuously slithered in and around the site, easily blending in but still soliciting some measly, paranoid sneers from the others in attendance, their wild eyes rolling with no direction in mind other than to provide alarm to those who ventured too near, or to seek guidance from the Leader.

Jyro.

Lester was anxious because he had news for Jyro tonight, and had been seeking him ever since those cops came into the building looking for the man in black earlier tonight. He'd been following this particular man in black for a few days now, just as Jyro had instructed the troops to do, and was sheltering in the lobby when he heard the cops approach. He remembered exchanging a few choice words with them, careful not to reveal too much about the rebellion. He took off in urgent plea to reveal the occurrence to the leader, as the great Jyro needed all eventualities—however slight—to be reported, especially if the clash upon the...upon
them
, was to succeed.

Flames pranced from garbage-can fires situated at various locations about the site, each offering warmth to four or five homeless men huddling close in an effort to escape the frigid night air. Wild howls flew back and forth from amidst the tiny groups—gutteral discharges, profanities, senseless shouts—each serving no purpose other than for those in attendance to dispense their aggressions in anticipation of the approaching festivities.

Slowly, Lester wound in and about the homeless cliques through the camp, all the way until he could go no further, finding himself at the entrance of a small tent made out of a large blue tarpaulin. Two large black men stood at the flapping entrance, muscles swelling, each gripping a formidable looking steel pipe that had been either ripped from a nearby awning, or torn from a gutter. They wore tightly woven bandanas on their skulls and sneered at Lester's approach, as if he were trespassing on sacred ground, which in this obscure little world, probably rang true.

One of the guards stepped forward and abruptly wielded his pipe down across Lester's path, like a medieval sentry stationed at a palace entrance. Lester stopped short, feeling the wind of the rapidly swung pipe upon his filthy face. He caught his breath just in time to defend himself before being questioned.

"I-I have news for Jyro!" he bellowed, cowering as if expecting a blow.

The looming guard's eyebrows pointed into a dark V. "Address the Leader with respect, disheveler."

Lester swallowed a lump in his throat, his glance nervously darting between the two scowling guards. "I have news for the Leader." His breaths were short and stagnant.

The guard pressed his steel pipe against Lester's chest, then peered back at the second watchman as he stuck his head into the tent. He pulled out after a few moments, turned, and nodded slightly.

The guard pulled his pipe back and placed his face inches from Lester's. His breath stank of whiskey and something rotten. "The leader will see you, disheveler." Lester was quickly and forcefully guided into the tent.

The interior of the tent was much larger thanLester had imagined standing outside. Actually, the tent itself served only as a drape to the entrance of an alley situated between an abandoned building and a chain-link fence. A few torn couches and mattresses sat haphazardly at the entrance of the alley in apparent attempt to create interior coziness. Three additional 'guards' seated on the couches immediately stood upon Lester's entrance, two of them holding pipes, one a large kitchen knife, each making the passage past the scrappy furniture all the more daunting. He could feel their hot rancid breaths on his cheeks as he passed them by, each puff filled with threat, their flexing muscles providing an additional obstacle en route to the Leader.