F Paul Wilson - Novel 05

by Mirage (v2. 1)

  "Will it matter?" Eathan said.

  "Who can say?" Alma was suddenly a ball of fire. "But if anyone can figure this out, it's me. I think I can safely say that I know Sam's psyche better than either of you."

  You've got that right, Julie thought.

  "But I want you both to sit with me. I need filling in on historical details so I can separate fact from fantasy as we go along."

  "I don't know...." Eathan said.

  Alma touched his arm. "Please, Eathan. For Samantha."

  He sighed. "Very well. But I really don't see how that's going to help."

  "I do. Truly I do." She looked around. "Now... where's that first tape?"

  3

  Julie was about to slip into bed when she heard a gentle knock on the door. She opened it and found the maid.

  "A phone call, miss. From New York. A Dr. Siegal."

  Dr. S.? she thought as she hurried downstairs. Why would he be calling now? She glanced at the windows as she stepped into the drawing room. Could Liam be out there watching?

  Shivering, she picked up the phone.

  "]ulie," Dr. Siegal said without preamble. "Mr. Bruchmeyer is so enthusiastic about the project that he's instructed the board to fast-track our proposal. You know what that means, don't you."

  "You need me back there."

  "As soon as you can get free. I hate to rush you. I know I encouraged you to be with your family. We can proceed a little further without you, but we'll need you here in a few more days."

  "A few more days?'

  Leave Sam? Strange ... two weeks ago, nothing in the world mattered more than getting that Bruchmeyer grant. Now everything was changing. She still cared about the project—deeply—but it was no longer the only thing that mattered.

  "Well," he said. "As soon as you possibly can."

  "Okay. I'll let you know."

  They discussed a few details about the proposal, and then said good night.

  Julie drifted back upstairs. What's happening to me? she wondered. Why aren't I more stoked about the project being fast-tracked?

  As she reached the top of the stairs she caught a flash of white at the end of the hall. She turned in time to see a negligeed Alma slipping into Eathan's bedroom.

  I guess she's not here just for my sister, she thought.

  Eighteen

  Quantum consciousness. Various theorists, Roger Penrose most prominently, have tried to wed quantum mechanics to consciousness theory, and point to the brain cell's microtubules as the root of consciousness. Vibrations, traveling through these microtubides, insulated so that they're not forced to choose a single state, provide the code of consciousness. 1 don't buy it. . . at least not yet.

  —Random notes: Julia Gordon

  1

  Julie awoke late, feeling groggy. She opened her eyes and bolted upright in bed when she recognized her childhood room. For a moment she felt frightened and disoriented, then remembered that she was back in Oakwood.

  For a brief moment it had been as if she were a little girl again.

  Funny, how that scared her.

  Yesterday had been a long, trying day: arriving here, two trips into Sam's scape, then staying up late watching memoryscape videos with Alma. Too much.

  And her encounter with Liam. She should be frightened by his skulking about the grounds at night, but she wasn't. She'd sensed no threat from him. But then, neither had Sam, obviously, and look what had happened to her.

  Perhaps she should tell Eathan this morning.

  And tell him about what Liam had said about Eathan hiding Dad's papers, the ones supposedly destroyed in the fire?

  It was probably garbage ... all garbage.

  But then what about that locked file in Eathan's cabinet?

  Julie pulled a pillow over her face to block out the morning light. She wished she could block out reality as easily. Dr. Siegal's phone call last night—he was tugging her back to New York while part of her needed to stay here.

  And Alma sneaking into Eathan's room. God! Everything was getting so complicated.

  She threw off the pillow and the covers and rolled out of bed. One thing was certain: Early this afternoon, as soon as Dr. S. was up and about in New York, she was heading back into Sam's 'scape. And hopefully she'd find a new memory to access.

  Of something else she was not so certain.

  What to do about the video from yesterday afternoon? Should she show it to Alma? The woman was devoting so much time and effort to solving the puzzle of Sam, was it right to withhold one of the pieces? Alma knew Sam's inner workings. Was Julie hurting Sam by keeping that tape secret?

  Still pondering that, she headed for the shower.

  2

  By the time she was dressed and ready for breakfast, Julie had made up her mind: For Sam's sake, she had to let Alma see the video from yesterday afternoon. She'd make up a story about being mistaken about the VCR being on. It didn't matter how lame it was—Alma would be too overjoyed to get the video to ask many questions.

  But she wondered if there was some way to spare Eathan the "my uncle is hiding something" part.

  Eathan was just finishing his breakfast when Julie arrived in the dining room. Alma was nowhere about.

  "Sorry I couldn't wait for you," Eathan said, glancing at his watch as he took a last sip of coffee, "but I want to catch one of the London commuter flights out of Leeds."

  "Something medical?"

  "Legal, I'm afraid. Regarding Sam. Guardianship, trust-fund matters, provisions for long-term care. I'll be spending most of the day with lawyers."

  "I'm sorry to hear that."

  His smile was wan. "Not as sorry as I." He patted her shoulder and kissed the top of her head as he passed. "Need anything from London? I can have someone pick it up while I'm with the lawyers."

  "Thanks, but I'm pretty well set."

  "Cheers, then," he said. "See you for dinner. And take good care of Sam while I'm gone."

  "I will."

  Cook brought her some scrambled eggs and muffins; Julie declined the kippers. She'd just started digging in when Alma arrived. She looked haggard and older than she had last night.

  "God, I didn't sleep a wink," Alma said as she let cook pile her plate high with eggs, bangers, kippers, and potatoes.

  Julie couldn't resist. "Really? Whatever kept you up seems to have left you with quite an appetite."

  "Goodness, yes. I'm quite famished. My mind kept combing through those videos. Over and over... I couldn't stop it."

  "Getting anywhere?"

  "Yes," she said, nodding vigorously. She pointed to her head. "But I need more fodder for the mill. When are you going in again?"

  "This afternoon."

  "Good. I can run through the tapes once more by then."

  "What about your practice? Don't you have other patients?"

  "I've been limiting my practice, and I've taken on an associate who's covering for me this week. I'll have to be back in London by Monday, though."

  "You have family there?" Julie didn't want to sound as if she was probing, but.. ."A husband?"

  "Divorced, I'm afraid. Just my Jack. My son. He's a barrister. Doing very well. Maybe if you're in London sometime, I'll introduce you."

  Julie smiled and decided to change the subject. She was about to inform Alma of the miraculous discovery of yesterday afternoon's tape when she heard the tires of Eathan's car crunch on the driveway as he headed for the airport.

  And suddenly it hit her: Eathan was going to be in London for most of the day. That gave her all morning to poke through his study.

  Maybe she'd hold off on giving Alma that tape. Just a little longer.

  3

  By midmorning, Alma was camped in the family room with the door closed, the curtains drawn, and the VCR running.

  Except for Sam and the nurse, Julie had the whole upstairs to herself. She went straight to the study, closed the door behind her, retrieved the key from Eathan's desk, and opened the big oak cabinet.

&nb
sp; Again, she had that sensation of her life passing before her. The scholastic awards, the ribbons, Sam's old paintings and sculptures ... they all engendered another feeling: guilt. Eathan's last words: Take good care of Sam while I'm gone.

  So what was she doing instead? Snooping through his private study. Nice...

  One tug on the handle of the locked file cabinet was enough to convince her that guilt was premature. If she found nothing, then she'd feel guilty. But if Sam was right and Eathan was hiding their father's papers, that was another story.

  She looked at the four-digit combination. It read 9574. She wished it were a letter code instead of numbers. She knew from her computer-hacking days as a teenager that people were a lot more predictable when they had to choose a password as compared to a PIN code.

  She tried Eathan's birthday: 12-1-41. Easy to remember because he always said he was born a week before Pearl Harbor. She tried all the four-digit permutations she could think of, tried adding a zero before the one, even tried putting the month second, British style. Nothing. The drawers wouldn't budge. She tried permutations of her own birthday. Same result.

  And then, without warning, she heard the study door open behind her.

  Julie froze, dreading the prospect of turning around and facing Eathan.

  Oh, God! What am I going to say?

  The door closed again and a now-familiar voice said, "And who would that be now, snooping through her uncle's private study?"

  She whirled. "You!"

  Liam grinned at her. "Himself."

  He was dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a heavy white sweater. His gleaming smile sparkled, as did his blue eyes. With a cloth cap pulled snug over his long, red hair, he looked like one of the groundsmen.

  "How on earth—?"

  "Oh, saw the uncle leave, I did, then saw the cook head into the village. So I walked in the back door. I know you're out in the middle of nowhere, but you really do need better security here." He stared at the wall cabinet. "Look at this, will you. I grew up in a flat smaller than this."

  As the shock wore off, anger flared in Julie. "Get out of here! Get out now or I'll call the police!"

  "You'll be doing no such thing, and you won't be taking another swing at me either, I'm hoping." He gave the brim of his cap a mockingly deferential tug as he stepped past her. "Because you're as curious as I am, aren't you. Sammi as much as asked me to take a look for her. Said, 'You can do that kind of thing, can't you?* It was her last request before she locked herself away in her bloody room and wouldn't see anybody. And so I'm honoring it." He surveyed the cabinet. "Now what have we here?"

  Julie's anger dissipated. She didn't feel afraid of the man. He easily could have gone to Sam's room if he'd wanted to, could have just as easily hurt Julie last night. She took a breath—and accepted the fact that he wasn't a danger. For the moment.

  She also realized that Liam was the one person who could tell her about Sam's last days.

  "What was she like that week? Did she say anything about being afraid of anyone?"

  "Poor thing was afraid of her own shadow about then, and I don't know why. Don't think she did either. She went a little bit off. Maybe more than a little. All she wanted to do was work on that painting. Didn't sleep, didn't eat. Wouldn't give anyone even a peek at it, or let them near it."

  He paused. "Now that I'm thinking of it, you could almost say it was the painting she was afraid of. Scared to death of it and yet she couldn't drag herself away from it. Does that make any sense?"

  Julie shook her head. "Not a bit."

  He shook his head. "I didn't think so."

  "But what happened to it?"

  He turned to her and stepped closer. "That's what I'd like to know. I'm the one who found her on the floor, right in front of her easel. And it was empty. Someone had been there and took the painting."

  Julie met his gaze levelly. "Eathan thinks it was you. And frankly, so do I."

  Did she really? She wasn't sure....

  "Not me. I swear to God."

  "Who then?"

  "Ask your uncle."

  "Eathan? How can you say that?"

  Liam turned and gestured to the display inside the wall cabinet. "He seems to be the world's foremost collector of Sammi's work."

  Julie stood silent for an instant, stunned by the implication. Then she shook it off.

  "Yes, but if you'll notice, he's also a major collector of Sam's sister's work, as well."

  "Well, you've maybe got a point there. A bit weird, though, don't you think?"

  "Obsessive, perhaps. But Sam was right in a way. Our uncle has been hiding something. But it's all innocent. Just memorabilia. Benchmarks from our youth."

  "You sure that's all?"

  He began pulling open the filing-cabinet drawers. The sight of him pawing through the file folders offended Julie.

  "Stay out of there. That's none of your business."

  "If it concerns Sammi, it's my bloody business. Like I told you, she sent me here. She said—" He stopped as he tugged on one of the drawers of the locked file cabinet. "And what have we here? Locked, is it?"

  "I was trying to figure out the combination when you barged in."

  He turned to her and grinned. "Slipped in, love. On little, cat's feet." He swung back to the locked file cabinet. "So what could he be hiding in here now, do you think? Maybe your da's, papers?"

  "I told you: They were all destroyed in the fire."

  "Were they now? Well, why don't we get this open and see? What have you tried so far?"

  She explained about using permutations of birth dates— Eathan's and Sam's and hers.

  "Well, I'm thinking now, if this here cabinet hides your da's papers, why not try his birthday?"

  That struck Julie as an excellent idea, except for one thing. One very embarrassing thing.

  "I... I don't know my father's birthday."

  Liam swung on her. "You don't whatl Are you expecting me; to believe that?"

  "It's true. I don't know my mother's, either, come to think of it. Nor their anniversary date. We had no cause to. There were; never any birthday parties or celebrations; we never had to buy them gifts." Julie hated having to explain herself to this man, but felt compelled to. "Dammit, we were five when they died."

  Liam's frustration showed on his face. "All right then. How about his death date, then?"

  "March seventh, nineteen seventy-two."

  "You know the day he died," Liam said, staring at her, "but, you don't-"

  "It was the day that changed our lives." She stepped past; him to the locked cabinet. "Let's try it."

  She set the numbers to 3-7-7-2 and pulled on a handle.

  The top drawer popped open.

  A strange feeling shot through Julie's intestines, a little pain, a little like nausea. Eathan had used the date of her parents' death as a code number on a lock. That wasn't right. Unless the contents were ...

  She spread the first of the hanging folders and ran her fingers across the tops of the papers within. She saw a letter addressed to Nathan Gordon, Ph.D., and something that said Last Will and Testament.

  "Your da's papers, am I right?' Liam said.

  Julie nodded, unable to speak.

  Dad's papers. Here all this time. Eathan had been lying to them all these years. God, why?

  She felt as if her whole world were unraveling.

  "What did I tell you?" Liam was saying, oblivious to the turmoil inside her. "Now aren't you glad I stopped by? If I hadn't you'd still be here next year dialing numbers into that thing."

  He reached toward the open drawer but Julie slammed it shut, just missing his fingers.

  "You keep your hands out of there. I'll go through this cabinet, and if there's anything that concerns Sam, I may—may— let you see it."

  "Now wait just a minute, darling. I'm the one—"

  "No!" The ferocity she felt surprised her. She was going to protect these papers from Liam O'Donnell and anyone else who wanted to snoop through her fa
ther's life. "This is my call, do you hear? You either accept that or get out! Clear?"

  Obviously taken aback by the outburst, he held up his hands, palms out.

  "All right, all right. I know better than to get between a lioness and her cubs."

  Julie pulled the drawer back open and returned to the first file. She removed the thickest document, a thick sheaf bound by an old rubber band that broke when she pulled on it. On top lay the Last Will and Testament of Nathan Gordon. Beneath that was the Last Will and Testament of Luanda Gordon. And finally, The Insurance Trust of Nathan Gordon and Luanda Gordon. She flipped through them, scanning the headings and some of the body.

  "Anything important?" Liam said.

  Julie shook her head. "Just wills," she said as she stuffed them back into the folder.

  If the need arose, she could go over them in detail some other time, but she had a pretty good idea of how they ran: If Dad died first, everything went to Mom, and vice versa. Then if the surviving parent died, everything went into A and B trusts for the children. But if both died in the same accident, Dad would be considered the first death, then Mom, leaving everything in the trusts.

  She pulled out another sheet. This one was a letter to Nathan Gordon dated November 28,1970, from BankAmeri-card denying him the credit-limit increase he'd requested.

  Odd. Why would they turn him down?

  The next letter was from the Millburn State Bank, dated December 12, 1971. A loan officer was telling Dad that if he didn't pay something on his mortgage soon the bank would be forced to begin foreclosure proceedings.

  Julie was stunned. Foreclosure? She'd had no idea Dad had been in financial straits. How was that possible when they'd been left with such generous trust funds?

  She pulled out another sheet. This one was from the FDA, dated January 25, 1966. Specifically from a Jack Winslow, Ph.D., informing Dad that his request for approval of a clinical trial protocol for testing certain neurohormones (detailed in clinical application #F97674-02) was being denied. The reason for denial was the lack of sufficient primate trials required before moving up to human testing.