Chapter 9 9

On the endless beach, there are a total of about ten campfires burning, some are family gatherings, and some are teenagers' parties.Joe wandered through it alone, and the beach was his favorite place for night excursions, though he usually avoided the campfires. Everything that happened that day completely changed Joe's perception of everything.It was as if he was wearing a pair of magical glasses to see the world, and what he saw was not a distorted scene, but a mysterious, cold and terrifying unknown realm. A group of dancers in bathing suits shook their shoulders, hips and arms.From Joe's point of view, each of them exists as two entities at the same time.One is a real individual, and the other is a puppet manipulated.Their gestures, frowns and smiles are all controlled by invisible masters.The only purpose is to convince Joe what a happy and beautiful world this is.

The dancers, the storytellers and the audience, the young surfers, and everyone Joe passed watched him warily.It was by no means a fantasy of his, and Joe knew they were watching him, though they moved carefully. It wouldn't surprise Joe if they all worked for Technoco. But looking at it from another angle, although he was almost paranoid, he was still sane.He deeply understands that he has the secrets of what he saw and heard in Dai's house, but he can't tell them, and these horrible pictures often appear in his mind, these terrible experiences are portrayed on his face, in his dull eyes, and He was haggard and tattered in appearance.What the people on the beach saw was a mentally ill person.These people have always lived in the city, so they all know the dangers of mental illness.

Joe found another campfire. There were about two dozen young men and women with shaved heads sitting silently around the fire.Each of them is wearing blue pants, white sneakers, and a gold ring hanging from their left ear.Men don't grow beards, and women don't wear makeup.All of them were handsome, so stylish that Joe couldn't help but associate them with the movie "Cult in Beverly Hills." He stood among them for a few minutes, watching the men stare into the firelight in thought.When they noticed Joe, they were not frightened by the sight in front of them. Their eyes were still as calm as water, and Joe saw the deepest humility, acceptance and compassion in them.

He threw the McDonald's paper bag containing two hamburger wrappers, a soda paper cup, and a paper towel that wiped the blood on his hands into the fire. Joe stared at the group of worshippers, watching the paper bag burst open in the flames, charred , and then vanished. Joe left this group of people, he wondered if they knew the real purpose of life?These believers in blue robes have learned the truth, and their cultivation has reached the state of clarity. Do they finally know why they were born?Joe didn't ask them, fearing that their answers would be commonplace, just like the common people who live in anticipation and hope.

It was pitch black a hundred yards from the campfire, and he sat cross-legged on the edge of the tide that washed up on the beach, and Joe grabbed a handful of wet sand and rubbed it in his hands, hoping to remove the blood from under his nails.After that, without taking off his shoes and socks, and without rolling up his trousers, he walked directly into the water, walked all the way towards the dark tide, and then stopped in the knee-deep water.The waves lapped, turning up phosphorescent foam.The strange thing is that although the night is clear and the moon is high, the surrounding area is pitch black, and you can't see your fingers.

Joe's legs braced against the pounding of the turbulent tide, and in the whispering sea he found unexpected solace in the eternal rhythm, the meaningless pulsation, the uncontested stillness. Joe tried not to think about what had just happened at the Dai's mansion, because it would only make people more and more confused.He was really frightened, so that he didn't feel too much sadness about the death of the Dais and Lisa.One of the things Joe learned at the "Compassion and Care" meeting is that bereaved parents are often blind to the suffering of others.Most of them remain indifferent to social news such as car accidents, fires, and murders reported on TV.The music that once touched their heartstrings, the art that once touched the depths of their souls, have lost their effectiveness now.Some people take a year or two to get over the loss of feeling.Some will take five to ten years, and some people will not be able to overcome it for a lifetime.

The Dais seem like such nice people, but he doesn't really know them.Lisa was a good friend, and now she too is dead.so what?Everyone dies sooner or later, their own children, or the most beloved women in their lives, anyone. Joe was shocked at how hard-hearted he had become.But he cannot force himself to feel the pain of others unless the pain is his own. He learned from the sea to be indifferent to what he lost, but he didn't know what kind of beast he would become when the death of his wife and daughter no longer mattered to him.For the first time, Joe thought that such extreme indifference might not only be ineffective for inner peace, but become a hotbed of evil.

The busy gas station and the 24-hour convenience store next door are only three blocks away from the motel where he stayed. There are two public telephones outside the washroom, and a few fat white moths like snowflakes are circling under the lights. See their magnified and distorted wing projections, flitting back and forth on the white powder wall. Joe hadn't canceled his phone company's credit card yet, and he'd used it to make long-distance calls several times, but at the moment, if he wanted to be safe, he'd better not use it. But he wanted to speak to Barbara, the investigation team leader of Flight 353. It was eleven o'clock on the West Coast, and it was two o'clock in the morning in Washington, D.C. on Sunday.She's probably out of the office.Of course, Joe can also talk to the duty officer of the National Transportation Safety Board, but it is absolutely impossible for him to tell Joe Barbara's home phone number.

But he still looked up the NTSB switchboard and dialed it.The committee's new telephone voice system lets him choose an extension number and leave a message for any committee member.If you key the first five letters of the name of the person you want to leave a message with, you will be connected directly to the extension of the other party.So Joe cautiously typed the first five letters of Barbara's name, but what he got was a recording of the call telling him that the extension didn't exist.He tried again, with the same result. If it's not that Barbara is no longer working here, there is something wrong with the function of the voice system.

Although at any crash site, the investigation team leader is a senior investigator sent by the National Transportation Safety Board's headquarters in Washington, but most of the members of the other operation teams are listed, but it is not known where they are stationed. Since the crash site was about a hundred miles from Denver, he guessed at least a few of the crew were drawn from there.Using the eleven lists in his hand, Joe called the directory information desk in Denver to check their phone numbers. He got the phone numbers of three people, and the other eight were either not registered or didn't live in Denver.

The shadows of moths on the whitewashed walls of the gas station haunted Joe's mind as they floated up and down, large and small, as if they were reminding him of something.Joe concentrated on watching the rapidly rising and falling shadows for a long time. They had no fixed shape like lava, and they couldn't make him have any associations. Although it was past midnight, Joe still called the three men.The first is the meteorological expert of the operation team, who is responsible for investigating the meteorological factors related to the crash.It turned out that the answering machine answered, and Joe didn't leave a word.The second is responsible for supervising and inspecting the wreckage for evidence of metal fatigue. Obviously, he was woken up by the phone call and was very unfriendly.The third person gave Joe the Barbara phone he needed. His name was O'Malley, and he was the human factors investigation department of the team, tracking down whether there was any negligence of the crew or air traffic control personnel. Even though it was the early hours of the morning, it violated the privacy of others.But Mr. Ou didn't take it seriously at all. He also claimed that he was a night owl and would not go to bed until one o'clock in the morning. "However, Mr. Qiao, I believe you can understand that I am not allowed to talk about the committee to journalists. All the details of the investigation are public reports." "That's not why I called you, Mr. Ou. Because I have something urgent to contact your senior investigator, but I can't reach her, and there is a problem with her voicemail, so I hope you can help me with this. " "Her voice mail? Currently we don't have any female senior investigators, we have all males." "Her name is Barbara." "Oh, that was in the past, she took early retirement a few months ago." "Do you have her phone number?" Omari hesitated for a while and said, "No." "Maybe you know if she lives in Washington, D.C., or a suburb. If I knew where she lived, maybe I could find out her number—" "I heard she was back home in Colorado," O'Malley said. "She started at the bottom of the Denver office, stayed there for many years, then moved to the Washington headquarters, and then rose to senior investigator." "So she's supposed to be in Denver by now?" O'Malley was silent again, as if the subject of Barbara made him very embarrassed. Finally he said: "I believe her home is in Fountain, Colorado, which is about seventy miles south of Denver." It was less than forty miles away from the grassland where the 747 passenger plane crashed. "So she's in Fountain, Colorado?" Joe asked. "I have no idea." "If she's married, the phone may be registered in her husband's name." "She's been divorced for several years, Mr. Joe... I want to know..." O'Malley stopped in the middle of speaking, and after a long time, Joe couldn't help calling softly: "Mr. Ou?" "Is it related to China Airlines Flight 353?" "Yes, sir, a year ago this evening." Omari was silent again. Joe added, "Is there anything... unusual about what happened to Flight 353?" "As I said just now, the investigation report has been released." "That's not what I'm asking." The other end of the phone fell silent again, making Joe think that the person he was talking to was not in Denver, but on the distant moon. "Mr. O'Malley?" "Mr. Joe, I really have nothing to say, but if I remember something later... Do you have a contact number?" Joe didn't want to explain too much about his current situation, "Sir, if you're telling the truth, calling me may put you in danger. Some dirty guys will suddenly respond to you once they know we have been in contact. You become interested." "Oh, who is it?" Ignoring his question, Joe went on, "If you do know something, or have a conscience, take a moment to think about it, and I'll be back with you in a day or two," and hung up. The moths are still flying up and down there, bumping into the mercury lamp from time to time, which is the so-called "moths to the flame". But Joe still couldn't think of anything. Calling the directory desk in Fountain, Colorado, the switchboard finally gave Joe Barbara's number. The phone rang twice and she answered it.It didn't sound like it was being woken up. Maybe senior investigators like them, who are used to the horrible scenes of air crashes, can't sleep well anymore. Joe gave his name and told her what had happened to his family that night a year ago, and he hinted vaguely that he was still an active reporter for the Post.She was silent at first, as indifferent as O'Malley, as distant as on the moon.Then she said, "Are you here?" "I'm sorry, please say it again." "Where are you calling from? From Fountains, Colorado?" "Oh no, from Los Angeles." "Oh." When Barbara uttered this sound, Joe thought he heard a trace of frustration in the other party's tone. "Miss Barbara, I have some questions about Flight 353 and would like to—" "Sorry!" she interrupted Joe, "I know you're sorry, Mr. Joe. I can even imagine how deep your pain is.I know it is very difficult for the families of the victims to accept this terrible truth.But I can't think of anything to say to help you accept—" "I didn't come here to learn, Miss Barbara. I wanted to know what really happened to that plane." "It's not uncommon for someone in your situation to imagine there must be a conspiracy. Otherwise these deaths would have been for nothing. Some people think we're covering up for the airlines, and that we've been to drown out the evidence of the crew's alcohol and drug use. Mr. Joe, this was just an accident, and it would be impossible for me to spend a long time on the phone convincing you. I deeply regret what happened to you Sympathy, but you need to talk to a therapist, not me." Before Joe could answer, Sesha hung up the phone.So Joe dialed again, and this time the bell rang forty times, but the other party refused to answer.He had tried his best, and the result was still nothing more than this. On the way back to the Ximei car, he suddenly stopped, and he turned back to study the white gray wall next to the gas station.The weird and distorted shadows of moths fluttered on the wall, like ghosts in dream quality, slipping into the dreamland of white mist. Moths to the flame.Three flames in three oil lamps.Tall glass cover. He remembered something, he had clearly seen the three flames in the glass cover stretched high, the yellow light reflected on Lisa's gloomy face, and the shadow swayed on the wall of Dai's kitchen. Jo thought it was just a draft that carried the flame so high, but there was no air in the kitchen then.Looking back now, the impression of the snake-like flame burning upwards from the three wicks seemed to be more important than he had thought. Joe watched the moth, thinking of the oil lamp, standing by the gas station, but seeing the kitchen surrounded by mahogany shelves and granite counters. When the flames of those oil lamps shot up, he didn't realize it immediately. As hard as he was, he couldn't recognize the signs that he directly observed. He was literally exhausted to the brink, and he was severely traumatized by the blows that followed during the day.Until he closed his eyes, he didn't know whether to trust his sensory perception or his intuition. Joe lay on his back on the motel bed, with a sponge pillow on his head, chewing a chocolate bar bought at a gas station, quietly sorting out his thoughts alone, trying his best to make a good job of what happened that day Some tidying up. Even after eating the last bite, he still didn't know what the flavor of the chocolate was.He took a bite, and there was a smell of blood, as if he had bitten his own tongue.Fortunately, the tongue was not bitten off, but what tormented him was the familiar sense of guilt. Another day passed, and he was still alive, but he couldn't make any defense for his meager life. Except for the moonlight streaming in from the balcony and the green numbers of the digital alarm clock, the entire room was pitch black.Joe stared at the light fixture on the ceiling, faintly visible because its domed glass disc caught the faint moonlight, but floating above him like a ghost. He thought of the three glasses of whiskey on the Dai's kitchen counter, and it didn't make sense.While it's possible that Charlie took a sip of the drink before pouring it, Dina and Lisa never even touched the glasses. At this moment, Joe was full of thoughts, like moths dancing wildly. He really wanted to talk to Beth who was far away in Virginia, but he was afraid that her phone would be monitored, and they had a way to find her by following the line.Besides, if he told them anything about what had happened after he found out that he was being watched on the beach today, it would undoubtedly put Beth and Henry in danger together. Listening to the sound of the regular waves, tiredness drooped his eyelids, and Joe thought about why he was able to escape the plague of suicide in the Dai family... He fell asleep unconsciously, but he still had nightmares. After an unknown amount of time, he woke up in the dark, lying on his side on the bed facing the alarm clock on the bedside table.The numbers, glowing green, reminded him of the alarm clock in DeCharlie's blood-stained bedroom: the time ticked back ten minutes with each blink. Joe had thought that the alarm clock must have been broken by a shotgun shot.But at this moment between half-dream and half-awake, he had a different explanation.Wouldn't it be more mysterious and meaningful if it were lead bullets? Alarm clock and oil lamp. The flickering of numbers and the jumping of flames. connection between the two. meaning in between. He soon fell asleep again, but when the alarm clock woke him up, it was still some time before dawn, and he slept less than three and a half hours.But this year, he hasn't had a good night's sleep, so this sleep has made Joe feel refreshed and refreshed. He had a quick bath, and while dressing, Jo studied the alarm clock carefully.He didn't get any inspiration, and all the sudden inspirations disappeared without a trace like Nanke Yimeng. Before dawn, Joe had already arrived at the Los Angeles airport.He bought a one-day round-trip ticket to Denver, and the return plane would drop him off in Los Angeles, so he could meet that sexy, hazy-voiced Demi at a West Side coffee shop at six o'clock. And just as he was going to the boarding gate, he caught a glimpse of two young men in blue robes, with their bald heads, gold rings on their left ears and white sneakers. Two of the heap of worshipers performing the ceremony. The black man among them looked at his watch, and it was still a Rolex. Regardless of their religious beliefs, at least poverty is by no means a precept they must abide by. Although it was Joe's first time on a plane since receiving news of his wife and daughter's death a year ago, he was not as nervous as he expected on the way to Denver.At first, he was really worried that he would fall into delusions again, but fortunately, after a few minutes, he was sure that he was fine. In fact, he will not worry about another crash. On the contrary, if he can end his life like his wife and daughter, he will face it calmly and fearlessly, because this is the best way to return to the natural balance of the universe. destiny. Joe was more concerned with what he was about to learn from Barbara. He could understand her distrust of the safety of phone conversations, but she would certainly be willing to talk about it face-to-face.When Sesala knew that the caller was not from Colorado, Joe believed that the flash of disappointment was definitely not out of his own imagination.Likewise, her references to the idea that conspiracy theories are dangerous and that Joe needs to go to therapy sound like sympathetic things she's talking about, more or less meant for the people listening in on the phone. If Barbara wants to unburden her mind, all the answers to the mysterious crash will be at her fingertips. Of course, Joe wanted to know the truth of the whole incident, but he was afraid that if he knew that the cause of the air crash was man-made rather than an accident, he would have no peace for the rest of his life.Although the future of this journey of truth is uncertain, it seems that instead of facing the light, it falls into the vortex of darkness and chaos. He carried four articles about Technoco that he had printed out from the Post computer. The business part was dull, and Joe only slept for three and a half hours, so he couldn't concentrate.He took another fitful nap as the airliner flew over the Moruwe Desert and the Rocky Mountains.In the dream, there was a lit oil lamp and an alarm clock with numbers flashing. It seemed that he was about to understand the whole truth, but when he woke up, there was still only the desire to get the answer. The humidity in Denver was extremely high, the skies were overcast, and the mountains to the west were hidden in morning mist.Joe rented a car with his driver's license and credit card, but the deposit was paid in cash, just to avoid being traced by using the credit card. Although Joe didn't find any suspicious people during this period of time, he still parked his car in a shopping center not far from the airport, and then searched inside and outside the car, up and down, but fortunately, he didn't find anything like yesterday. The signal transmitter found in the car. Well, the rental Ford is clean. Starting from the shopping center, he took a zigzag route all the way, looking at the car behind from the rearview mirror from time to time, and after making sure that he was not being followed, he drove on Interstate 25 and headed south. Joe put the accelerator pedal to the floor, regardless of the speed limit.Because he was more and more convinced that if he didn't get to Barbara's residence in time, he would find her dead by his own hands.Seppuku, self-immolation, or a big hole in the back of the head.