by Tom Gabbay
"It's all over the news," he'd said as he entered, holding up his iPad to display the headlines. "Such a shock. I still can't believe it."
Ula didn't reply, or acknowledge him, so he just stood there, unsure what to do next. "Have you slept?" he finally asked, even though it was clear that she hadn't. There were dark circles around her eyes and she seemed to have been crying.
"No," she responded without looking up.
"Did you eat something?"
She shook her head and again said no. With no food in the kitchen, Erik offered to go out for croissant and coffee, but she wasn't interested, and didn't want a cup of tea, either. So he sat down opposite, taking note of the various volumes she was poring over. Many of them were philosophical in nature -- Descartes, Locke, Dennett -- but there were also volumes by neuroscientists like himself, such as Antonio Damasio and Eric Kandel. He sat silently for several minutes before venturing a question.
"What do the police say?"
Ula stayed focused on her notes. "They say she was stabbed. Eleven times."
Erik winced. "Do they have any ideas?"
She looked up. "Ideas about what?"
"About who is the perpetrator?"
"Of course not. All they can do is ask a lot of stupid questions and hope they stumble on an answer."
Erik nodded. He was unsure how to behave in a situation like this. Ula was clearly upset, but he was sure the last thing she wanted was a shoulder to cry on. She wasn't built that way, and, more to the point, neither was he.
"It was most likely a random psychopath," he said. "It happens quite often in London these days."
She shot him a look, then put her pen down and picked up a book entitled Broca's Brain. Erik was familiar with the author, an American scientist named Carl Sagan, but he'd never read any of his works. They'd been popular with the general public in the 1980s.
Opening to a passage that she'd marked, Ula began reading:
"...there is good evidence from modern brain investigations that a given memory is stored redundantly in many different places in the brain. Might it be possible at some future time, when neurophysiology has advanced substantially, to reconstruct the memories or insights of someone long dead?"
She looked up and waited for Erik's reaction. It took him a moment. "Ula... Are you suggesting...?" He paused. "What are you suggesting?"
"You once told me that you captured a signal from a rat that had been dead for two days."
"Yes, it's true, I did that. But -- "
"Then why not a human?"
"Ula..."
"Really. Why not?"
"Why not?" Erik let out a nervous laugh. "Please, Ula. Think what you're saying."
"Is it theoretically possible?"
"Well... Yes. I suppose, in theory it is. But -- "
"If it's possible in theory, it's possible in reality."
He leaned forward. "What exactly are you suggesting, Ula?"
She went back to her notes for a brief moment, then put down her pen, sat back, and crossed her arms. "I believe that if we can capture and reconstruct Mia's memory we can use it to discover who killed her."
Erik stared across the table for what seemed like a very long time. "Listen to me, Ula," he finally said. "You're upset and not thinking straight. It's natural, of course, under the circumstances. But what you're proposing is... well, it's... "
"What?"
"First of all, I don't know if it's even possible."
Ula picked up another volume and displayed the title: The Physiology Of Memory: Beyond Consciousness by Erik Berg.
"Recognise it?"
"Yes," Erik replied wearily, although he would just as soon have forgotten it. The work had been published several years earlier, to less than universal acclaim. In fact, it had been ignored or dismissed by anyone who mattered.
Ula opened the book and read from the introduction:
"There have been rare, but documented cases in which patients with no active brain functions have regained consciousness. In each of these cases, the patient was able to recount personal memories in full detail. The implication that can be drawn from this phenomenon is that stored memory can survive even when there has been no brain activity for a significant period, which is the accepted definition of death. Put another way, it is reasonable to postulate that a human memory can outlive its host."
Ula glanced up at Erik, then continued reading:
"My own tests have shown that a small mammal, such as a rat, can be frozen to the point of complete organic inactivity, and when thawed out, it is able to regain full functionality. This would seem to confirm that stored memory does not depend on blood flow or other life functions. From these facts, it is reasonable to theorise that quickly cooling a non-active human brain to a temperature low enough to avoid decomposition would preserve the subject's memories, knowledge, and cognitive abilities. With the proper technology it should be possible, in theory, to retrieve that stored content."
Ula closed the book.
"It's a theory, Ula," Erik said. "Just a theory."
"A theory is a theory until it becomes a fact."
"Yes, of course, but -- "
"Someone is eventually going to do it." Ula picked up her cane and stood up from the table. "You can be the first and go down in scientific history, or you can wait to read about it."
Erik sat back and heaved a sigh. "Even if I could capture a signal, what use would it be? I don't have the capacity to interpret it."
"Yes, that's true," Ula said. "But I do."
14.
The cold storage chambers in the Haringey Public Mortuary maintained a constant temperature of five degrees Celsius -- a sufficient level to delay the decomposition of its unfortunate residents until they found a more permanent resting place. Mia arrived four days after the murder, moved from the police facility by her parents until they could make arrangements for the journey back to Tennessee, where she would be buried in the family plot. Upon learning where she was being held, Ula sent flowers and Erik made arrangements with the night security guard for an after hours visit. No reason was given. Five hundred pounds in cash was explanation enough.
Ula's heart was pounding as they were led into the brightly lit back room. She had insisted on being present for the transfer, but the thought of seeing Mia -- so full of life less than a week earlier -- lying on a cold, metallic slab, filled her with dread.
"You got one hour, mate," the guard said as he slid the drawer open and exited the room. "And not a minute more."
"That will be sufficient." Erik replied, unzipping the black body bag down to Mia's navel. Ula gasped and covered her mouth when she saw the horrific wounds across the poor girl's chest and abdomen.
"You can wait outside if you like," Erik said.
Ula shook her head. "Cover her up," she whispered. "Please cover her!"
Erik zipped the bag back up to Mia's shoulders then placed the small case he'd been carrying onto the stainless steel bed above her head. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a pair of surgical gloves, which he pulled on before opening the case to remove a laptop computer, a small medical drill, and a syringe. Ula felt nauseous as he went to work drilling a half dozen tiny holes into the top of Mia's skull.
"Is that necessary?" she asked.
"I warned you that it would be invasive," he replied, glancing up at her. "Don't worry. It won't take long." He put the drill down and picked up the syringe. "Once I've inserted the implants, the download will take only a few minutes."
"You seem to be enjoying this," Ula said.
"I'm just doing my work."
"That's pretty cold-hearted."
He smiled. "It's not personal for me."
Using the syringe, he inserted a tiny electrode into each of the holes he'd made, placing them on the surface of the brain where they could pick up any signals that were too weak to penetrate the skull. The mini-conductors would then amplify the signal and send it wirelessly to the laptop, where it would be visually regis
tered on a digital storage oscilloscope before it was copied onto the hard drive.
"That's it," Erik announced as he closed the laptop. "There was much more material than I expected to find."
Ula gave him a look. "Are you sure you have everything?"
He displayed a small flash drive which held a backup copy of the file. "It's surprising how little space the contents of a human mind requires," he said. "Thirty-four point seven gigabytes, to be exact."
Ula took the flash drive and grasped it tightly. How strange, she thought, that this tiny circuit board, encased in cheap plastic, contained everything that made Mia who she was. Her memories, thoughts, beliefs, and feelings -- perhaps even her dreams -- all stored in approximately three hundred billion bits of positive and negative electronic charges.
Mia's physical body was dead. Gone forever. But if Ula could unlock the secrets that she held in her hand, she could ensure that her memory would live on forever.
15.
Wiping the steam off the clouded bathroom mirror, Mia stopped short upon seeing her own face looking back at her.
There was a gap. Clearly she'd just stepped out of the shower, but she had no memory of it. Or getting out of bed for that matter. Had she been sleepwalking? She tried to reconstruct the events leading up to that moment, but they were gone, out of reach. She recalled having dinner with Ula the previous night, but it seemed distant, unfocused. Like a long forgotten dream. Feeling a cold shiver, she wrapped a towel around her naked body and shut her eyes. But the darkness was unsettling, frightening even.
By the time she'd dried her hair, done her make-up, and got dressed, she was feeling herself again. Late for class, she sprinted down the stairs and headed for the door.
"Good morning."
"Oh..." Mia spun around to find Ula standing in the kitchen doorway. It felt like she'd been lurking. "You startled me!"
"I made coffee."
"Oh, right." She forced a smile. "Thanks, but I’m really late. I've got class..."
"You should eat something before you go. I saw some eggs in the kitchen. And some bread. It's a bit stale but we could do French Toast. Or whatever you like. I don't mind."
"If I wasn’t so late, I’d really love that." Mia pointed toward the door. "But I really am late. I'll, um... I’ll see you later, okay?"
"Yes. All right. We can talk later."
It sounded ominous, but Mia didn't want to be drawn in. "Okay," she said as she opened the door. "Have a good day!"
"What time will you be home?"
"I really don't know, Ula." She made an effort not to sound annoyed, but it was pretty obvious. "It kind of depends, you know."
"I see. Well. I suppose it can wait. Since you're in such a hurry."
Mia sighed and shut the door. "What can wait? Is there a problem?"
"No..." Ula took a step closer. "Well, I don't know really. It's just that I... I don’t really remember very much about last night. The wine... it left me a bit, well... unclear." She took another step closer and lowered her voice. "Did anything unusual happen?"
"How do you mean?"
"I... I found this in the attic." She held her hand out to display Mia's silver hair clip. "It's yours, isn't it?"
"Yes." Mia took the clip. "I guess I must've left it up there."
"We went up there?"
"Don't you remember?"
"No, I... As I said, the wine affected me."
"Oh, right." Mia eyed the door. She really wanted to escape, but Ula clearly had something more to say.
"Did we go into the attic so I could show you the image processor?"
"Yes! And it was amazing! Like you were reading my mind!"
Mia had forgotten about it herself until that moment. Maybe the wine had affected her, too, she thought, although she didn't recall it ever having that effect in the past.
"I really shouldn't have showed you," Ula said. "It would be a problem if Erik knew."
"Listen, Ula, you don't have to worry about that." She reached out and touched her arm. "It can be our secret. You and me, okay?"
Ula smiled. "Yes, okay. I like that. Our secret."
"Good. But I really do have to go now. I'm so late!" She headed for the door. "I'll see you tonight, okay? You can try to explain to me how you do it!"
"Yes, all right," Ula replied. "Tonight."
As Mia stepped onto the pavement, she had that feeling of being watched again. Glancing back at the house, she half expected to find Ula watching her. But the door was shut, the curtains drawn.
16.
It wasn't bad, she thought. One of her better efforts, in fact. But something was bothering her. Taking a few steps back, she tilted her head to one side and squinted, trying to see it from another angle. It was a bigger canvas than she'd ever attempted and she was starting to think that she'd been a bit too ambitious.
"It's good."
Thinking she was alone in the studio, the voice from behind startled her. Spinning around, she came face to face with the life model who was the subject of her painting.
"Oh," she said. "Thanks. Do you really think so or are you just saying that to be nice?"
"Honestly?"
"Yeah. Honestly."
"All right then. Honestly..." He crossed his arms and contemplated the painting for quite a long time. "I think it's good," he finally said. "Very good."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. Although..."
"What?"
"I think you've made me better looking than I really am."
Mia smiled and avoided the trap. "Yeah, well, you know. Artistic licence."
The model laughed. Tall, muscular, and darkly Mediterranean with wavy black hair and a thick, rather dreamy accent, he was clearly well aware of his exceptional good looks. He looked even better in the creamy white silk dressing gown that was wrapped around his torso.
"I'm Nico," he said, letting his robe fall open as he offered his hand. Considering that she'd just spent several hours studying his naked form, it shouldn't have been embarrassing, but it was. Somehow, being half exposed was more suggestive than full on nudity.
"Mia." She responded with a sheepish smile as she accepted his hand.
"Is it finished?" Nico asked, turning back to the painting.
"I'm not sure." Mia started cleaning her palette. "I'll have to see how I feel tomorrow."
"Are you always so cautious?"
She gave him a look and smiled. "I'm gonna have to think about that one."
He laughed again and reached into his pocket. "Well, while you're thinking, a friend of mine is throwing a big party tonight. You should come."
Mia looked down at the flyer he was holding out:
!!! EVICTION Party !!!
Help Us "REDECORATE" Our Loft
Live Music | Live Art | Open Bar
"It's gonna be crazy," Nico said.
"Yeah?" Mia took the flyer. "What kind of crazy?"
"The wild kind."
He winked at her, which should've come off as laughable, but somehow it worked. "The address is on the back," he called out as he headed for the changing room.
"Can I bring a friend?" Mia called back.
"Of course!" He glanced over his shoulder. "As long as she's as sexy as you!"
Mia shook her head and turned back to the painting. He was right, she thought. It was good. The composition, the colour, her brushwork... it had all come together in a very pleasing way. Still. Something about it was disturbing. Something that gave her a knot in the pit of her stomach.
She had no idea why.
17.
Kat pulled the Mini into an empty space on the Crescent, switched the engine off, and turned to Mia. "Is she gonna be there?"
"She usually is," Mia replied as she stepped out onto the pavement.
Kat made a face and followed her up the walk toward the front entrance. "I just hope she doesn't give me that evil eye treatment again. It's creepy."
"She’ll probably be up in the attic," Mia replied. "Sh
e practically lives up there."
"Lives in the attic. Okay. Nothing to worry about there."
Mia gave her a 'knock it off' look and Kat shrugged.
"What’s up there, anyway?"
"The torture chamber, of course!"
"Ha ha, funny. But I wouldn't be at all surprised."
Mia laughed and slipped the key into the front door. The house was quiet, as usual, and the girls maintained a wary silence as they slinked upstairs into Mia's room and closed the door. The plan was to get ready in Highbury, grab a bite on Upper Street, then take an Uber to the party.
Mia was unsure at first if she was up for it, but Kat's enthusiasm had swept her along. "How often do we get invited to a party in Shoreditch?" she'd said. "Never, that's how often!" Still, Mia couldn't quite shake a niggling apprehension about the evening. Nothing definitive or overwhelming. Just a vague sense of foreboding that she did her best to ignore as they dressed and did their makeup.
"So who invited us?" Kat asked as she added the final touches to her face.
"This model guy," Mia replied. "I've been doing a painting of him."
Kat gave her a look. "Oh, yeah? Like a portrait?"
"No, it's for life class."
"So... he's naked?"
"Nude," Mia corrected her.
Kat raised an eyebrow and went back to her mascara. "And...?"
"And... what?"
"And... You know what."
"I don't know. Depends on your taste I guess."
Kat gave her a look. "So you expect me to believe that you've been staring at this completely naked man for hour after hour, and you haven't thought about whether he's hot or not?"
"Okay, he's hot."
"I knew it!" She added a touch of gloss to her scarlet lips. "You think he'll have a friend for me?"
"It's not a date, Kat. It's a party."
"If you say so." Kat made a final check in the mirror. "But I'm warning you, whatever happens, I'm so not going home alone tonight."
Mia laughed, doing her best to ignore the knot that was tightening in the pit of her stomach.