imagination. “It'll be interesting to test Cahil's resolve to lick his habit by sending him a savory morsel. Of course, it has to be the island of tissue that Cahil so craves.”
And so it was sent overnight via UPS.
Grant had given a fictitious return address with no card or explanation. He just wanted Cahil to know that someone was listening and doing something about his theories. Just a one-time offer to share with Daryl to see what would come of his foolish notions about symbolically feeding on the cosmic mind, a trite and idiotic gesture. It had started out for Grant as an attempt to maintain some sort of control over Phillip, to hold on to a shred of defiance. Phillip, on the other hand, saw this as an opportunity to implicate Cahil in the killings, should he need a stooge in the future.
Now settled in his hotel room, Grant and Phillip logged on to Cahil's website and entered the chat room, sharing brain recipes and small talk about brain functions with the cyber community-most of whom knew next to nothing about the brain. Still, he felt a great amusement at their foolish and often bizarre notions.
Remaining the most bizarre of all was Cahil's own “revelation” about the Island of Rheil, which he described in great detail, having eaten a number of them before being caught in that Morristown, New Jersey, cemetery. Cahil had even drawn a picture of it that detailed where in the brain it was located, curled and waiting deep in the midbrain. He described his criminal history of robbing dead children in their coffins of their Islands of Rheil. He claimed children were more potently endowed with the cosmic mind. He also bragged that he had “licked” his “horrible” habit, and now he only fed on the kind of animal brains found in tin cans on grocery shelves and representations of the island, using pasta of all things.
More than a month had gone by since Grant had shipped off that small portion of Anna Gleason's brain. Tonight Grant opened a news page of the website to find a computer photograph of the Island of Rheil. Cahil had placed the real thing on the Web. He had foolishly put it out there that he had a human Rheil in his possession, and that he wanted to share in what it actually looked like. Beside it, a six-inch ruler had been placed to give it scale. It did roughly resemble the cross he had drawn earlier.
Most cyber-folk looking at the image would likely think it a hoax, reasoned Grant. Phillip concurred. But Cahil declared it the real thing, sent to him by a devotee-someone who had taken him at his word. He thanked the faceless benefactor.
Grant and Phillip keyed in the question,
Cahil, did you eat it?
They waited for a reply but it didn't come.
“ He ate it,” Phillip told Grant.
“ You really think so?”
“ I'm certain he could not have resisted. A leopard never changes its spots.”
Public library, Florence, Illinois Same night
AT age sixty-four, James McPherson prided himself on being a lifelong learner. After retirement from the military, he had little to do to occupy himself, so he had determined to learn everything and anything he could from the world of books and now the world of the Internet.
He had become curious recently about how the brain worked and functioned, computers so often being likened to it. And he had a friend who had recently succumbed to Alzheimer's, and James was having trouble now with balance himself. While cross-checking, he had come upon information on the cerebellum at a curious website, and now he read up on this part of the brain:
The cerebellum, or little brain, is also known geographically as the hindbrain. While not part of the brain stem, it is connected to the stem. It lies in the lower back part of the skull and regulates equilibrium and coordination of muscular movement and balance in walking. Injury here creates a staggering gait, palsy and slurred speech.
“ This shit may be helpful but it's written in such a boring manner,” he told himself. “There has to be something more lively on the subject.” He shook his head over this and surfed off toward another site.
He came across something on the “cosmic connection” of the mind, and this phraseology instantly caught his attention. Surfing through, he read:
Mind is the factor inherent in and underlying all things in the universe. In varying degrees, we find it present everywhere, even though some psychologists have denied its existence, dismissing mind as a mistake of language- that it was a semantical blunder to have put a name to it. Still, there exists a kind of psychic life that abides not only in mankind and animals but in plants, and in ail (so-called) inanimate ents (units of existence) or entities. This leads us to ask about the universal ocean of consciousness from which our minds are mere drips…
“ Drips indeed. Now that's interesting,” McPherson said to the screen. “We're all a bunch of drips.” His laughter caught the ear and the ire of a desk librarian, who now squinted vulturelike in his direction.
The Krandal family home, Calvert City, Iowa Same evening
Seventeen-year-old Jill Krandal opened the website she had become fascinated with, logging on as Chix whix. She had a soft drink and potato chips beside her, and she had settled in for a long party with others to chat about brainy matters on the Net. She hadn't logged on for a long time. She wanted to see if Surreal and Motor mouth might be online tonight with their funny remarks about the brain-Got brains?
They all agreed that the Webmaster was weird, but that didn't matter. If he really ate cat and dog brains, and if he really did once steal brains from humans in their graves- children-who cared? If he was allowed to set up this website and talk about cannibalizing brains, then it must be all right, she reasoned.
Still, she knew her parents would put an end to it, if they knew. She just liked the chat room and topics provided there. She didn't take the Webmaster seriously, and she and her friends online guessed that he had a problem with telling the truth.
Her heart leapt when she made contact with Surreal. She keyed in:
CHIXWHIX: Surreal… How've you been? Whataya hear from Motor mouth?
SURREAL: Hey there Chixie-wixie. Nothing from Motor, but lots from that guy who keeps hitting on me.
CHIXWHIX: What's he want?
SURREAL: Says he wants to get together.
CHIXWHIX: That Seeker guy? Don't even think about it. He hits on me, too.
SURREAL: Did he offer you a way out of Calvert City?
CHIXWHIX: Whataya mean?
SURREAL: He wants to send me a bus ticket, and it's tempting.
CHIXWHIX: Don't be a fool, Surreal.
SURREAL: I hate Lynchburg as much as you hate Iowa.
CHIXWHIX: A ticket to where?
SURREAL: He said anywhere I'd care to meet him.
CHIXWHIX: Don't do it, Surreal.
SURREAL: Wouldn't you do it? Use the ticket if he sent it to you?
In Calvert City, Jill stopped typing long enough to consider the question. Then she adamantly keyed in her reply:
CHIXWHIX: No, and you shouldn't either!
SURREAL: One way to get outta this hick town and away from my mom.
CHIXWHIX: You could be raped or murdered. Would that make you happy?
SURREAL: You've been watching too many repeats of UNSOLVED MYSTERIES. Don't worry. I'd be too chicken anyway.
CHIXWHIX: Promise?
SURREAL: All right already!
CHIXWHIX: Meantime, have you seen what Daryl the dick-head put on his news page?
SURREAL: No what?
CHIXWHIX: A photo of a G-D brain part!
SURREAL: I gotta go take a look. Be right back.
CHIXWHIX: I'll be waiting. Want to hear your reaction.
Canton, New York Same night
DAVID Byrd, superintendent for the Canton Public Schools, pulled his glasses from his eyes and tried to
