The Memory Painter: A Novel Read online

“Merci.” Claudette beamed at him. “My hobby is restoring homes such as this.” She stationed herself in the open kitchen. A whirlwind of energy, she continued to talk while she cooked dinner and checked e-mail. Meanwhile, Martin had lit the fireplace and was opening a bottle of wine.

  Bryan studied the framed pictures on the back wall. They were all of pyramids. He glanced at Martin, who gave a new meaning to “the strong, silent type.” He had yet to say a word. Bryan cleared his throat and pointed to a photo. “Excuse me, where is this?”

  Martin put on huge tortoiseshell eyeglasses, looking even more eccentric. “China, the White Pyramid.”

  “I didn’t know China had pyramids.”

  “Oh, they have hundreds,” Martin replied. “The White Pyramid is one of the oldest and largest in the world. I was there in ’94. The government has closed the entire region now.”

  Bryan moved to the next photo, a step pyramid with Martin and Claudette pictured in the foreground. “Is this Mayan?”

  “Good guess, but no.” Martin poured the wine. “Cambodia, the great pyramid of Koh Ker.”

  Bryan studied the photograph. “It looks so similar to the ones the Mayans built.”

  “Yes,” Martin agreed, “fascinating when you consider they’re over six thousand miles away from each other.” He motioned to the next two photos. “These of course are Mesoamerican—at Cholula and Teotihuacán—the largest pyramids in the world next to Cheops.”

  Bryan moved along the wall as Martin ticked off more sites: Greece, Italy, Russia, Peru … He was beginning to reevaluate his first impression about Martin. The man had plenty to say.

  “So pyramids are your specialty,” Bryan said, beginning to feel the mechanics of destiny at work.

  Claudette answered, “Pyramidologist is a bit of a dirty word in our field, but oui, when we’re allowed…” She trailed off, muttering to herself, “Sometimes people can be pigs.”

  Bryan looked questioningly to Martin, who grimaced. “Egypt’s Supreme Council of Antiquities has denied our latest research request.”

  Claudette called out. “Let’s not discuss it. It will ruin my dinner.”

  “You brought it up, chéri.”

  Bryan studied a picture of Claudette and Martin at the Great Pyramid in Egypt. Its scale and grandeur took his breath away. The photo had been taken with the sun low on the horizon and the light hit the stones in a particular way, creating a prism-like affect.

  As Bryan sipped his wine, he was overcome by a sudden feeling of déjà-vu. He knew this pyramid. “How do you think it was built?” he asked Martin.

  Martin shook his head with a slight smile. “We don’t know. Many of the stones weigh over two hundred tons each. Few cranes could pick up that much limestone.”

  Claudette joined in, “There has been fierce debate over studies that show some of the rocks are not natural and are made of nanoscale spheres of silicon dioxide.” She shrugged. “Je ne sais pas. Maybe some were cast with cement—and the Egyptians did create concrete thousands of years before the Romans.”

  “Even if some were cast,” Martin added, “there are still thousands of chiseled stones that would have had to have been lifted, and those are perfectly positioned. You can’t even fit a hair between the cracks.” He turned back to the photograph. “And, just as important—why was it built? Again, we don’t know. Traditionalists maintain the tomb theory, but there are over eighty pyramids there and not a single one houses an original burial. All the bodies that have been found were placed there years after the structures had been built—not to mention that the tools that supposedly built these structures have never been found.”

  Somehow, Bryan knew all these facts on some level, and he found himself weighing in. “The three pyramids at Giza were also built to perfectly mirror the three stars from Orion’s belt. And the Sphinx was positioned to face Leo on the eastern horizon. Those stars would have been visible in the statue’s eyeline in 10,500 BC.…” He trailed off. Where in the world had that come from?

  Colette and Martin looked surprised and impressed. “You have an interest in archaeoastronomical theory?” She brought grilled steaks and salad out to the table. “It’s a small field, but it’s gaining momentum.”

  Bryan had no idea what she was talking about. He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say interest. I think I remember reading about it somewhere.”

  “It’s a fascinating idea … a little outside the box.” Colette winked. “But that’s the best place to be, I’ve found.”

  Bryan and Martin joined her at the table, and they all ate in companionable silence. Martin put away not one but two steaks. “How much longer are you here?”

  “I fly back tomorrow,” Bryan answered. “I’d planned on touring around a bit and then finding a hotel in town.”

  Claudette attacked her salad. “You must stay the night. We have a spare room.”

  Bryan opened his mouth to decline the offer—he didn’t want to impose. But Claudette held up her hand. “No, you stay.”

  Martin chuckled and refilled Bryan’s wineglass. Dinner lasted well into the night. Bryan couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed himself so freely.

  Sometime after midnight they declared the meal over. Bryan barely managed to climb the stairs and close the door to the guestroom. Stripping off his clothes, he crawled beneath the goose-down comforter and fell into a bottomless sleep.

  * * *

  The fine mist stayed constant, muting the world around him. Bryan took a deep breath of air, smelling its lushness as he stood on a plateau. A green valley stretched before him.

  He knew he was dreaming. The immense pressure in his head made him feel as if he had pushed against the tide of time to have this vision. He looked out at the Great Pyramid of Giza, and he could see no cars, no buildings, no pollution or trace of modern man, just endless green meadows. Whatever memories lived here felt as elusive as the air—all around him and yet untouchable.

  The sun glinted off the pyramid, blinding him. When Bryan regained his sight, he saw the Egyptian goddess sitting beside him.

  Her whole body radiated power. She pointed a graceful finger encased by a golden spiral ring to the ground and, calling on an invisible force, drew a symbol in the sand.

  Bryan felt suspended as he watched. I know this symbol. He looked at her and demanded, “Who are you?”

  She did not look up from the mandala she was creating. “Who is not the question,” she said. “The question is where.” She stood up and spread her arms wide and the wind swirled, sending the sand drawing back into the void from which it came.

  In a moment of clarity Bryan realized he already knew the answer to her question.

  He was at the beginning.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  MARCH 8, 1982

  Michael woke up, disoriented. He hadn’t meant to fall sleep. Unlike the recalls, this dream had been filled with disjointed images. The Egyptian queen had been with him again, only Michael hadn’t been himself, but a younger man—and she had drawn a magnificent symbol in the sand. Why?

  Right on the cusp of remembering more, Michael looked over at the clock. He was surprised to see that it was already seven o’clock at night. He sat up with a start and the fragments of the dream vanished.

  His back protested as he stretched his legs out on the couch. He had been sleeping on it for the past four days after Diana had locked herself in their bedroom.

  The team had stopped talking to each other. All communication had broken down, and even Conrad had vanished. The state of Michael and Diana’s apartment now rivaled Finn’s. The dishes hadn’t been washed for days and no one had done laundry or taken out the garbage. Michael had not showered or shaved. He felt like a survivalist—he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had anything to drink.

  He began to review what had happened before he’d fallen asleep. Finn had called and begun questioning him about Lord Asano’s death in formal Japanese. The stilted questions had been asked with probing politeness, but the
y had shattered Michael’s psyche. It didn’t matter who Finn had been in that lifetime—too many people had been affected by Lord Asano’s mistakes. Michael had replied in Japanese with the etiquette of a lord from the seventeenth century. “I remembered Asano Naganori’s life. The fall of his house rests on his shoulders alone.”

  Finn did not speak. Michael felt karma hanging between them like a deadweight and didn’t know what to say.

  “Finn?”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s unbelievable.” Finn stammered, “I-I don’t know what to do.”

  “Do what? You’re not making any sense.”

  Finn started to babble, saying that it was worse than he thought. It took ten minutes for Michael to pry an explanation from him.

  “Conrad is Lord Kira. He wants us all dead.”

  Michael sat down on the sofa and tried to stay calm. He could not give in to Asano’s rage. The minute he allowed himself to be ruled by the emotions of these memories, he would go truly insane. He told Finn, “I’ve already decided to take Conrad off the team.”

  “It’s not enough,” Finn argued. “We have to leave. You don’t understand how dangerous he is.”

  But Michael did understand. He had gone to the lab and found three bottles of Renovo in Conrad’s desk, and one bottle only had two pills remaining. Michael did the math. Conrad had been double dosing and lying to them all. He knew he had no choice but to shut down the study and extricate Conrad from their lives.

  Now that Michael was awake, he wanted to get the confrontation over with, and only hoped that he was well enough to drive. He’d been feeling very out of body for the past several days.

  He knocked on the bedroom door but Diana didn’t answer. She was still trying to come to terms with Juliana’s memories from ancient Rome. She had also remembered Natalia Pushkina’s life and was struggling to assimilate it as well. Michael felt helpless, but he still wanted to do something to ease her pain. Maybe they could go to Nantucket for the weekend and rent the old beach house. It had been years since they’d gone, and the place held only happy memories—a rarity these days. Michael wanted joy back in his life.

  When he got back from Conrad’s, he would sleep in their bedroom again. He would hold Diana in his arms, pull her out of her depression and together they would talk about the future.

  A car blared its horn, jolting Michael out of his thoughts—he was driving on the wrong side of the road. He swerved back into the right lane and tried to focus, reciting the mantra he had begun to say more and more lately, “I am here now. I’m here now. I’m here now…” Sometimes it helped.

  Thankfully, the drive to South Boston didn’t take long at night. Michael entered a low-income neighborhood and double-checked the address. Conrad had never invited anyone to his apartment. South Boston was home to some of the oldest housing projects in the country, and most were in need of major repair. It was once a primarily Irish community, but Polish, Lithuanian, Puerto Rican, and Cuban families had begun to settle there and carve out their own territories, creating a blanket of racial tension. It made him wonder what people would do if they suddenly found themselves with the memories of someone they had vowed to hate.

  Maybe the world did need a dose of Renovo. It might trigger some empathy and compassion. Michael didn’t know what the right course was anymore. All he knew was that Renovo had the power to change human existence, and the responsibility that came with being its creator was paralyzing. Was he a monster or some sort of hero? He didn’t know.

  Forcing his thoughts back to the present, he located the apartment building and parked, getting Conrad’s belongings from the car. Michael had gone to the lab that morning and packed Conrad’s things in a box and changed the locks on the doors. He knew Conrad would demand access to all the files now that he was off the team, but those would soon be destroyed. Anything connected to Renovo must not survive.

  Michael went inside and found Conrad’s apartment. He knocked and sensed someone gazing at him through the peephole.

  The door opened. Conrad looked ravaged, as if he hadn’t slept, eaten, or bathed in days. He stared at the box with a contemptuous look that reminded Michael of George d’Anthès, the man who had killed Pushkin. Michael took a deep breath, forcing himself to try not to imagine Conrad as anyone else. It was the only way he could get through this meeting.

  Conrad’s face turned red with anger. “You can’t kick me off.”

  “I’m terminating the project. Do you want to do this in the hallway or are you going to let me in?” Michael asked. But then maybe the hallway was better—if things got ugly, it would be easier for him to leave. Perhaps even coming here had been a bad idea.

  Conrad took the box and let him inside. Michael hesitated but followed, remaining close to the door. He glanced around. A large desk dwarfed the small room, and hundreds of books lined every inch of wall space. He assumed the closed door led to the bedroom.

  Conrad took a minute to clear the papers from his desk, stuffing everything into folders. Michael could see his hands were shaking. “You can’t just shut us down,” he said.

  “Finn and Diana are in agreement.” A boldfaced lie. Michael hadn’t even talked to them about it yet. He looked at Conrad’s desk again and froze—all of the books referred to Egypt. A feeling of alarm gripped him. What did Conrad know?

  “And what about me?” Conrad was asking. “I have no say?”

  Michael tried to stay focused. “Officially it’s my project. I spearheaded it. I already notified NIA that we’re unable to continue second-round testing.” He added, “And we’ve all stopped taking it.”

  Conrad looked away, making Michael certain that his suspicions about the double dosing had been correct. Maybe there were more bottles hidden somewhere in the apartment.

  “So we lose our grant.” Conrad sat down, took his eyeglasses off, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “This isn’t about a grant,” Michael argued. “We’ve discovered a truth that could redefine our very existence.”

  Conrad said nothing for a long time. Michael waited, wondering if Conrad had forgotten that he was there. Something was wrong.

  “What about our real test subjects?” Conrad finally asked. “We’re on the brink of a real cure. Do we bury that as well?”

  “Do you think the world is ready for this? I can barely speak English anymore and Diana believes you’re the third-century asshole who burned her alive.”

  Conrad opened his eyes and glared at him. “That’s ludicrous.”

  “Finn thinks so too.”

  “Because you’re all trapped in some warped drama of your own making.” Conrad pounded his fist on the table with such force that the wood cracked. “It’s a distraction. You don’t realize what’s at stake.”

  Conrad was not at all himself, and Michael’s instincts told him to get out. He started backing toward the door. “My decision is final.”

  “I have the formula.” Conrad trembled with fury. “I can do whatever the hell I want!”

  “You can’t do anything without us.”

  With incredible speed, Conrad grabbed Michael by the neck and rammed him into the wall. Trapped in a vise, Michael gripped Conrad’s wrists and fought to breathe. Conrad spoke in a low guttural language that Michael couldn’t comprehend—his voice sounded like a deep growl. Their faces were inches apart, and Michael could sense a power radiating from Conrad that Michael had never encountered before.

  But Conrad also saw something in Michael’s eyes that made him gasp. He loosened his grip and stepped back in shock. Michael took advantage of the opening and rammed his knee into Conrad’s crotch. He doubled over to the ground in agony.

  Michael escaped and raced to the door. “I knew you were having recalls. Stay away from us. This is over.” He slammed the door so hard the hinges shook.

  Running to his car, Michael fumbled for the keys and got behind the wheel. Conrad came charging out of th
e apartment building. Michael started the engine and tore off. He looked back in his rearview mirror to see Conrad standing in the middle of the street, looking eerily still, and shuddered.

  Whoever Conrad had remembered, Michael was terrified of him now. He drove away, his hands shaking on the wheel. Adrenaline coursed through his body. Suddenly everything had changed. He needed to go home and get Diana. They would meet Finn at the lab and pack up everything tonight. By morning they’d be gone.

  * * *

  Bryan woke up gasping for air. Within seconds it all came back to him in perfect clarity. He had dreamed of being at the Great Pyramid with the Egyptian goddess, and it had been Michael’s dream too. Not only had he remembered Michael’s confrontation with Conrad, he had experienced a full recall of Michael’s entire life—right up to the moment before his death. Finally the tidal wave of memories had come.

  Tears coursed down Bryan’s face and he buried his head in his pillow. He had to see Linz. He no longer knew if the fact that she was Conrad’s daughter would be enough to keep her safe.

  He jumped up from the bed. The smell of strong coffee and the sound of Claudette and Martin’s voices downstairs brought him back to reality. He sat back down in disbelief. Shit, I’m still in Canada.

  After rushing to get dressed, he found paper and a pencil and re-created the symbol the Egyptian goddess had drawn. He went downstairs, but before he could say a word, Claudette started to greet him. “Bonjour! We—” She saw the look on Bryan’s face and stopped. “Something has happened?”

  Without hesitating Bryan showed them his drawing. “Do you recognize this symbol?”

  Martin and Claudette both studied it closely.

  “I believe it’s Egyptian, and very old,” Bryan said, watching their faces.

  Claudette shook her head and handed it back. “Sorry. This is not something I have seen before.”

  Bryan’s shoulders drooped with defeat. He had been certain they would know.

  “But there is someone who may have,” Martin said, smiling, “at Harvard.”

  Claudette nodded, growing animated again. “Of course! Dr. Hayes. He is a wizard of Egyptology.”