“Emotional for Tegwen, but not for Aline?” I asked.
“For both,” she answered. “Sometimes, when things become intense the way they did on that night, my…Tegwen’s influence and personality becomes prominent. Aline is always there, and she enjoys every bit as much. Not as loud, perhaps...”
In our most intimate moments, the swirling sensations of singular passion were more than expressions of a powerful physical attraction, and the hidden meaning was finally exposed for me to see. Each time we grasped at each other through an erotic dance in the dark, it was not only Aline in our bed; the change in her voice and language, the narrowed eyes nearly malevolent with ancient primal desire and even the occasional bite that drew blood were always Tegwen’s presence and spirit whether I saw it or not.
Had I evolved to a place where disbelief was no longer relevant? Our relationship became a true partnership long before, and I felt an odd sense of accomplishment figuring out at last her answers were not revelations but rather a confirmation of things I already knew. It was quiet in the trees, and I gathered myself to test the theory.
“The day I arrived from London, when I was sitting with Jeremy in his office…”
“You saw me walking on a windy afternoon in Stornoway.”
“How the hell did you…all the way from here?”
“No,” she said with a broad smile. “I saw you leave the Royal Hotel and I followed. The girl at the desk told me Damon’s brother came up the day before, so I waited and listened; it wasn’t difficult to hear some of your conversation from the street.”
“You’ve been inside ever since,” I said sadly, and she could feel the resignation tugging at me.
“I listen when I need to, but that does not mean I control or direct your thoughts!”
“And you can’t let Burke inside to prove you’re not a lunatic, or he would see your other lives—he’d see it all.”
“It’s always been that way, Evan.”
“You could hear his thoughts about warning me?”
“His plan was to tell you about his fears before we go; he feels…obligated.”
“What are his fears?”
Aline stood beside me just as she had on the day we first met, looking into the distance that represented our future and life together.
“Burke is afraid I’ll hurt you someday or maybe even kill you in an angry moment.”
“He’s thinking about Claude Dumont?”
“The two men in Glasgow; he knows how close it was for both of them.”
It sounds so normal today: a conversation like any other with the exception its topic was murder—my murder—and yet we spoke of Burke’s misperceptions in casual terms. Her words pulled me back to the present and Burke’s disturbing belief Aline would one day be my destroyer. It was clear she’d heard in his mind enough to know he still regarded her as borderline insane and perhaps criminally deranged regardless of her unique abilities. For Burke, the distinction was meaningless and pointed to an eventual conflict that could end my life if I ever wound up on her wrong side.
“It’s a no-win prospect, isn’t it?” I asked. “You can’t show him why he’s mistaken, and he’ll brief his masters after we go with the cautionary note and a warning that I may not come home alive.”
“He will always suspect,” she replied simply. “Months will pass, and long after we return it will remain a ‘matter of time’ in his mind. I can’t help what Alan Burke thinks, but the burden to worry for nothing is his.”
We finished our walk and sat in her kitchen to map out a plan. Since we were compelled to take a lengthy vacation on the far side of the world, Aline said, we might as well pick destinations we’d always wanted to visit and check them off an unspoken list. I voted for places where palm trees grow, and we laughed at the absurd, antithetical images of a Siberian steppe or the far reaches of Alaska’s North Slope, simply for the sake of variety.
The idea was shifting from a forced exile to a shared adventure and excuse to waste a few months with aimless pursuits without concern for cost or reason. I regarded the change as a natural coping mechanism for making the best of a bad situation, but as we examined unusual sites on the internet, even I had to admit to a sense of excitement. The cost was obviously irrelevant, thanks to Damon’s generosity, but I wasn’t about to spend my own money to get booted out of the country for six months. Aline grinned and nodded when I told Burke to transfer “appropriate funding” to my London account, but the thought reminded me of Damon and another need to see beyond the veil.
“Now that I understand how easily you can influence others, it makes me wonder again about Damon’s sudden change in the way he did business.”
I waited for her to reply because she could surely hear my thoughts, and yet she said nothing. There are times when she makes me drag out an entire concept instead of intercepting it with an answer, and this was obviously one of them. It’s irritating when she does that, if only for the sake of brevity and the time we could save, but Aline doesn’t always function along predictable or convenient lines.
“How far did you go?” I asked.
She smiled at me, and I was at least grateful for not having to plod through an explanation she didn’t really need.
“Far enough,” she replied.
“Directly, or did these suggestions filter through when he was within range?”
“I didn’t say anything directly, but they were taking advantage of him, Evan; I don’t like people who do that, and Damon didn’t deserve to be cheated.”
I nearly shuddered at the thought of somebody pushing her to act, but the answer demanded clarity.
“Who are ‘they’ and how were they cheating Damon?”
“Three people came to see him,” she replied, “two men and a woman. I was visiting with Damon because he wanted to see our catalogue and ask for help selecting a birthday gift for Isolda.”
“Let me guess: you heard their thoughts and didn’t like what you found.”
“Something like that, yes.”
“Okay, give me the story,” I replied with a knowing nod.
“They were brokers who represent collectors—extremely wealthy collectors. Damon had an exclusive arrangement with them, and five unique collections were being discussed.”
“They came all the way up here to see him?”
“An idea of adding pieces to one of the collections he was asked to appraise was on the table, but that’s when I heard her thoughts—the woman, I mean…”
“And?”
“She was nervous that Damon would understand the resale value and see how grossly underpaid he would be when they settled.”
“Were you just standing there listening?”
“I was in his backyard, waiting for them to finish so they would have privacy.”
“But still close enough to hear,” I said with a knowing smile.
“She was lying to him and the two men were part of it; they were all edgy, and it was obvious they wanted him to agree quickly so they could go.”
“Wait,” I said, “this woman…was she Birgit Nyström?”
“Not likely,” Aline answered. “She was Chinese—from Hong Kong, I believe.”
“Okay, so what happened next?”
“They had photos of the collection, and while he was waiting for them to lay each copy on a table…”
“What did you do, Aline?” I asked, almost afraid to hear her answer.
“I sent a thought—a suggestion—so that he would feel a need for caution. It was subtle, at least from your experience, but it was enough.”
“That couldn’t have been good,” I said with a grin.
“It surprised them when Damon said suddenly he would only consider the job, and it made each of them react privately with frustration and anger—they suspected another broker had already spoken with him and their plan had been compromised.”
“Did they say as much?”
“No, but they pretended there was no problem and they left rathe
r abruptly. The impulse I gave to Damon was confusing for him, but there was no other way.”
“Is that where you left it?”
Aline shook her head slowly, and I knew the rest of the story was going to be interesting at the very least.
“Over the next week or two,” she continued, “I passed more thoughts and considerations through to his mind. Mostly, I wanted him to see for himself and understand the kinds of people he was dealing with.”
“He never said anything to you?”
“Not directly, but I’m afraid I may have taken things a bit far; he became agitated and withdrawn.”
“I’m guessing that was when he changed his mind about fee structures.”
“Damon went to Spain quite suddenly. He told me it was time for him to speak with Isolda, but I knew he was lying. I could hear the resentment in his thoughts, and I know he began to take steps; the fee increases followed, and after a few months, he moved quite abruptly back to Malaga. We heard of his death months later, and...”
She let me see the images and feel the thoughts from her memory so I would understand. There was a distinct sensation of regret, and it took a while before I realized Aline hadn’t intended so dire a reaction when Damon decided to fight back against sharks who always swim in waters filled with money. Her intentions were honorable, but even she couldn’t foresee the effect, and it left her wondering if her good deed had backfired. When she learned Damon passed away, there was nothing more to do.
I considered the chronology and a fruitless adventure to Karlstad where Birgit met my questions with enough of her own to make clear the visitors to Damon’s farm were not acting with her sanction or even her knowledge. It meant, at the very least, Birgit’s business dealings with Damon were honest, and I wondered if her sphere of influence didn’t extend to the unnamed trio pushing for his agreement. Either way, Damon’s sudden “awakening” regarding his finances told a different tale.
The image forming in my mind was all too familiar and made worse by my own experience and what it means when Aline launches her mental invasions. I don’t wish to speak ill of the dead, and least of all my own brother, but I am a much stronger emotional package than Damon ever was, and his reaction could only have been shock and dismay. Sudden, unexplained thoughts can be passed off as intuition, perhaps, but Aline’s powerful influence is something else and compelling in the extreme. In his place, I would have no more explanation or defense against the storm driving me to reverse established business practices, and its result doubtless surprised and disappointed clients he’d known for years.
“You got Damon all spooled up,” I declared at last. “He saw the darker side and understood they were working him. Maybe he panicked and went overboard in leveling the playing field, but that was the effect and it stuck until he died.”
“They were cheating him, Evan,” she replied evenly.
“I’m not complaining, Aline, but it does explain a few things. Vienne and I both worried Damon’s sudden behavior change was something worse—that he went off the rails completely. Birgit worried, too, but now we know better.”
She stood in front of me and leveled her eyes.
“You mustn’t ever tell Birgit Nyström about this; you understand that, too, don’t you?”
Her caution was as correct as it was understandable but also delivered with a different tone and one, others might argue, that carried an implied threat. I knew better, but the thought did cross my mind.
“Of course!” I replied in protest to the veiled insult, but there was another hidden meaning lurking inside when I noticed she didn’t include my sister in her warning. Aline heard that thought, too.
“We may tell Vienne at some point but not today.”
“I know.”
She said nothing for a few tense seconds, likely to ensure her point had been made clear, and then it was done. Aline returned to evaluating destinations for our grand tour, and I notched another useful lesson in the way she thinks and those pieces of a puzzle she considers more important than others. I wonder today what Burke would offer in exchange for that understanding.
WHEN we made our fourth and final trip to RAF Waddington, it seemed like the bustle when a college kid prepares for graduation day, except there would be no commencement speeches, all-night parties, or heaving into the nearest toilet after repeated keg stands. For a week, they poured out questions and attached them to scenarios designed to establish triggers and responses. Mo wanted to find the bridge between thoughtful, deliberate action and a near-autonomic system that comes to life of its own accord. She seemed more satisfied when Aline’s answers associated those extraordinary things she can do with deliberate choices.
They prepared a shielded room and asked her to repeat one or two of the more extreme examples of her power, but observers were restricted mostly to Burke, Colonel Halliwell, and Berezan. She obliged to a fair degree, but repeated lockouts of the fire suppression system invited disaster, so the more flammable demonstrations were discontinued and the carnival sideshow’s appeal was replaced by a sober examination of thought projection.
Several lab assistants and technicians were enlisted to sit in an empty room and follow a prescribed menu of mental tasks to measure Aline’s ability to “hear” inside their thoughts. Halliwell was keenly interested in that part, particularly the effective range of her passive eavesdropping skills, until it became clear there were no secrets they could keep from her. When she emphasized the point by writing details from a conversation two rooms away between Burke and Mo while monitoring the thoughts of her test subject, Halliwell gave up and moved on to the last phase.
For those few (including me) who have been a target of Aline’s outbound “thought artillery,” there is no equivalent experience. When it begins, she gives no warning, no subtle buildup to a crescendo to be met and endured. Instead, her invisible knives stab and slice one after another so abruptly a recipient is consumed as much by confusion and fear as real, tangible pain. They always referred to the process by the antiseptic, detached name, and when Halliwell asked if Aline was ready to conclude the “defensive cognition” tests, she walked straight to him as though he would be her target. She knew he was not, but I think she pretended otherwise for her own amusement as he stood quickly aside to signal he wanted nothing more to do with personal demonstrations.
At the end of a long hallway, a lone figure waited in a chair, and it was clear he had no idea why he was there. Of course, that meant neither Burke nor Halliwell had briefed him beforehand. A necessary detail in order to avoid predisposing him to what would follow? Probably, but when Aline arrived down the hall, it took only seconds until the subject stood quickly with both hands to his forehead. Once more, she aimed her thoughts at an unwitting person, and this time it was Berezan who paid close attention. The best conclusion I could reach was the likelihood Aline’s ability to injure or even kill had been his focus all along, and when the lone figure cried out and stumbled to his knees at last, the little runt just smiled and nodded.
I asked Burke who the man was but he refused to tell me. I reminded him Aline could quickly contravene that determined silence, but he would only say “one of our security chaps.” The man’s true identity was of no use to me, but the test revealed Burke’s unwillingness to budge whenever I asked questions he’d rather not answer. I think he simply enjoyed the novel ability of keeping a secret simply because he could. After days with Aline, and his mind forever open to her, I can’t blame him for the indulgence.
Aline released the unnamed subject and his painful moment was finished as quickly as it began. He stood straight and looked at Halliwell for an explanation, but there would be no such thing and they gave him something to drink Doctor Stafford insisted would help. Mo told Burke potential swelling of a subject’s brain was an unnecessary risk, demanding that Aline refrain from going too far.
At last, Aline decided to end it. They had enough data to study, she declared, and it was time to wrap things up. I remember the
expression on Burke’s face that changed quickly from astonished outrage to serene acceptance. She was always in control, and I think he found her blatant reminder strangely satisfying. Maybe because they’d succeeded in conducting detailed studies of a live subject but also for the private admiration he holds for that tiny minority of people who are not like the rest of us.
Halliwell suggested a twenty-minute break, and we went outside to follow our customary path along the perimeter to stretch our legs and unwind until the word from Burke’s Minister came up from London. We stopped and leaned against the fence, watching as a flight of training jets executed touch-and-go routines under a fair sky. My mind drifted to the points along our bizarre journey until it fixed on the time capsule sitting in a crate at the back corner of Aline’s garage.
“Assuming this politician goes along with Burke’s plan, should we get that glass monstrosity some place safer while we’re away?”
“I thought of that, too,” she said with a smile. “Margaret has a spot in her mum and dad’s garage picked out already.”
It was one less detail to worry about, but the capsule pointed my thoughts at the one life she hadn’t yet described.
“It’s obvious why Rhian Pryce was so important to all this, but you never gave me the backstory on who you were in that life. I know when and where you were born, but nothing more.”
Aline turned a bit so that the prevailing wind came directly at us, relieving her of the constant swipes with a hand to pull the strands of hair from her face.
“It was a normal life, I suppose you’d say,” she began. “We weren’t poor, so I was tutored and grew up much as I did in Jane’s life. When I was nineteen, I went with my mother and a cousin to Cardiff for the wedding of another cousin. During a party for the couple, I met a young man called Owen Thomas; he was a junior manager for the Great Western Railway in Bristol.”
The Seventh Life of Aline Lloyd Page 37
