Whitley Strieber: The Omega Point

He’d also had the sense that his answers didn’t matter to her, and even that she didn’t understand his discussions of patient evaluation methodologies, the uses of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders , his thoughts about drugs to be used and dosing, or, frankly, any of it.

No matter this document, whatever it might actually mean, he had no intention of proceeding if anything other than his professional qualifications had gone into his hiring. It was already a sticking point that she’d come to Manhattan Central and found him, even though he wasn’t looking for work. First in his class at Johns Hopkins had been the stated reason.

“If you didn’t hire me on my medical qualifications—”

“You have magnificent qualifications.”

“Who is Caroline Light? What class?”

“Doctor, you will remember.”

“No. I need to know right now or we need to turn around and go back to New York.”

“You have nothing to go back to. You’ve resigned.”

That was true enough. For everyone working just now, there were fifty ready to take his job, and his position at Manhattan Central had no doubt been filled within hours of his leaving.

“What class?”

“You were in a class as a child. On the Acton estate.”

“That’s impossible.”

“That’s what you say now, but you’ll remember.”

“Why would I forget?”

“Because if you had not been made to forget, you might have revealed something about an extremely sensitive matter. Any of you.”

“ Any of us? Of who?”

“The class!”

“I don’t remember this class, Mrs. Denman, so I need you to explain it, please.”

“David, the class is now assembled at the clinic. They will appear to be patients.”

“ Appear to be? Mrs. Denman, please. What am I getting into?”

“David, when you’re at the clinic, you’ll remember more on your own, and there will be somebody coming soon who’ll help you remember everything.”

If there was one thing he could not handle and had never been able to handle, it was helplessness. He needed to be in control of his life, and that was at the core of his willingness to take this job. He wouldn’t be under control of a hospital administration, he would control one—or so he had thought.

“This is an outrage.”

“Yes, it is, David. I admit it. You were always the only candidate for the job.”

He could not turn back, that was clear. He did not relish ending up on the street just now. The world was starving and there was no recourse. Professionals were clawing for food alongside beggars.

“You’ve lied to me. In effect, kidnapped me.”

“And who’re you gonna call? The FBI?”

He waved the report. “I hope I’m not expected to deal with supply problems and survival issues, because this looks like a horrific disaster. Something way beyond the Acton Clinic.”

“You have been trained to navigate us through this. You are uniquely qualified.”

“I’ve had one class in disaster management. I treat psychiatric disease.”

“You will remember. Trust me on that.”

“Trust you ?”

“You must understand—”

“I don’t understand a thing!”

“Shut up, boy!”

“I will not shut up! I don’t understand and I need to understand because you’re dropping me into an incredibly challenging situation and at the same time telling me that I’ve somehow forgotten all the damn rules. Come on!”

The jet shuddered.

“Oh, God,” she said. “I loathe air travel.”

“It’s starting to land, that’s all. What am I supposed to remember?”

“David, let’s please just get through the landing!”

“What in hell am I supposed to remember?”

She sighed. In her eyes he saw something beyond desperation, the expression of an animal that is dying and knows it has run out of options.

But then again, that was apparently the definition of the entire world, if this document of hers was to be believed. Everyone had been assuming that it would be like this another few weeks or months. Surely it would get better.

And surely it would. Earth wasn’t descending into hell… was it?

As they banked, David could see the trees over northern Maryland brushed with fragile early spring leaf, a dusting of green not quite thick enough to camouflage the reality on the ground, of burned-out houses and strip malls, and abandoned vehicles along the roads.

Off to the west, he saw a large estate, a complex of shale roofs in lovely, manicured grounds. He could see figures on the grounds, a man riding a lawn tractor, two others walking along the curving driveway.

“Is that it?”

She jabbed the intercom. “How much longer, damn it?”

“Five minutes, Ma’am.”

She regarded David. “I don’t want to die. Isn’t it odd? An old woman like me. So selfish.”

He wasn’t interested in her anxieties. “It’s human nature,” he snapped, causing her to blink and set her jaw. Well, let her be offended. “I need to get to the bottom of this,” he continued. “Tell me about this class. And if I’m suffering from an amnesia, what was responsible or who? Was I underage? Did my parents consent?”

“Of course they did! Your father brought you to the class.”

“I’m taking this job as a clinician, not a survival expert or whatever it is you expect me to be. I’m a psychiatrist and that’s all I am.”

“Think of yourself as a shepherd.”

“All right. That’s valid. But not a disaster expert.”

“You’re our Quetzalcoatl.”

How tiresome. Since it had been realized that December 21, 2012, actually did have some significance, everyone was an expert on Aztec and Mayan civilization, and their dreary, complicated, and unforgiving gods.

“I am so tired of that stupid fad. Those damn gods didn’t mean a thing.”

“They had meaning.”

“Come on !”

“Not in the way people think, of course. They represent scientific principles that have been lost. Human personality types, hidden powers. But you understand all this. You just need to remember, David.”

“Remember what ?”

They came in low over the estate, then banked again, this time quite sharply, resulting in an excellent view of the property.

Behind the shale roofs of what was obviously a very large mansion, stood an austere modern building. The whole establishment was surrounded by high brick walls.

“Is that razor wire on the walls?”

She peered out the window. “Looks like it. We have an excellent security organization. I’m sure it’s there for good reason.”

“I’m sure.”

When they landed, what looked to David like an unusually heavy black car appeared, some sort of Lincoln, he thought. Andy the waiter opened the jet, dropping down the door and lowering the steps. David checked his watch. They’d been in the air for thirty-eight minutes, a journey that would have taken six hours by car, assuming the roads were open. But with all the disabled vehicles around nowadays, it could have easily taken a week, or proved to be impossible.

As they went down the steps, the pilot appeared.

“We need to keep moving,” he shouted over the whine of the engines.

Andy was already putting David’s bags in the trunk. Mrs. Denman had no bags. She was returning tonight.

David gazed off across the airport. There were a couple of Cessnas in tie-downs. The wreckage of two personal jets—newer than this one—lay piled alongside the runway.

“Get in the car!” Andy barked. David realized that he’d taken on a new role. In the air, he was a servant. Here, a bodyguard.

David jumped in. A moment later, the trunk slammed, the pilot returned to the jet and it took off, making the car shake violently as its exhaust hit the vehicle.