F Paul Wilson - Novel 05 (28 page)

 
          
She
turned back to Liam but no one was there. She searched the darkness but he was
gone. Shaken, she pulled her coat closer and hurried up the stone steps. The
whole episode had an unreal feel to it. She had to check her bearings to make
sure she wasn't back in Sam's memoryscape.

 
          
"Coming,
Eathan!"

 
          
When
she reached the top, he was on the driveway and coming her way.

 
          
"The
sunken garden," he said. "I should have known. What were you
doing?"

 
          
"Reminiscing,"
she said.

 
          
"Out
loud? I thought I heard your voice."

 
          
Should
she tell him about Liam? Damn, she hated secrets.

           
But what if Sam was right about
Dad's papers? What if they hadn't been burned? Why would Eathan hide them?
Always so damn overprotective. Was there something in them? Some secret about
their father?

 
          
Listen
to me, she thought, taking the word of a known terrorist and Sam, that paragon
of good sense and rationality.

 
          
But
just in case ...

 
          
"Sometimes
I think out loud," she said. "One of the perils of living
alone."

 
          
"Let's
go inside," he said. "Alma seems to be missing a tape."

 
          
She
followed him to the darkened family room, where the tape of tonight's session
was playing on the big screen. It had to be near the end because the point of
view was in the deeper-level gallery, resting on the painting of the lion in
the gondola. Then it swung over to the unfinished painting on the easel. Then
it faded to be

 
          
Alma
started as Eathan turned on the lights. "Oh! I didn't know you were there.
I was so engrossed."

 
          
"Any
insights?" Julie said.

 
          
Alma
rose from her seat and turned to her. She held a yellow pad full of squiggles.

 
          
"Nothing
that leaps out at me, but there's something there
—
lots
there. I simply need more time, more viewings to put it all
together. And didn't you say you ventured into Samantha's memory twice today? I
seem to be missing the earlier one."

 
          
"That's
because there isn't one. My fault
—
I
forgot to turn on the VCR this afternoon."

 
          
Really
racking up points in the deception category, aren't I, Julie thought.

 
          
"That's
too bad. How much do you remember?"

 
          
Alma
took furious notes as Julie
described the glowing matrioshka ball, the argument between her parents, Sam
and Liam making love . .. but left out Sam's suspicions about Eathan.

 
          
"Very
good," she said as she scribbled her last note. "Very good. With that
fresh in my mind, I want to review the tapes again."

 
          
"Tonight?"

           
"Yes. Immediately." Her
eyes were bright, almost feverish. "I do believe Samantha is trying to
tell us something."

 
          
Julie
knew that look. She'd seen it before... every time she'd demonstrated the
memoryscape. Dr. Alma Evans was hooked.

 
          
"Do
you really think that's possible?"
Eathan said. "How could
there be anything left
—
?"

 
          
Alma
nodded. "Her conscious mind is down
—
a
massive voltage spike followed by a power outage is probably the best analogy
as to what happened in there. But her subconscious mind could still be
active."

 
          
"'Could'?"
Eathan said.

 
          
"Well,
we don't know for sure. We don't know much for sure about the subconscious
mind. We know it houses memories and functions that exist apart from the
conscious mind. Habits, for example
—
all
your habits, all your routine activities, exist in the subconscious mind. Take
fingernail biting, for instance. You don't say to yourself, 'Let's chew on the left
ring finger now.' But if you've got a nail-biting habit, you'll find yourself
gnawing away on a finger, even if you don't want to, even if you're consciously
trying to stop. But more, the subconscious knows things the conscious doesn't
—
it retains some of the garbage the conscious tosses out. It
can make intuitive leaps the conscious wouldn't dare."

 
          
"But
the subconscious is not as organized as the conscious mind," Julie added.

 
          
"Exactly!"
Alma said. "It's nonlinear, nonlogical, nonverbal, and inherently
symbolic. And that's the problem here. These inchoate memories we're seeing
appear to be random in nature
—
"

 
          
"How
can you be sure they
aren't
random?" Eathan said.

 
          
"I
can't. But if the subconscious is at work here
—
if
it senses the presence of its twin and is trying to communicate
—
then eventually a pattern will emerge."

 
          
"How
long is 'eventually'?" he said.

 
          
Alma
shook her head. "That I don't know."

 
          
Julie
didn't want to bring everybody down, but she had to say it.

 
          
"'Eventually'
had better not take too long, because we don't have forever. Deprived of
stimulation and interplay with the conscious mind, the subconscious will become
quiescent as well. And that's what worries me about the second level: We saw
one very active memory node, but Venice was obviously a critical time in Sam's
life. The rest of the level looks dead and drowned. I take that as an ominous
sign. And if I can't find anything else there tomorrow... well, then, I'm
afraid we might be in real trouble."

 
          
Eathan
sighed and looked away. "You mean she's getting worse?"

 
          
"Memory
nodes are disappearing, vanishing.... There's no question about it."

 
          
Alma
grabbed her arm. "Then we've no time to waste. Every minute counts. I want
to rewind these tapes so I can watch them again immediately."

 
          
"Will
it matter?" Eathan said.

 
          
"Who
can say?" Alma was suddenly a ball of fire. "But if anyone can
figure this out, it's me. I think I can safely say that I know Sam's psyche
better than either of you."

 
          
You've
got that right, Julie thought.

 
          
"But
I want you both to sit with me. I need filling in on historical details so I
can separate fact from fantasy as we go along."

 
          
"I
don't know...." Eathan said.

 
          
Alma
touched his arm. "Please, Eathan. For Samantha."

 
          
He
sighed. "Very well. But I really don't see how that's going to help."

 
          
"I
do. Truly I do." She looked around. "Now... where's that first
tape?"

3

 
          
Julie
was about to slip into bed when she heard a gentle knock on the door. She
opened it and found the maid.

 
          
"A
phone call, miss. From New York. A Dr. Siegal."

 
          
Dr.
S.? she thought as she hurried downstairs. Why would he be calling now? She
glanced at the windows as she stepped into the drawing room. Could Liam be out
there watching?

 
          
Shivering,
she picked up the phone.

           
"]ulie," Dr. Siegal said
without preamble. "Mr. Bruchmeyer is so enthusiastic about the project
that he's instructed the board to fast-track our proposal. You know what that
means, don't you."

 
          
"You
need me back there."

 
          
"As
soon as you can get free. I hate to rush you. I know I encouraged you to be
with your family. We can proceed a little further without you, but we'll need
you here in a few more days."

 
          
"A
few more days?'

 
          
Leave
Sam? Strange ... two weeks ago, nothing in the world mattered more than getting
that Bruchmeyer grant. Now everything was changing. She still cared about the
project
—
deeply
—
but it was no longer the only thing that mattered.

 
          
"Well,"
he said. "As soon as you possibly can."

 
          
"Okay.
I'll let you know."

 
          
They
discussed a few details about the proposal, and then said good night.

 
          
Julie
drifted back upstairs. What's happening to me? she wondered. Why aren't I more
stoked about the project being fast-tracked?

 
          
As
she reached the top of the stairs she caught a flash of white at the end of the
hall. She turned in time to see a negligeed
Alma
slipping into Eathan's
bedroom.

 
          
I
guess she's not here just for my sister, she thought.

 
          
Quantum
consciousness. Various theorists, Roger Penrose most prominently, have tried to
wed quantum mechanics to
consciousness theory,
and point
to
the
brain cell's microtubules as the root of consciousness. Vibrations, traveling
through these microtubides, insulated so that they're not forced to choose a
single state, provide the code of consciousness. 1 don't buy it. . . at least
not yet.

—
Random
notes: Julia Gordon

1

 
          
Julie
awoke late, feeling groggy. She opened her eyes and bolted upright in bed when
she recognized her childhood room. For a moment she felt frightened and
disoriented, then remembered that she was back in Oakwood.

 
          
For
a brief moment it had been as if she were a little girl again.

 
          
Funny,
how that scared her.

 
          
Yesterday
had been a long, trying day: arriving here, two trips into Sam's scape, then
staying up late watching memoryscape videos with
Alma
. Too much.

           
And her encounter with Liam. She
should be frightened by his skulking about the grounds at night, but she
wasn't. She'd sensed no threat from him. But then, neither had Sam, obviously,
and look what had happened to her.

 
          
Perhaps
she should tell Eathan this morning.

 
          
And
tell him about what Liam had said about Eathan hiding Dad's papers, the ones
supposedly destroyed in the fire?

 
          
It
was probably garbage ... all garbage.

 
          
But
then what about that locked file in Eathan's cabinet?

 
          
Julie
pulled a pillow over her face to block out the morning light. She wished she
could block out reality as easily. Dr. Siegal's phone call last night
—
he was tugging her back to
New York
while part of her needed to
stay here.

 
          
And
Alma sneaking into Eathan's room. God! Everything was getting so complicated.

 
          
She
threw off the pillow and the covers and rolled out of bed. One thing was
certain: Early this afternoon, as soon as Dr. S. was up and about in New York,
she was heading back into Sam's 'scape. And hopefully she'd find a new memory
to access.

 
          
Of
something else she was not so certain.

 
          
What
to do about the video from yesterday afternoon? Should she show it to Alma? The
woman was devoting so much time and effort to solving the puzzle of Sam, was it
right to withhold one of the pieces? Alma knew Sam's inner workings. Was Julie
hurting Sam by keeping that tape secret?

 
          
Still
pondering that, she headed for the shower.

2

 
          
By
the time she was dressed and ready for breakfast, Julie had made up her mind:
For Sam's sake, she had to let
Alma
see the video from
yesterday afternoon. She'd make up a story about being mistaken about the VCR
being on. It didn't matter how lame it was
—
Alma
would be too overjoyed to get the video to ask many questions.

 
          
But
she wondered if there was some way to spare Eathan the "my uncle is hiding
something" part.

           
Eathan was just finishing his
breakfast when Julie arrived in the dining room. Alma was nowhere about.

 
          
"Sorry
I couldn't wait for you," Eathan said, glancing at his watch as he took a
last sip of coffee, "but I want to catch one of the London commuter
flights out of Leeds."

 
          
"Something
medical?"

 
          
"Legal,
I'm afraid. Regarding Sam. Guardianship, trust-fund matters, provisions for
long-term care. I'll be spending most of the day with lawyers."

 
          
"I'm
sorry to hear that."

 
          
His
smile was wan. "Not as sorry as I." He patted her shoulder and
kissed the top of her head as he passed. "Need anything from London? I can
have someone pick it up while I'm with the lawyers."

 
          
"Thanks,
but I'm pretty well set."

 
          
"Cheers,
then," he said. "See you for dinner. And take good care of Sam while
I'm gone."

 
          
"I
will."

 
          
Cook
brought her some scrambled eggs and muffins; Julie declined the kippers. She'd
just started digging in when Alma arrived. She looked haggard and older than
she had last night.

 
          
"God,
I didn't sleep a wink," Alma said as she let cook pile her plate high with
eggs, bangers, kippers, and potatoes.

 
          
Julie
couldn't resist. "Really? Whatever kept you up seems to have left you with
quite an appetite."

 
          
"Goodness,
yes. I'm quite famished. My mind kept combing through those videos. Over and
over... I couldn't stop it."

 
          
"Getting
anywhere?"

 
          
"Yes,"
she said, nodding vigorously. She pointed to her head. "But I need more
fodder for the mill. When are you going in again?"

 
          
"This
afternoon."

 
          
"Good.
I can run through the tapes once more by then."

 
          
"What
about your practice? Don't you have other patients?"

 
          
"I've
been limiting my practice, and I've taken on an associate who's covering for
me this week. I'll have to be back in London by Monday, though."

 
          
"You
have family there?" Julie didn't want to sound as if she was probing,
but.. ."A husband?"

 
          
"Divorced,
I'm afraid. Just my Jack. My son. He's a barrister. Doing very well. Maybe if
you're in London sometime, I'll introduce you."

 
          
Julie
smiled and decided to change the subject. She was about to inform Alma of the
miraculous discovery of yesterday afternoon's tape when she heard the tires of
Eathan's car crunch on the driveway as he headed for the airport.

 
          
And
suddenly it hit her: Eathan was going to be in London for most of the day. That
gave her all morning to poke through his study.

 
          
Maybe
she'd hold off on giving Alma that tape. Just a little longer.

3

 
          
By
midmorning,
Alma
was camped in the family room with the door closed, the
curtains drawn, and the VCR running.

 
          
Except
for Sam and the nurse, Julie had the whole upstairs to herself. She went
straight to the study, closed the door behind her, retrieved the key from
Eathan's desk, and opened the big oak cabinet.

 
          
Again,
she had that sensation of her life passing before her. The scholastic awards,
the ribbons, Sam's old paintings and sculptures ... they all engendered another
feeling: guilt. Eathan's last words:
Take good care of Sam while I'm gone.

 
          
So
what was she doing instead? Snooping through his private study. Nice...

 
          
One
tug on the handle of the locked file cabinet was enough to convince her that
guilt was premature. If she found nothing, then she'd feel guilty. But if Sam
was right and Eathan was hiding their father's papers, that was another story.

 
          
She
looked at the four-digit combination. It read 9574. She wished it were a letter
code instead of numbers. She knew from her computer-hacking days as a teenager
that people were a lot more predictable when they had to choose a password as
compared to a PIN code.

 
          
She
tried Eathan's birthday: 12-1-41. Easy to remember because he always said he
was born a week before Pearl Harbor. She tried all the four-digit permutations
she could think of, tried adding a zero before the one, even tried putting the
month second, British style. Nothing. The drawers wouldn't budge. She tried
permutations of her own birthday. Same result.

 
          
And
then, without warning, she heard the study door open behind her.

 
          
Julie
froze, dreading the prospect of turning around and facing Eathan.

 
          
Oh,
God! What am I going to
say?

 
          
The
door closed again and a now-familiar voice said, "And who would that be
now, snooping through her uncle's private study?"

 
          
She
whirled. "You!"

 
          
Liam
grinned at her. "Himself."

 
          
He
was dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a heavy white sweater. His gleaming smile
sparkled, as did his blue eyes. With a cloth cap pulled snug over his long, red
hair, he looked like one of the groundsmen.

 
          
"How
on earth
—
?"

 
          
"Oh,
saw the uncle leave, I did, then saw the cook head into
the
village. So
I walked in the back door. I know you're out in the middle of nowhere, but you
really do need better security here." He stared at the wall cabinet.
"Look at this, will you. I grew up in a flat smaller than this."

 
          
As
the shock wore off, anger flared in Julie. "Get out of here!
Get
out
now or I'll call the police!"

 
          
"You'll
be doing no such thing, and you won't be taking another swing at me either,
I'm hoping." He gave the brim of his cap a mockingly deferential tug as he
stepped past her. "Because you're as curious as I am, aren't you. Sammi
as much as asked me to take a look for her. Said, 'You can do that kind of thing,
can't you?* It was her last request before she locked herself away in her
bloody room and wouldn't see anybody. And so I'm honoring it." He surveyed
the cabinet. "Now what have we here?"

 
          
Julie's
anger dissipated. She didn't feel afraid of the man. He easily could have gone
to Sam's room if he'd wanted to, could have just as easily hurt Julie last
night. She took a breath
—
and accepted the fact that
he wasn't a danger. For the moment.

           
She also realized that Liam was the
one person who could tell her about Sam's last days.

 
          
"What
was she like that week? Did she say anything about being afraid of
anyone?"

 
          
"Poor
thing was afraid of her own shadow about then, and I don't know why. Don't
think she did either. She went a little bit off. Maybe more than a little. All
she wanted to do was work on that painting. Didn't sleep, didn't eat. Wouldn't
give anyone even a peek at it, or let them near it."

 
          
He
paused. "Now that I'm thinking of it, you could almost say it was the
painting she was afraid of. Scared to death of it and yet she couldn't drag
herself away from it. Does that make any sense?"