Connexion : The Atlantis Project, Book.1

by LEMPEREUR

  CONNECTION

  The Atlantis Project,

  Book 1

  By Manuel Lempereur

  ***

  Published by:

  Manuel Lempereur at Smashwords

  Copyright © 2015 by Manuel Lempereur

  ****

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Smashwords Edition Licence Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Copyright © Manuel Lempereur, 2015.

  All rights reserved.

  Registered in June 2015.

  Published by Manuel Lempereur

  97150 Saint-Martin, Parc de la Baie Orientale.

  English translation by Heather Bourn.

  “One morning, one of us had run out of black, and so he used blue…”

  Pierre-Auguste Renoir

  1 THE TURNING POINT

  2 TAKING OFF

  3 HEAT

  4 MEETING GIUSEPPE

  5 FRANCISCO

  6 VICTOR

  7 REVELATIONS

  8 THE FEAST

  9 EXPLANATIONS

  10 INTERLUDE

  11 FURTHER EXPLANATIONS

  12 MAKING CONTACT

  13 CONNECTION

  14 A NEW WORLD

  15 DEAD END

  16 THE OLD MAN

  17 THE CITY

  18 GUIDANCE

  19 INTERRUPTION

  20 THE PASSENGER

  21 THE COUNCIL

  22 BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

  23 CONSCIOUSNESS

  24 A FRESH START

  25 SACRIFICE

  26 ESCAPE

  27 FINAL CONVERSATION

  28 RETURN TO REALITY

  29 RESURRECTION

  30 DISTRUST

  31 THE INTERVIEW

  32 CLEMENTINE

  33 DECIPHERING

  34 THE NO-GO ZONE

  35 A SIZABLE PROBLEM

  36 THE LONG TREK

  37 THE NETWORK

  38 ROSALINE

  1 THE TURNING POINT

  The apartment was cramped. An unexpected guest could have easily described what the two of them had been up to for the last three days, from the vestiges of their home-body existence cluttering the place. It had to be said; merely dressing themselves or clearing the table was a challenge. And for good reason: living with a twin brother on a daily basis was no mean feat. It required constant compromise. Furthermore, as these brothers were joined at the abdomen, and knew it would always be so, life together could be quite a trial. However, it would be unfair to reduce their situation to such a simplistic observation. They had been living like this for over thirty years now; each had learned to cultivate his own uniqueness, which added a little spice to their life.

  Jacques was a little gruff and sure of himself, whereas Charlie liked to lend himself a detached and distinguished air. While one of them was yelling in front of a football game on TV or watching a B-grade action movie, the other would be doing his best to concentrate on reading the latest literary prize-winning novel. Actually, no, that was not exactly it. To be fair on Jacques, he also read books occasionally. He was even quite a fan of some science fiction authors. Being a Siamese twin was not always easy, but all in all Jacques and Charlie did not fare too badly and were rarely bored. Even if there were only limited activities within their reach, they had long ago learned how to add a little interest to their otherwise very humdrum life. It was almost 11 o’clock on this particular day and nearly three hours since Jacques had stubbed out his last cigarette.

  “Charlie, it’s nearly three hours since I had my last smoke.”

  “So I’d noticed. If it could be a bit longer it wouldn’t bother me.”

  “How do you always manage to stay so calm? It’s as if all the nicotine I inhale doesn’t reach you.”

  “Of course it does. How could it not? It’s just that, unlike you, I know how to master my body and what it tries to impose on me. You know, by the way, that I strongly urge you to do the same. If you’ve read what’s written on your cigarette pack, you must know that ‘Smokers die younger’, and, ‘Smoking seriously harms you and others around you.’ In both cases, that means me.”

  “Okay, I get it! That’s enough nagging. I hereby inform you that I’m going to put my book down, lift my butt off this couch and get some pants on as fast as I can. I’ve already waited too long.”

  Charlie sighed.

  “It’s no use arguing. Stop huffing and move.”

  “Are you going to bother poor old Michel for your filthy cigarettes again?”

  “Yup, that’s exactly what I’m going to do and you’re coming along, whether you like it or not.”

  Michel was their next-door neighbor. Jacques, accompanied by his faithful other half, had rung the bell but, as usual, the man was slow in coming.

  “I hope he’s not out. That’s all I need, for him to start getting at me too.”

  At last the door opened. An acrid smell emanated from the apartment and slowly invaded the stairwell. A man in his fifties stood before them, rather surly, his face marked by drink and tobacco

  “Hey, Twins, what’s up? You sick of hanging around in your rat hole?”

  “I’ve run out of cigarettes. You know how it is. You get irritable, you can’t stand anyone anymore. Sometimes you even feel like stuffing your brother’s book of etiquette down his throat. You get the picture?”

  “As you can see, Jacques is suffering from withdrawal, which is making him rather irritable.”

  “Wait here. I’ll just get my coat on and I’ll drive you there. It’ll do me good to get out for a bit. Elisabeth isn’t home from work yet and I’m getting sick of waiting.”

  Once Michel had disappeared, Jacques looked at Charlie with a smug grin.

  “Okay, I know just what you’re thinking. Michel is very kind and he’s always been there for us. But I do think you could show a little gratitude instead of smirking.”

  Jacques did not answer, preferring to savor his delight. At last Michel reappeared. As was often the case, he had donned black jeans and cowboy boots. The get-up had no doubt been the height of fashion in its time, but now seemed completely outdated, even ridiculous. Pointing this out would no doubt be futile. At best he would not take any notice; at worst he would be offended, but would not change his habits for anything in the world. It was one of those seemingly insignificant quirks which carry an unexpected weight of personal identity and which, it turns out, are better left well enough alone.

  Even before entering the underground car park, the twins knew what was coming. Yet again, Michel crowed ove
r his beautiful car, his pearl, his trophy. In a word, a precious little jewel of an Audi which, five years after its purchase, was still blowing the household budget. He was actually rather amusing, and both Jacques and Charlie were quite glad to be able to rely on him. His kindness and generosity helped them overlook the quirks of a poor soul with a destiny just as pathetic as their own. After listening patiently to his usual spiel, they got into the rear of the vehicle, being careful not to mark the still-shiny leather of the back seat. The maneuver was not easy and Michel helped them, very gently and carefully. The scenery slipped slowly by Charlie’s attentive gaze. Michel, for his part, gave a running commentary on the radio news. Looking up at the central rearview mirror, he spoke to the twins.

  “Wouldn’t you like to learn to drive one day?”

  “How do you think we’d manage that? Charlie at the wheel and me operating the pedals, is that it?”

  “Joking aside, it’s not that we wouldn’t like to be a little more independent, but it’s beyond us. It will never happen, unfortunately.”

  “These days they make specially adapted vehicles. Maybe there would be something for you.”

  “You think so?”

  “It’s possible. In any case, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Wouldn’t you like a nice little city car like this one? Owning a car gives you freedom, and if you spend enough it can even be a little slice of heaven. Look, I bought this one over five years ago and she’s still as nice as new. You just need to take good care of her, pamper her. Above all, you need to make sure you take her to a good garage. If you take old Michel’s advice, at least she will be faithful to you for a good ten years, minimum. I could give you some good addresses if you like. Are you scared or what?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What do you mean, Charlie? He’s talking trash. It’s got nothing to do with fear; it’s mainly a financial issue. With our only income being a ridiculous little invalid’s pension we’ll never be able to afford a specially adapted car – maybe a moped, if we’re lucky.”

  Jacques was quiet for a moment before hammering on, “Anything custom-made is incredibly expensive. As well as finding the money, we’d have to fill out a ton of forms, put together a file to show we’re eligible for financial assistance, and that’s just the start. That sort of thing’s not for me. My brother maybe, but in that case I’d have to be willing to go along and personally, I refuse to do a whole song and dance routine just to validate my rights. Think of all those people in wheelchairs! They’ve been fighting for years, so the powers that be will get them proper sidewalks and ramps into buildings, and they’re only just starting to get their act together now. And there are lots of those people, tons of them. There are even rich people who end up in a wheelchair, so you see, extremely rare cases like ours, they don’t really care about us.”

  “You sound bitter, Jacques. You shouldn’t be so negative. Things are changing. It just takes time, that’s all. You know, I believe we never can tell what life has in store for us. Sometimes there are really nice surprises just around the corner.”

  “Yeah, or really bad ones!”

  Michel had already passed by three tobacconists. He finally pulled up in front of The Naked Bar. Clementine was looking her best and welcomed them with a radiant smile.

  “A packet of Gauloises for Jacques please, lovely Clementine. You’re looking resplendent today. You make me think of a poem by Verlaine.”

  “Really? You’re such a romantic, Charlie.”

  Charlie assumed his most cultivated voice as his brother looked on, horrified, and launched into one of those effusions he so prided himself in.

  “’The violins blended their laughter with the song of the flutes/ And the ball was in full swing when I saw her passing by/ With her blond hair playing on the spirals of her ear/ Where my desire like a kiss sprung forward/ And wanted to speak to her, not daring to…’"

  Jacques could not suppress a groan. He had never been able to stand seeing his brother make a fool of himself playing Don Juan, when their physical appearance was quite simply repulsive. He felt badly for Charlie, when he threw himself into exercises in style from a bygone era. But Charlie had not finished reciting his poem.

  “’Nevertheless, she went, and the slow mazurka/ Carried her in its indolent rhythm like a verse/ - Melodious rhyme, sparkling image...’”

  Clementine, on the other hand, seemed to appreciate this nonsense. At least, if it wasn’t so, she was quite skillfully leading him to believe it was.

  “You’re making me blush, Charlie. You’re the only one who says such nice things to me. If only all men were like you. I know some who could take a leaf out of your book.”

  Behind them, a mother and daughter were waiting. The little girl, with long, brown hair, wore thick, round glasses staunchly planted on her surprisingly large, slightly snubbed nose. Her rather portly mother was tightly swathed in a sea-green suit, topped off with a leopard-spotted scarf for best effect. Her elegance was not open for discussion.

  “Mummy, what’s wrong with those men?”

  “Hush, darling.”

  Jacques turned around, bringing Charlie with him, cutting short his flirtatious enterprise.

  “Why ‘Hush’? There’s nothing wrong with us, kid! We’re stuck to each other because we go well together. That’s all.”

  “This is the way nature made us,” answered Charlie. His index finger raised, and his tone grave, he was preparing to launch into a most knowledgeable lecture when the large lady interrupted him.

  “You must excuse her, Gentlemen. She’s never seen any…”

  “Wait. Let me guess. Monsters, maybe? Is that it? Unless it could be… Yes. That’s it! A freak of nature!”

  Jacques’ tone was noticeably more aggressive, far from the unnecessary, but often funny, jibes he was so well versed in.

  “Oh! Come along, darling, let’s go. I’ve heard enough of this. If I were you, I’d be a little more discreet.”

  “Snob!”

  Charlie was trying to catch his brother’s eye.

  “You know very well I can’t stand it when you behave like that! What did that little girl ever do to you, Jacques? You always have to feel threatened by the way people look at you. Do you see me hassling everybody? It makes me cringe. It’s not at all the image I like to project. I know you couldn’t care less, and it’s such a shame. You’re exasperating!”

  “Keep your advice to yourself, Mr. Poet. I don’t want to discuss it. Not today.”

  Jacques scowled. His face was tense, still under the effects of his outburst. Of course the little girl had done him no wrong, but his analysis was basically correct. She was undoubtedly a well-educated, conservative, little rich kid. Too conservative perhaps, to understand one day what a man like him – a monster to mere mortal eyes – had been through, in order to grow as a person. Too conservative to comprehend all the trouble and sorrow that jeopardized his identity and self-worth a little more every day. Actually, she probably didn’t deserve any better, and her mother had ended up speaking her true mind quite cruelly. “If I were you, I’d be a little more discreet.” Well no, Jacques actually thought the exact opposite – to Charlie’s disapproval. The anger slowly subsided, giving way to a deep feeling of disgust and uneasiness.

  “Hey, it doesn’t matter,” said Michel. “You’re just a little nervy today. Come on, I’ll buy you both a drink. It’ll help you relax.”

  He looked at Clementine.

  “Don’t worry, Clementine. They’re a bit uptight at the moment, but it’ll pass. Sorry about your client.”

  “Never mind. The atmosphere is a bit tense these days. She’ll get over it, don’t worry about that. Go take a seat. I’ll come and take your order.

  Charlie was also watching the young woman’s reaction carefully, but he understood from what he observed that she was taking it all with much kindness and consideration. They sat down at a little table at the rear of the bar, facing the television, which was showing the results of the day�
��s horse races.

  “In five minutes they’ll be broadcasting live the results of the Vincennes Quinté. Today I put everything on Bernice, an outsider, at thirty to one odds. If I win, I’ll make a killing, my friends. I’ll buy you that car! After that, all we’ll need is to find you a chick and you’ll have it made.”

  “Oh well done, Michel. What a tactful remark!”

  “Ah, come on, Jacques. We can have a little joke, can’t we? Seriously. Haven’t you ever thought about it?”

  “About what?”

  “What do you think, Charlie?”

  “You mean… getting married?”

  “Maybe not, but at least meeting a girl, or maybe… two?

  Jacques had finally lit a cigarette. For a few moments he savored the relaxation it brought him then began to answer the question in a light-hearted tone.

  “It seems complicated to me. A ménage à trois is always complicated. And we’d have to find an understanding soul who wasn’t too particular.”

  “Someone like Clementine perhaps…”

  Those were the last words Michel ever uttered.

  “Jacques… Jacques…”

  The cloud of dust, still thick and suffocating, obscured the bodies. Charlie could hear a strident, painful whine resonating in the depths of his brain, as if it were trying to pierce it through and through, until it burst. It was impossible to move, to open his eyes and survey the disaster while this unbearable pain would not let him alone.

  A good ten minutes passed before his muscles would relax completely. Silence. A deathly silence had just crept in. Then nothing. No more laughter, no more raised voices; even those awful noises – first the explosion then that dreadful, interminable whine – had disappeared.

  Finally, Charlie opened his eyes. Jacques’ head was slumped forward, motionless, covered in a thick layer of dust. Charlie attempted feebly to get up, without success. His only view was of Jacques’ partially open, horrified eyes. His face was pallid, expressionless. Was he dead? No, impossible. He couldn’t explain how or why, but Charlie could still feel his brother’s life flowing through his own veins. He was certainly alive. But for how much longer?