Message From Viola Mari (7 page)

“That was mature,” said Jennifer. “What’s going on with you two?”

“In a nutshell, I went to dinner with him and it went great until his ex-girlfriend showed up. I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

“Fine,” said Jennifer. “But when you do want to talk about it, let me know. I’ve known you for almost ten years and I’ve never seen you so upset.”

“Do I look upset to you?” I forced a smile that came out like a grimace.

“Hell, yes you do. You’re going to get lockjaw if you make those faces much longer. I’ll take you somewhere we can order a stiff drink.”

Chapter Six

Unable to sleep during the long overseas flight to Prague, I spent the night studying my notes on the NRG meteorite sites. I wasn’t sure how to present my conclusions, since my research had opened up more questions than it answered.

Frustrated, I slid my notes back into my briefcase and opened up my science fiction novel file on my laptop. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to read it. It was a little science and a lot of imagination.

I’d learned the craters were sometimes visible on radar and that the altered rocks had altogether unfamiliar chemistry. In most cases, when a meteor struck the ground, it fractured and or melted the rocks, sometimes imbedding trace amounts of elements contained in the meteorite in the upper layers of the crater. In this case, though, I observed a completely new set of metals and minerals—ones never before observed on earth or in any extraterrestrial object.

I typed out thoughts that popped into my head and rested my chin on my elbow to stare at what I’d written. The scenario I’d outlined for my novel sounded fantastical.
But too improbable to be true—maybe…

I waved my hand to signal one of the taxis outside the airport terminal. Once the driver greeted me and placed my luggage in the trunk, I asked him to take me to the Waterfront Congress Centre.

Thank goodness, the driver spoke English. I’d experienced how a slight mispronunciation of a Spanish word could send a Hispanic into a laughing fit. I could only imagine what my muddling together of multiple consonants would do to a native Czech’s ears. “You are from the United States,” the man said, as if stating a fact.

Why is it so obvious?
Is it my Guess jeans, my blond hair or my high neckline that gave me away?
The driver sat erectly, his face muscles tightening when he spoke. Whenever I asked a question, he fired back a curt response. He never welcomed me to the Czech Republic or offered suggestions on places to visit.

Many of the austere looking buildings looked like prisons with immense stone or brick facades and rows of small windows. Perhaps mentally ill patients were housed inside. I imagined quaking hands wiping dust from a window.

A row of parking spaces had yellow numbers that at first struck me as swastikas. “They are numbers, you idiot,” I whispered to myself. The man’s dark eyes studied me curiously in the rear view mirror.

The overcast skies, the pollution-blackened buildings and the driver’s cool mood reminded me I was thousands of miles away from my familiar world. I longed to hear Jennifer’s patronizing voice. A sliver of sunlight crept out from behind a cloud, illuminating the historic part of the city, which stood in the distance on the far side of a river. Then, I breathed in a different Prague.

From my eighth floor balcony, I sipped a cup of coffee and nibbled on pastries. The Vltava River stretched out below me, decorated with boats and cross-cut by arching bridges. Hundreds of people milled around the famous Charles Bridge. An army of exhaust-blackened Baroque statues stood over the crowd on the margins of the bridge. In the historic district, buildings took on less blocky, more pleasing shapes. Buildings and churches had red tile rooftops or were decorated with pale green cupolas. A lush green hillside decorated with blossoming fruit trees—Petrin Hill—sat on the other side of the river. Beside it stood the majestic Prague Castle with its turrets, stone walls, and lines of small windows. Surrounded by Baroque, Gothic and Cubist buildings, many of which had been erected more than six hundred years ago, the timelessness of the city’s historic district welcomed me. I no longer felt like an outcast. My surroundings were as much a part of history as the rocks and minerals I studied.
Here I’ll be able to see what I haven’t seen before.

Behind the podium, I looked out at the sea of scientists from around the world, feeling like my usual strong and confident self. I wasn’t Justin’s student anymore, lowering my eyes, squirming in my seat and feeling inadequate. Even the visceral attraction I’d felt for him seemed like a distant memory.
It’s as if Justin and the mayhem he created don’t exist.
I clicked through my slides, showing the location of all the NRG structures. After explaining the unusual characteristics of the craters, I showed microscope images of some samples I’d collected, pointing out the unusual minerals. At the end of the presentation, I clicked to the last slide, which once again showed a map of the NRG sites. The bright spots on the screen morphed into stars behind my eyelids when I blinked. All of a sudden I gasped.

The difference between a good and a great scientist is not allowing knowledge to interfere with the ability to see what’s never been seen before. Those lights I saw when I blinked connected one by one into a definitive shape. They weren’t random, like Pollock’s paint spatters. This was intentional art. The line of impact craters formed the shape of a galaxy, its long arms spiraling out from its core. What I now suspected was that someone many light years away had a message to relay. And I was to be the interpreter.

I sipped some water and drew in a deep breath. “Indeed, there is so much still to be learned about NRG craters. Perhaps we will discover the meteorites that produced these craters and transformed ocean sands and basalts into minerals never seen before, are really shards from another planet in another galaxy that surrounds a sun similar to our own.”

My conclusions incited thundering applause. I looked around at all the faces looking up at me and wondered how they would have responded had I said aliens were trying to communicate with me.
Would that applause have turned to laughter? Would the leading meteorite scientists from Stockholm, London, Paris and Beijing still step up to shake my hand?

It didn’t matter, I thought as I stepped down from the podium. When I collected all the evidence I needed to make my case, I would find a convincing way to present it so people would be ready to accept the unbelievable as believable. I shook hands and spoke with various scientists, feeling that adrenaline rush only exercise and demonstrating powerful competence incited. A journalist from a local newspaper requested an impromptu interview. I tucked a lock of hair behind one ear as I answered his first question. All around me men stood, listening, their unblinking eyes fastened on me. I had something important to say, they thought.
If you only knew.

I explored the narrow cobblestone streets, stopping first at Old Town Square to see the Orloj, a medieval astronomical clock. Gathering crowds gazed up the face of Old Town City Hall’s ancient stone wall, waiting for the top of the hour, when the Apostles and other moving sculptures stepped out of the clock. Every street in Old Town offered a different surprise. Above arches, beneath pillars and along many of the buildings’ ancient rooftops, shirtless men with rippling muscles flexed and dresses draped fleshy, curvy women. All the statues looked like superheroes—the men’s chests and abdomens were perfectly chiseled and the women’s dresses looked like capes or wings. I admired their fortitude. I imagined myself standing on top of a building, the wind rustling my wings, rather than my jacket.
Now my reality is fantasy
. A blissful laugh escaped my lips and echoed through the narrow cobblestone corridor.

I walked back to the hotel and ventured into the noisy hotel bar, slipped off my jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. I ordered a Chardonnay and glanced around the smoke-filled room. A moment later, the bartender set a wine glass down in front of me with a
clink
and asked if I’d like to start a tab.

“Let me pick this one up.” A broad-shouldered blond man plunked down in the chair beside me and leaned in my direction. “And please bring me a glass of Schnapps.” He straightened his dark gray jacket and gazed at me.

“Have we met before?” The Nordic man with the sexy bass voice looked vaguely familiar.

“Stefan Andersson. We met briefly last year at the Stockholm conference.”

“Oh, yes. I recall your fascinating presentation on SNC meteorites.” I noticed how his muscular thighs pleasantly filled out his tweed slacks.

“Well, thank you, Miss Jones. I’m quite flattered. But I didn’t come over to discuss meteorites.” His gaze dropped down toward my breasts and he licked his lips.

“Really?” I sat up a little straighter in my chair, pulling my jacket lapels in toward each other. “So what did you want to discuss, Mr. Andersson?” I tugged my skirt down a little lower when his blue eyes drifted from my bust line to my calves.

“I do wish you would call me Stefan. A woman as lovely as you shouldn’t spend nights alone in a place as romantic as Prague. I thought you might like some company.”

“All alone? Well, I’d hardly say that—.”

“Oh, don’t play innocent with me, Miss Jones. Surely, you must know what looking at an attractive woman like yourself does to every male scientist at this conference?” He planted his feet wide apart on the floor and leaned in toward me. The tweed fabric tightened around his crotch.

This is definitely not good.
I glanced at my untended fingernails and drummed them on the glass countertop to draw his attention. “The grit in my fingernails gets their blood racing every time.”

“Oh, how you toy with me.” Stefan grasped my upper arm, cutting off my circulation. My neck muscles tightened and fear pulsed through my veins. Stefan seemed accustomed to taking what he wanted. I longed for Justin’s touch, which had felt like the perfect blend of strength and gentleness.
Justin would never force himself on me like this.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I yanked my arm free.

I caught an unpleasant whiff of garlic when he leaned in and breathed into my ear. “Look at that mini-skirt you’re wearing. You want men to notice you, don’t you? You want us to want you?” His rough, ape-like hands grappled my collar and pushed their way underneath the top of my jacket.

I leaned away from him and covered my nose with one hand. “I want to you take your hand off of my arm before I break it in half!”
I’m sure that left him shaking in his shoes. This six-foot-four giant could crush me in the palm of his hand.

A dark-skinned man in a black suit tapped me on the shoulder.

“Are you Marissa Jones?”

“I am.” As I turned to face him, Stefan released his assault-like hold.

“These roses are for you,” the man said. He placed the bouquet into my hands. I thanked him and stared at the lovely red roses, my mouth falling open in awe.
He hasn’t forgotten me.
Stefan pushed his chair back. “I’ll catch up with you later.” He elbowed his way through the gathering crowd, his head and shoulders still visible over the crowd.
That was completely terrifying.
Once I returned to my room, I stepped out onto the balcony.

The Vltava River was painted orange by the setting sun. The mood felt so right for romance, for holding hands and taking a sunset walk along the river. I plucked the card from the stem of a rose and opened it. I recognized the scrawled handwriting from my manuscripts. I traced my fingers over the words.

Dear Marissa,

I’m really sorry about the other night. I tried to call you, but you never answered your phone. Our night together should have ended so much differently…I wanted to spend the night loving you.

Chloe and I have been over for weeks. We broke up before I met you. And I never loved her. What I feel for you is different—I don’t understand it yet, but I know I want to see you again. I miss your enthusiasm, your energy, the way you set my nerve endings on fire. Please give me another chance.

Justin

I held the paper to my lips and closed my eyes, imagining Justin was there with me. All I remember seeing was his brilliant green eyes. They flickered like the golden sunlight I’d seen on the water and I still saw them gazing back at me even after I’d opened my eyes.

Chapter Seven

“It took all day for her to review galaxy lists—the Messier, NGC and many more—to compare the image she’d seen behind her eyelids to existing galaxies. Not once was she tempted to give up. Her research was her purpose, her reason to exist. It breathed, had a pulse, like a living being she’d become intimately involved with. She saw the whirling galaxy she’d been searching for, its arms spread wide--the globe at the center of the Armi di Fuoco galaxy had a larger radius than the others. At that moment she knew she’d found the origin of her craters.”

I looked up and smiled, waiting for the class’s response.

“Aliens communicating through rock art? Wow, that’s really bizarre,” said Mark.

“Seems a bit far-fetched,” said Amanda.

Justin paced the room, his hands on his hips. “A few things about her scientific discovery don’t add up. Like how those meteorites travelled all this way to impact the earth?”

“They aren’t true meteorite impacts, but Claudia didn’t recognize that, because they look so much like craters. They’re a message—writing on the ocean floor.”

“So what is this alien message supposed to say?” Justin tipped his head to one side and wrinkled his brow.

“You’ll have to read the rest to find out.” I raised my chin and blinked twice, aiming for arrogant.
What I really mean is I’ll have to figure out the answer before I can respond.

“Well I’m not sure the reader will find this believable,” said Justin. “You have to consider that.”

“This is the story I want to tell.” I felt panicked that he might ask me to rewrite it.
This is the story I have to tell if I’m ever going to untangle this mystery.