Connected (11 page)

“Guys!” said Cindy, just catching him under the arms
as he fell and gently easing him down onto the pavement. “Stay with him while I
get my car,” she said. “It’s just round the corner.”
“Shouldn’t we call an ambulance?” asked Taff.
“No, my car will be faster!” she replied, then sprinted off while Brian put his
hand under Doug’s head for support, and applied the handkerchief to his cheek.
“What a babe!” said Mike watching Cindy’s athletic form turn the corner.
“Aye, she’s a bonnie lass!” agreed Jock.
“And a whole lot of trouble,” added Brian
“Aren’t they all?” said Taff.
About a minute later came the deep throaty roar of a high performance engine,
and a gleaming silver Porsche appeared at the top of the street. Rounding the
corner like a Formula One race car, it accelerated towards them. The students
gaped in awe as it braked hard, coming to sudden but controlled stop three feet
from Doug’s head. Cindy leapt out, ran round and pulled open the passenger
door. She bent down and touched a button at the base of the seat. The red
leather started to slide silently backwards, reclining as it went.
“Sweet!” said Mike.
The others lifted Doug’s limp body into the car, buckled the seat belt and shut
the door.
“I’m taking him to Colchester General.” she said, opening the driver’s side.
“Is there anything I need to tell the Doctor – drugs? Allergies? Reactions to
Penicillin?”
“He was knocked unconscious during the match last Wednesday,” said Brian. “But
they should already have that on their records, since he was taken there after
it happened. Other than that, not that I’m aware of.”
She nimbly swung herself into the driver’s seat, gunned the ignition, and with
another deep throbbing roar, they were gone.
“Another pint anyone?” asked Mike.

It was 10:30 when the clatter of rain against window
finally wrenched Peter from the depths of sleep. He drowsily donned his
dressing gown and staggered downstairs. In the kitchen, Isabelle was staring
out at the dark clouds, which hung menacingly over the landscape.
“You know, until I moved to England, I had no idea there were quite so many
shades of grey,” she said, matter-of-factly, without turning.
“Yes, I’m afraid that’s the price we pay for such a green and pleasant
land.”
She gave a little laugh. “I was hoping to make the garden a little greener and
more pleasant today. Don’t think I want to any more though.”
Peter poured himself a mug of coffee from a jug on the Aga. “Would you like
one?” he asked her.
Isabelle looked over her shoulder and shook her head. “There is something you
could do for me though - if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Of course - anything.”
“I wanted to order some plants over the Internet, but I can’t find the details
of the nursery we use. Martin used to do all those things so I think the
address must be in his email somewhere. Do you think you could take a look for
me - help me get their website up so I can choose what I want and place the
order?”
“Of course, no problem. Can you remember when you last used them?”
“It would have been last Autumn, probably in October, I think.”
Knowing Martin’s aversion to the medium, Peter hadn’t yet bothered to check his
brother’s email. “Let’s see who you’ve been emailing,” he muttered under his
breath. Opening Outlook, he gave a little laugh and frowned. There were over a
thousand mails in the inbox. Martin had clearly made no attempt to organise the
correspondence into folders and whatever anti-spam measures might have been in
place were failing miserably. Peter ran a search and quickly found some
electronic receipts from “Lakeland Nurseries”, dating from October last year.
He printed one to show to Isabelle and continued browsing. Partly out of habit,
he continued through methodically, deleting all the obvious spam. Most of what
remained were commercial email blasts from theatre, music and travel companies,
some newsletters and a handful of notifications from various online purchasing
sprees. Scattered amongst the commercial junk were only a handful of personal
mails. Peter recognised some of the names from Martin’s circle of friends and
fellow musicians. Some were jokes, others contained details of rehearsals and
concert schedules. As he scrolled through, his eye was drawn to a series of
messages with the subject “Your paper on the evolution of Mandelbrot sets”. On
closer inspection, he realised they were all from the same sender – Kal Gupta.
Peter began reading the thread from the bottom.

Dear Mr. Gupta,
I came across your paper “Evolution of Mandelbrot sets” on the Internet and
would very much like to discuss it with you.
In particular it was your description of the curious hypnotic effect induced by
the shifting fractal patterns which caught my attention. I have recently
created some short audio passages which induce what would seem to be a very
similar effect. I was therefore wondering whether we might share our work to
date, and perhaps even collaborate on producing some sort of combined
audio-visual experience.
I must warn you now that I am neither a mathematician nor a computer wizard and
was therefore unable to follow all the technical explanations in your paper. As
a professional musician however, I do understand sound! Hopefully, this is the
area where I can add some value.
Yours faithfully
Martin Sawyer.

Hi Martin,
Thanks for your email and for the interest in my paper – I think you may be the
only one who read it:-) Yes, I’d love to collaborate. By the way, my pet name
for the project is Dream-Zone. There is a folder called DZ on a server here at
the university where I keep stuff relating to the project. I’ve now created you
a login so you can access it directly.
Your login name is “Maestro” and your password is “1stviolin” -yeah I Googled
you. You’re famous, Man:-)
So just click on the attached link and enter the above id and password to get
in. You won’t be able to delete anything, but you can download the latest
graphics generator programmes as well as upload your own stuff. Have fun with
the graphics and let me know when you’ve uploaded something. I can’t wait to hear
it!
Cheers
Kal.

Dear Kal,
Thank you for the link and for so readily granting me access to your work. I
have run the graphics programme files, and as you will see for yourself, the
effect is indeed very similar to that produced by my audio passages. I also
like the name Dream-Zone by the way! Very apt.
I have uploaded three of my latest compositions. The biggest one produces the
strongest effect for me, but I’d be interested in seeing whether it’s the same
for you.
I’m now experimenting with combining both audio and visual components, but I
can’t seem to get the synchronisation right. I keep getting hints of something
quite extraordinary, but so far, the combined effect seems to wax and wane in
intensity. I’ll keep working on it.
Regards
Martin.

Hi Martin,
Your audio is brilliant and you’re right, I reckon they must both be
stimulating the same parts of the brain, since the effect is so similar. Maybe
we should invite someone with a background in Neuroscience to take a look and
see what they think. I’ve also tried playing the audio and visual
simultaneously, but as you say, it doesn’t seem to quite work.
Cheers Kal.

Dear Kal,
Although I don’t have the computing ability to create a combo file which I can
send you, I HAVE managed to recreate the effect we’ve been after!!!
It’s incredible! I’ve been playing it over and over and it feels like it’s
somehow changing me. I can’t describe it. What you have to do, is adjust the
synchronisation by slowing down the audio in certain parts. My synthesizer
software lets me do this manually, but I can’t seem to record the result. If
you listen to the audio though, you’ll hear certain rhythmic beats. These have
to coincide with the full-screen colour shifts in your graphics. If you can’t
manage to recreate it at your end, I’ll try to make an old-fashioned tape and
post it to you.
Regards
Martin.

Hi Martin,
Sounds very cool!
I’m kind of busy with other stuff this week, but will play around with it as I
find time. Don’t get too carried away though mate. That “changing me” comment
is a little scary :-)
Kal.

Hi Martin,
I did it! Finally managed to create a combo file that plays automatically!!!
The trick, as you’d said, was in the synch. I just had to stretch the audio
waveform so that the larger amplitude beats corresponded with each shift in
phase of the visuals. Heaven knows how you managed to do this manually and by
ear though. It took me most of last week in between lectures and I had to hack
some pretty heavy duty editing software to get the job done. At the end of the day,
I guess that’s why you’re a pro musician though and I’m a computer geek LOL.
Anyway, take a look at it and let me know if it’s the same as what you got. I
reckon it must be, because it’s blowing my f**king mind! I tell you, we can
make money out of this. I think I know what you mean about it changing you too.
It’s like it somehow makes you cleverer. I seem to know stuff now that I didn’t
know before! Weird eh?”
Cheers
Kal.

Martin,
What’s up man? You on tour or something?
I’m desperate to hear what you made of that last file. I just can’t stop
playing it. It’s beautiful man!  We need to talk though. Please get back
to me!
Kal

Peter read the thread a second time, and then
tried the link Kal had attached. The link worked fine, but the DZ folder was
empty.
“Damn!” he shouted out loud.
“Peter! Are you all right?” Isabelle called from the kitchen.
“Yes. Sorry. Just looking for something. Don’t worry.” he called back. He
quickly opened up My Computer and started a search for video files. There were
none.
At that moment Isabelle entered the Den. “If it’s too much trouble to find that
nursery stuff, just forget…” she stopped mid-sentence.
“What is it?” asked Peter looking worried.
“That expression on your face! For a minute you looked exactly like Martin.”
“Well, he was my brother,” he said, half-apologetically.
“No, that’s not what I meant. That expression on your face when you first
turned round was exactly like Martin’s over the last few months. You’re not
getting into all that crazy computer stuff he was into, are you?”
“No… no of course not. I just came across some interesting correspondence
with a fellow named Kal Gupta. Did Martin ever mention the name to you?”
Isabelle thought for a moment. She still looked worried.
“No, I don’t think so, but then I was in Paris for the three weeks prior to his
death, and so I have no idea what he got up to during that time. Peter, please
promise me you won’t become obsessed with that thing the way he did! I would
never forgive myself if something …”
“I promise,” he lied, getting up and hugging her. He picked up the nursery
receipt from the printer and handed it to her. “Here, is this the place you
were talking about?”
Isabelle took it from him, studied it and finally smiled. “Yes, that’s the
place. Thank you so much Peter. Can you get their website up, so I can order
some things?”
The prospect of getting her hands on some new plants had obviously cheered
Isabelle considerably, for which Peter was grateful, but as he helped her find
the plants and place the order, his mind kept returning to Dream-Zone. He had
to get hold of these video files, and to do that, it seemed he would need to
track down Kal Gupta.

After lunch, Peter returned the study. He
rescanned the emails, looking for a contact phone number. There were none. He
composed a brief message to Kal explaining the situation and hit send. Why had
Martin deleted the files from his computer, he wondered? For that matter, why
had Kal deleted them from the University server? He checked the Internet
browser to see if Martin had saved any relevant bookmarks. He could find
nothing that seemed to relate to Dream-Zone. A Google search on the title of
Kal’s paper however, produced three results, of which one appeared to originate
from Essex University. The work had obviously failed to be published in any
respectable journals. He clicked on the link, and finally the paper appeared.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said to himself. It was not particularly well
written, but the mathematics underlying the fractal transformations struck
Peter as both clever and vaguely familiar. When he came to the passage
describing the hypnotic effects, he stopped. He could see why Martin had been
so eager to make contact. The sense of rising and rushing forwards were
described with familiar clarity although quite how a computer generated image
could do this was hard for Peter to imagine.

He sat back in the chair and shut his eyes, trying
to visualise it. He felt a sudden urge to try the audio files again. It was
almost like an addictive craving, gnawing away at his mind. Eventually he
succumbed and ran the file. This time he tried to imagine swirling fractal
patterns as the music worked its strange magic on him. If only he could get
hold of the combined video file. He checked Martin’s inbox again and saw that
his earlier mail had generated an “unknown recipient” reply. Not only had the
files been deleted, but Kal Gupta’s email address was no longer valid. What on
earth was going on? He sent the paper to the printer so as to preserve at least
this one tangible connection to his goal, lest that too were to disappear for
some reason. As the pages came out he removed the title sheet: “The Evolution
of Mandelbrot sets” by Kal Gupta and Douglas Richards. In his haste to get to
the body of the paper, he had completely missed the fact that there was a
co-author. Under Douglas Richards’ name was an email address. He hurriedly
composed another mail, sent it off and sat staring at the screen. “Please don’t
let this one bounce back as well!” he prayed to no one in particular. He
glanced at his watch. It was nearly four o’clock. Should he call Abigail now or
this evening? He looked again at the email inbox and hit the send/receive
button. Nothing. This evening, after the kids had gone to bed would be better.
But then again, she would be more tired later, and tiredness could make her
even more irritable than usual. Hell, maybe he’d just forget to call her
altogether. Temporary relief versus the possibility of greater pain later? It
was a tough call.
At that moment, Isabelle came in with a half bottle of red wine and two
glasses. “Thought you might fancy one of these”, she said softly, slightly
slurring her words. “Are you busy or can I join you?”
“No, that’s all right, I think I’m done here for now.” He glanced through the
window. “Seems to have stopped raining at last. Not too late for a spot of
gardening if you still fancy it. I could even lend a hand if you like.”
She sat looking at him for a moment, sipping her wine. “Peter, is everything
okay between you and Abigail?”
Peter was taken aback. “Yes, I think so… I mean, we have our fair share of
rows, but doesn’t everyone? No, I think we’re doing okay. Why do you ask?”
“I’m sorry, it’s really none of my business, I’ve just noticed that you haven’t
called her very much since you’ve been here and – well - each time you have,
you’ve come away slightly peevish.”
“Well, you know what she’s like. She gets very tired looking after the kids,
and can be a bit irritable sometimes. She’s a good egg though. Does a good job
raising Sam and Kate, and we get on fine most of the time.”
“But is that all you want? To get on fine?”
Peter suddenly felt flushed. He imagined again what it would be like married to
Isabelle instead of Abigail. So calm, so understanding… so breathtakingly
gorgeous. Time seemed to slow as he stared at her lips, moistened with the wine
and slightly parted, white teeth and the tip of her tongue just visible through
the glistening gap. He yearned to kiss those lips, to enact that which his
imagination had so often promised. He again pictured her naked body, as
revealed in so many dreams.
Isabelle’s cheeks partially reddened as if reading his thoughts. “I’m sorry
Peter. You don’t have to answer. It must be the wine.”
“It’s okay,“ he said, thankful to have been jolted out of reverie before his
mounting lust had become too obvious. He shifted nervously on the chair and
crossed his legs. “Life is seldom perfect,” he said with a sigh. “Sometimes we
just have to do the best we can with the choices we’ve made.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
“Our marriage isn’t perfect, but then, how many truly are? We’ve had some great
times – still have … and we have two beautiful children to show for it.
Anyway, what is love, but a sliding scale of mental compatibility and sexual
attraction? At one end, you can’t stand each other. At the other, you can’t
stand to be parted. Most of the time, if we’re lucky, the slider is closer to
the good end, but it moves back and forth over time.”
“So you don’t believe in absolute love - that it’s possible to find one’s soul
mate, and never waiver in the depth of feeling you have for that person?”
Peter thought for a moment. “I so want that to be true, but experience so far
has shown otherwise.” As he said these words, he again thought of his feelings
for Isabelle. Did he love her, or was it simply a case of the grass being
greener? His heart spoke loud and clear, but his head was not so sure. Had he
not felt the same way about Abigail at the beginning? The passion of discovery
accompanying every new relationship must surely die eventually, no matter how
intense. Even the thrill of exploring every inch of a body as beautiful as Isabelle’s
would eventually start to recede - although admittedly, that was hard to
imagine.
“Was Martin your soul mate, Isabelle? Did you love him as deeply at the end as
you had at the beginning?”
“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. “Obviously, the nature of it changed, as
did the way we expressed it, but yes, I loved him just as much … and I think
a part of me always will.”
Peter felt a surge of disappointment, and then hated himself for it.
“I also loved you,” she continued without emotion. “Still love you in fact,”
she added.
“You mean like a brother or something,” he added awkwardly.
She stared at him, her eyes dark and intense. “Not exactly,” she said, taking a
large gulp of wine and draining her glass. “But not as a soul-mate either.
Would you like some more wine?” she offered.
Peter had taken no more than a few sips, but in three large gulps, emptied the
glass and reached out for a refill.
“You must know what I mean,” she said, her eyes momentarily darting down to his
crossed legs and back up again.
Peter stared at the woman before him with a combination of excitement and
dread. He had so often imagined the moment when mutual feelings might be
revealed through spoken word, but never in the wildest of those dreams, had the
scene played out like this. It must be the wine talking, he thought with
dismay. She would be embarrassed later. But then again, alcohol could surely
only remove the inhibitions which might otherwise shackle one’s true feelings.
Deep down she must really love him. He leaned over and placed a hand on her
shoulder. “Dear Isabelle,” he said with a mixture of sadness and affection.
“Now is neither the time nor the place to say such things.”
She started to cry.
“Hey, come on now. You know I love you too, but…”
She hugged him tightly, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. He rested his
hand on the back of her head, and gently stroked her hair.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed.
“No need to apologise - so much has happened – so much to take in.”
“I feel such a fool.”
“You shouldn’t,” he said. “You just finally dared to say what we both…” he
trailed off. She pulled away and looked at him, wiping her eyes with the back
of her hand and smudging mascara across her cheek.
“I didn’t think it was just me.” She let out a stifled chuckle, then began to
cry again, squeezing him more tightly.
He gently kissed the top of her head. So there it was. That burning question
which had lain at the back of his mind for so many years, was finally answered.
The feeling was mutual, but now he faced a greater dilemma. What to do with
such information? In his dreams and fantasies, this revelation was followed by
a delicious sequence of increasing intimacy, but now he just felt awkward. He
thought of his brother and then of Abigail and the kids.
“Let’s not spoil what we have,” he heard himself saying softly, while another
voice in his head screamed, Take her now, you fool!  “And let’s not spoil
the memory of what you and Martin had,” he continued. “You just said yourself
that he was your soul-mate.”
She looked up at him again, sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Yes, thank you Peter.”
She stood up and started towards the door. He rose and took a step towards her.
She stopped and turned, her eyes like pools of molten chocolate inviting him in
to bathe. Placing her palms on his cheeks, she pulled his face slowly towards
hers and gently kissed him on the lips. Peter remained still, neither kissing
her back, nor pulling away. A wave of emotion broke over him as he savoured the
sensation. A tear ran down her cheek and landed on his chin. She gradually
pulled back. For a moment their mouths resisted the motion, held together by
the suction of warm moist flesh before gradually springing apart. Then she
turned and left the room without another word.