After the visit to the archivist I really had lost my bearings. The idea of PW was changing as I explored this other side of the project.

Was it actually pure research or was there a sinister agenda that had set all this in motion so I’d be contributing by my research invovement in a vast and complex unknown purpose that could mean harm?

There was something I recalled from my early days in research – something like the regulations for research hygiene. One suggestion: to have a separate set of clothes on hand to change into after immersion in a difficult project. Wash, shower, put on the new clothes, leave behind the old ones. Don’t look back.

I tried to do this but didn’t have much success. For one thing, our pay was so low, especially as young interns, that I just couldn’t afford it. And the whole idea was only symbolic since the work happened in thought and rarely in action. When I did have a chance to try it, there was a real shift in my being. It worked. I was able to move on.

There was a cluster of hair that had been taken from a hairbrush. It was rolled into a loose messy ball, and it seemed important. I placed it in a sealed evidence bag and gave it to HQ. This was years ago.

Imagine my surprise when I saw the same ball of hairs on a shelf behind glass in the archivist’s home. What was most disconcerting – it looked like this hair was mine. Yet I’d given it to HQ as a research find over 20 years before, it couldn’t have been mine. Probing my memory, I knew that I hadn’t seen it in the room at the archivist’s place the first time I was there. I only saw it on the second visit. “What’s she doing with my hair behind glass?” I thought. And now I’m remembering the evidence bag. Weird.

I’ll look into it if more clues appear, but for now I need to focus closer at hand. Put in place systems of research hygiene to avoid contamination.

But my mind kept going back to that hair. It had been found in a cupboard that was in a popular B&B. The owners complained that their customers were disturbed at night and they were beginning to wonder if there was a pattern involved. Since this was a small unimportant query into basic pattern analysis, HQ sent two junior interns to check out the place: Me and Laurene. She was as new as I was, but had trained back east so we only met when on this job.

This is a long story, are you sure you want to hear it? I’ll cut to the chase – We stayed there for three nights, at the time of a full moon. Sure enough, we became anxious and agitated, unable to sleep. There has to be something here – a gas or some other influence. We checked the bathroom, kitchen cupboards, fridge, stove drawer. Linen basket. Nada. Then the small bed table had a door below the drawer. Jackpot. Opening it we found this hair ball in the lower left corner, lifted it out with evidence tongs and bagged it for HQ. There had been no more problems in the place after that, we got a pat on the back and the evidence hair went into the warehouse.

No one ever found out how or why it got there, nor anything further on the case, and we all moved on. Then to see the same hair ball, and it was identical to my own, was very disconcerting to think about. Had she brushed my hair and kept some while I was sleeping (out cold is more like it) that first afternoon? How can I trust her? It was too creepy to think about, so I planned to confront her about it next time we met and moved into another line of thought.