A Vision of Fire (16 page)

“I'm sorry, but I want her to stay with this as long as possible,” Caitlin said. “We must have the information.”

“We?” he asked.

“Yes,
we
.”

“But it is hurting her!”

Caitlin turned as much as she could to look directly at him. He was on his feet. “Mr. Pawar, your daughter has been experiencing this trauma for over a week. If she were any other person exhibiting such severe symptoms with an unknown cause, I would have hospitalized her days ago. But then she would have been heavily medicated and I would have had limited access to her. I don't think either of us wants that,
or
the attention!”

Caitlin felt guilty using publicity as a lever but she desperately
didn't want to interrupt this session. Not now. The ambassador was silent.

“Cai,” Ben said, nodding toward the bed.

Maanik was moving like an eel, her body writhing, her mouth still opening and closing in wordless cries.

“We don't know how deep this goes,” Caitlin said in a gentler voice, half-turning back toward the Pawars. “She can't fully express it. If we fail to understand Maanik's condition, I cannot, in good conscience, keep her in this bedroom much longer. But if there is a
chance
for us to understand, to heal her, we should take it.”

The Pawars were silent, agonized.

“She is strong,” Caitlin said, returning her full attention to the young woman. “I'm going to keep talking to her as long as I can.”

She heard Mr. Pawar sit heavily behind her.

“Please focus, Maanik,” Caitlin said. “Can you tell me if it's day or night? Look around you.”

The young woman forced herself to use words.

“It is . . . night. The moon . . . so large! White light being eaten by the red light.”

“The red light. Is it the sunset? Or is it closer? Fire?”

“Flame,” she said. Her mouth made biting motions. “The dragon . . . red waves. So
maddening
!”

Maanik's eyes slid to Caitlin for just a moment but it was long enough to show she was still there, herself, however small. Then Caitlin saw her hands return to the gesture she'd made earlier, when Caitlin had handed her a pen and paper. The one thing she and Ben hadn't planned for. Caitlin felt Ben shove a tablet into her hands, a drawing app already open. Caitlin slid the tablet under Maanik's right hand and though the girl was shrieking again, she simultaneously drew several long, undulating lines on the tablet. Then she dropped it and attacked her forearms again, this time with her nails.

As Caitlin tried to restrain her, Ben snuck the tablet from between them.

“Maanik, go back to the elephant!” Caitlin shouted.

Maanik shoved her body back against the pillows but then just as suddenly, she relaxed completely. Her hands fell limp, her eyes closed, and she took a very long and solid inhale.

“Are you there, Maanik? Are you back in the pink and yellow tent?”

It was a long moment before Maanik answered.

“Yes,” she said.

Caitlin saw a shudder pass through her,
all
the way through her.

“That's great, you are doing terrific work, Maanik.”

“Yes,” she said again. But she seemed to be repeating the previous statement, not responding to Caitlin's compliment. “Yes, I am here.”

“I'm so proud of you—” Caitlin said, but then it hit her:
was
Maanik talking to her?

“Oh no,” Maanik said, with a sudden terror to her voice. “It found me. It's coming here! Ashes!” Her body stiffened and she let out a scream so petrified and agonized that Mrs. Pawar gasped and Caitlin's eyes surged with tears. Choking on a sob, Caitlin leaned in, touched Maanik's ear, and said, “Blackberries.”

The girl slumped back but it was an ugly movement, like all of her ligaments had been cut.

There was a horrible, horrible silence. The queasy hush that had always hovered outside the Pawars' apartment was now inside. Caitlin felt she could almost taste it; it was deadly. She turned at the sound of Jack London retching on the carpet under Maanik's desk, his small body convulsing. Even as Maanik began to breathe somewhat normally, Caitlin was still on high alert. She was afraid to look around, to give credence to something she was feeling: that
something
had come back with the girl.

CHAPTER 23

C
aitlin remained with Ben as he dismantled his modest camera-and-tripod setup. Mr. Pawar hunched in his chair, rubbing his forehead with three fingers, while Mrs. Pawar sat on the bed with her sleeping daughter, having called for Kamala to take care of the vomit Jack London had left on the rug.

Caitlin was watching the dog closely. He had nearly slunk out of the bedroom but stopped just shy of the door.

What's going on with you?
Caitlin wondered.

She realized that the dog was trying to stay away from where he had thrown up but he did not want to desert Maanik. When no stern words or rebuke came from Kamala or Hansa, Jack London returned to the room, beginning with the edges of the windows, sniffing thoroughly with his shoulders sunk in “guard” mode.

Caitlin was doing her own less overt analysis of her surroundings. The noxious air that had choked the area around the bed was easing somewhat. The closeness she had felt, as though something were pressing in on her, had also dissipated; she felt almost light now, the way she did when she took off her ankle weights after jogging. Caitlin suspected that Jack London had sensed the same. Still, he was very cautious about approaching the bed—and Maanik, who had been the
epicenter of whatever the dog had experienced. When he eventually leaped up onto the bed and sniffed around the girl, he showed an aversion not just to her right hand but also to her head. It was just the tiniest recoil. Finally, Jack London curled up by Maanik's feet but remained on guard, staring at the wall behind her head.

“One good thing,” Ben said in a low voice.

“What's that?” Caitlin asked.

“I'm sure Kashmir was pretty far from the ambassador's thoughts the last half hour or so.”

Caitlin nodded. “Sometimes any break is a good break,” she said quietly. “In the session, did you notice Maanik's hair?” She was trying not to lead his answer.

“I saw it move,” Ben replied. “Like it was caught in a breeze that wasn't there.”

She exhaled more breath than she thought she'd been holding. Ben smiled.

“I'll let you know if you're going crazy, Dr. O'Hara,” he said.

“Good,” she said, laughing a little, “because I'm starting to wonder.”

“Cai, something definitely happened here, and like you said, it wasn't all in Maanik's head.”

Caitlin and Ben left the bedroom and Jack London, who was still gazing at the wall but with his head resting on his paws. They were followed by Mrs. Pawar, who sat in the living room, clearly shaken. Mr. Pawar stayed with Maanik. Caitlin went over and sat with Hansa for a while, just listening—the woman needed to vent her worries, not just about her daughter but about her husband.

“You can't protect him from this,” Caitlin told her.

“I know that. My hope is that he can handle it all without breaking.” She looked at Caitlin with sad eyes. “He had no reaction at all, himself, to the attempt on his life. It is as if he has pushed that entirely out of his mind.”

“For now, most likely he has,” Caitlin said. “To him, these other
concerns are greater.” She smiled. “Trust me, there will be time for you to care for him.”

“What about Maanik?” the woman asked. “Has this helped you understand?”

“I'm sure it has, I just have to sift through her answers,” Caitlin said. “We'll be working on that this evening. I told you, we're going to figure this out.”

“He is a caring man,” Mrs. Pawar said, looking at Ben.

“Very.” Caitlin beamed appreciatively.

Mrs. Pawar asked Kamala for water, then went to the window and looked down at the city. Caitlin implored Mrs. Pawar and Kamala to make sure that Maanik's bedroom was aired out with the windows open twice a day, not just with plug-in fresheners, and that Maanik should also sit twice daily on the balcony, bundled up against the cold. Mrs. Pawar started to object, indicating an overlooking terrace to the east, but Caitlin pointed to a Japanese folding screen and suggested they use that for privacy.

Caitlin checked on Maanik one more time and bade the Pawars a good night. It wasn't until Ben and Caitlin were in the elevator and nearly to the lobby that she allowed herself to ease from professional mode into her own mild release. She breathed through the slight queasiness and shakes.

“You okay?” Ben asked, noting her fingers' trembling.

“Will be.”

But the feeling only grew as they stepped outside. A burning smell surrounded her, as if someone had lit a fire in a fireplace in one of the surrounding buildings. And then she felt eyes on her again, and a cold so thorough she shivered under her coat. She stopped just as they reached the sidewalk.

“Caitlin?” Ben asked. “What is it?”

“I feel like I'm being watched,” she murmured. Somehow it was harder to tell Ben
this
than any of the other bizarre details of the past few days.

Ben looked around. Save for a few people walking their dogs, the street was relatively free of pedestrians. He glanced up at the lowest windows in the building. There was no one looking down.

“I'm sure it's some kind of emotional aftershock,” she said. “Paranoia. Let's get a cab.”

“On second thought . . . ,” Ben said.

“What?”

“A security chief told me once that if you feel like you've got eyes on you, don't take a cab. You don't know who's driving it, and you don't know if they've been waiting for you out of your sight.”

“But I don't think anyone's
actually
watching me.”

“Doesn't matter. We're going to walk to the subway.”

He put his arm around her and they headed north, then west. There was a mild crosstown wind and Caitlin didn't stop trembling until they reached Grand Central. They went through the main door instead of one of the side entrances. The turquoise vaulted ceiling and pale stars, the brass and opal clock in the center, helped her feel that she was standing on firm ground again.

“Better?” Ben asked.

“Much.” She smiled. There were a great many people here, and shops were still open. It was all very normal, almost cheerful. She straightened; she hadn't realized that she had been curling into Ben's side. He pulled his arm away but not completely, leaving his hand on her back as they strolled to the subway entrance.

“Let's talk about something that has nothing to do with anything,” Ben suggested.

His flustered tone made Caitlin laugh and he chuckled with her. It took about two seconds for Caitlin to snap back to the larger ­reality.

“Her hair,” she said as they headed toward the subway steps. “That was just impossible. I mean, there's no other word for it.”

“Cai, let your brain off the hook for a while,” Ben said as he slid his MetroCard from its holder. “I know you want to drive straight at the
problem, but we both know that if we don't give our brains a rest, a real rest, it fogs up the windshield.”

“You are right, O wise one.” She grinned. “Okay. I'll power down. You're taking the 6 home?”

“No, I'll see you home first.”

“You don't have to.”

“I know. But in case there
are
eyes on you, I'm taking you home.”

Caitlin felt a rebellious kick against his white knighthood—and ignored it. She knew she had a much better chance of powering down if he was there, staying alert.

As they walked to the Shuttle train platform, Caitlin looked at all the faces around her, allowing herself to just see them, not read them. This kind of passive observation was primarily a right-brain activity, which is why it was so relaxing for her, but it also allowed a simple love of people to come forth, the admiration of human beings that made her so happy to live in one of the world's largest cities. Standing on the platform, she drank in the faces like fresh, pure water. And then, stepping onto the train and finding a pole to hang on to, she focused on Ben's face as he held on beside her—that sweet, studious, heartbreaker face, all in one. The face that had been with her through some of the worst events she had ever experienced.

The train intercom chimed and she heard the old, familiar recording, “Stand clear of the closing doors.” Ben was looking down at someone's tablet over her shoulder, reading whatever she was reading. Caitlin reached up to Ben's now-stubbled cheek. He gave her a half smile but didn't look up, intent on finishing the page before the passenger scrolled to the next.

Too bad
, Caitlin thought as she gently pulled his head down and kissed him. He did not mind the interruption. To the contrary, it was something he'd been waiting patiently for—not just tonight but since he first laid eyes on her. He gave her his fullest attention and suddenly they were sheltered in complete and quiet privacy. Their lips felt like fire and water and air all in one—until the train jolted
and they bumped noses and laughed. But only for a moment, because Ben pulled her in close with one arm and kissed her twenty years deep.

Many long kisses later, they reached the door of Caitlin's apartment building. Ben hesitated on the sidewalk.

“Well, this is awkward,” he tried to joke.

“You can come up,” she said, turning his face to meet her eyes.

“You're sure?”

“Yes. But—”

“I know.” He grinned. “We have to dial it back.”

“Huh?” she said, before realizing what he had meant. “No. Maanik's drawing. I want to check it out
now
.”

They both laughed as she led the way up the brownstone steps, her back burning warmly and steadily under his gaze.

Jacob was asleep and so was the sitter, who departed drowsily. Ben sat at the table and pulled his tablet out of his bag, bringing up Maanik's scrawl. Caitlin—who was immediately preoccupied again with the puzzle—realized she desperately wanted the drawing to mean something. Because she also knew that what she had told the Pawars was true: she could not justify leaving Maanik at home very much longer.

She and Ben huddled over the glowing screen. The drawing seemed unrelated to either the Viking longship or the symbol of crescents. Its wobbly lines seemed to undulate from upper left to lower right with something like a purpose, yet the lines themselves were as organically shaped as frost or the edges of a stain. Directional . . . textural . . . they appeared not to be casual.

But appearances are not necessarily reality
, she reminded herself. They could be nothing more than random scrawls on which she was attempting to force pattern recognition.

“Thoughts?” she asked.

“Either too many or not enough,” he said, tapping a few keys. “Two years ago, even a year ago, it would have been hell figuring out
what this might be. Now that image-search capabilities have improved . . .”

He finished uploading the image and they watched an online search begin. The “best guess” image that first appeared was an example of an irregularly shaped freckle—an indication of carcinoma, which dampened their spirits. Ben slowly scrolled through the long list of possible matches: children's drawings; several poor illustrations of shorelines, which gave them pause; and a number of microscopic images of skin cells. Then Caitlin stabbed her finger at the screen.

“Hold on. That. What is
that
?”

Ben tapped on the image and it filled the screen. It was a map, yellowed and ancient. Ben placed it side by side with Maanik's drawing and both of them felt the temperature of the room plummet as her image fit easily into the shape of Antarctica, matching the ancient map's outline with remarkable precision.

“The Piri Reis map,” Ben read. “From the early sixteenth century.”

“I've heard of it,” Caitlin murmured. “It showed the contours of Antarctica before it was covered with ice. Which is impossible.”

“Right,” Ben countered, “which is why it says here that's a still-disputed claim. The best explanations are that the map shows something else altogether, possibly a combination of two or more maps that were thought to be contiguous.”

Caitlin didn't reply. Grabbing Maanik's file folder, which had been at the top of her stack ever since she met the girl, she flipped through its pages. Past the drawing she had made of the Norse longship, through her notes on Haiti, down to the bottom, where she found the drawing Maanik had made with her right hand, her nondominant hand—the drawing Caitlin had thought resembled a steep cliff and water. She showed it to Ben.

“What's that?” she asked.

“An iceberg,” Ben said instantly.

“Drawn by Maanik during one of her earliest episodes,” Caitlin said. She put the paper on the table and they stared at the images.
Then Caitlin added the drawing of the longship. “The Vikings got as far as North America. Maybe they went even farther. To the south.”

“To Antarctica?”

“Why not? Maybe not Vikings exactly, but their ancestors. We've been on this planet, and probably seafaring, for quite a while.”

“Yes, but that's still a whopping great distance, Cai. From
anywhere
to Antarctica.”

“Not necessarily,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Continental drift,” she said. “The landmasses were all closer, once.”

“During the Triassic, yeah, maybe you could've walked from Australia. But there were no people then. No mammals, in fact.”

“All right, what about—and we're speaking just for the sake of argument here—what if it wasn't Vikings coming south to find Antarctica? What if there were people sailing north
from
Antarctica?”

“Cai . . . ,” he cautioned.

“What if ancestors of the Vikings lived there and sailed primitive longships away from the ice?”

“That's a very big ‘if.' ”

“Why?” she asked. “Because we haven't found traces of a civilization in the least explored continent on earth, where ice freezes and melts and shifts in a way that would stifle extended archeological research, hide any and all clues?”