Every Waking Moment (22 page)

MIRIAM POURED
the coffee as Mr. Davidson glanced around the kitchen. He was still holding his gun but Miriam hoped he might put it on the table while he drank. Maybe forget about it.

“She’s very good at this, isn’t she?” Davidson said.

“Treha? Oh, I think she has a gift.”

A grimace from the old man. Perhaps something in his memory bank that had overdrawn him.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Davidson? Is there something I can help you with? Maybe something you know about her that’s hidden?”

“We’re all hiding something, aren’t we? The best of us, the worst of us.”

“Earlier you seemed to think we were in danger. You talked about being monitored. What did you mean?”

Davidson acted as if he were hearing the words for the first time. Then his face changed and he put a withered hand on Miriam’s shoulder. “I’m just a silly old man with a confused mind. My story isn’t important.”

“I think it is. I think it’s important to her.”

He nodded. “Where did you find her? When she asks questions, I feel as if I am under some kind of spell. Perhaps it is her
captivating eyes. Or that she reminds me of a granddaughter. I almost get lost speaking with her, running through the fields of my youth. It’s as if she’s forcing me to remember. Not coercing, but something akin to drawing blood for analysis.”

“That’s a good analogy. I’ve seen her work with many people. She calls them from wherever they are. She brings them out. Like she’s calling you out to play, like your sister.”

He smiled at the mention of her. “I wish I could show you a picture. I have them at home in photo albums. In one she is fifteen or sixteen, in her uniform, as she called it. What she wore every day to the mill for many years. It was all she had. Her hand was bandaged in that photo. She had lost a finger in an accident. I believe she missed a half day of work.”

“Those were different times,” she said.

“Yes, it was a difficult life. But you did what you had to do to survive. Just like now.”

He strained as he sat at the table. Miriam had poured half a cup of coffee, anticipating his shaking hands. He still nearly spilled it as he lifted it to his lips with his left hand. He set it back down, put the pistol on the table, and picked the mug up with his right hand.

“Why are you so interested in her? In her past?” Davidson said.

Miriam sat next to him, as near to the pistol as she could get, and cradled her own coffee mug. “She’s like a daughter to me. A daughter I never had. And I think there is help for her. Hope for something better.”

“She is impaired?”

“You’ve seen her. The eyes, the body movement, the disconnection.”

“The gift.”

“Yes. I think there is more in life for her, and I wonder if, perhaps, you have a key to help us unlock that.”

He put the mug down and pushed his tongue under his dentures and stared at the tablecloth. It was the perfect chance for her to grab the pistol; she saw it there like ripened fruit.

Her cell phone rang. Davidson looked up.

“Excuse me,” Miriam said, glancing at the screen. The number was listed as private.

“No, don’t answer it,” he said.

“I have to
 
—it might be about Treha.”

He put a hand to his head. “I forgot to have you shut them off when I came. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Miriam moved past Davidson into the small hallway leading to her bedroom. Behind her, she heard Treha and the others go to Davidson, try to help him.

“Miriam, this is Kara Praytor. I saw your message on my blog.”

“Thank you,” Miriam said, catching her breath. “I’m surprised you called so quickly.”

“What’s this about?”

Miriam collected her thoughts. It sounded like the others had Davidson under control, so she continued. But what to say? If she asked if she could call back, she was afraid the woman might balk.

“Kara, I’m trying to piece together some information about the girl you wrote about in your blog. You called her Julie.”

A pause on the other end. “Oh. Are you related to her?”

Miriam closed her eyes. “No, but I think I know her.”

Kara hesitated. “I’m sure you’re legitimate, Miriam, but I’m not comfortable talking about former cases. Plus, that was a really long time ago.”

“I understand. And if this were just my curiosity, believe me,
I wouldn’t trouble you. I’m trying to help this girl by finding out about her past, why she’s damaged. And then give her hope for how to move forward.”

“You say you know her. What is her name?”

“Treha Langsam.”

Silence on the other end. “Treha. Oh, you don’t know how I’ve prayed for that girl to find a friend. How is she? Where is she?”

Miriam told her as quickly as she could about Treha’s life and about her gift. “Through the years she has co-opted the stories of others, people at the retirement home where she worked. She stole their stories because she has no past she remembers.”

Sniffling on the other end but a smile in the voice. “I can’t believe this. She’s come back to me. Is there a way I could talk to her? Hear her voice?”

Miriam said she was sure there was, but that Treha was involved with something at the moment. “She’s here with me. Staying at my house in Tucson. Can you tell me anything about where you found her? Where she came from?”

Miriam listened to the woman for a moment and then ran to the kitchen for a pad of paper and a pen.

TO TREHA,
the old man seemed more tired when he sat down in front of the camera again. That wasn’t supposed to happen after you drank coffee. He still carried the pistol, which didn’t concern Treha as much as it seemed to bother Jonah and Devin.

“Rolling,” Jonah said.

Davidson leaned forward. “Before we begin, would you mind if I asked you a question or two?”

Treha blinked but didn’t answer.

“I’m told you have a gift for this, for drawing people out as you have done with me.”

“People can become locked away in their minds. I help open the door.”

“You must have been highly valued at your workplace. Desert Gardens.”

“I was, but then I was let go.”

“Why? If you have so much to offer, why would they jettison you?”

Treha turned to Devin. “You wanted me to ask him questions.”

Devin smiled. “It’s okay; we want to hear.” He whispered something to Jonah.

“I don’t know why,” Treha said, facing the old man again. “The person who runs the facility said I was a danger to the residents, which isn’t true.”

“A danger?”

“She said there were things in my record. She didn’t want to take the chance of me hurting someone.”

“Have you ever hurt anyone, Treha?”

She didn’t respond.

“Have you ever lost your temper? Do you remember anything like that?”

“Perhaps when I was younger.”

“How did getting fired make you feel?” Davidson said.

Treha shrugged.

“It sounds like you enjoyed working with Dr. Crenshaw and the others.”

“I did.”

“And when you were let go, you didn’t feel anything? No anger? No pain?”

She didn’t answer.

“Surely you felt something. If you had friends there, you must miss them. You must feel a certain injustice in being treated this way.”

Treha gripped the arms of the chair, digging her fingernails into the soft leather. “They told me not to come back, so I didn’t.”

“You must be upset that you can’t use your gift. Are you angry?”

Treha glanced back. They had focused the camera on her profile and suddenly she felt awkward. The intensity of the old man’s gaze stirred something inside she didn’t like.

“Treha, do you ever get angry? Are you ever happy or sad?”

She looked away from him and stared at a spot on the floor, her jaw clenched, muscles flexing.

“I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“You’re not,” she said, her voice tight. “Can we get back to you?”

The old man cradled the pistol in his lap. “Tell me something that makes you angry or upset. Or happy. Do you have a happy memory?”

She looked at her fingernails. “My mother took me to an ice cream shop when I was a little girl and let me order a bowl. I sat on the chair and she told me to stay; then she walked out the door and never returned.”

A whisper behind her and she turned.

“That didn’t happen to you,” Devin said. “Dr. Crenshaw told us about that when we interviewed him.”

“Is that what drew you to the people at Desert Gardens?” Davidson said, his voice calm and reassuring. “Were you shaping a history of your own from the stories you heard? Because you can’t remember? Or don’t want to remember?”

“I answered your question.”

“With a fabrication,” he said. “You told me someone else’s story.”

“I don’t eat ice cream,” Treha said. “Now you know why. Can we continue?”

“What else did Dr. Crenshaw tell you?”

Typing now, her fingers flew across her lap. “He talked about his life. Where he grew up. His family. His wife. How he came to the facility. He gave me riddles, word games, because he knew I was good at them.”

“Did he tell you anything about his work?”

“He was a doctor.”

“What kind of doctor?”

“Obstetrician. Gynecologist. He worked with mothers having babies.”

“Yes, that is how I came to know him as well. I worked for Phutura developing medicines. I sometimes asked him to help me find willing participants for my research. This is why I believe he wrote to me. Did he talk to you about this?”

“No.”

“And you didn’t ask? You never wondered why he was so interested in you?”

“I was interested in what he wanted to tell me. I don’t like to pry.”

“But you’re prying into my life.”

“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want,” she said evenly.

He dipped his head and there was a slight smile.

“You’re trying to make me angry,” Treha said.

“I’m looking for emotion.”

More typing, but Treha didn’t speak.

“What really happened to your mother? She didn’t leave you in an ice cream shop.”

Mrs. Howard stepped into the room. Treha glanced up and saw a look on her face that seemed both weighty and relieved.

“I don’t know my mother. I never knew her.”

“Pictures? A name?”

She shook her head.

“And what about your father? Brothers and sisters? You had to have a childhood. What was it like?”

She shook her head again.

Davidson’s eyes wandered like a man who has gone on a
journey home and sees something that sparks a memory. He sat back, his arms limp, the gun dangling.

“What is it, Mr. Davidson?” Devin said. “Are you all right?”

Davidson looked at Treha and instead of paranoia she saw recognition, sure knowledge of the past.

“The answer,” he whispered. He pointed an arthritic finger at her.

“What?” Treha said. “What answer?”

“The riddles he gave you. He wasn’t looking for something inside you.
You
are the answer. You are the question he had. The question I have held at the back of my mind for many years.” Tears rose in the old man’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, Treha.”

The coffeepot gasped in the next room. Otherwise the house was still. All eyes were focused on Davidson.

“What are you sorry about?” Treha said softly, inviting.

Davidson wiped his face with a hand. “Treha, I believe Dr. Crenshaw found you
 
—I don’t know how, but he did
 
—because he must have been under a weight of guilt about what happened. And this is why he sought you out, suggested you work there. The quizzes, the riddles, the word games you played
 
—these were not happenstance; they were engineered.”

“Why?”

“Because he wanted to observe the effects, I believe.” Davidson looked at Devin and Jonah. “This is important for you to get. I want you to hear every word.”

Jonah focused the camera and nodded at the old man that he was ready.

Davidson leaned back and spoke toward the camera. “I worked for Phutura Pharmaceuticals for many years before starting my own company, an independent laboratory. At Phutura, there was pressure on us to perform, to come up with
new products, new medication. There was competition from other laboratories and a great deal of money involved.

“By accident my experimentation led to what I thought was a breakthrough. That’s the way it happens. You are looking for a medication that will stimulate the pancreas to produce insulin, for example, and you come upon something vastly different but just as important.

“My research held great promise and potentially huge profits for Phutura. We focused on an antidepressant, antianxiety medication. I won’t go into the technical information, but from a layman’s point of view, it was perfect. Safe enough for even a pregnant woman to use. Or so we thought. The delivery system was supposed to get the medication to the prefrontal cortex more effectively. But instead it penetrated the limbic system. It did what we wanted, but in the wrong place.” He put a hand to his forehead as if in pain. “We discovered this with the laboratory animals.”

“So this was not a legal trial you were conducting?” Devin said from behind Treha.

“No.”

“Keep going,” Treha said.

“Everything was going well in the laboratory. Everything seemed to be in line. But I was using two separate control groups of laboratory animals, and I realized there were problems. Certain symptoms I didn’t anticipate.”

Treha glanced back as Jonah adjusted the camera for a tighter shot of Davidson’s face.

“The animals, in the initial stages, showed amazing response. The medication calmed them, took away hyperactivity, but also allowed them to focus and narrow their mental acuity. I conducted tests on the brains of the animals. I was elated about the possibilities, but after a few weeks I noticed a degeneration.”

“What type of degeneration?” Miriam said.

Treha looked at her, but the questions coming from different sources didn’t seem to bother Davidson.

He pursed his lips. “Nystagmus. Aggression. When stress chemicals stimulate the limbic system inappropriately, the result can be anger and rage. I knew then that human trials were out of the question.” He looked again at Treha.

“So you told Phutura about this?” Miriam said.

“I told the director of research immediately. A man named Hollingsworth. He’s still with the company, though in a higher position. He was disappointed, of course, but I considered the problem solved. I had lost valuable time and energy on this research, but no one was hurt. Phutura assured me nothing further would be done with the medication.”

“They lied to you.”

“Yes. To my face. While I was shutting down the research, discovering the drawbacks to the medication, Phutura went ahead with the development. Another team was given my notes, my research, and they continued working.

“But this is not the worst of it. Not only did they continue the research; they went behind my back and found a medical doctor who would introduce a human trial. A test subject who could never be traced, in case something went wrong.”

“Not Dr. Crenshaw,” Treha said.

Davidson nodded. “Yes. Jim Crenshaw. When I discovered this, I went to Hollingsworth. We had a heated conversation. I threatened to go to the authorities. To the media. I told him I would report the company. That I didn’t care what happened to me.”

“How did he respond?” Miriam said.

“He turned on me like a wild animal. He threatened my
career, told me I would be the one prosecuted. That the company would disavow any knowledge of what I was doing and that Crenshaw would go along with it. Would implicate me.”

The man’s face clouded and he looked down. “And then he did what those in power will do. He offered money. If I would keep things quiet, it would all go away. No one needed to know. I would be set for the rest of my life. My family wouldn’t have to worry. All of that.”

“And you accepted,” Miriam said.

“Yes. To my shame. And the research on this medication ended. No more women were subjected to it. But they continued to test the delivery part of the active medication, thinking it might be useful in other medications. That research did not end until two years ago. And then the company dumped the waste.” He sighed. “The truth is like a toxic spill, in a way. It is a dangerous thing. And it will come to the surface one day. The truth is always there, haunting you, hovering over you. Always ready to return.”

“The truth being what?” Devin said.

“The damage done to the fetus, the unborn child of the woman involved in the human trial, was unconscionable. They never considered the possibility that this medication would be a teratogen
 
—would hurt the unborn. Of course I didn’t know the identity of the test subject. Jim Crenshaw did. I never knew the results, but I feared all these years that someone would come forward. And I also feared that no one would. That the company would not be held liable.

“Then I heard of the lawsuit, the schoolchildren who have developed abnormalities. This might never have come to light if the company had ceased development and disposed of the medication properly. But somehow it got into the groundwater
near the school. Apparently the school is on its own water system, separate from the nearby town. I don’t know why, but the truth is coming back, coming to the surface. Obviously the lawyers for those parents and children have a link to Phutura, but there’s no way for them to identify the drug or know about its effects. If their legal team ever found this information, there would be a huge settlement. It could bankrupt the company.”

Davidson leaned forward. “This is for the authorities. In case something happens to me. I want you to know the truth. This is why my house was bugged and why they are listening even now. I know I sound like a crazy old man, but I’m not. You will find that all of the records of my work for Phutura have been destroyed. There is no paper trail to me, but I’m swearing in front of these people now, there were human tests done, unauthorized human tests.”

“Tell me about the tests,” Treha said.

He set his jaw and nodded. “You deserve to know. . . . Many people in developing countries will agree to undergo trials without knowing the risks. And some in this country are desperate enough that they will agree to almost anything. When I uncovered what was happening and confronted Hollingsworth, I also went to Crenshaw and discovered he was using a young mother, her pregnancy well along. She was taking the medication for anxiety and depression and it was actually helping her. There were special circumstances with her case
 
—I’m not sure of the specifics. Dr. Crenshaw said there would be no problem, that no one would be able to trace the child. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Was that me?” Treha said.

The man nodded again.

“Why would it never be detected?” Miriam said.

“The mother was giving up the child at birth. It was a blind
adoption. Dr. Crenshaw was helping facilitate that. I don’t know much else except that Treha’s mother was told the medication wouldn’t harm her child.” The man’s voice was grandfatherly. “Jim Crenshaw must have tracked you down.”

“But why?” Devin said. “If he lied to Treha’s mother
 
—and if the company paid you off
 
—they paid off Crenshaw, too, right? He was opening himself up for trouble. He’d want to keep her as far away as he could.”

“Yes,” Davidson said. “That is what I would have thought too. I’ve remained silent all these years, kept quiet and moved to the estate. But something must have made Crenshaw want to take a chance on finding Treha.”