Rage From the Edge

Excerpts Taken From Marcus P. Kellum's Personal Journal.


Now that we have settled in, I am beginning to actually meet my peers. It is not going as well as I had first hoped. Several of these scholars, doctors, and agents I have met in the past, either through my journeys or involved in some academia. It is because of this past that most shy away from me and I have been labeled a pariah by more established and accepted learning circles. My unorthodox practices and non-linear studies have won me few allies in what is laughingly called “Kellum’s personal crusade” by people who scoff at my past. However, over the years I have made few lasting friends. Many are still alive to share in my beliefs, my labors, and my secrets.

I was pleased to find that doctor Avinashi Proctor, the noted parapsychologist, world famous mountaineer, and friend was on the list of technicians who had been invited by the government to study here at the facility. In years past, we had gone on several expeditions; the last a disastrous journey and study of pre-Olmec stone carvings found in a central American cave. Oh, how that study was denigrated and maligned by the archeological community! Avi and I had been blacklisted from government funding for several years after the tragic events that unfolded in that Panamanian town. I was nervous to meet with her after all these years, I feared that maybe she still held a grudge.

I rapped on the wooden panel of her door and she spoke to me without even looking up from a stack of papers she was reading.

“Quite a place they have given us here,” she said. “All this funding…it seems as if it has come from out of nowhere.”

I gave a soft chuckle and entered her room. Yes, the funding had at first seemed to appear out of thin air, but I had asked questions. People who controlled vast resources had read our theories and the theories of our colleagues. I assured her that even though it seemed as if we were being controlled by shadowy puppet masters, we were indeed funded by everyday normal citizens.

“Ah yes,” she replied, her almond shaped eyes looking at me for the first time in six long years, “but who controls them?”

With that, our friendship seemed to rekindle. We began talking of our exploits in the years we had been apart, sharing tales that were both strange and wonderful. I felt as if I was acting like a schoolboy, I was nervous and I talked too fast. My excitement at seeing this long lost friend had me edgy and jumpy. She seemed as cool and aloof as ever. I had forgotten how beautiful she was, despite her physical, emotional, and psychic scars.

As we brought each other up to speed on our past exploits, she was stern and stoic, which was usual for her, but as the time ticked by; her voice grew deeper and more grave. I could not stand this anymore; I knew she was hiding something. Finally, I demanded to know what was wrong.

“I am not quite sure what you mean…” her voice trailed off as she toyed. Finally, she understood that I knew she was concealing something. “I can’t kid you Mark, I never could.”

“What is it? Blast it! don’t beat around the bush here!” I was exasperated and intrigued.

She took a slow breath, her shoulders straightened and broadened showing just how fit she was under her academic disguise. “Recently, and I am talking of within the last few days, there have been some very interesting sightings right here in town.”

“Sightings?” I asked sheepishly. “What do you mean? Are we speaking of The Old Ones? Some new opponent?”

“Mark, please keep it down,” she looked out the doorway of her office to see if anyone was around. “Have you ever wondered why they put this clinic…this whole facility here in Chicago? Why they have gathered such an odd group of people here in the name of research?”

“The official paperwork said to promote the collection and sharing of data that lies outside of normal scientific method…”

“Don’t hand me the company line!” Avi said with a grin. “We’re here because They are here…”