Altered Children
Chapter 7: Jason and Peter

Jason and Peter Starkey’s fourth birthday was August 19, 2022. Peter was older by two minutes. Now, three months later, they were in their beds, separated by a nightstand with a lamp and clock radio on it. Their bedroom was large, having been converted from the two adjacent bedrooms there when their parents bought the house. They each had a student’s desk, dresser and closet.

A new laptop computer sat quiescent on each desk, birthday presents from their parents because of the astonishing aptitude for and interest in computers they had recently demonstrated. Their computers were connected through their home’s wireless network to each of their parents’ computers and the Internet.

Across the room, opposite the nightstand, double doors led to the upstairs landing. They shared a bathroom at the west end of the landing. The stairs at the east end of the landing, next to the guest bedroom, led to the first floor. Their parent’s master bedroom, their father’s study, and the other rooms were downstairs.

Their home was a well-maintained, spacious two-story Cape Cod in the gated Kala Point housing development, seven miles south of Port Townsend, Washington. It lay in a beautiful wooded area overlooking Port Townsend Bay and Indian Island. Deer, raccoon and squirrels frequently romped through their half-acre grounds. Neighbors reported an occasional bobcat or coyote roaming the vicinity.

The sky on Tuesday morning, the eighth of November in 2022, was overcast and the air was still heavy from the previous night’s rain—a typical November day. Things were not as peaceful, however, as these bucolic surroundings would suggest.

Jason had been thinking about his dreams for over fifteen minutes. He glanced at the clock and saw it was a little after six thirty. He leaned on a forearm and faced his brother’s bed. “Peter, are you awake?”

“Yeah, I’ve been awake for awhile,” Peter answered. “Didn’t sleep too good.”

“Neither did I. Because of some real bad dreams.”

“So did I,” Peter said, reverting to the silent speech they had recently discovered. “Tell me yours first.”

“Okay,” Jason agreed, turning on their bedside lamp. “I dreamed I was on a table, like in our doctor’s office, and real weird looking people were checking me. They were poking me and sticking things into me.”

“Wow! I dreamed the same dream. Only it wasn’t a doctor’s office . . . not exactly. It had all kinds of stuff in it—like the spaceship on the TV show we watch.”

They sat up and looked at one another. It was like looking into a mirror, each with their wavy red hair, hazel eyes and freckles. The single noticeable difference was their hairstyles. Jason liked his parted in the middle, Peter on the left side. Jason also had a cowlick he couldn’t get rid of.

“I don’t understand. People don’t dream the same thing, do they?” Jason asked.

“Maybe it’s because we’re twins and can talk to each other just by thinking,” Peter answered. “Nobody else can do that either, can they?”

“I don’t think so.”

“That’s not all. I dreamed funny looking people came into our room and took us out of our beds and away from the house. They put both of us into a kind of an airplane. It had small windows and I could see the moon, you know, . . . real close like through Dad’s telescope.”

Jason got out of bed, stepped over to Peter’s and sat down. “Peter,” he said out loud. “The dream was awfully real. And, I think I knew what they were thinking, too.”

“Jase, anything can happen in a dream. I’ve had dreams where I could speak to the dog next door, and she spoke to me.”

“Yeah, but it felt so real. It wasn’t like dreams I usually have.” Jason started to scratch the inside of his right elbow. “Look Pete, this spot wasn’t there yesterday.”

Peter looked at his own right arm. “Either was this one,” Peter exclaimed, pointing the slightly purple spot above a vein on his own arm. “Let’s go tell Mom and Dad.”

Jason checked the clock again. “It’s not seven yet. Let’s tell them at breakfast.”

“Okay,” Peter agreed.

At seven-thirty, the twins went downstairs for breakfast with their parents. Their mother, Dorothy, was a social worker with Jefferson County and didn’t have to be at work until nine on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. She’d met their father, Howard, while attending the University of Washington, she working on her Masters in social work and he on his Masters in history. Howard had graduated with a degree in literature, and was a successful author of six historical adventure and mystery novels.

Working at home allowed him time to home school their exceptional children, both of whom had begun to read, write and do basic arithmetic by their third birthday. Dorothy had unearthed one of the better independent-study programs that specialize in working with home-schooled gifted children, and they were extremely satisfied with its services.

Dorothy saw her sons enter and sit at the table. A slender woman of medium height, she dazzled everyone with her pretty, angular face, straight red hair cut short, green eyes and freckles. “Good morning boys. How about fresh fruit, eggs, toast and jelly, and a big glass of milk for breakfast?”

“Great!” Jason exclaimed. “Mom, we want to talk to you and Dad. It’s important. Dad’s here isn’t he?”

“Yes. He’ll join us in a minute. What’s so important this early?”

“Can we wait for Dad, please?” Peter asked.

As Peter finished speaking, their father came in. Howard Starkey was considered a reasonably good looking six-footer, with light brown curly hair and hazel eyes set in an oval face with a pointed jaw. However, at almost two hundred pounds he was a little out of shape from a lack of rigorous exercise.

He was limping more than usual, the dampness in the air irritating his left knee. It had been severely injured in 2013 while supporting a medical evacuation during a firefight with Taliban insurgents outside the Afghanistan city of Tirin Kot, in Oruzgan Province. At that time he had been a lieutenant with the Army’s 2nd Battalion, 1st Aviation Regiment. “Mornin’ everybody. Hope you all slept well.”

The twins looked at each other. Peter said, “That’s what we want to talk about. We didn’t sleep well. We both had bad dreams.”

Dorothy glanced at them and then finished dishing up their vegetable omelets. Howard set the table, sat down and said, “I woke up with a headache myself. We’re all ears. Go ahead.”

“Pete, start with your dream,” Jason urged his brother.

“Okay. I dreamed weird people came into our bedroom and took Jase and me and put us into a . . . a . . . something like an airplane. But it flew way up high . . . into space. Okay, tell yours, Jase.”

Jason nodded. “I dreamed about weird people too. But they were dressed like doctors and put me on a table like in the doctors’ office. There were two or three of them, and they . . . uh . . . examined me. They stuck me with a needle and poked me and . . . I just remembered; I looked over and saw Pete on another table.”

Dorothy started to say something, but Jason interrupted. “Wait, Mom. There’s more. Pete dreamed he was examined like me.”

“I did. A lot like Jason’s dream.”

The four of them were silent for a minute. Then Dorothy spoke. “Okay, what’s going on here? Are you two pulling some twin joke?”

“No!” both twins blurted out at once.

“It felt real, not like most dreams,” Pete said.

Nodding his head, Jason followed with, “And I could sort of understand what they were thinking . . . almost. Not the words, but like pictures and feelings.”

Howard gave a big sigh. “Were there other bad dreams?”

“Uh-uh,” Jason said. “But, we woke up this morning and found these small spots on our arms.” Both boys showed their parents the fading purple spots on their arms. “These weren’t here yesterday.”

Peter looked at his brother and then at their parents. “And there’s more.”

Jason grabbed Peter’s arm, glared at him and shook his head.

Peter nodded at Jason. “We have to tell them, Jase.” He faced his parents and the words rushed out, “Jase and I can talk to each other without speaking out loud. You know, just by thinking. It started a while ago.”

“What do you mean?” Howard asked, arching his brows.

“You know, Dad,” Jason replied, “by telepathy.”

“Where did you learn that word?” Howard inquired.

Jason smiled, sat up straight and tall, and crossed his arms. “From the Internet.”

Dorothy leaned forward, her elbows on the table, hands clasped with fingers interlaced. “Peter, you said it’s been going on for a while. How long is ‘a while’?”

“Gosh, I’m not sure. Maybe a few weeks,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders.

“But, I think we could kind of hear each other’s thoughts longer,” Jason added. “You believe us, don’t you?”

“This is a lot to absorb,” Dorothy answered, “and you do like to play tricks on us sometimes. But, you’ve both been honest regarding anything important. So, for now, yes I believe you. Can you show us how you communicate by thinking?”

“Sure.” Peter rose and walked to his father. “Dad, whisper something to me to tell Jase.”

Howard put his lips next to Peter’s ear and whispered. Peter looked at Jason briefly. Then, Jason left the room and returned a minute later with a book.

“Awesome!” Howard exclaimed.

Dorothy burst out with, “My word! Howard, is that what you told Peter to do?”

“Thank you Jason,” Howard leaned back, still a bit stunned. “That’s exactly. What. I. Asked. For.” He shook his head. “Dot, Jase, either of you hear what I said to Peter?”

They both answered negatively.

“You boys certainly gave us a lot to digest,” Dorothy remarked.

“Boys, let your mom and me consider this for awhile. We’ll discuss it and see if we can figure out what’s happening.”

Jason sighed and wore a relieved look. “Okay, Dad.”

Peter had a wide grin on his face. “Right, and thanks for believing us.”

“Unless you’re done with your lessons for today,” Howard said, “go on back to your room and work on them. We’ll get together at nine o’clock as usual to go over them.”

The boys scampered back upstairs. Howard got up from the table and poured himself another cup of herbal tea. “Would you like more tea, hon?”

“No thanks, sweetheart,” she replied. “Those marks on their arms, what do you think that’s about?”

“Don’t know,” her husband said, “but it does vex me. Let’s—”

“Oh my, look at the time. I really have to get going or I’ll be late.”

“Right, we were both distracted,” Howard said, shaking his head. “Like you told the boys, this is a lot to absorb. Let’s talk tonight when the boys are asleep. Go ahead, I’ll clean up.”

Dorothy kissed Howard as she left the table. She picked up the briefcase with her laptop inside, got her coat and gloves, and went out the door to the garage. Shortly, Howard heard the garage door opening, the sound of his wife’s car heading out, and the door closing.

Sipping the last of his tea, Howard mulled over the morning’s conversation. He then cleaned up the remains of breakfast ad dialed his wife’s cell phone. She always set the cell phone in its dash mount and used the speaker and mike while driving.

“Hi, Dot. It’s me.”

“Oh, hi, Me. Didn’t we just say goodbye?”

“Sure did, but I missed you already.” He paused. “Actually, I decided to see if Al would take a look at those spots on the boys’ arms, and I wanted to let you know.”

“Thanks. I’m glad you’re doing that. Call and tell me what you replace out.”

As soon as they disconnected, Howard called Dr. Albert Cohen’s office. They were long-time friends from high school and college, so Dr. Cohen got on the phone quickly.

“Salutations, Howard. What’s up?”

“Hello, Al. I’m sure you’re busy and I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s very important. Both boys have a black and blue mark in the same place on their arms and it looks like after a blood draw. I want you to see the spots before they disappear completely.” Howard briefly described the boy’s reported dreams.

“An intriguing tale, my friend! We should definitely check it out. I usually have lunch at noon, but it can wait. Bring them in then. If we get an earlier cancellation, I’ll call you.”

“Thanks, Al. I really appreciate it. We’ll see you at noon.”

Howard didn’t have time to work on his novel except for some research on the Internet. A little before nine o’clock, he prepared the lessons he’d be giving his sons after reviewing yesterday’s lessons with them. He and Dorothy were amazed at the progress the boys had been making in their studies, and thought they might be ready for third or fourth grade by the time they turned five, unless it was decided to continue home schooling for awhile longer.

He and his wife wanted the children to socialize more with other children, preferably children at a similar intellectual level. Dorothy and Howard also realized the children were learning so rapidly, Howard might not be able to continue with home schooling.

Just past eleven thirty, Howard and his sons exited the Kala Point gates and headed west on Prospect Avenue. A mile farther, they turned right on Highway 19 and soon drove by Jefferson County International Airport.

Ten minutes later, passing Mill Road, Jason scrunched his nose and said, “Oh yuck. It always smells like overcooked Brussels sprouts around the paper mill.” Peter agreed while Howard chuckled and closed the outside vent until they were well away from the area and had entered Port Townsend’s city limits.

Not far from where the highway became Sims Way, they turned onto Sheridan Street, passed Jefferson General Hospital, and arrived at Albert Cohen’s building at the next block. After parking, they looked down from the Castle Hill area on the quaint town of Port Townsend and the breezy bay. Howard pointed out a ferry moving slowly across the agitated water from its pier off Water Street on its way through Admiralty Inlet to Whidbey Island.

A little before noon, they were shown into an examination room. Albert “Al” Cohen came in at 12:10 and exchanged greetings with them. His open lab coat, partially tucked shirt, and sneakers gave him the casual, ruffled look he usually carried off with great success.

He looked at each boy’s arm using the magnifying lens with fluorescent lighting around it and connected to the exam table by a flexible extension.

Their family doctor and friend removed his wire-rimmed glasses. “Well, this looks like someone either drew blood or injected them with something. Howard, if you don’t mind, I’m going to draw more and get it checked at the hospital. I’ll see if we can get the results before the end of the day. Don’t forget, I can pull strings there.”

“Good,” Howard agreed. “I guess it doesn’t hurt to have your wife running the lab. Sorry guys, but we need to do this.”

The nurse came in and drew their blood, labeled and sent both vials directly to Irene Cohen at the hospital lab with a note from her husband asking her to check the samples as soon as possible.

At their doctor’s request, the boys described their dreams. Nobody mentioned Jason and Peter’s apparent telepathic abilities, no one urged Dr. Cohen to speculate on the cause of the spots, and they left the office.

When they got home, Howard called Dorothy as he’d promised and informed her of what had transpired. At 4:40 p.m., the phone’s resounding chiming jarred Howard out of a deep concentration on his train of thought concerning his seventh novel, of intrigue and murder at the court of the fourteenth century BC Egyptian Pharaoh, Akhenaton, also known as Amenhotep IV. He picked up the phone and heard Albert Cohen’s voice.

“Well, Al, did you learn anything from the boys’ blood?”

“Strangely, yes. The lab found trace amounts of a chemical very much like propofol in their blood. Propofol’s a general anesthetic often given to children to put them out for surgery. It stays in the system for a few hours, maybe a day, after being administered. Somebody definitely did something to your sons, and recently.”

“What! How could that happen? We were home all night. I don’t understand.”

“It is curious, Howard. Did anybody—”

“Listen, Al, I’m not going to remember all this to tell Dot. And I’m sure she’ll have questions I can’t answer. How about you and Irene coming over tonight? We’ll discuss the whole thing, drink a little wine. I think we may need it—if not something stronger.”

“You betcha. I want to keep on top of this, and not just because we’re old friends. I know Irene will want to be in on it too. How does nine o’clock sound?”

“Great. See you both then.”

Dorothy left work early and went straight home since Howard had alerted her to the plans he’d made with Albert Cohen. She joined Howard in his study. They decided to answer all questions the boys might have as honestly and simply as possible, but not volunteer anything. They did not want to leave their sons totally in the dark and confused. The boys had shown great patience all afternoon and held their questions until dinner.

Dorothy went to prepare dinner while Howard returned to his computer and worked on his novel. At six o’clock, Dorothy called everyone in for dinner.

Jason sipped his second spoonful of soup, looked at his dad and asked, “What did Dr. Cohen replace out? Did he tell you anything?”

Howard repeated what their doctor had said on the phone. He told the boys the doctor and his wife would be visiting later in the evening to discuss these strange events and to determine what they should do next. The boys seemed satisfied, and dinner continued as if nothing unusual had happened that day.

The boys had been in bed for awhile when, shortly before nine o’clock, Albert and Irene Cohen arrived.

Though both were of average height, Irene’s appearance was almost the antithesis of her husband’s unkempt countenance. She was dressed smartly and fashionably—as usual. The light-skinned, brown-eyed African-American wore her dark brown hair in shoulder-length cornrows, whereas her husband had blue-gray eyes and kept his light brown hair in a crew cut. The doctor still wore his sneakers and his shirt was, once again, partly stuffed into his trousers.

They entered the study. All but Howard seated themselves in plush chairs around a small circular coffee table. Visible through the double French doors, the patio and backyard were awash in the bright light from a full moon visible through patchy clouds. Howard turned up the lights and began to close the drapes.

“Please leave them open, Howard,” Irene said. “And let’s not have the lights too bright.”

The rustle of the trees in the light wind complemented the soft music in the background while Howard dimmed the lights a little and walked to the small wet bar.

“I guess the music is fitting,” Howard observed. “Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata playing on a night like this.”

Howard selected a bottle of Merlot wine, held it up for all to see, and when everybody indicated their approval, poured each of them a glass. He brought out a tray of cheese and crackers, set it down on the coffee table, got a pen and a pad of notepaper from his desk, returned to the group and sat.

“To good friends,” Howard said with his glass held up in a toast.

They all reached over and tapped their glasses together.

“Now, let’s get to it,” Howard announced.

Irene picked up the file folder she’d brought. “Al’s already told you about the propofol we found in the blood samples.” She removed a piece of paper from the folder and continued. “We also found trace amounts of chemicals similar to ketamine and versed.”

“I’ve heard of versed, but what the heck is ketamine?” Dorothy wanted to know.

“Hold on,” Howard interjected, “I don’t even know what versed is.”

Irene took a sip of wine and thought for a moment. “Ketamine is an anesthetic, and classed as a dissociative drug. That means it feels like the mind is separated from the body. It can result in profound hallucinations and the sensation of entering another reality. Versed is generally used along with ketamine to induce amnesia of the immediately preceding events.”

Howard got up and paced. “Okay. So, Jason and Peter have been drugged. But, why . . . and who—”

“And how could it have happened?” Dorothy inquired.

“Hold your horses,” Irene said. “Let’s not jump the gun. Let me finish with this first. Propofol and ketamine aren’t normally used together, and there are subtle differences in the chemicals we use and what was found in the blood samples. We really don’t know exactly how these chemicals were used.”

Howard retook his seat. Dorothy put her hand on his arm, looked at Irene and then Albert. “It’s even more complicated than those drugs.” She described the boys’ dreams and their breakfast demonstration of telepathy.

Arching his eyebrows, Al Cohen said, “I’ve read about flying saucers and alien abductions for years, but it’s all been anecdotal. I never saw any kind of real evidence. Yet this . . . this sounds a lot like those stories.”

“The evidence makes it too damned real,” Howard observed. “So, what do we do now, keep watch on the boys twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week?”

“How do we do that?” Dorothy prompted. “We were here and didn’t know they were taken last night, assuming it’s what happened.”

Al jumped to his feet and looked from Howard to Dorothy. “I’m going to the car and get my medical bag. I want to draw a little blood from both of you. I’ll bet we’ll replace some anesthetic in your blood as well. If something was used on you, there may still be a trace left we can detect.”

Dr. Cohen rushed out and came back shortly with his bag. He drew small amounts of blood from Dorothy and Howard into separate vials, which he identified by the name and date he wrote on labels taped to each one.

“I’ll check them first thing in the morning,” Irene said, “and tell you all what we replace.”

“So, we’re back to the question of what the hell we do about it,” Howard remarked.

“I think we should keep this as quiet as possible for now,” Al suggested.

“I agree, at least until we know more,” Dorothy said. “But, so we’re all on the same page, what are your reasons?”

“First, you don’t want publicity or to have strangers bothering you and frightening your sons . . . more than they already must be.”

“What kind of strangers?” Dorothy asked.

“Well, for example, reporters or . . . or social workers—no insult intended, Dot,” he answered.

“None taken, Al.”

“Second, if their telepathic abilities are as strong as you describe them, somebody might want to get hold of them to test them . . . and maybe make use of their abilities.”

Howard half rose, but sat back down, a startled expression on his face. “My God! You mean like during the Cold War when the CIA and the army tested prisoners of war, psychiatric patients, and soldiers without their permission or knowledge?”

“Well, yes” Al replied, “Stories of American and foreign government agencies researching mind control and ESP have been going around since the Cold War. Some of the stories are factual, like what the CIA and army did. But, most of the stories are probably nothing but rumors.

”Dorothy shook her head. “How is that possible?”

“Who knows,” Al Cohen answered. “But, you know the old adage, ‘where there’s smoke, there’s fire.’ I don’t think we should take chances.”

Howard had been making notes. He put the notepad on the coffee table. “You’re right, Al. Let’s keep it between us until we replace out who we can trust and who can help us figure this out.”

Dr. Al Cohen snapped his fingers. “Damn! It just occurred to me. We have no idea what else might have been done to them. We should do a full body examination of the boys.”

“What’re you going to look for?” Dorothy asked.

“Any other needle marks or incisions you and Howard can’t explain,” Al said.

“When do you want to do it?” Howard inquired.

“Tomorrow’s Wednesday. I’ll get into the office by eight, check my schedule, and call you. If necessary, I’ll try to rearrange my schedule so we can do it tomorrow. If it’s not possible, we’ll do it Thursday or Friday, Saturday at the latest.”

“Thanks Al,” Howard said. “Thank God we have you both for friends. You know, . . . I think I’ll go check on the boys.” While Howard went upstairs, Dorothy nervously poured another glass of wine for everybody.

Howard soon returned. “All okay upstairs. I guess going up there was unnecessary, and I suppose pretty paranoid.”

“With what we’ve been discussing tonight,” Irene said, “maybe not so paranoid.”

They drank their wine quietly and listened to the Mendelssohn violin concerto now playing on the stereo. Their minds grappled with questions yet to be answered, wondered what was yet to be asked. The moon slowly set. Lengthening shadows stretched over the house. A word here and there. Albert rose twenty minutes later, took Irene’s hand and helped her up. They nodded to Howard and Dorothy and went home.

At eight-thirty, Wednesday morning, Al Cohen called and told Howard he had been able to block off a two-hour period that afternoon. Howard promptly notified Dorothy. When his sons came into the study at nine o’clock for their lessons, Howard said, “Boys, we’re going to see Dr. Cohen again today.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “What for this time?”

“He wants to see if there are other marks on either of you.”

“I knew those dreams were real!” Jason exclaimed and gave Peter a light shove.

Peter punched Jason on the shoulder. “Yeah. Well I think—”

“Whoa, let’s wait and see,” Howard interjected. “Now, can we get to your lessons?”

Irene called at 9:20, interrupting the boys’ geography lesson. “Somehow, I don’t think you’ll be surprised by this. I found traces of a chemical in the blood samples Al got from you and Dorothy. It’s similar to a long-lasting general anesthetic commonly used in hospitals, but it’s different from what we found in Jason and Peter’s blood.”

“You’re correct.” Howard said. “I’m not surprised. In fact, I don’t think anything will ever surprise me again.”

“Of course, you know this raises another big question,” she added. “Were you and Dorothy abducted also or just knocked out while the boys were abducted?”

“Damn! I guess we’ll have to add that to our growing list of questions,” Howard replied before they disconnected.

Upon arriving at Albert Cohen’s office, Howard, Jason and Peter were shown to a room. Dr. Cohen entered, had Jason strip and get on the examination table. He began at Jason’s head, using a well-lit magnifier to be sure he missed nothing. After forty-five minutes, he’d completely checked Jason from head to toe.

Jason got off the examination table and stretched. “Did you replace anything?”

“No, not a thing. You can get dressed now and sit there.” He pointed to a chair next to where Howard sat.

Next, Al Cohen started on Peter. Moving slowly down the left side of Peter’s neck, he noticed something and motioned Howard over to take a look. Dr. Cohen pointed out a tiny mark on top of the common carotid artery and said, “This looks like it could be a needle mark, but I’m not certain. I’m going to take another look at Jason’s neck.”

Dr. Cohen brought the magnifier to where Jason was sitting. He carefully examined the area above Peter’s common carotid artery. “Well, I think I can see a mark here the same as Jason’s. But, once again, I’m not really sure.”

“What’s the significance of that, and where does it leave us?” Howard asked.

“The mark is on the artery which supplies blood to the brain. But, before I try to answer you, let me finish examining Peter.”

Thirty-seven minutes passed, though it seemed longer to everybody but the doctor. Dr. Cohen stepped back from the examination table, rotated his head to get the kinks out. “Well, nothing else suspicious. Peter, you can dress now. Back to your question, Howard.”

“Good,” Howard said, “because I’m at a loss.”

“My answer won’t be much help. I’m really not sure what to make of it yet.”

“You’re right,” Howard retorted. “It isn’t much help.”

Dr. Cohen bent down and gripped Jason and Peter by their shoulders. Then he rose and looked at Howard. “I don’t like uncertainty when it comes to the health of my patients. I’m not satisfied, or sure we haven’t missed something. I’d like to get a full body scan on each of them, from head to toe.”

“Oh, cra—darn.” Jason groaned.

“Huh? Not more exams!” Peter protested. “I’m tired of this.”

Howard threw a hand up. “Hold it boys! Don’t you want to replace out what it’s all about?”

“Sure, Dad,” Jason mumbled, while Peter said, “I do, Dad . . . really.”

They went to Dr. Cohen’s office and waited while he arranged for one of the physician assistants to see his next patient. Then Al arrived, pulled a book from a bookcase and read for almost four minutes.

“I’m going to schedule a full body MRI scan,” Al told them, looking at Jason and Peter. “It could take up to an hour and a half for each of you. The scan won’t hurt but you will have to lay still.” He described the procedure in detail, to the dismay of Jason and Peter. “Boys, do you think you can do this?”

Jason and Peter promised they could. Howard called Dorothy to bring her up-to-date.

Dr. Cohen called the Radiology Department at Jefferson County Hospital and scheduled the scan for the following week, the third Wednesday in November. He informed Howard not to let the boys have solid food for a few hours before their scan so nothing would be in their stomachs or intestines to obstruct the images.

In the afternoon of Saturday the twelfth of November, Jason was at his computer playing chess against a program on an Internet gaming site while Peter read a book on chess strategy he had found in their dad’s study.

“What game are you playing?” Peter asked his brother.

“A championship game played in Havana in 1892 between Steinitz and Tchigorin. The website says it’s one of the greatest games ever played. They’ve got some of the best games programmed.”

Peter looked up from the book. “How ya doin’?”

“Not so good. It’s a little hard to follow. But I’m doing better than last time.”

“I’m getting tired of reading this book. Gonna put it back.” Peter went downstairs to his father’s study and strolled to the bookcase.

Howard stopped working on his novel and looked up from his desk as his son put the book away. “What’s that you’ve got, Pete?”

“Just a book on chess.”

Howard rubbed his eyes and stretched. “Chess? When did you get interested in chess?”

“Jase and I both got interested a couple of months ago. Soon after we got our computers we started playing on the web . . . and each other.”

“You think you’re any good.”

“I beat Jase sometimes. Won a bunch of games on the web and got a couple of draws. But I lose some too.”

“I was pretty good in college. How about a game?” Howard smiled. We’ll see how well he can play.

“Okay, that’ll be fun.”

They started the game with Jason playing white. After each had taken three moves, Jason was down two pawns and Howard had lost no pieces.

“Peter, are you sure you wanted to sacrifice those pawns.”

“Yeah, Dad. It’s okay. It’s the Danish Gambit.”

By the sixth move, Peter’s king was under attack. It was now Peter’s seventh move.

“You’re playing pretty well, Pete, but I think I’ve gotten you on the run here.”

“Maybe. But I’m going to castle now.” He moved his white king to g1 and his king’s rook to f1.

Howard gazed at Peter. “You have learned a lot.”

With the twenty-second move completed, they both had a knight, rook and queen left. But looking at the positions, Howard knew he was in trouble. Two more moves and Howard flipped his king on its side. “I resign. You know what that means don’t you?”

“Yup. It means you give up because I’ll mate you in three moves.”

“Don’t rub it in. Actually, I don’t feel too bad. Many of the greatest chess masters learned as young as four or five.”

“Uh-huh. We read about Bobby Fischer and some of the others. Did you know a four-year-old girl named Zsuzsa Polgar won a competition in Hungary? She beat everyone up to eleven years old.”

“And you beat me. How did you learn the strategy for the game we played, and the Danish Gambit?”

Peter smiled. “I memorized a few games that used it, especially one played in 1872. On the web you can see them played one move at a time, and take either side to play.”

“Memorized!” Howard exclaimed. “Those are complicated games. How did you memorize them?”

“I don’t know. We read the descriptions and watched the moves, . . . and sometimes played along and . . . and we just remembered.”

“How easy is it for you and Jase to remember what you read?”

“Easy I guess. Hmm, I think we remember whatever we read—and experience.”

“Well, Pete, it was a great game. We’ll have to play again. But, now I have to get back to work. Why don’t you go upstairs and brag to Jason.” Peter sprinted out of the room. Howard thought, My God! A photographic memory too? Their talents keep popping up in so many ways.

Jason noticed Peter enter their bedroom. “Gosh, Pete. Where’ve you been? I thought you were going to put the book away and come right back.”

“Dad saw me and . . . um . . . we played a game of chess. And I beat him!”

“No kidding, that’s great. But, forget chess for a minute. I’ve got something important to show you. I got tired of the chess game and surfed the web while you were gone.”

Peter moved his desk chair next to Jason’s and sat. “So, what did you replace?”

“I was searching for sites with information on intelligence and telepathy and things like that. Most of it’s junk, but there are some real good sites. Look at this one.”

“Wow! This is prime, Jase. It’s got lots of good stuff.”

“Uh-huh. The guy who set it up is . . . let’s see . . . Dr. Dennis Murphy. He’s a psychology professor at the University of Washington.” Jason clicked a link. “Look at this page. It’s a bunch of questions for people like us . . . sort of. Gosh! It says 461 people have answered the questions. Should we answer them?”

“Let’s do it. Maybe we can replace out more about all the stuff that’s going on, and help Dad and Mom.”

They filled out the questionnaire and added comments explaining their dreams.

“Jase, Dr. Murphy wants our names and addresses and stuff. What should we do?”

“I don’t think we should give it to him. I’ll just put in our city, and e-mail address so we can get information from him.”

“Wait Jase. Maybe we should tell Mom and Dad first.”

“Sorry, Pete. Too late. Already sent it.”

“Oh, oh! They’re gonna be sooo angry. Let’s get them up here to look at the website.”

Their hearts pounding, they ran downstairs.

“Mom, Dad,” Peter bellowed, as Jason said, “We have something to show you.”

Dorothy and Howard followed the boys upstairs and stood behind their chairs while Peter paged through the screens on the website.

“It’s a pretty new site,” Dorothy observed. “Only been up since September.”

“Isn’t it great?” Jason asked.

Howard patted Jason on the shoulder. “It certainly has a lot of good information, and Dr. Murphy seems genuine,”

Dorothy pointed to a button on the screen. “What’s this questionnaire link?”

“Oh . . . yeah,” Peter muttered. “We wanted to show it to you.” He clicked on the button.

“Look at how many kids like us answered the questions,” Jason exclaimed.

“You boys didn’t do that, did you?” Howard queried them.

Jason lowered his eyes and Peter looked around sheepishly. “Um . . . er . . . well, uh-huh,” Jason admitted. “We answered the questions,” Peter said.

“What!” Dorothy covered her cheeks with her hands and then crossed her arms over her chest. “You should know better.” Jason’s eyes began to glisten.

“Didn’t we tell you never to send personal data to a website unless we were here to supervise you?” Howard demanded, as the boys’ faces reddened.

“I’m sorry,” Peter moaned.

“Me . . . sniff . . . too,” Jason added. “We couldn’t help it. We were so excited.”

“Listen, boys,” Howard said. “Till we know more about all this, we’re trying to keep your abilities and strange dreams secret, at least until we’ve determined who we can trust.”

“Jason. Peter. Look at me,” their mother said. “We’re going to unplug your computers until we decide you can use them again. This is a very serious breach of our faith in you.”

Howard shook his head. “Your mother and I will check out the website. We’ll let you know how much trouble you may have caused. Stay in your room until we call you for dinner.”

Howard shut down Jason’s computer and removed the power cables from both computers. Then he and Dorothy went downstairs to the study, where they called Al Cohen, using the speakerphone.

“Al, the boys found a website a little while ago.” Howard began. “They filled out and submitted a questionnaire—”

“Holy crap!” Al exclaimed. “What kind of questionnaire?”

“The website appears legitimate,” Dorothy interjected. “It was set up by a psychology professor at the University of Washington.”

“Supposedly,” Howard added, “Dr. Dennis Murphy is doing research on people with high intelligence and paranormal abilities.”

“Um . . . listen guys, this may not be a bad thing after all,” Al Cohen surmised. “I’ll check it out and talk with Dr. Murphy. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. But, should the boys be surfing the net unsupervised?”

“They’ve been instructed on what to do and what not to do,” Howard said. “I’m going to install a spy program so we can monitor the sites they visit and what they do there. They did it before we could stop them. We’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. By the way, the boys have memorized all the moves of several championship chess games. Their memories have vastly improved lately.”

“New abilities just keep popping up,” Al said. “Something else added to the mix.”

Al Cohen immediately got on his home computer. He and his wife, Irene, checked out Dr. Murphy’s website and a number of sites linked from it. On Monday, he verified with the Psychology Department office that Dennis Murphy was a psychology professor and in the middle of a research project. Dr. Cohen got through to Dr. Murphy on Tuesday, November fifteenth, and told him he was a medical doctor with an interest in the questions the project is trying to answer.

“Dr. Murphy, I was quite impressed with your website. Can you tell me what made you begin your project?”

“Actually, paranormal abilities have been a longtime interest of mine.”

“How do you intend to use the data you get from the site’s questionnaire?”

“Primarily to identify the specific individuals with whom I’d like to have follow-up interviews. It’s important to eliminate the crackpots, mentally disturbed, and the rest who don’t meet my criteria.”

“How widely will you disburse the personal information of those who responded?”

“Our privacy policy is on the site. No personal information will be given out to anyone until the project has been completed, and then only by permission. Hold on a moment while I bring my research assistant, Ramaraju Gupta, on the line . . . unless you’d rather I didn’t.” Hearing no objection, Dr. Murphy conferenced Mr. Gupta in.

“We’re back, Dr. Cohen. It sounds like you have more than an academic interest. Do you know of somebody who would be an appropriate subject?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I have two four-year-old twin boys as my patients. They answered your questionnaire on Saturday.”

“We got input from twin boys on Saturday,” Mr. Gupta interjected. “Have your patients recently had dreams of being examined by strange looking doctors in a space ship?”

Dr. Cohen shuffled in his chair. “Yes. What’s your opinion?”

Dr. Murphy cleared his throat, “I’m not sure what to believe at this point. But something is going on. We have a surprising number of comments regarding similar dreams.”

“Another thing,” Mr. Gupta added. “Most of the questionnaires we received claiming extremely high intelligence and paranormal abilities, and all of them with comments about those strange dreams, involve four-year-old children.”

“Is there a way we could contact your patients’ parents?” Dr. Murphy asked.

“Better than that,” Dr. Cohen assured them. “We might be able to arrange a meeting. We’re located on the Olympic Peninsula. Give me a little time and I’ll get back to you.”

“Please make it sooner rather than later if you can,” Dr. Murphy said. “Rama and I are changing the project’s objectives to determine precisely what’s happening with these children.”

At his earliest opportunity, Al called Howard and told him what he learned from the website, and of his conversation with Dr. Murphy and Mr. Gupta. He strongly suggested meeting with them.

The last couple of days had been nerve-racking for Dorothy and Howard. On Wednesday, Howard and his sons arrived at Jefferson County Hospital for their nine o’clock appointment. They were shown to the reception area and Howard was given forms to fill out. Then they were sent to the Radiology Department to fill out more forms.

Howard worked his way through the questions until he got to one which stunned him. He remained still for a moment, then pulled out his cell phone and called Al Cohen. Though busy with a patient, he excused himself and answered the phone as soon as he heard who was calling.

“Hi, Al. I’ll make this short. I was filling out a questionnaire at the hospital’s Radiology Department. There were questions about patients hearing voices and talking telepathically, and other paranormal behavior. What should we do?”

“I’ve never heard of such a question on those forms before. I wonder . . . look, don’t do anything yet. Don’t answer the question. Let me talk with the head of the department. Either he or I will let you know what to do.”

They hung up. Al excused himself again and went to his office. He called the hospital and asked to speak with the head of radiology. A minute later, he was connected.

“Two of my patients, four-year-old boys, are in your facility waiting to be given MRI scans. Their father, Howard Starkey, called me because he was confused about a question on one of your forms. I’m a bit puzzled too.” Al described the question, as Howard had given it to him. As doctors in a rural community, they were well acquainted.

“I can understand your puzzlement, Al. A month or so ago, we received a fax from Dr. Paula Krasicki and another doctor. Dr. Krasicki is the head of the Neurology Department at the Portsmouth Naval Hospital in Virginia. It had several questions they wanted us to add to the form we give to patients getting any type of brain scan. They gave us a detailed explanation, one I replace hard to believe.” As Al Cohen listened, he shifted nervously in his chair.

“The fax also provided an e-mail address and a website in case we wanted additional information. We checked the website and then spoke with Dr. Krasicki on the phone. They have a patient, also a four-year-old boy, who has these particular symptoms.

“His EEG showed an abnormal pattern emanating from one area of the boy’s brain. A CAT scan turned up a tumor with what looked like metal filaments in the boy’s brain. This condition requires running a CAT scan instead of an MRI. Do your patients have these paranormal symptoms too?”

Al Cohen quickly contemplated how to answer her question. “I can’t say because of doctor-patient privacy. But, I would like to do a CAT scan on each of my patients instead of the MRI, if it can be done safely. Could the radiation be a problem for such young children?”

“No, not at all,” the department head replied. “There was a time when CT radiation did cause developmental disorders in the brains of some very young children. However, over the last few years the radiation levels have been reduced and the capabilities of the receiving devices and the processors have been enhanced significantly. They’re completely safe now.”

“In that case,” Al said, “can you arrange a CAT scan for today?”

The department head paused to check the schedule and then replied, “Yes, we can. I’ll call reception and take care of it. If you would like, we’ll have Mr. Starkey trash the MRI forms we gave him and have him fill out the forms for the CAT scan. He can answer however you want him to. But I strongly suggest you contact Dr. Krasicki. I’ll give Mr. Starkey a copy of the fax.”

Al thanked the department head, hung up, and returned Howard’s call. “Howard, you won’t believe it, but . . . well, maybe you will.” He explained what he had learned. “So, follow their instructions and do the CAT scan. Call me at home tonight around seven-thirty.” Dr. Albert Cohen then went back to his patient.

Howard folded the MRI form he had started and put it in his pocket. He then filled out the form for the CAT scan and gave it to the receptionist. He called his wife to let her know what happened, but she was unavailable, so he left a message.

After a wait of close to fifteen minutes, the imaging technologist came into the reception area, introduced himself, and brought Howard, Jason and Peter into the CAT scanner room. He showed them the machine and described the procedure.

Peter drank the dye solution and was scanned first, followed by Jason. It was lucky they had not eaten anything for several hours, otherwise the dye solution could have given them both a serious case of nausea. Jason felt a little discomfort for only a few minutes.

Since everyone was hungry, they stopped for lunch at the Spruce Goose Café at the airport, a little over a mile from home. Though they tried to maintain a vegetarian diet, they occasionally ate fish. Howard had tomato soup and tuna salad, while the boys had egg salad sandwiches with French fries and coleslaw.

During lunch, they joked and talked about the boy’s lessons. To an outsider, it would seem as if nothing strange was going on. But beneath the calm, Howard’s stomach was churning.

When Dorothy got home from work, Howard described the day’s events. At seven-thirty, he phoned Al Cohen and informed him his sons had dealt extremely well with the CAT scans. Al told Howard he’d arranged for an internist to review the body scans and a neurologist to review the brain scans, and expected to receive the reports in a day or two.

In the meantime, Jason and Peter were making their own plans.

“Pete, remember Dr. Murphy’s website made us think there might be others like us. Now I’m sure of it.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Haven’t you been hearing voices besides mine?” Jason muttered.

“I think so,” Peter answered. “Once in a while, maybe. I’m not sure, but I think I’ve been getting something from a girl . . . and . . . she seems scared.”

“I’ve been trying real hard to listen to those voices. I found out I can ignore any of them I don’t want to hear and just listen to the one I want. One of them—it has to be a different girl—I really can’t understand the words, but it sounds like in that Godzilla movie we saw, Japanese. I get some kind of pictures in my mind of what’s happening. We’ll have to see if there’s a website where we can learn Japanese. Oh, and she plays piano . . . and violin too.”

“Can we try to talk to someone together . . . with our minds like we talk to each other?” Peter implored.

“Okay. Hey, maybe we can speak to one of those girls!” Jason exclaimed excitedly.

“Or to the boy in Virginia Dad told us about.” Peter suggested. ”Remember, his name’s Tom?”

“Oh, yeah. We should try. But I don’t know how to do it—it happens by accident now.”

“Maybe if we relax enough and put everything out of our minds, Jase. When do you want to do it?”

“I don’t know. Next time one of us hears a voice, we can try to speak to whoever it is.”

At 10:22 a.m. on Friday, November eighteenth, the phone rang. Once again, the boys’ lessons were interrupted, something that was becoming annoyingly frequent since the night Jason and Peter had those bizarre dreams. Howard picked up the phone and heard Al Cohen.

Telling him to wait, Howard gave his sons some math exercises to do—they were already doing simple algebra problems. He instructed Jason to hang up when he got on an extension phone. Putting Dr. Cohen on hold, he went to his study and picked up.

“What did you replace out, Al?”

“There was nothing abnormal in either of the body scans. However, the neurologist found the same kind of tumor in their brain scans as the Virginia boy.”

“Damn it to hell! Is it dangerous?”

“Howard, I don’t know. I want you to take the boys back to the hospital and get an electroencephalogram done on them. I want to see if their brain wave patterns have the same abnormality as the boy in Virginia. Can you take them this afternoon?”

“Sure. Will it take long?”

“No. Maybe a half hour or so for each of them. They’re expecting you at 2:15. They’ll give you the results on graph paper and on a CD. Bring those to my office on your way home. Oh, their hair has to be clean and shampooed.”

“Okay. Then what?”

“I want to meet with you and Dorothy next week. I’ll arrange for a conference call with those two doctors in Virginia. In the meantime, we should both see what they’ve got on the website they set up.”

Howard took Jason and Peter for their EEGs that afternoon and then dropped off the material at Dr. Cohen’s office. Al had left a message for Howard to tell him their conference call was scheduled for Wednesday, November 23, at 7:00 a.m. It would then be 10:00 a.m. in Virginia, and they would make the call from Al’s office.

Howard arranged for his parents, who lived nearby in Port Townsend, to come for dinner on Tuesday and stay over through Friday. They’d sit with Jason and Peter while Dorothy and Howard met with their doctor on Wednesday, and celebrate Thanksgiving on Thursday.

The following Tuesday, at a quarter past seven in the morning, while the boys were on their beds, Peter sat up with a start. “Jase, I just heard her. She’s scared again.”

“What, who?”

Reverting to silent speech, Peter said, “That girl I told you about, turd-breath! Listen in while I try to talk to her.”

“Okay, okay.”

“I hear you. Who are you?” A pause. No response. Peter breathed deeply several times, put everything else out of his mind and tried again. “I’m Peter. Who are you?” He was ready to try once more, but then he heard her in his mind.

“I’m Anna. Where are you?”

“I’m in Washington. Where are you?”

“New York.”

“What scared you, Anna?”

“I . . . oh . . . I hafta go now, the tech’s here.”

“Wait, don’t go yet!” Peter begged her.

Jason jumped up and down on his bed and sat on the edge facing Peter. “Pete, I heard her! I heard both of you. We have to try to speak to her again.”

Jason and Peter both tried to reach Anna again, but failed. Peter jumped off his bed onto Jason’s bed and pounded his brother’s back excitedly nearly knocking him off his own bed. “I could see she was in a machine like the CAT scanner we were in, and that’s what scared her.”

Jason pushed Peter down on the bed. “I saw it too, Pete. But it was the other machine, the one we were almost examined with . . . you know, the MRI thing.”

“Yeah . . . right.” Peter smiled. “This is so ultra prime!”

“You know,” Jason added, “I think it’s getting easier to understand, even if we don’t get all the words.”

“Why do you think we can do it with each other so easy, but it’s so hard with Anna?” Peter asked his brother.

“I dunno. Maybe because we’re twins.” The boys sat for awhile, contemplating their situation. Then, Jason struck his palm with his fist and jumped off the bed. “You and me, and the other kids are so different than most kids, maybe we should call us all something . . . maybe . . . something like ’special kids’. What do you think?”

“Nah,” Peter said. “How about ‘prodigals’ or—”

“Dummy! You mean ‘prodigies’. Let’s look it up in the thesaurus.” For a few minutes they checked various alternatives for ‘prodigy’. Then Jason suggested, “Hey, here’s a good one. Our abilities are almost like magic powers, and you know how much we like all those Harry Potter books. Why not ‘wizards’?”

“Hmm . . . yeah, that’s pretty good. I like it. So, what now, butt-head?

Well, turd-breath,” Jason said, “I don’t know. Maybe we should do homework.”

“I guess. But I want to keep trying to mind-talk with Anna and Tom. Let’s try every day.”

“Absolutely. And I don’t want to forget the other girl—you know, the one who plays piano and violin. But we’ve gotta learn some Japanese first.”

“Okay. Hey, Jase, why don’t we build a website just for the wizards? Maybe if we start contacting them on the web, it’ll be easier to mind-talk with them.”

“Terrific! Let’s go speak to Mom and Dad.” Excitedly, they ran to their parents.

Dorothy followed the boys into the study. Howard looked up and closed his desk’s keyboard drawer. By the time Jason and Peter finished telling their parents about Anna and their plans, both parents were beaming with pride.

“I think it’s great you two are giving serious thought to all this,” Howard said. “I like your initiative. But I want you to hold off on your website for awhile.”

Dorothy put her arms around both boys’ shoulders. “We’ll be talking with Dr. Cohen and the doctors from Virginia on Wednesday. I promise to let them know about your contact with Anna and the rest of your ideas.”

“Be patient, boys,” Howard told them. “Things are moving along. Now, will you all leave me alone? I am on deadline and I need to work on my chapter.”

Late that afternoon, Howard’s parent’s arrived as planned. Dorothy and Howard’s concern for their children was palpable, but the children acted as if nothing was amiss. Dinner went surprisingly well. It didn’t take very long, however, for his parents to get a feeling something was amiss. Dorothy and Howard were able to sidetrack them with comments concerning the pressure of work for Dorothy and a looming deadline for Howard.

They spent a pleasant evening playing games until the children went to bed. Then, the adults passed the time visiting and relaxing until the hour grew late and they headed off to their respective bedrooms.