Colour of Death, The

by Cordy, Michael

  He waved them away. “Leave me alone. I need to think.” The Wives nodded obediently, but as they hurried to their private rooms he had a change of heart. He initially considered Deva — her newborn was still a neonate, less than a month out of the womb — or the heavily pregnant Maria. Both were suitable for his needs. Tonight, however, he wanted uncomplicated release. He rested a hand on the young blonde’s arm. “Not you, Zara. Stay awhile.” Barely out of her teens, Zara was fresh-faced with full breasts and large brown eyes. She smiled at him, blushing with pride and excitement, then proceeded to help pull the wet oilskins from his back. He drank deep of the fiery poteen, but the 90 per cent proof liquor brought him little comfort as he stared at the calendar by the fire and noticed that the next Esbat was only a few days away. “Where can she be? Where has she gone?”

  Zara stroked his forehead. “you are the Seer. You see everything. In time you will find her and all will be well.”

  He still couldn’t accept what had happened. He felt a sudden stab of anxiety but quickly dismissed it: that she had left him was incredible, that she would betray him was unthinkable. He rubbed his temples. His mind felt muddled and blocked. He had always thought of her as the weak one. But now he realized that the very thing that made her weak also made her indispensable to his life’s most important endeavor. How could he have been so blind to her value? How could he not have appreciated what had been staring him in the face? If — he corrected himself — when she returned he would not neglect her again. Not now he realized how crucial she was to the Great Work.

  He took Zara’s hand. “Go to the bedroom and prepare yourself.” He waited until she had left, then picked up his saddlebag, walked past the bedrooms, down a long corridor and unlocked a door at the end, which led to the base of the tower. Inside he unlocked another door. The lock was unnecessary — only a fool would pry into his affairs — but he rarely left anything to chance. The small room was filled with incongruously modern electronic equipment. Closed-circuit television monitors lined one wall, showing video images from various concealed cameras around the settlement, which were recorded on a hard drive beneath the desk for him to check periodically. He ignored the screens, however, and unlocked the safe in the corner. Its shelves were piled high with banknotes, documents, keys, cell phones and other paraphernalia forbidden to others in the settlement. He considered what he might need, then reached for his saddlebag, retrieved a small satellite phone inside and plugged it into the charger beside the safe. A good night’s sleep would rest his body but first he needed to unblock his mind and clear his vision.

  He locked the tower and went to his bedroom where Zara was standing naked, her robe folded neatly on the bed. She looked nervous but excited and her youthful beauty pleased him. He noticed that her breasts were slightly fuller than normal and he suspected that she too was pregnant. Without saying a word he stripped and stepped into the shower in the adjoining bathroom. As the water rained down, Zara began massaging his body, moving her soapy hands from the top of his head, down his spine to his buttocks and round to his groin. Her large eyes looked up at him she took him in her hands, but his flaccid penis remained immune to her caresses. She knelt and took him in her mouth but he stopped her and turned off the shower. Increasingly, he found it required more stimulation to arouse him — much more. He put on a robe then led her down the long corridor, to the locked door that have access to the tower. He saw her pupils dilate with excitement when she realized where he was taking her.

  Immediately he began to ascend the stairs of the tower, he could feel his own senses awakening, intensifying — and his power returning. Already he could hear the whispering echoes, smell the scents and glimpse the ghosts. The sensory onslaught, far from confusing or disturbing him, energized and aroused him. He led Zara up the central staircase to one of the higher chambers and made her kneel before him. As his senses surrendered to the avalanche of stimuli flowing through him, the mundane concerns of the world dissolved, the fog in his mind cleared and he began to discern the path ahead.

  Chapter 17

  The next morning

  Acutely aware he was heading into uncharted territory, Fox had avoided involving Professor Fullelove or anyone official in Jane Doe’s case until he understood better what he was dealing with. The last thing Jane Doe needed now was to be examined and investigated as some kind of freak. The next morning, after lending Jane Doe a large baseball cap and dark glasses, he drove her to meet the one person Fox not only trusted but also thought might be able to explain what was happening.

  Samantha greeted them at the front door with a smile. “You must be very special, Jane. Nathan has never brought a patient here before.” After last night’s storm the day was clear and warm and Samantha led them to the summerhouse in the back yard. Fox had always loved the simple wooden shack with its mildewed glass roof, teak table and chairs and old couch that folded out to make a bed. It had been his refuge from the world when he’d first moved in with his aunt and uncle. Back then he would often spend warm nights sleeping on the lumpy couch. Looking up at the moon and stars had always made him feel closer to his parents and sister. When schoolfriends came over he would take them to the summerhouse and Aunt Samantha would bring over homemade lemonade and sandwiches. Not ordinary sandwiches but freshly baked homemade bread packed with the most delicious and exotic fillings.

  Today, as his aunt offered Jane Doe a glass of homemade lemonade and a platter of her legendary sandwiches, he was reminded of those childhood days. As they ate and drank, Fox briefed his aunt on Jane’s amnesia, synaesthesia and hallucinations. Far from being shocked or skeptical, the scientist listened intently and made notes, especially when Fox told her about the envelope experiment. When Fox concluded that Jane, despite having no memory of her own life, exhibited full sensory recall of the deaths of total strangers — even those who had died before she was born — his aunt jumped to her feet and rushed off to the house. When she returned with a pile of papers and proceeded to expound on her subject Fox felt relieved that he had involved her.

  “First, let me explain why nothing is scientifically impossible,” Samantha began, “only scientifically improbable. Almost three centuries ago, science was convinced it had mastered the rules of the physical universe. Newton’s discovery of gravity and his laws of motion had created order out of chaos and laid down the natural laws of physics. And they were laws: everything in the universe obeyed them.

  “Then, in the last century, Einstein and others demonstrated that, although Newton’s laws hold sway in the observed universe, they don’t apply to microscopic quantum world of protons and electrons. In this outlaw world, invisible to the human eye, nothing is certain. Subatomic particles obey only the supernatural probabilities of quantum physics.

  “Experiments have shown, for example, that light can be both a wave and a solid particle, and that individual subatomic particles exhibit ‘impossible’ attributes, such as consciousness, clairvoyance, the ability to be in two places at one time — and crucially, given what Nathan’s told me about you, memory. To this day, science struggles to reconcile Newton’s universe of certainties with the quantum world of probabilities.”

  “You think this can explain my hallucinations?” Jane Doe asked.

  “The quantum world explains many things that are apparently unexplainable,” Samantha said, studying her pad. “Can I just confirm my notes? Your hallucinations vary in intensity. Some are clearer and more vivid than others. They all deal with relatively violent and sudden death. You experience them inside a building or structure and they become more intense and focused when you physically touch the fabric of the building. Correct so far?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is each hallucination specific to a particular location?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does it change at all, even subtly, or is it identical every time, like a video loop?”

  “Identical.”

  Samantha turned to Fox. “And these hallucinations all tally wi
th actual recorded deaths — violent deaths?”

  “Yes,” said Fox. “That’s why I think her hallucinations may have nothing to do with her amnesia but may in fact be some sort of gift linked to her synaesthesia.”

  “Or curse,” said Jane Doe with a wry smile.

  Samantha poured her more lemonade. “Cheer up, my dear, this at least means you’re not insane. It would appear you’re sensing, remembering or channeling genuine external stimuli. Stimuli only you can detect.”

  Fox sipped his lemonade. “But what stimuli, and where are they coming from?” He retrieved from his briefcase the reason why he had consulted his aunt about this: the paper she had given him two days ago. He studied the title: The Echo of History: the importance of archaeosonics and molecular memory in rediscovering the past. “Is the answer in this paper of Howard’s?”

  A smile. “A little more thought-provoking than you expected, Nathan?”

  “Especially with your science input. Can you summarize it for Jane?”

  Samantha cleared her throat. “That paper specifically relates to archaeosonics, which tries to explain the absorption and retrieval of residual sound in structures built from natural materials, but its arguments are relevant to vision and other stimuli. We already know the world contains a whole symphony of sounds inaudible to humans. Famously, dogs can hear higher frequencies than we can. We also know there are sounds audible to some humans but not to others. You may have heard of the electronic anti-loitering device called the Mosquito, which emits an irritating high-pitched whine only teenagers can hear.

  “State-of-the-art acoustic equipment can now pick up sounds even further along the inaudible spectrum. Using electromagnetic energy to stimulate submolecular particles in old buildings we’ve detected acoustic patterns that aren’t white noise but are consistent with recorded natural sounds. Scientists in Okinawa in Japan claim to have played back human voices recorded in the fabric of an ancient Shinto temple.

  “What no one agrees on yet is how sound is imprinted into the particle memory of a structure. Some scientists believe that all sounds are recorded automatically, others that only those with a particular pitch or resonance are picked up. What all agree on, however, is that, analogous to burning data to a DVD or other digital media, significant energy is required to burn sound memories into the quantum particles of a structure. Where this energy comes from, though, is another mystery.” Samantha smiled. “But your experiences may help shed some light on that, Jane.”

  “How?” she asked.

  “Yeah, how do her experiences explain the energy source?” said Fox. His aunt sounded so logical and matter-of-fact that she almost made this nonsense sound reasonable. His remaining concern was how it might help restore his patient’s memory and enable her to rediscover her lost identity. He suspected that until that happened Jane Doe’s bizarre extra sense would remain a mystery.

  “One of the big unknowns is what happens to the life force at the moment of death,” Samantha explained. “This is a basic question of physics. I’m not talking about metaphysics, ghosts or the soul here, just the passage of energy. Energy can’t just disappear. It must go somewhere. One theory that’s gained credibility following studies not he acoustically remarkable Neolithic stone tombs in Maeshowe on the Orkney islands is that our life force leaves a kind of scorch mark at the moment of death, an invisible but indelible echo seared into the surrounding matter. With a gentle, peaceful death this energy is dissipated and trickles away gently, leaving a negligible echo. The struggle of a more emotionally violent and painful death, however, such as a murder or suicide creates a more explosive transference of energy, a greater splash if you will, which leads to a more intense echo — or memory — in the surrounding subatomic particles. This explosion of energy could explain how sounds and other related stimuli are burned into the memory of a building. It would also explain why all Jane’s hallucinations feature violent, difficult deaths.”

  Fox considered the envelope experiment. “It might also explain why Jane didn’t sense the death in room 222. Jack Lee died peacefully in his sleep. There was no violent struggle, no emotional or physical suffering, just a gentle passing away that would have left a smaller, perhaps negligible echo.” He thought of the indelible but invisible blood spatter at Linnet’s hunting lodge and the Luminol used to reveal it. Did all the murders and violent deaths leave an indelible but invisible psychic spatter as well?

  “It would also explain why I experienced fewer hallucinations in the palliative ward at Oregon State hospital,” Jane Doe said slowly. “Although I was surrounded by the dying, I was in a new wing with fewer memories and the deaths were managed, calm, expected.”

  “Palliative wards are designed to help people fade away and slip gently into death,” Samantha agreed.

  “Archaeosonics only explains sounds, though,” Jane Doe said, rubbing her temples. “What about the stuff I see, smell, touch and taste?”

  “We’re currently only gathering data on sound imprints but the principles apply to all the senses,” Samantha said. “Take sight, for example. The human eye can detect the colors of the rainbow, but these make up only a fraction of the entire electromagnetic spectrum. As humans,, we exist within the forty-ninth Octave of Vibration of the electromagnetic light spectrum. Below this range are barely visible radiant heat, then invisible infrared, television and radio waves, sound and brain waves. Above this range is barely visible ultraviolet, then the invisible frequencies of chemicals and perfumes, followed by X-rays, gamma rays, radium rays and unknown cosmic rays. This means that a vast array of stimuli — from radio waves at the bottom end of the spectrum to unknown cosmic rays at the top — are invisible to us. Under the right conditions, however, more of this hidden world — our world — might be revealed to us.

  “When entering certain buildings many people sense a generic atmosphere — good or bad — which they often dismiss. Some, however, see specific visual imprints. Sensational claims by so-called psychics have undermined the credibility of these sightings but there’s prolific anecdotal evidence. Famously, there are the Roman legionaries in York in England. Under certain atmospheric conditions independent witnesses have testified to seeing them. All reported seeing exactly the same ghostly apparition, and all claimed that only the top halves of their bodies were visible above the ground. Interestingly the original and intact Roman road is about three feet below the modern road — which would explain why their legs weren’t visible. Psychics like to call this a ‘residual haunting’ but the soldier aren’t sentient ghosts. They don’t interact with the viewer. They’re simply a memory — a delayed visual echo — captured in the fabric of the road, a residual image that under certain atmospheric conditions — such as the hour before an electrical thunderstorm — becomes visible to those receptive or sensitive enough to detect it.” She looked hard at Jane. “You, however, don’t appear to need atmospheric conditions to detect and replay these dying echoes in all their sensory glory.”

  “But why? How come I’m so different?”

  “That’s a question for Nathan.”

  Fox shrugged. “All I can think of is your unique form of synaesthesia is somehow responsible. Whatever stimulus exists — a sound or a vision or a smell — your total synaesthesia interprets it through the prism of all your merged senses. This synergy may create a distinct extra sense.”

  She frowned. “Like a sixth sense?”

  “I’d prefer to see it as a specific type of synaesthesia. Like I told you, synaesthesia isn’t regarded as an ailment. In fact, many regard it as a gift.” He thought for a second. “Using the traditional naming convention it might be called something like death-echo synaesthesia.”

  “Death-echo synaesthesia?” Jane Doe considered the phrase for a moment. “Giving it a proper name makes it sound more official and less like there’s something wrong with me. Does it explain the flickering pale violet tint I see when I have my hallucinations?”

  “Possibly. To a synaesthete, sounds and s
mells can have color. Perhaps death has a color, too.”

  “But why do I have this strange form of synaesthesia?”

  “I have no idea. We’ll probably have to uncover your identity before we can even begin to guess at that.” Fox remembered something Jordache had told him about the night Jane Doe rescued the girls from the traffickers and an idea came to him of how he might test Jane Doe’s death-echo synaesthesia and use it to jog her memory. The shadows were lengthening in the garden but there was still time. “We’d better get going, Jane. There’s something I want to try before I take you back.” He rose and hugged his aunt. “Thanks so much, Samantha. You’ve given us loads to think about. I’ll keep you posted but please keep this to yourself, for now.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  “Thanks for the delicious lemonade and sandwiches, Samantha,” said Jane Doe. “And thanks for all your help.”

  Samantha embraced her. “It’s been a pleasure, my dear. If I can be of any more help Nathan knows where to find me.”

  Walking through the house to the front door, Jane Doe stopped in the hall and peered inside a glass cabinet. “What are those?”

  Fox felt suddenly self-conscious. “My childhood karate trophies. My aunt and uncle were ridiculously proud of them.”

  “Karate?”

  “A Japanese form of unarmed combat.”

  “There are a lot of trophies. You must be good.”

  “I only competed when I was young and angry at the world. Now I just do it to keep fit.”