F Paul Wilson - Novel 05

by Mirage (v2. 1)

  You drift into the shattered night that was once your sister's life. A deep, unaccountable melancholy seeps through you.

  What happened here?

  You click on the Exit button.

  Eight

  The more 1 learn about the fragility of memory, the less disturbed I am by the innumerable distortions that occur, and more dumbfounded by the fact that we can remember anything accurately at all.

  —Random notes: Julia Gordon

  1

  Julie pulled off the helmet. She looked at the monitor a few feet away, empty now except for the words Session Terminated. Please Name File for Saving.

  The cursor blinked patiently but Julie did not—could not— move.

  Sam's bombed-out memoryscape had left her rattled, confused. The unimaginable devastation—and the two memories she'd been able to access—had only added to the mystery. Why?

  "Julie?" A hand touched her shoulder, startling her. "Julie, are you all right?"

  Eathan. She'd forgot about him, sitting here through it all, watching everything. She turned to htm. His face was pale, stricken.

  "You saw?"

  He nodded. "It looks ... terrible. Does everyone's—what do you call it—mindscape—?"

  "Memoryscape."

  "Do they all look like that?"

  "No. Sam has the Hiroshima of memoryscapes. I'm not too sure what I'll be able to find ... or see."

  "You're upset."

  Julie sighed. "I suppose I am. But I'm also intrigued, and confused: Why these memories? What makes them so damn important?"

  She looked away.

  "You never saw yourself fighting with your sister. I'm afraid that's something that happened quite often."

  "Yeah, I know that. But—"

  "It's what you said to Sam that concerns you, isn't it?"

  Julie turned to her uncle. He was like a rock. She wondered why Sam ever needed a shrink with someone like Eathan to lean on. With all his concern and unflagging support, he was more than an uncle.

  She nodded. "It certainly wasn't great hearing myself say 'I'm going to kill you' to my sister. Kind of unsettling to stumble upon that as one of her key memories. And there was something different about it. That statue_____ I don't remember that."

  "I don't recall what started the fight, but I remember the incident well. Samantha smashed your microscope on the floor—that's why you were so mad."

  "Of course!" It all rushed back in a flash. Julie had accidentally stepped on a collage Sam had been making and refused to apologize because Sam had left it in the middle of the floor. Retaliations escalated, culminating in the smashing of Julie's microscope. "Then why isn't the microscope in the memory?"

  "I'm afraid that's your area of expertise. I can tell you with fair certainty that the statue was Cellini's Perseus. And I can assure you without a doubt that we never owned one."

  "Then what—?"

  "Well, you tried," he said, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "It was a brave attempt, but now I think it's time to let the medical experts take over."

  Julie shook her head. "I've only just started, Eathan. There's so much to be learned in there—about Sam, about what happened to her. You just saw her with that man who's supposed to be a terrorist. God, watching it I was scared for her."

  "But what is this going to do for Sam?"

  She took a breath. "I don't know. I've only scratched the surface in there. I'd planned on going in, learning what I needed, and getting out. One-two-three. But now ... well, you saw what it's like in there. This is going to take a long time."

  A knock on the door. Eathan said, "Oui?"

  A nurse entered carrying a dozen crimson roses in a vase.

  "Ces fleurs sont pour Mademoiselle Samantha."

  She placed them on the nightstand and left.

  "For Sam?" Julie said. "From you?"

  Eathan shook his head, his expression grave. "Not from me. Is there a card?"

  Julie spotted a corner of white among the dark green of the stems and plucked the card from the thorns. A chill crept over her as she read it aloud.

  '"For my Sammi. Don't worry. I won't let them hurt you.'"

  "No name?" Eathan said.

  She flipped the card over. No name. She shook her head.

  Eathan shot to his feet. "It's from O'Donnell. Damn him! Why can't he leave her alone!"

  "You don't know that," Julie said, alarmed by his reaction.

  "No, you're right," he said, calming. "But who else would send her roses with a message that sounds like a warning."

  "To us?"

  "Doesn't that sound like a threat?"

  Julie had to admit it did.

  A high-pitched beep sounded behind her. She glanced around at the equipment monitoring Samantha, but everything was fine. She checked the monitor and saw that a small window opened in the corner of the screen showing a camera icon.

  Julie swung around in her chair.

  "What's that?" Eathan said.

  "It's Dr. Siegal. He wants to talk."

  "Your mentor. I hope he advises you to stop this. Meanwhile, I'm going to make some calls—see if I can find out who sent these. Wait for me. We'll have something to eat later."

  "Sounds good," Julie said, but didn't mean it. The experience in Sam's memoryscape and the mysterious roses had stolen her appetite.

  As Eathan slipped out, Julie used the mouse to click on the icon. Dr. Siegal's troubled face filled the screen.

  "Julie ... can you see me?"

  "Yes—fine."

  He smiled uncertainly. "Well, I can't see you, of course. You don't have a camera feed there, do you?"

  "No, I didn't think it was important." She hesitated, staring at his tense features. "Well, what do you think?"

  Dr. Siegal looked around, as if uncomfortable with being seen.

  "It's just as I warned you. You are in those memories. You are part of that memoryscape and whatever wrought such havoc in her may somehow pass to you."

  Julie shook her head. "I disagree. Sure, I'm in those memories but—"

  "Julie, you're being pigheaded again. This is not a sound procedure, if you were a heart surgeon you wouldn't operate on your own brother or sister."

  She wanted to shout at him but took a breath instead. She wanted to discuss what she saw, not defend her actions. Probably a good thing Dr. S. couldn't see her exasperation. If she really cared for anyone in this world it was Dr. Siegal. He and Eathan, the twin rocks of her life.

  Two men guiding her—pretty funny, she thought, considering her batting average with men.

  "I would if I was the only surgeon with sufficient experience in the needed procedure. And"—she leaned close to the monitor—"I am the most experienced."

  Dr. S. rubbed his chin. He looked up to the camera. "This won't leave you unaffected, Julie."

  "I know that."

  "There could be transference, shock, any number of effects on you. Your memoryscape could wind up as burned out as Sam's."

  "Doubtful. But life is full of risks."

  "I could still order you to stop."

  "But you won't."

  She hoped.

  The risks he had mentioned were real. Julie knew that now, she accepted that. But this was too incredible to back away from. A single venture into Sam's ruined memoryscape was not enough. This was terra incognita, a whole new experience. The things she could learn in there—and help Sam, too, of course.

  She watched Dr. Siegal's face as he considered his reply.

  I'm hooked—and so is he.

  "Very well," he said softly. "But at the first sign of physical distress from you, you're out."

  "Agreed. Now, there are a couple of things I want to discuss."

  "Go on."

  "The point of view in Sam's memoryscape ... I mean, you saw it. One moment it's the usual—like watching a movie. The next, I became her.... I saw the event through her eyes, I—"

  Julie hesitated.

  "Yes?"

  J
ulie had almost let slip about feeling things, how it was more than a mental movie she was watching, that she felt whatever her sister felt.

  But he'd pull the plug immediately if he knew that.

  "I don't understand how I'm seeing the memories from her perspective."

  "Yes, that's unexpected. But I think that's the genetic link between you two."

  "But it didn't happen with both memories."

  "It may depend on the memories themselves, how deep they go, the types of feelings attached to them. Or maybe it has to do with the other memories they lead to. Or perhaps it can't happen if you're present in that memory. Whatever the reason, Julie, you'd better prepare yourself for some upsetting experiences in there. But remember, memories aren't photographs. They're not reality. They are stored perceptions colored by emotions and revised by time and intervening experience. They get embellished, changed, merged—"

  "I know that."

  "Of course you do. And you mustn't forget it. You must remain objective in your sister's memoryscape—because everything you see is subjective."

  Julie nodded. Then, remembering that Dr. Siegal couldn't see her, she said, "Got it, Dr. S."

  His expression became stern. "And one thing I insist upon, Julie: Do not go into that memoryscape alone. I must be online during every excursion."

  "Do you really think that's necessary? The time difference makes—"

  "Nonnegotiable, Julie. If you get in trouble in there, I want to be on-line to help you out of it."

  Yielding to an infantile impulse, she stuck her tongue out at his image. She didn't want to make a promise she might not keep, so she simply said, "I understand."

  He smiled. "Now—I'm late for a class. So good-bye." He waved, and the little video window disappeared.

  2

  A light rain started just as they took their table at the bistro. Julie looked around the cramped Le Chien Qui Fume. Checkered tablecloths, wire-back chairs, everything looking like castoffs from a traveling company of La Bofieme. She guessed it was not the type of place Eathan frequented. More Samantha's kind of joint, oozing local color.

  Julie gestured around her. "One of your discoveries?"

  He smiled. "Actually I heard about it from—"

  Julie nodded. "Sam? Yeah, it reeks of Bohemia."

  Eathan looked concerned. "We could go somewhere else."

  Julie shrugged. "No. It's fine." She took a breath. "You must think I'm made of stone."

  "No. Not at all."

  Eathan pushed back his glasses. They kept slipping down, giving his already thoughtful face an even more avuncular expression.

  He was made to be a professor.

  He reached out and patted her hand. "No, you're not stone. I long ago accepted the fact that you and your sister were quite different." A small smile played on his lips. "Couldn't be more different."

  The waiter appeared at Eathan's shoulder.

  "Julia?" Eathan said, raising his eyebrows.

  She searched her memory for the words.

  "Un citron presse, s'il vous pkat," she said to the waiter.

  "Nothing to eat?" Eathan said.

  She shook her head.

  Eathan ordered a cafe au hit and onion soup.

  "Your sister told me that the soup here is 'to die for.' But back to differences ..."

  "Yes, we're different, okay. But Sam's difficult to care about. She's so damned self-destructive."

  A blue Gauloises truck passed by, belching smoke from its rear. The exhaust drifted in through the open doors of the bistro.

  "No one's judging you, Julie. You don't have to attack Sam."

  Julie smiled. "Oh, yes. Someone is judging me. I am." She wanted to change the subject. "Did you learn anything about the roses?"

  He shook his head. "No. Paid for in cash by a man no one remembers. It's a busy florist. But the Sainte Gabrielle security man told me some disturbing news: They've had a prowler."

  Julie tensed. "A break-in?"

  "No. Just someone spotted on the grounds at night, sneaking around, peeking in windows."

  "Maybe it's just a peeping Tom."

  Eathan looked away. "He's been seen consistently near the south wing on Sam's side."

  Now she was uneasy. "You think it might be this Liam O'-Donnell?"

  "I'd be willing to bet money on it."

  The waiter returned with their order. Julie glanced up and caught the skinny man looking her over, exerting his Frenchman's prerogative.

  "Tell me, Julie—what do you think about what you saw in Sam's memoryscape? Any clues about what happened?"

  Julie sipped her lemonade. She looked left, feeling eyes on her. The bony waiter was standing next to another garqon, both now eyeing her. Julie wondered if she should stare the creep down or perhaps get up and—

  Temper, temper, she told herself. I could never live in this country.

  She took a breath. "Clues?"

  "About what did this to Samantha."

  "None. At least not yet. But I've only scratched the surface."

  Eathan pushed his glasses back. He took a sip of his coffee. His face looked grim, terribly concerned.

  "Could it have been rape? We saw her with that man, Liam."

  Julie sighed. "There's no way to tell. It will take a lot more work. I want to go in again and—"

  "What did your mentor think of all this?"

  No sense in bringing Eathan into her ongoing debate with Dr. S. She chose her words carefully, opting for obliquity. "I'm going to continue."

  Eathan shook his head. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Julie. I want to find out what happened as much as you do, you know that, but—"

  Julie leaned close to her uncle. "I need more time in there. If I—"

  Eathan raised a hand and stared at her. He had piercing eyes that seemed to see right through her. Julie always suspected chat Eathan could read her like a book. She could have no secrets from him. And yet he always understood and forgave whatever his twin nieces did.

  Not that I ever gave him that much trouble, Julie thought.

  Eathan shook his head. "Julie, I saw the devastation. It looks hopeless. You have a life to live. I'll take care of Sam; I'll get the best care, and—"

  "No!" The force behind the word surprised Julie. "I mean, I’m not giving up. There are accessible memories. You saw Oakwood—"

  "Is that why you want to go back in? Because thoughts and memories about you were there when this happened?"

  This was something she wanted to discuss with Eathan.

  Why did Sam have this old memory of their righting in the mansion? Why was Sam's memory of her young sister so close to the surface?

  And why had it been altered?

  "What was that sculpture again?" she asked. "You said it was—"

  "Cellini's Perseus. As I remember, Perseus slew Medusa. Cut off her head and delivered it to someone or other. I forget, myself."

  Strange, so strange. She had to go in and probe further.

  And again, that unsettling question: How much of this drive to push on was being fueled by concern for Sam, how much by mere scientific curiosity, and how much by the sheer voyeuristic thrill of reassembling the shattered pieces of her sister's life?

  "I've got to see more," she said.

  Eathan's nod was slow and reluctant. He always recognized her resolve. Like the time Julie insisted that she was going to New York University, across the ocean—as far away from Sam and Eathan as possible. No amount of discussion would change her mind.

  "Very well," he said through a sigh. "I understand that this is something you need to do. I just hope it is the right thing—and for the right reasons."

  The waiter returned, wiping his hands on a serviette sashed to his belt.

  "Quelque chose plus, Monsieur?"

  Eathan looked at Julie, who shook her head. Then he asked for the check.

  Julie looked outside and saw the glow of the bistro's neon sign, a squat dog with a cigarette in his mouth, reflecting on the p
avement.

  She wanted to hurry back to the hospital. Back to her sleeping sister, a tainted fairy princess now locked away in her own mental dungeon.

  I'm locked in there too, Julie thought. A piece of me—as a little girl. And who else, what else?

  "Ready?" Eathan said.

  Julie stood up and followed her uncle toward the door of the smoky bistro.

  More than ready.

  3

  As they passed through the front entrance of the nursing home, Eathan said, "I need to make some calls regarding Samantha."

  "About what?"

  "About her future disposition. I'm concerned about security here. It shouldn't take too long. Do you want to wait.7"

  "I've got some odds and ends to take care of in Sam's room. Need to shut down the system for the night. That'll take a while."

  "Okay. I'll meet you here when you're through."

  Julie checked the computer as soon as she entered the room. She was worried that the night nurses had fiddled with the buttons and accidentally changed the settings, or that the mysterious prowler might have got in, but all was as it should be.

  She reached for the power switch to turn it off, then hesitated. She looked at Sam, sister Sleeping Beauty, and thought about the nightscape within.

  Another look... she needed another look.

  But alone. She knew it was safer, more sensible to have someone on-line with her, but she wasn't keen on the idea of dear old Dr. S. looking over her shoulder while she explored. After all, it was her life in there too.

  She fitted the subject helmet on Sam's head, donned her own headset, then picked up the glove. Funny, the data glove was such a clunky thing in real life, a giant robot appendage with dozens of wires running off it. But in the virtual world of the memoryscape it became a sleek, graceful hand guiding her into alien terrain.

  Julie flipped down the goggles and looked at the twin screens. Now she was truly alone with Samantha.

  "Okay, kiddo," she said. "It's just me and you again." Julie hit the Enter key and the program started. "Just the way we started out."