“Do you still have the card?” Cole asked, trying to tamp down the excitement in his voice.
“Of course,” Carl said.
“Can I see it?”
“Yeah. I’ll go get it.” He stood and walked out of the room.
While he was gone, Cole turned to Faith’s mother. “What else can you tell me? What was she afraid of? What did she hate? What did she love?”
Evelyn shrugged. “She was just a regular girl. I mean, she was special but she liked what girls liked. She liked boys. She liked to dance. She was good in school. She was perfect.”
“What was she afraid of?” Cole asked again.
“I don’t know. She wasn’t afraid of anything, really.”
“What was she afraid of?” Cole pushed.
Evelyn’s hand swung down and slammed the table. “I don’t know,” she repeated. The tears had not stopped flowing. “She tried hard to be perfect. Maybe she was afraid of not being perfect, but she was perfect.”
Faith’s father returned with the card. He handed it to Cole, who studied it. There was only a picture of a horse on the front. Cole opened the card. There was no printed message on the inside either. Instead, written in neat block letters in black pen were the words, “THANK YOU. I WILL MISS YOU. IT WAS NICE TO HAVE A FRIEND.” It wasn’t signed. Cole reached up with his free hand and felt the indentation that the words made on the card. He felt something when he read the card, something deeper than he thought he would have felt on his own. He felt a sadness in him and, yet, no new memories came.
Cole tried not to let his frustration show. He turned back toward Evelyn. “You said that your daughter liked to dance. What type of dancing did she do?”
“She did ballet until she was sixteen,” Evelyn said. “We have a few pictures in the hallway if you’d like to look at them.”
“I would,” Cole said, though hopelessness was beginning to creep over him. He wouldn’t have cared so much in a normal case, but they had so little time. “Very much,” he added as he stood up from his chair, which had, for many years before that day, been her chair.
Carl and Evelyn led Ed and Cole to a hallway leading from the kitchen to their side door. It was long and narrow with a coat rack and some storage at the far end. The walls on both sides of the hallway were strewn with pictures. Evelyn stopped about halfway down and turned to her left. “Here,” she said, motioning toward one of the photos. “Here’s one of her ballet pictures. She played one of the Indians in Peter Pan. She was thirteen. She was so beautiful.” Her voice cracked as she spoke, but only slightly. Carl and Ed were staring up at the photo. Cole had been left behind. He was still standing outside the hallway, not yet possessing the courage to enter it.
“Are you okay, Cole?” Ed asked him. Carl and Evelyn simply stared at him, perplexed by his strange behavior.
Cole motioned toward the walls and the pictures hung on them. “Are these all of your daughter?” he asked, making a concerted effort not to look at the photos.
“Not all of them,” Evelyn answered him. She glanced at the pictures in front of her, then turned around and looked at the wall behind her. “Here,” she said, pointing to a tall photograph near the ceiling, “this is a picture from a vacation that Carl and I took to Key West before Faith was born.” She took a couple of steps closer to Cole. “And here’s another one. This one is of Carl’s brother’s family.”
“But the others, or at least most of the others?” Cole asked.
“Yes,” Carl answered him. “They’re almost all of Faith.”
Cole’s heart raced. “Can I look at the pictures alone?”
Evelyn stared back at him. “But who will tell you about them?” she asked. “How will you know what they’re about?”
Cole knew she hadn’t forgotten. He could see it in her face. She was simply afraid, afraid to leave the grown man with her daughter’s memories alone with the pictures, afraid of what the man might remember without her, afraid that this stranger might somehow know her daughter better than she did. “Just give me half an hour for now. It will be better if I come at them on my own first. You can tell me about them after,” he said, doing his best to sound calm and reassuring even though he felt anything but calm. Every minute that passed was one minute closer to the second bombing. “I promise I will tell you everything I remember.” Cole knew it was a lie even as he said it.
“Okay,” Evelyn said. She looked over at Carl and he gave her a quick nod. “If this will help you, then we’ll let you be.” Then, one by one, they filed out of the hallway, Ed first, Carl following behind him. Evelyn paused before leaving. She turned and took another look at all of the pictures hanging on the walls. Her eyes traced over them. She didn’t need to stop. She knew every picture. There was space left at the end of the hallway, where the pictures ended abruptly. Cole watched as Faith’s mother’s eyes moved to the blank space and stared at it for a moment. Cole looked at the blank space too. There was room enough for wedding photos and baby pictures that would never be taken. Cole wasn’t afraid to look there. He wasn’t interested in this future that would never be. He was only interested in the past. Finally, Faith’s mother took her eyes from the wall and stepped past Cole. “Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?” she asked him as she passed him.
“I’m just trying to unlock your daughter’s memories,” Cole answered her. “I think these pictures might be the key.” She didn’t say anything else. She simply turned from him and walked away.
Cole was alone now. It was quiet. He stood outside of the hallway. He could see the frames on the wall but, from this angle, still couldn’t make out the pictures. He took a moment, trying to decide if he should look at the pictures one at a time or if he should simply walk in and take in as many at once as he could. He took a deep breath, as if he were about to dive underwater. Then he stepped forward.
Cole had decided to scan all of the pictures at first, to walk down the hallway and to let his eyes take in as much as they could. In moments, he passed by everything. They were all there, all the textbook moments. He passed the baby pictures and the early walking pictures and the first day of school pictures and the vacation pictures and the prom pictures and the graduation pictures. It was like a pictorial biography. He saw photos of Faith with her friends, laughing at the camera, photos of Halloween costumes, photos at dance recitals. Not a moment seemed to be missing in that hallway and yet, on the first pass, Cole remembered nothing. He knew the pictures weren’t going to be enough. Cole was searching for the moments in between the pictures. That’s where this girl’s life was. He felt the memories of those moments inside him, but nothing would come out.
Cole walked through the hallway again, slower this time, and stared at each picture. He looked inside them for small details, for faces in the background. He skipped over the baby pictures, knowing that Faith’s memories would not go back that far, but he still had enough photos to look at. In one, Faith was standing in front of a lighthouse, grass-covered sand dunes rising up behind her. She was smiling, her skin tan from spending a summer out in the sun. Cole looked at her face, trying to find the truth behind the image but, as far as he could tell, the truth was in the picture. He looked at a photo of her on a train, reading a book. He tried to remember what book it was. Then he moved on. There was Faith with a friend, their arms around each other, both playfully sticking their tongues out at the camera. Cole stared at the friend’s face. What was her name? Beth? Leslie? Nikki? Nothing seemed right.
Cole stepped farther down the hallway. He stared at a picture of Faith in a green dress, standing next to a boy in a black tuxedo and matching green tie. He finally felt the picture begin to pull him in. He could feel it coming, like the air pressure in his brain was changing. He placed one hand on the wall to brace himself so that he wouldn’t fall down. Then, he was inside the memory.
First, Cole heard the music. He could feel it, in his feet and his head and his loins. It was a fast rhythmic beat. He was in some sort of ballroom
. Small lights were draped across the ceiling but it was otherwise dark. He could hear voices around him, other girls and boys, speaking in excited tones. Then he saw the green dress and the beautiful young woman wearing it. She was standing on the other side of the room, her golden skin lit by the small lights strung across the ceiling. Cole wanted to go over and talk to her. He remembered that urge. It was innate but still sweet, still innocent. He only wanted to talk to her, to be near her, to see her smile. Cole remembered the fear too. He felt the unease in his stomach from just looking at the girl in the green dress from across the room. Cole loved that feeling, the anxious fear that was so difficult to enjoy in the moment but was what life felt like, the best of it anyway. Cole didn’t want to let it go. He wanted more of it.
The music stopped for a moment and the room became quiet. Even the talking quieted without the music. Then a new song began, bursting out of speakers placed at the far end of what stood in for a dance floor. Cole didn’t recognize the song, but he remembered it anyway. It was clear that everyone in the room recognized it. Some began to dance, others simply drifted toward the dance floor, not yet having the courage to begin dancing. Cole could see a few adults in the room but it was mostly kids. He guessed that their ages ranged from twelve to seventeen. The girl in the green dress was probably thirteen or fourteen. A few of her friends came up to her as she stood, encouraging her to come and dance with them. They all moved out onto the dance floor together. It was mostly girls on the dance floor, a few intrepid boys, mostly the older ones, interspersed between them.
The girl in the green dress began to dance with her friends. They all danced in a similar manner, all moved their bodies to the music in a way that was half learned and half instinct. Cole could see the early hints at sex in how they danced, but it was subtle. Cole didn’t think they were doing it on purpose, not yet, probably not for another couple of years, but dancing is dancing. It’s hard to separate it completely from sex. He didn’t remember thinking about sex, though. The memories, the excitement, even the desire, were more innocent than that. Even so, Cole knew that the wonderful fear he felt in his stomach was a fear of all of the unknowns lurking before him, and that included sex and everything else that came with it. It was a fear and an excitement about discovery and failure.
The girl in the green dress looked up as she danced and her eyes glanced across the room. Cole remembered the heat running to his cheeks and looking away before her eyes met his. Then a voice came from behind him. “Yo, Ivan!” it shouted. A hand slapped his back and then two fingers jabbed at his side. Cole remembered the sharp pain as it came and went almost immediately. “You going to dance, little bro, or you just going to stand here leering at the girls all night?” Cole remembered the snicker of laughter that followed. He quickly looked up to see if the girl in the green dress was still looking toward him, but she had looked away and was lost again in her dancing. What had she seen? The question popped into Cole’s head like a reflex. It came so quickly that he wasn’t sure if he was thinking it or remembering it.
Then an arm draped over his shoulder. “Is she here?” a voice whispered into his ear. It was the same voice, but it had changed in tone from teasing to reassuring. Cole felt like he could trust this voice. He wanted to trust it. He nodded. “Which one is she?” the voice asked. “Don’t point with your fingers. Point with your eyes.” So that’s what he did. He aimed his eyes at her as she danced. He took her in. His brother followed his gaze. Then, as she danced to the rhythm of the music, she lifted her eyes again and their eyes met. He didn’t pull away this time and neither did she.
“Go on,” his older brother whispered into his ear. Ivan hesitated. “Go on,” his brother repeated. “You’re going to remember this night for the rest of your life no matter what you do.” The older boy was merely repeating a cliché he’d heard himself many times. He had no idea how true his words were. “You might as well remember giving it a shot.” Then Cole remembered feeling a little nudge on his back. That’s all he needed. The nudge pushed him forward. Her eyes pulled him the rest of the way.
When he was almost all the way across the dance floor to her, he stopped. His heart was pounding. He wanted to run but he needed to stay. “Hello, Gabby,” he said. The music was too loud. He couldn’t even hear himself. There was no way she could have heard. She responded anyway.
“Hello, Ivan,” she answered him and, even though he couldn’t hear her either, he could see the words on her lips. “Are you going to dance?” she asked. His heart stopped, just for a second. He was sure of it.
Then the girl in the green dress stopped dancing. Right before him, she started to change. Her skin grew paler. Her hair grew straighter and lighter. Even the dress changed, as the ruffles began to smooth out. The transformation was seamless and quick, like a transfiguring werewolf from a high-budget horror movie. A moment later, Cole found himself standing in a hallway, staring at a picture of a girl posing with her date before the junior prom.
“Cole.” Ed said his name softly, trying to get his attention but not wanting to pull him out of too intense a memory too quickly. Cole turned his head and looked at his partner. Ed was standing at the far end of the hallway. Cole was still trying to get his bearings. He was still trying to figure out what had just happened. He turned back to the pictures and looked at it again. He saw Faith in the photo, but she wasn’t the girl from the memory. It hadn’t been her memory at all. He stared hard at the picture. The green dress, that’s all it took to trigger one of Ivan’s memories. They were there for him; there for the taking. He would have to fight them back. He didn’t want to. He wanted them to pour over him. Already, he wanted that feeling again, that nervous, innocent excitement. But he would have to fight it back or Faith’s memories would never come. He had come here for Faith’s memories. “Cole,” Ed said again.
“Yes,” Cole answered this time, staring at Ed with his jet black eyes.
“It’s been thirty minutes. You promised her parents that you only needed thirty minutes.” Ed could see the intensity in Cole’s eyes. “Did you find something?” Ed asked. “What did you remember?”
Cole turned and looked at Faith’s picture one last time. “Nothing,” he said. “There wasn’t enough time. I need more time.”
Ed shook his head. “Not today, Cole. We’ll have to come back. The parents, I don’t think that they can take any more of this.”
He wanted to say any more of you. Cole could see that in his face.
“We can go to her apartment. Maybe there’s something there.”
“Okay,” Ed agreed. “You really didn’t remember anything?” Ed knew that Cole wasn’t being completely honest with him. “Her parents are going to want to know what you remembered. They want us to give them something.”
Cole turned away from Ed and looked down at the other end of the hallway. “I’ll go out the side door.” He looked down at his feet, clad only in socks, and shrugged. “Bring my shoes. I’ll meet you at the car. Tell them I’m sorry and ask them when we can come back.”
“Cole?” Ed said, questioning the cruelty of leaving without a single word.
“Tell them I’m sorry,” Cole said. He didn’t have the heart to tell them that when he looked at the pictures of their daughter, the only thing he could remember was more memories of the man they believed had blown their daughter to pieces. Instead, he turned around and walked away, leaving Ed to deal with Faith’s grieving parents and the fact that their daughter’s memories had just snuck out the side door.
Chapter 7
ONE DAY, SEVEN HOURS AFTER THE FIRST BOMBING
Bernard lay back in the prow of his small white boat and placed his hat over his face. He could feel the sun beating down on his body and the hard wood of the boat beneath his back. It was hot and sweat dripped down his arms and legs. Even with the heat, Bernard found the gentle rocking of the boat relaxing. Before lying down, he had cut the boat’s engine and now simply let it drift slowly down the Cambodian river with the curren
t. He’d spent the last month laying low in a small village, fishing to help out when he could, paying his way when the fishing was slow. He didn’t have to pay much, but was constantly aware of his budget now that no new money was coming in and he had to survive on what he’d skimmed over the last decade, at least until they got tired of hunting him and he could settle down somewhere.
For the moment, however, Bernard was simply taking a break from the heat, resting and remembering. He took a deep breath. Then another. Bernard treated remembering like meditation. He’d practiced it, worked with yogis in India. He focused on remembering completely and totally without altering the memories. He wanted them to be pure, not for whoever the Company planned on selling them to, but for himself. He loved his memories. They were his life’s work. He guessed that was true for almost everyone, but he recognized it and reveled in it. He breathed again. He would take twenty deep breaths before trying to remember anything. If any memories tried to come to him before that, he would push them away.
Bernard didn’t generally choose the memories he would access in these moments. He let them come to him. Choosing sucked some of the power from the memories. He counted his seventeenth breath. Then the eighteenth. Nineteenth. Twentieth. Then, in an instant, he was in a bed in a small apartment, the sun shining in through the curtained window. He was naked, with only a thin sheet covering his body. The smell of chocolate was wafting through the open window from outside. He could hear people talking. Whatever words they spoke weren’t captured in Bernard’s memories. His French wasn’t strong enough. All he could remember was their rhythm, the melody they made while being spoken, like an a capella opera sung by two French bakers every morning.
Bernard stretched, pulling his arms over his head. Every muscle in his body elongated for a moment. “God, I love that smell.” The voice came from the doorway leading from the tiny bedroom into the apartment’s living area, or at least what had been advertised as the apartment’s living area. It wasn’t big enough to actually do much living in. But the kitchen made up for it. The kitchen was big and fully stocked, with a butcher block in the middle that was big enough for two people to eat at. What had really sold them, though, was the smell of baking chocolate, every morning, seven days a week. They shared a back courtyard with a bakery and they left the window open, no matter how cold it was. The smell would start before they even woke up and last for a couple of hours at least. “I will never tire of that smell.” She had a British accent which she’d been taught at school in Bangkok. Bernard loved her accent. It sounded so proper to him.
The Murderer's Memories Page 6
