The Memory Painter: A Novel Read online

  * * *

  When they arrived at her place, Linz had mixed feelings. Part of her just wanted to be alone, to forget this whole evening, to forget the Greek swimming in her head, to forget Bryan’s relentless gaze. Maybe she liked it better before when he wouldn’t meet her eyes because now he was staring at her like he knew her thoughts. She looked away and grimaced at the stack of library books.… What the hell was she doing with all of these books?

  Linz paid for the cab. “Care for some light reading?” she asked Bryan. She tried to pass it off as a joke but failed.

  With a silent yes, Bryan took the books and got out, letting her lead the way.

  When she opened the door, Bryan went to sit on the floor and piled all the books on the coffee table. “I think you got all of them,” he teased and picked one up from the top of the stack and began to leaf through it.

  Linz studied him again. There was something about his startling blue eyes, his disheveled hair. They hadn’t even known each other for forty-eight hours, but it didn’t matter. She was sure a connection existed. She could feel it, although the logical side of her brain rebelled at the thought.

  He glanced up at her and smiled, and when she replied her voice sounded faint. “I’ll just go get us some wine.”

  She escaped to the kitchen and cracked open a bottle. In her mind, she began to make a crazy plan. She would seduce him tonight and they would have sex. She would allow herself one uninhibited “night with the eccentric artist.” It would be a first on all fronts but at this point Linz didn’t care. She needed to get him out of her system so she could get back to real life.

  Her last fling had been two years ago with a fellow student at Stanford, a biochemist named Greg who had been nice, safe, and boring. She had called it quits when checking the spectrometer had become more stimulating than a romantic tryst. Before Greg it had been Todd, the prequel to nice, safe, and boring. Both were good guys with four-letter names, friends who had morphed into something else for a time. Linz had tried to convince herself that she felt more for them than she did, and went along with being a couple until they tried to pour cement into the idea. Then she would end it. The truth was she preferred solitude. Her work had always been her passion. And having a one-night stand with Bryan would not interrupt her life at all.

  Feeling more in control, she returned to the living room with the wine. Bryan was still immersed in the book.

  “Anything?” she asked, sitting a few feet away from him.

  “Origenes lived in the third century. He was one of the church’s most controversial teachers, considered a scholar of his time.” He handed the book to her and grabbed another, moving away to sit on the couch. His smile was gone, replaced by a solemn, strained look.

  Linz grimaced to herself. So much for the grand plan. Now he was acting like they were at a funeral. With a sigh of resignation, she opened a book and began to read.

  * * *

  An hour later, Linz and Bryan had both skimmed the majority of the books and the bottle of wine was gone. Reading about Origenes’ life, Bryan had grown angry—at what history had gotten wrong, at what had been left out, at the memories he was stuck with forever. After a while he had stopped reading, only pretending to by turning the pages.

  “He believed in reincarnation,” Linz noted as she scanned the text. “A doctrine the Church struck down in 553 AD, three hundred years after his death.” She looked up at Bryan with surprise. “So reincarnation was once a Christian belief?”

  Bryan hedged. “He taught it, but who knows.”

  “It says here he was imprisoned and burned at the stake.”

  “No,” he corrected, unable to stop the edge in his voice. “He was tortured, pilloried, and bound by his limbs to a block for three days. He died a week later from the injuries.” He stood up and wandered over to Linz’s sand garden. “The man who ordered his death was named Septimus. He had a certain hatred for all Christians, but despised Origenes the most. The priest’s end was … savage.”

  “Septimus,” Linz whispered with a shudder. “Yes, that was his name.” She sat still for a long time, trying to process this new information. “You remember his death like I did hers.”

  He kept his back to her, staring at her garden and nodded to the rake. “May I?” At her consent, he took off his shoes and stepped into the sand, talking while he drew. “When I was a little kid, I had vivid dreams … nightmares. I sleepwalked, talked … even had narcolepsy for a while. Then, when I was seven my brain flipped a switch and I recalled an entire lifetime.”

  Linz looked astounded. “You remembered his entire life?”

  Bryan nodded, letting her assume he meant Origenes. He didn’t tell her that it had been Abu Ja’far Muhammad ibn Jarir al-Tabari, a Persian historian who was born in the ninth century. A scholar of unequaled acumen, Tabari wrote The History of the Prophets and Kings, a detailed account of Muslim and Middle Eastern history spanning the time of Muhammad to the present. Tabari then went on to write The Commentary of the Qur’an, which he had memorized at the age of seven. Now, Bryan had the Qur’an memorized too.

  It was quite a heavy load for a child to carry—when Bryan awoke his mind was filled with every memory Tabari had ever had, transmuting an innocent boy’s thoughts into the deep and hard-earned wisdom of an eighty-five-year-old scholar. Tabari was only the first of many visions as his mind stretched its seams beyond any normal pattern.

  Bryan gave a twisted smile. “I stayed home ‘sick’ for two weeks. It took me six months to realize I was fluent in another language. My life changed, to say the least.”

  “What about your parents?” she asked with a frown.

  “They didn’t know how to handle the problem.” Bryan added, “It didn’t help that my mother is a psychiatrist. She took it as a personal offense that her son had issues—major issues—and dragged me to countless doctors. No one understood what was happening. When I was sixteen I finally convinced everyone that the visions had stopped.”

  “So … what are we talking here, reincarnation?” Linz had moved to the edge of the sand garden.

  “I don’t know,” he said softly, taking her hand. “What do you think?” He led her into the garden, so that she stood with him.

  Linz looked down their joined fingers. “I think you’re doing this to me.”

  Bryan leaned toward her. “You’re doing it to me too.”

  When the kiss happened, it felt inevitable. Every nerve ending in Bryan’s body fired. He pulled her against him and they sank into the sand, his body covering hers. She surprised him by wrapping her legs around him and pulling him toward her.

  Bryan nuzzled her neck as his hands explored her body, remembering all of the times they had been together in the past. Now those memories were devouring the present, threatening to take him over the edge. Linz guided his head back up and kissed him deeply, their passion meeting—until Bryan’s head jerked back in pain.

  Startled, she opened her eyes and pulled away to see his face. “What is it?”

  With their bodies pressed together, he couldn’t think, much less talk. “I just … my head … I get migraines sometimes.”

  “Can I get you some aspirin?” she asked, kissing his neck.

  Bryan shuddered, about to lose control. He could not suffer a recall in front of her. “I need to go. I’m sorry.” He slid off her and hurried to the door.

  Linz sat up. “Are you sure you don’t need—” But it was too late. He was gone.

  Linz looked at herself, half undressed and covered in sand. Embarrassment crept in as she fixed her shirt. She had never been so wild and abandoned with anyone before.

  Feeling a little dazed, she moved to sit at her dining table. The Mona Lisa puzzle stared back, mocking her. Only twelve hours had passed since she and Bryan had finished it. He seemed to have a habit of running out on her.

  “What are you smiling at?” Linz grumbled and scrunched the puzzle back up into thousands of pieces. She looked at the mess and felt no sati
sfaction. Today had been the strangest day of her life.

  ELEVEN

  FEBRUARY 10, 1982

  Michael was growing weary of defending himself. “Nothing has been compromised. If anything, we’re closer now than we ever thought possible.”

  “Closer to what?” Conrad’s voice rose as he waved his arms in frustration. “Losing our grant? Let’s just tell the NIA that you can recite the Hexapla in ancient Greek after popping our pill and see how that flies.”

  Michael looked around, relieved that everyone else was too far away to hear their conversation. He and Conrad, along with Finn and Diana, were sequestered in a booth in a back corner and not many customers were around. In fact, the sprawling Old New England–style restaurant looked deserted.

  They had come at an off-hour. Four elderly couples sat together near the front, eating Doc’s famous clam chowder. Michael knew they were regulars who stopped by every Friday at four before a senior dance class nearby. A few tourists straggled in, taking shelter from the nipping wind outside, and sat down to enjoy Irish coffees at the bar.

  Finn drummed two of his fingers on the table, something he did whenever he was deep in thought. He looked more like a cross between a surfer and a cowboy than a scientist, and at Harvard he had broken almost every girl’s heart with his green eyes, long blond hair, and playful charisma. He finished his beer, gave a monstrous burp, and waited for the others’ groans to subside before announcing, “I think we all should try it.”

  “What a great suggestion, Dixie. Sterling scientific process we’ve got going.” Conrad raised his beer in mock solidarity.

  Finn slammed down his glass. “I am tired of your holier-than-thou bullshit, Doodle Dick.”

  “And maybe I’m not ready to throw away my career for a bunch of hallucinations. The sixties are over, people, get a grip.”

  “Guys, please.” Diana touched Finn’s arm. “Finn, I actually agree with you. I say we all try it and see what happens.”

  Finn gave Diana a silent nod of agreement, which did not surprise Michael. They had been close friends for years. Both from small rural towns—Diana from Wyoming and Finn from Texas—they had felt an immediate affinity since the day they arrived at Harvard. Both shared a daredevil streak, and within a week of meeting they had talked each other into going hang gliding in the Berkshires. Michael had known they would both be more than willing to jump into the abyss with him.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  Diana pounced. “Why? You were so quick to assure us it was harmless when it was just you.”

  Michael had not told any of them the full truth yet, not even Diana. It was now or never. “I can’t just recite the Hexapla. I remember writing it.” There was a pregnant pause—everyone was speechless.

  Conrad looked predatory. “Care to elaborate, Mike?”

  “Yes, please do.” Diana sat back and cocked her head to the side. Michael knew that look. He would have hell to pay later.

  “I’m sorry. I needed time to process everything before I could explain.” He took a deep breath. “I experienced a series of visions … It felt like I lived the life of a priest in third-century Rome.”

  The team was silent. Finn found his voice first. “You’re saying you recalled the memories of a Roman priest?”

  Conrad took off his eyeglasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “And now you think you’re him? Can I get communion?”

  “No, I don’t think I’m him,” Michael said, measuring his words carefully. “But the fact is I experienced the lifetime of someone named Origenes Adamantius. The man wrote thousands of works, including comparative studies of various translations of the Old Testament. I’ve never even picked up a Bible, but now I could be a scholar of several versions. This is not my imagination,” he stressed. “I went to the library. I remember everything just as he wrote it.”

  No one spoke for a long minute. The only sound was Finn drumming his fingers on the table. He broke the silence first, “Chief, we need to set up tests for you and record the hell out of this.”

  Diana gave Michael’s arm a little pinch. “Ow.” He rubbed his skin.

  “Quit holding back,” she threatened.

  Michael smiled. She knew him so well. There was nothing to do but drop the next bomb. “I’m now fluent in several languages.”

  Conrad finished his beer in one gulp. “Can you fly too, Superman?”

  Michael couldn’t help but laugh at that, and he felt some of his tension release. It was true that he did feel a strange new power and wisdom. No one else on Earth possessed the firsthand knowledge of what it was like to live in ancient Rome. “I know it sounds crazy, but I can read, write, and speak ancient Greek, Latin, and Hebrew. I also know some Egyptian.”

  Everyone struggled to digest this. Diana finally said, “Are we talking past life recall?”

  Michael shook his head. “I don’t know. But it was an episodic, semantic, and emotional experience. Long-term memory access is dependent on new proteins. Right now I’m getting huge amounts, plus additional synaptic firepower. What if the drug enabled new pathways and I retrieved some kind of subliminal memory?”

  “Then there could be more memories—more lives.” Diana sounded concerned.

  Conrad added, “Like a schizophrenic.”

  Michael glared at Conrad, trying to keep his frustration in check. “Whatever it is, we can’t shy away from what I experienced. I think our best course of action is to wait several weeks before anyone else takes it. Until we know the full extent of my reaction.” Diana reached out and gave his hand a squeeze, and he knew he had been forgiven.

  Finn leaned forward. “I disagree, chief. This could be the biggest breakthrough since the discovery of DNA. We need to forge ahead.”

  Conrad scoffed, but Michael ignored it. “We will, believe me. I just think we need to forge cautiously. Two weeks is all I’m asking.”

  Finn signaled the bartender, Patty, for another round. “It’s all you’re getting.”

  Conrad studied Michael like a specimen under a microscope. “You can really speak all those languages?”

  Michael tried to lighten the mood. “Worried I’m smarter than you now?”

  Just then Doc came over with another pitcher. “You guys win the Nobel Prize or something? You haven’t drunk this much since you got that grant.”

  Finn raised his glass. “We’re having a breakthrough.”

  Conrad mumbled, “Or something.”

  “How about four clam chowders and a basket of bread?”

  Diana put her hand on her stomach. “Doc, you’re our hero.”

  Doc was always trying to feed them on the house. His restaurant had been a second home since he had opened it. He and Michael had been roommates before Diana had come into the picture. The two men had known each other since childhood and had been friends growing up in a suburb outside of Chicago. When Michael moved to Boston to complete his graduate degree at Harvard, Doc had just finished culinary school and came out to visit. He had loved Boston so much that he had stayed and gotten a job at one of the city’s top restaurants, quickly rising in the ranks to executive chef. Later, with his family’s help, he had opened up his own restaurant: Doc’s Waterfront Bar & Grill.

  Doc was still hovering at the table, which was unusual. He bent toward Michael. “Captain? Can I talk to you for a second?” He motioned toward his office.

  “Sure.” Michael stood up, glad to have a break from the table. He followed Doc to the back, wondering what was up.

  They went into his tiny hole of an office and Doc shut the door. “I’m glad you’re here. I was hoping you’d come up for air.”

  “I’ve been busy with the project,” Michael said. Doc had a point, though—it had been a while.

  “Well, it’s good to see you.”

  Michael raised his eyebrows at Doc’s formal air. “You too, buddy. What’s on your mind?”

  “Well…” Doc sat, looking a little lost.

  Mi
chael waited for Doc to gather his thoughts, but he couldn’t. “Doc, please just spit it out. I’ve had a rough couple of days.”

  “It’s about Barbara…” Doc finally blurted. “Barbara and me.”

  “You don’t need to tell me—”

  “—No, I want to tell you. I want to be the one to tell you.”

  Michael forced himself to remain quiet. He loved Doc like a brother but Doc had fallen for the girl Michael had dated before Diana and was convinced this would ruin their friendship. Michael had tried to assure him that it had been casual—over before it even began. His relationship with Barbara had barely amounted to a month of dinners and movies, and a few kisses outside her dorm. She was a psych major, the kind who wanted to analyze every thought and feeling anyone had ever had in order to earn her PhD. Michael had no idea why he had dated her in the first place and had all but wiped their short-lived relationship from his mind, but Doc still felt like he had to treat the whole situation with kid gloves.

  “Things are getting serious. I think I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

  Doc waited for a reaction. Michael was tempted to tell his buddy he needed a sanity check. Instead he did his best to feign excitement. “Great. Congratulations.”

  “Mikey.”

  Michael laughed and said, “No, I’m serious. I’m happy for you two. You didn’t have to tell me like this.”

  Doc fiddled with a pen. “I just didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else.”

  “Listen, my feelings about you and Barbara getting together haven’t changed. I don’t mind! Got it, knucklehead?”

  “There’s one more thing. About the wedding…”

  “You were my best man—I don’t expect to be yours. I won’t even be offended if I’m not invited to the wedding. Okay? So stop worrying. Please.”

  Doc nodded and tried to hide it as he wiped the hint of a tear from his eye. Michael had read him right. “Come here, buddy. Congratulations.” Michael gave him a hug and joked, “Think you can talk her into naming a boy after me?”

  “I suggest that and I’ll be living on your sofa forever.”