The Memory Painter: A Novel (22 page)

The sun glinted off the pyramid, blinding him. When Bryan regained his sight, he saw the Egyptian goddess sitting beside him.

Her whole body radiated power. She pointed a graceful finger encased by a golden spiral ring to the ground and, calling on an invisible force, drew a symbol in the sand.

Bryan felt suspended as he watched.
I know this symbol.
He looked at her and demanded, “Who are you?”

She did not look up from the mandala she was creating. “Who is not the question,” she said. “The question is where.” She stood up and spread her arms wide and the wind swirled, sending the sand drawing back into the void from which it came.

In a moment of clarity Bryan realized he already knew the answer to her question.

He was at the beginning.

TWENTY-EIGHT

MARCH 8, 1982

Michael woke up, disoriented. He hadn’t meant to fall sleep. Unlike the recalls, this dream had been filled with disjointed images. The Egyptian queen had been with him again, only Michael hadn’t been himself, but a younger man—and she had drawn a magnificent symbol in the sand. Why?

Right on the cusp of remembering more, Michael looked over at the clock. He was surprised to see that it was already seven o’clock at night. He sat up with a start and the fragments of the dream vanished.

His back protested as he stretched his legs out on the couch. He had been sleeping on it for the past four days after Diana had locked herself in their bedroom.

The team had stopped talking to each other. All communication had broken down, and even Conrad had vanished. The state of Michael and Diana’s apartment now rivaled Finn’s. The dishes hadn’t been washed for days and no one had done laundry or taken out the garbage. Michael had not showered or shaved. He felt like a survivalist—he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had anything to drink.

He began to review what had happened before he’d fallen asleep. Finn had called and begun questioning him about Lord Asano’s death in formal Japanese. The stilted questions had been asked with probing politeness, but they had shattered Michael’s psyche. It didn’t matter who Finn had been in that lifetime—too many people had been affected by Lord Asano’s mistakes. Michael had replied in Japanese with the etiquette of a lord from the seventeenth century. “I remembered Asano Naganori’s life. The fall of his house rests on his shoulders alone.”

Finn did not speak. Michael felt karma hanging between them like a deadweight and didn’t know what to say.

“Finn?”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s unbelievable.” Finn stammered, “I-I don’t know what to do.”

“Do what? You’re not making any sense.”

Finn started to babble, saying that it was worse than he thought. It took ten minutes for Michael to pry an explanation from him.

“Conrad is Lord Kira. He wants us all dead.”

Michael sat down on the sofa and tried to stay calm. He could not give in to Asano’s rage. The minute he allowed himself to be ruled by the emotions of these memories, he would go truly insane. He told Finn, “I’ve already decided to take Conrad off the team.”

“It’s not enough,” Finn argued. “We have to leave. You don’t understand how dangerous he is.”

But Michael did understand. He had gone to the lab and found three bottles of Renovo in Conrad’s desk, and one bottle only had two pills remaining. Michael did the math. Conrad had been double dosing and lying to them all. He knew he had no choice but to shut down the study and extricate Conrad from their lives.

Now that Michael was awake, he wanted to get the confrontation over with, and only hoped that he was well enough to drive. He’d been feeling very out of body for the past several days.

He knocked on the bedroom door but Diana didn’t answer. She was still trying to come to terms with Juliana’s memories from ancient Rome. She had also remembered Natalia Pushkina’s life and was struggling to assimilate it as well. Michael felt helpless, but he still wanted to do something to ease her pain. Maybe they could go to Nantucket for the weekend and rent the old beach house. It had been years since they’d gone, and the place held only happy memories—a rarity these days. Michael wanted joy back in his life.

When he got back from Conrad’s, he would sleep in their bedroom again. He would hold Diana in his arms, pull her out of her depression and together they would talk about the future.

A car blared its horn, jolting Michael out of his thoughts—he was driving on the wrong side of the road. He swerved back into the right lane and tried to focus, reciting the mantra he had begun to say more and more lately, “I am here now. I’m here now. I’m here now…” Sometimes it helped.

Thankfully, the drive to South Boston didn’t take long at night. Michael entered a low-income neighborhood and double-checked the address. Conrad had never invited anyone to his apartment. South Boston was home to some of the oldest housing projects in the country, and most were in need of major repair. It was once a primarily Irish community, but Polish, Lithuanian, Puerto Rican, and Cuban families had begun to settle there and carve out their own territories, creating a blanket of racial tension. It made him wonder what people would do if they suddenly found themselves with the memories of someone they had vowed to hate.

Maybe the world did need a dose of Renovo. It might trigger some empathy and compassion.
Michael didn’t know what the right course was anymore. All he knew was that Renovo had the power to change human existence, and the responsibility that came with being its creator was paralyzing. Was he a monster or some sort of hero? He didn’t know.

Forcing his thoughts back to the present, he located the apartment building and parked, getting Conrad’s belongings from the car. Michael had gone to the lab that morning and packed Conrad’s things in a box and changed the locks on the doors. He knew Conrad would demand access to all the files now that he was off the team, but those would soon be destroyed. Anything connected to Renovo must not survive.

Michael went inside and found Conrad’s apartment. He knocked and sensed someone gazing at him through the peephole.

The door opened. Conrad looked ravaged, as if he hadn’t slept, eaten, or bathed in days. He stared at the box with a contemptuous look that reminded Michael of George d’Anthès, the man who had killed Pushkin. Michael took a deep breath, forcing himself to try not to imagine Conrad as anyone else. It was the only way he could get through this meeting.

Conrad’s face turned red with anger. “You can’t kick me off.”

“I’m terminating the project. Do you want to do this in the hallway or are you going to let me in?” Michael asked. But then maybe the hallway was better—if things got ugly, it would be easier for him to leave. Perhaps even coming here had been a bad idea.

Conrad took the box and let him inside. Michael hesitated but followed, remaining close to the door. He glanced around. A large desk dwarfed the small room, and hundreds of books lined every inch of wall space. He assumed the closed door led to the bedroom.

Conrad took a minute to clear the papers from his desk, stuffing everything into folders. Michael could see his hands were shaking. “You can’t just shut us down,” he said.

“Finn and Diana are in agreement.” A boldfaced lie. Michael hadn’t even talked to them about it yet. He looked at Conrad’s desk again and froze—all of the books referred to Egypt. A feeling of alarm gripped him. What did Conrad know?

“And what about me?” Conrad was asking. “I have no say?”

Michael tried to stay focused. “Officially it’s my project. I spearheaded it. I already notified NIA that we’re unable to continue second-round testing.” He added, “And we’ve all stopped taking it.”

Conrad looked away, making Michael certain that his suspicions about the double dosing had been correct. Maybe there were more bottles hidden somewhere in the apartment.

“So we lose our grant.” Conrad sat down, took his eyeglasses off, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“This isn’t about a grant,” Michael argued. “We’ve discovered a truth that could redefine our very existence.”

Conrad said nothing for a long time. Michael waited, wondering if Conrad had forgotten that he was there. Something was wrong.

“What about our real test subjects?” Conrad finally asked. “We’re on the brink of a real cure. Do we bury that as well?”

“Do you think the world is ready for this? I can barely speak English anymore and Diana believes you’re the third-century asshole who burned her alive.”

Conrad opened his eyes and glared at him. “That’s ludicrous.”

“Finn thinks so too.”

“Because you’re all trapped in some warped drama of your own making.” Conrad pounded his fist on the table with such force that the wood cracked. “It’s a distraction. You don’t realize what’s at stake.”

Conrad was not at all himself, and Michael’s instincts told him to get out. He started backing toward the door. “My decision is final.”

“I have the formula.” Conrad trembled with fury. “I can do whatever the hell I want!”

“You can’t do anything without us.”

With incredible speed, Conrad grabbed Michael by the neck and rammed him into the wall. Trapped in a vise, Michael gripped Conrad’s wrists and fought to breathe. Conrad spoke in a low guttural language that Michael couldn’t comprehend—his voice sounded like a deep growl. Their faces were inches apart, and Michael could sense a power radiating from Conrad that Michael had never encountered before.

But Conrad also saw something in Michael’s eyes that made him gasp. He loosened his grip and stepped back in shock. Michael took advantage of the opening and rammed his knee into Conrad’s crotch. He doubled over to the ground in agony.

Michael escaped and raced to the door. “I knew you were having recalls. Stay away from us. This is over.” He slammed the door so hard the hinges shook.

Running to his car, Michael fumbled for the keys and got behind the wheel. Conrad came charging out of the apartment building. Michael started the engine and tore off. He looked back in his rearview mirror to see Conrad standing in the middle of the street, looking eerily still, and shuddered.

Whoever Conrad had remembered, Michael was terrified of him now. He drove away, his hands shaking on the wheel. Adrenaline coursed through his body. Suddenly everything had changed. He needed to go home and get Diana. They would meet Finn at the lab and pack up everything tonight. By morning they’d be gone.

*   *   *

Bryan woke up gasping for air. Within seconds it all came back to him in perfect clarity. He had dreamed of being at the Great Pyramid with the Egyptian goddess, and it had been Michael’s dream too. Not only had he remembered Michael’s confrontation with Conrad, he had experienced a full recall of Michael’s entire life—right up to the moment before his death. Finally the tidal wave of memories had come.

Tears coursed down Bryan’s face and he buried his head in his pillow. He had to see Linz. He no longer knew if the fact that she was Conrad’s daughter would be enough to keep her safe.

He jumped up from the bed. The smell of strong coffee and the sound of Claudette and Martin’s voices downstairs brought him back to reality. He sat back down in disbelief.
Shit, I’m still in Canada.

After rushing to get dressed, he found paper and a pencil and re-created the symbol the Egyptian goddess had drawn. He went downstairs, but before he could say a word, Claudette started to greet him. “Bonjour! We—” She saw the look on Bryan’s face and stopped. “Something has happened?”

Without hesitating Bryan showed them his drawing. “Do you recognize this symbol?”

Martin and Claudette both studied it closely.

“I believe it’s Egyptian, and very old,” Bryan said, watching their faces.

Claudette shook her head and handed it back. “Sorry. This is not something I have seen before.”

Bryan’s shoulders drooped with defeat. He had been certain they would know.

“But there is someone who may have,” Martin said, smiling, “at Harvard.”

Claudette nodded, growing animated again. “Of course! Dr. Hayes. He is a wizard of Egyptology.”

“If he can’t recognize it, no one can,” Martin said. “His office is at the Peabody Museum. Tell him you’re a friend.”

Bryan nodded, his heart a little lighter.

Even in his hurry to leave, Bryan was surprised by how hard it was to say good-bye to his new friends. They exchanged e-mails and phone numbers as Claudette and Martin saw him to his car, and they all promised to keep in touch. A strong connection existed between them, which Bryan couldn’t explain. But if everything happened for a reason, he knew they were the reason he had come here.

TWENTY-NINE

As soon as Bryan’s plane touched down, he called Linz. She didn’t pick up. He hoped she was only avoiding his calls and that everything was all right.

“It’s me. I’m back. My plane just landed,” he hesitated. “Listen, I’m sorry I took off. I can’t explain it right now … there was something I needed to do. I hope you’ll forgive me. It’s critical that we talk. Please call me.”

*   *   *

Linz looked at her cell phone and shoved it back in her pocket, as she headed to her desk. The file from her father felt like a brick in her hand. She wanted to read it before she faced Bryan, but her plan stalled when she found Neil and Steve hovering over her computer.

“What are you guys doing?”

Steve turned around. He was conspicuously dressed in seventies attire. “Neil’s helping me get that Renovo file you asked for. My security code wasn’t high enough.”

Linz frowned. “But Neil has the same security access as you.”

“Bingo.” Neil didn’t look up but continued to type. “Which is why I’m using your computer.”

Linz pinched the bridge of her nose, not realizing that she was mimicking her father. “So you can download unauthorized files using my access code?”

Neil finished and hit the return key. “Shazam. Piece of cake. It cleared.”

Linz put Bryan’s file on the desk. “Guys, I didn’t ask you to override security codes.”