F Paul Wilson - Novel 05 (11 page)

 
          
But
Dr. Siegal was important to her too. She could lose him as well.

 
          
She
went to the window and stared out at the countryside without actually seeing
it. Then she turned and paced the room, trying not to look at the phone.

 
          
He'll
call back.
She rubbed her fingers together. They felt cold and clammy.
He'll
call in
five minutes maybe ten.
He's got to
call back

 
          
Doesn't
he!

 
          
She
was the core of his team. He'd have to go back to square one
—
or at the very least, square two
—
without her.

           
But what if she'd pushed Dr. S. too
far? He'd seemed adamant in his opposition.

 
          
"Come
on," she said, finally facing the silent phone, glaring at it, willing it
to ring. "Come
on!"

 
          
The
sudden jangle of its bell startled her. She stared at it in wonder. She
resisted the impulse to snatch it up. Biting her lip, she let it ring once
again ... and again.

 
          
Finally
she reached for it, thinking, If this is Eathan, I'll scream.

 
          
"Hello?"

 
          
"Are
you really serious about resigning?"

 
          
Dr.
Siegal's voice. Rubber-kneed with relief, she slumped onto the bed.

 
          
"I'm
not in the habit of saying things I don't mean," she said, avoiding a
direct answer.

 
          
"I
know that. That's why I'm calling back. Is there no way I can reason with
you?"

 
          
"None."

 
          
"I
don't like ultimatums and I don't like blackmail, but you're not giving me much
choice."

 
          
"I
don't like this either," she said, and that certainly was true. She hated
putting him in this position, but she had to
do
this. "But I'm in a
situation where I can help my sister and break new ground at the same time. I
can't accept no for an answer."

 
          
"Are
you trying to help your sister? Truly? Or is this simply something new to
try?"

 
          
A
good question: Was she doing this for Sam or for herself? It made her
uncomfortable. So she didn't answer it.

 
          
"Give
me a little credit, will you?"

 
          
A
long pause on the other end, then a deep sigh.

 
          
"Very
well. I don't like it. I want to go on record that I oppose the whole thing,
and I will allow it only on the condition that I can monitor you via the
satellite hookup whenever you're in your sister's memoryscape."

 
          
"I
can live with that," Julie said.

 
          
"I'm
not so sure, but I certainly hope so."

 
          
Now
that she'd forced him to give in, she felt guilty.

 
          
"Don't
sound so ominous, Dr. Siegal. I'll be fine. When can you send everything
over?"

           
"I don't know. I'll have to get
the materials together
—
do you have access to a
satellite dish over there?"

 
          
"I'm
sure I can get one. Can I expect a delivery tomorrow?"

 
          
"Tomorrow?
Impossible!"

 
          
"The
next day then. I want to get moving on this. We don't know the cause of this coma,
or what may be going on in her brain. There could be progressive damage. She
could
die,
Dr. S. Every day we delay
—
"

 
          
"All
right, all right. I'll try DHL and see if they can get it to you day after
tomorrow."

 
          
"Excellent."

 
          
They
discussed details of delivery and ended on a fairly agreeable note. Already Dr.
Siegal was loosening up. Julie expected him to become an enthusiastic
participant once he got over his initial resistance.

 
          
Now
the next hurdle: Uncle Eathan. And that would be a big one.

2

 
          
But
jet lag pounced on Julie in the afternoon before she could broach the subject
to Eathan, and it was all she could do to hang on through a light dinner before
she headed to bed. She'd tackle her uncle in the morning when she was fresh.

 
          
She
should have slept like the dead. Instead she found herself awake half a dozen
times during the night.

 
          
The
couple next door didn't help. The Bois Farrand had sturdy walls, but these two
were really going at it. Maybe the myth about
I'amour
and the French was
true. The neighboring headboard was banging against the wall inches from
Julie's head
—
whack, whack, whack
—
and the woman was positively operatic.

 
          
Julie
couldn't make out her words, but her moans and cries of passion needed no
Translation. And then she climaxed
—
at
least Julie assumed that was what her long, high-pitched scream of ecstasy
signaled
—
and was still.

 
          
About
time.

 
          
But
even after the X-rated sound effects were over, Julie couldn't sleep. She lay
in the dark and wondered, What was that like? To climax, to orgasm, to feel
such overwhelming ecstasy that you howl into the night? She'd never even come
close. Was it because she feared the lack of control? That probably was part
of it. She found sex occasionally enjoyable. Todd had been what most women would
consider an excellent, giving lover, but even then there were no stars, no
explosions. And many times it was-
—
annoying.
And often inconvenient. And ultimately messy.

 
          
What
was the big deal? Why was the human race so obsessed with it? Why did so many people
think with their gonads instead of their minds?

 
          
The
mind
—
that was where the real
action lay, the real excitement.

 
          
Throughout
that night, when Julie found herself awake, her thoughts turned to Sam. That
terrible last week, the last painting, the broken door...

 
          
Sam.
It was one thing if her twin was the victim of something like schizophrenia,
or even if she'd done this to herself. Julie could accept that
—
she'd hate it, but she could get on with her life.

 
          
But
if someone else had a hand in this ...

 
          
That
was something else entirely.

 
          
The
possibility disturbed her. And, surprisingly, angered her.

3

 
          
She
awoke late and found Eathan sitting in the sunny dining room of the Bois
Farrand having a light breakfast of croissants and
cafe au hit.
He
looked dashing in a cranberry sweater, gray slacks, and a tweed hunting jacket.
He nearly ruined that look when his oversized coffee cup slipped from his
fingers as Julie told him what she wanted to do.

 
          
Eathan
was already familiar with her research and had told her time and again how
proud he was of her.

 
          
Even
so, she'd expected his reaction and was prepared for it.

 
          
"You
want to use your sister as a guinea pig?" he said in a hushed tone as he
blotted the spilled coffee from the tablecloth.

 
          
"What's
the alternative? Sit around and watch her rot?"

 
          
"We
simply have to hope that she'll come out of it."

 
          
"Has
there been any indication of that?"

 
          
"No.
Not yet. But
—
"

 
          
"But
what? Look, I've done this hundreds of times back in
New York
with never the slightest
harm to anyone."

 
          
"But
were they sick?"

 
          
"No,
but
—
"

 
          
"There!
That's what I'm saying! It's possible you could make her worse, isn't it?"

 
          
"I
don't see how."

 
          
He
leaned forward, enunciating carefully and forcefully. "A possibility of
exacerbating her condition
—
yes or no?"

 
          
Julie
thought about that. She didn't know what she'd find in Sam's memoryscape,
couldn't be sure if her very presence might further upset the imbalances
within.

 
          
"I
can't give you a black-and-white answer. We've not had a single instance of any
harm either to subject or to researcher."

 
          
He
stiffened. "To
researcher?
You mean there's a chance of danger to
you!
Lord, then you can forget about it. I have one niece in a coma; I won't
risk having two."

 
          
"That
will never happen."

 
          
"At
least we can agree on that: It will never happen because I've got power of
attorney for Samantha and no one can touch her without my permission." He
wiped his mouth and tossed his napkin onto his plate. "And my permission,
Julia, is expressly denied."

 
          
"I
can
help
her, Eathan!" she said, grabbing his arm as he started to
rise. He pulled away. "I might be able to bring her back!" She
doubted that very much, but she was getting desperate. "And if I can,
I'll be the first person in history to do it." She pulled out her ace card
here. "I can name my ticket after that. I'll be famous. Sam and
I
will
both
be famous. When the art world hears about what Sam's been through,
they'll be clamoring for a look at her work."

 
          
"I
only want Sam better. What matters fame?"

 
          
"You
always wanted us to do something amazing, wonderful. ..."

           
Eathan settled back into his seat,
studying her. Finally, his voice hoarse, he said, "But tell me this ... do
you really think you can bring her back?"

 
          
"I
honestly don't know. It may be an impenetrable jumble in there. The first time
I go in I might see that it's hopeless. But if I can travel her memoryscape, if
I can see her memories, put the puzzle together, I might be able to figure out
what happened to her during that last week. If someone did poison her, I might
be able to find out who. And if we know who, then we're on our way to finding
out what he used ... and how to get her better."

 
          
"Don't
be so sure it was a
he.
As you know, your sister littered the Continent
with angry wives."

 
          
"He,
she, it, what does it matter? At least we'll have a direc tion. Right now we're
just floundering."