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F Paul Wilson - Novel 05 (4 page)

BOOK: F Paul Wilson - Novel 05
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"Adrenaline, remember? Strong
emotions flood the bloodstream with adrenaline and noradrenaline. They
activate the amygdala, which in turn makes the cortex more receptive to memory.
As a result, emotionally charged events

happy,
sad, frightening

are more deeply and firmly
embedded in our memories than the routine incidents. If we hang around long
enough we'll see some of those, too, but they're faint. Your memory edits for
you. Do you really need to file away the details of the ten-thousandth time
you passed through the living room on your way to the kitchen?"

 
          
"Where's
that
go?"
Henderson asks as you pass a closed door.

 
          
"The
basement, but you can't go there."

 
          
"Why
not?"

 
          
"Because
it's locked and we don't have the key.
Lorraine
doesn't go there herself
and so she doesn't want us going there either."

 
          
"Ah!
Repressed memories."

 
          
"Not
repressed so much as tucked away. They're unpleasant and so she keeps them out
of sight. Truly repressed memories

if such things exist

would be deeply buried; even
the subject wouldn't know where they were. And once you located them you'd
really have to dig to reach them."

 
          
"So
you've
never been
down to the basement."

 
          
"I
haven't found the key."

 
          
A
lie. You did find the key. You always were good at finding things. It's folded
within the pages of the scrapbook in
Lorraine
's bedroom, rammed through
the photo of Johnny Kozik. Because among other things in the basement is the
fuzzy memory of the loss of
Lorraine
's virginity to good
ol'
Johnny.
They'd call it date rape now.

 
          
Johnny,
two years older and light-years more experienced, came over with a bottle of
Southern Comfort one night when her parents were out, got her drunk, began
undressing her.
Lorraine
, feeling more sick than
amorous, tried to push him away, but he became angry and began pushing her
around. He frightened her and she was too groggy to put up much of a struggle.
You couldn't watch. You had to turn away as she let him do what he wanted to
do.

 
          
It
gives you the creeps to know that the same date rape is playing in an endless
loop below your feet. Even now ...

           
You've never returned to the
basement, and you sure as hell aren't taking a stranger down there.

 
          
"What's
upstairs?"

 
          
"The
usual

bedrooms and bathrooms. We
can

"

 
          
You
are interrupted by the Warning button flashing red. You check the readout
ribbon. The EKG retains a normal QRS pattern but the pulse rate is up to 120
and respirations are 14.

 
          
"What's
wrong?"

 
          
"Nothing.
For reasons we've yet to explain, we're limited to how long we can stay in the
memoryscape without causing physiological reactions. The limit varies from
subject to subject, but rising pulse and respiratory rates are the first
signs. Part of it has to do with a diminution of the diazepam effect, so as
that wears off, the reactions begin. But even with extra doses, once the
reaction starts, it progresses."

 
          
"What
will happen if we ignore the warning and stay here?"

 
          
"We
can't. It's a failsafe in the program. If we don't exit, it will exit for us.
I've no desire to find out what would happen if we push it. It may be harmful,
it may not. Why risk it? We can always go back in later."

 
          
"Then
let's exit immediately. I'm not here to cause this young woman harm."

 
          
As
you move the fingertip of the hand to the Exit button and click it, the genuine
concern in
Henderson
's voice causes a pang of
guilt. You had Gomez give
Lorraine
a light dose to guarantee a
short session.

 
          
No
matter. You've given him a tour. Dragging it out would only be repetitious.
Because you have no intention of revealing any of
Lorraine
's secrets. You promised
her.

 
          
The
screens go blank. You reach for your goggles.

 

 
        
Three

 

 
          
I'm
often asked if the memoryscape programs could be useful in
criminal
cases.
Sure, you could go into the head of a guy who says he was out of town when his
wife was murdered.
In
the memoryscape you could watch him slashing his
wife's throat, and have
ever;
detail of the crime scene right there for
all to see. But what guilty accused is going
to
let you do that?

Random notes: Julia Gordon

 

1

 

 
          
Julie
rubbed her eyes, then lifted her helmet. Across from her she saw Dr. Siegal
helping
Henderson
off with his.
Henderson
sat up and stared at her,
then at Siegal. His eyes were wide with wonder as he searched for the right
words to say.

 
          
"That
was... incredible. Do you people have any idea what you've got here? Why
haven't you gone to the media with this?"

 
          
"Because
it's not a parlor game," Julie snapped and caught a warning look from Dr.
Siegal.

 
          
Easy,
girl, she thought. So far, so good. Don't blow it now.

           
"What Dr. Gordon means,"
Dr. S. said quickly, "is that we don't want this technology exploited in
an unseemly fashion. It's not the latest high-tech toy for thrill seekers or
talk shows. It makes vulnerable the most private moments of an individual's
life. Just imagine abducting someone, sedating them, and then invading their
mind. What a tool for blackmailers. Or industrial espionage."

 
          
"Or
for the courts,"
Henderson
said. "Looks to me
like the ultimate lie detector."

 
          
"Yes
and no. A memory is not necessarily an accurate reflection of reality. It's a
recording of a perception, colored by emotion, and often influenced by
intervening events. Someday, after endless court battles, this might be
accepted as a legal tool. But as a method for exploring memory itself, dealing
with the loss of memory

"

 
          
"That's
where Alzheimer's might come in, I should think."
Henderson
turned to Julie. "Have
you ever visited an Alzheimer's patient's memoryscape?"

 
          
"No.
I'd very much like to, but I'm willing to bet it wouldn't be too startlingly
different from Lorraine's on the surface

at
least not until actual organic degeneration of the cortex takes place."

 
          
"Why
do you say that? Their memories are shot. I'd expect a desert, a barren
wasteland."

 
          
"That's
because you're confusing the existence of memories and the ability to access
them," Julie said. "All memories are fragmented, with bits and pieces
scattered all over the brain. Take the memory of a chocolate-chip cookie, for
instance: Its smell is encoded and stored in the olfactory cortex, the look of
the cookie is in the visual cortex, the soft warm feel of it in your hand is in
the tactile cortex, and the taste in the gustatory cortex. So when your
olfactory nerve picks up the smell of a freshly baked Toll House cookie, the
convergence systems of your brain assemble all the pieces ... and your mouth
begins to water. But if your brain can't find the links and access those
memories

even though all the
components of the cookie memory are still intact

the
odor means nothing to you. It's not a cookie

it's
just a smell."

 
          
"Of
what benefit would this be to Alzheimer's patients?"
Henderson
said.

           
Julie hesitated.

 
          
"Come
on," he said. "This is a magnificent breakthrough. I want the
Bruchmeyer Foundation to be a part of it. But the board of directors will not
part with a dime unless they feel it will ultimately benefit Alzheimer's
patients."

 
          
Julie
spoke slowly, carefully, trying to keep her tone casual. They'd hooked him; now
they had to land him.

 
          
She
glanced over at Dr. Siegal. As crucial as this was to her, it was absolutely
vital to him. He'd already lost his wife; Julie was not going to let him lose
his project.

 
          
"I
don't want to make promises we can't keep, but broken memory links can be
restored via the memoryscape."

 
          
Henderson
rose to his feet. "Is
that theory or has it been done?"

 
          
"It's
been done," Julie said, trying to hide her excitement. Yes, it had been
done. But by only one person, on one isolated case. "It's damn hard, but
I've done it." She held up a hand. "But not in an Alzheimer's
patient."

 
          
"But
I thought the memoryscape was purely symbolic."

 
          
Julie
nodded. "It
is
symbolic, but not as purely symbolic as we
originally thought. We can't change memories, but reestablishing links in the
memoryscape appears to carry over into real-life function. The thing is, we
don't know
why
it works. That's why I was hesitant to mention it."

 
          
Henderson
looked like he wanted to
pace but there was no room for it. "But wait a second

if we supplied you with funds and brought you Alzheimer's
sufferers as volunteers

you'd know soon enough,
wouldn't you?"

 
          
Julie
nodded. "I imagine we would."

 
          
"Excellent!"
He bounded to the coat hook on the wall, grabbed his Burberry, and turned to
them. "This is wonderful! I'm going straight to Mr. Bruchmeyer himself

today. He'll want to know about this immediately. He'll be
very
interested."

 
          
"How
interested?"

 
          
"You
mean in dollars and cents? Well, the Bruchmeyer Foundation never lends
halfhearted support. If it's a go, we'll back you all the way. Of course we'll
need a detailed experimental protocol to place before the board. How soon can
you have that?"

           
"Two weeks?" Dr. Siegal
said, glancing Julie's way.

 
          
Julie
nodded, using all her willpower to keep from screaming
Yes!
and pumping
her fist into the air. "That sounds doable."

 
          
"We'll
be waiting to hear from you,"
Henderson
said, opening the door.
"End of the month at the latest."

 
          
As
soon as he stepped out the door, Dr. Siegal flung his arms around her. He
laughed aloud and spun her around.

 
          
"We
did it!" he cried. "We're going to get a grant!"

 
          
"Let's
not count the money yet." She never allowed herself to be too optimistic.
Things had a way of backfiring when you became complacent. The Bruchmeyer board
would be scrutinizing the documentation very carefully. Everything would have
to be perfect.

 
          
"Julie,
you were wonderful!"

 
          
"Nothing
to it," she said, enjoying his elation. So good to see him happy again.

 
          
"Oh,
right," he said, pushing her back to arms' length. "As if there
weren't a couple of moments there when

"

 
          
"I
was in control

total, complete control.
Except when I wanted to

"

 
          
"What's
going on?" said a voice behind them.

 
          
Julie
turned.
Lorraine
was sitting up on the bed,
looking groggy and slightly befuddled.

 
          
"How'd
I do?" she said.

 
          
Dr.
Siegal rushed over and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "My dear, we
did fine! And you were magnificent

at least your memoryscape was!"

 
          
Julie
watched them. She wished she could show her gratitude to
Lorraine
like Dr. Siegal had

hugging and clasping
Lorraine
's hand. But that wasn't her
style. Something always held her back. She felt glued to the spot.

 
          
"You
done good, kid," she said.

 

2

 

 
          
"What
are you doing for lunch?" Dr. Siegal said as he followed her into her
office.

           
Julie glanced at Cindy's empty desk
and then at her watch. 12:05. That explained where Cindy was.

 
          
"Lunch?
Who's got time for lunch? I'm
days
behind now."

 
          
"And
I know what you're going to do first."

 
          
"No.
Not lunch. I don't do

"

 
          
"I'm
not talking about food. I'm talking about your uncle. Weren't you going to call
him?"

 
          
Uncle
Eathan! Damn! He'd completely slipped her mind.

 
          
"The
number ... where is it?" She pawed through her lab-coat pockets. "I
had it right

here it is."

 
          
"Good,"
Dr. Siegal said, pointing to her inner office, set off by gray room dividers.
"You call, I'll wait out here. Then we'll do lunch."

 
          
She
gave him a look. "Dr. Siegal..." Truly she didn't have time for
lunch, but he wasn't going to quit. "All right. This will only take a
minute."

 
          
She
punched in the number, waited through a few rings, then heard
"Bonjour."

 
          
Julie
recognized the voice. "Eathan. It's Julie."

 
          
"Julie!
Thank God! I've been going crazy trying to reach you! Didn't you get my
messages?"

 
          
She
realized from his frazzled tone that something was seriously wrong. This wasn't
Eathan being the over-solicitous uncle. He sounded scared, frantic, and now a
sense of foreboding enveloped her. Damn! She should have called sooner. She
hoped he was okay.

 
          
"I'm
sorry. It was impossible for me to get away until now. What's wrong?"

 
          
"It's
Samantha."

 
          
"Oh."
Julie felt a sudden cold seep through her. She bit back adding Is
that all?
and
let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
What else is new?

 
          
"What
is it this time?"

 
          
"I
don't know. Nobody knows. Not yet, anyway. That's why I'm calling you."

 
          
"Well,
she's disappeared before and popped back up again after everyone went crazy
looking

"

BOOK: F Paul Wilson - Novel 05
3.91Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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