"I See You" - Third in the four-part series 'Project Hollow Point' - Mixed media on plywood. My 153rd painting.

October 14, 1977.

“May I ask what happened yesterday?” #03 questions.
“No.” #57 shoots back.
“You haul ass out of here like there’s a fucking fire - "
“Eyes only, need to know.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“We have work to do.”

#57 sets #03 up for another remote viewing session.


#57
Relax and focus on the individual in the photograph. Concentrate only on her and move to her real time current location. Tell me what you see.

#03
There’s a row of black vans. Outside a building. They’re all empty. Four, no five vans. Now people are exiting the building, about a dozen of them - women and small children. The woman, I see her! She’s behind the others.

#57
Describe her appearance to me.

#03
She looks the same, wearing army fatigues this time. Black baseball cap. Machine gun. The rest of them - dirty dark grey jumpsuits. She’s loading them into the vans. Two of the vans.

#57
Now, describe the building to me. All the details you can make out, as clearly as you can.

#03
Concrete faced building. Old. Crumbling in places. Single level.

#57
Rise above the building and tell me what you see.

#03
Big structure. Fifty feet wide, maybe a hundred feet long. Middle of nowhere. I see smoke, behind the building.

#57
Move to the source of the smoke and tell me what you see.

#03
Behind the building, huge bonfire, but it’s daytime.

#57
Describe the fire to me and what they are burning.

#03
Two men, throwing logs on, big logs. Moving closer, it’s smoking badly, wait - oh God, No!

#57
Tell me what you see.

#03
Not logs, bodies. They’re burning bodies! Oh God, women and children, the bodies are women and children!

The agitated man is hyperventilating, his composure dissolves and he falls from his chair. The agent rushes over to attend to the man who now writhes on the floor with a nosebleed.


TWO HOURS LATER

#03 rests in a bed down the hall. He’s been checked by a doctor and cleared to leave. #57 escorts him from the room to the elevator.

“Monday morning then.” the agent says.
The shaken man nods just before the doors close.

In the parking lot, crisp fall air brushes across his face. A midnight blue van reverses into the spot next to his. He opens his door and a voice beckons from behind.

“Got a light?” asks a blonde woman in sunglasses.
“Sorry, don’t smoke.”
“Thanks.” she says.

The van door thrusts open - exposing a young woman clad in all black. He feels a pin prick to his neck, turns to see the very blurry image of a person.

After an hour of driving the cocktail of knock-out drugs wear off - he comes to, zip-tied at wrist and ankle, hands behind.

Sitting across from him - the woman from the remote viewing sessions - only now she’s not wearing the shades, blonde wig or long parka. The van stops on a confined dirt road surrounded by tall, beautiful conifers.