While Julie remained drugged and sleeping, she was out of immediate danger and the prognosis for recovery, absent infection or other complications, appeared positive. The jury remained out on the effect of Julie's injury on her speech. In spite of the favorable news, Howie remained, in a word, a mess. He'd been moving steadily downhill since before he traveled west to his mother's final days and had not improved since her passing. He returned to motel in mid-evening, in a car lent to him by the accommodating authorities. Prompted by his concern for Betsy and Molly, he was willing to attempt using the apparatus.
Both of us tried to remember details of Quinn's actions when he set up a session. While we'd both been witness scores of times, neither of us had paid much attention. We tried to duplicate our New Hampshire activities; even recording our efforts but fixing the settings proved to be hit and miss. We somehow managed seven attempts and were successful in inducing Howie to repose on four tries. All four trips brought him back several years in the past. Try as I might, I couldn't fix the time or the location anywhere close to the present where we wanted to be. It was two in the morning and I knew Howie was exhausted.
"It's just not working," he said. I felt he was ready to quit and panic replaced my frustration. Desperate to try anything, I picked up the black composition book.
"That's all old stuff," Howie said. "You won't find any information on what we need. Quinn didn't have to record current time settings; he knew that stuff by heart. There's nothing there newer than the first month when we were testing."
"Do you know what he highlighted in red?" I asked, pointing to the longest underlined numbers at the rear of the booklet.
"Yeah," he answered, his voice dripping in annoyance. "Quinn tricked me by not admitting where he was taking me. We had world war three over it."
I thought I knew but I asked anyway. "Where?"
"To the house where I grew up, at the time of Annie's death. Back last fall he knew I didn't want to go there."
"But you do now." While he'd lately professed his need to seek answers concerning Annie's murder, the look on his face at the prospect of actually going there was far less certain.
"I don't know. I want to know what happened but I don't want to see it. It scares the shit out of me to think of looking at myself."
"Did Quinn think he could accomplish it; pin point the place and date? We never had much luck going back to a specific time that long ago."