Hotel Midnight (29 page)

‘Infected you, Colette? But how? You don’t think it was—’

‘Sexually transmitted? No way. During the attack I was conscious all the time. Simple. I head butted him. He bled. His blood matted my hair. The bug got into me that way.’

I rubbed my face. ‘I follow that you, along with other people, have been attacked by the same man, but this part about him infecting people … are you saying this infection affects the way they behave?’

‘Yes.’ Her manner suggested she’d been driving that point home all along only it had taken a while for me to grasp the fact.

‘I don’t buy it.’

‘Oh …’ Colette pressed her fingers to her temples in
frustration
. ‘My statistics, my dry and boring statistics, point to this event taking place. They are evidence of a marked behavioural change in many women in this city. For some reason they now prefer to be alone rather than move around in groups of friends. This contradicts normal patterns of behaviour; specifically, that many women are wary about walking into cities alone at night.’

‘So this infection reduces their anxiety about walking alone?’

‘And many more factors, too, such as a reduced need for social contact, or even an active dislike of their old friends. Also a marked change in personality traits that can only—’

‘A virus does this? Colette, a virus makes you feverish and cough and feel crap. It doesn’t alter your preference in friends.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

Colette bit her lip, thinking hard. ‘In a few minutes I’ll take you up to see Lauren.’

‘And you think she’ll want to see me?’

‘I don’t doubt it for a moment. In fact, she’ll insist.’

Unease slithered through me. ‘You’re telling me Lauren is infected?’

‘Don’t let me impose my conclusions. After you’ve talked to her you decide.’

This did make me think that bit harder. ‘So what kind of virus can do this?’

‘I’m a statistician, not a doctor. My guess is as good as yours. It doesn’t have to be a virus, it could be bacterial – or something else.’

‘Something else?’ I winced at my foolish sounding echo of her words. But this had unsettled me now. I shot a glance in the
direction
of the stairs to Lauren’s bedroom. I fancied I heard the menacing creak of floorboards as she paced back and forth, perhaps sensing my presence down in the kitchen.

Colette spoke softly, ‘When I found Lauren on the wall after she’d been attacked I was convinced she was dead. There wasn’t a heartbeat. A moment later she recovered consciousness, like that.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘One minute dead. The next minute she stood up insisting she was fine, and that she was going home. I know, I know, I’m no medical expert, so I might have been wrong about her being dead, but you saw how the woman looked tonight when we first found her. I know what your instinct told you.’ She took another swallow of coffee to ease her dry throat. ‘So Lauren comes home. Within an hour she’s
feverish
, her throat is sore; it’s like she’s coming down with the worst cold imaginable. She tells me her arms and legs ache, that she’s no energy. Soon she begins to suffer cramps to the point she can’t move. Later, I notice these yellowish weals on her skin. You know, like nettle stings? Her skin became lumpy as if it was going to start blistering. It took ages to get her into bed. Even when the cramps passed she could barely move. What she could do without any problem was scream at me that I shouldn’t call a doctor. As you can imagine I was worried sick, but within a few hours the
symptoms
abated. She seemed a bit odd in the way she moved … as if her muscles were stiff. But she was recovering, so I didn’t call an ambulance as I’d been promising myself.’

‘She’s all right now?’

‘Well … she’s not displaying those extreme symptoms. All right is debatable.’

‘So we call out the doctor. That’s the only solution, isn’t it?’

‘See her first, then we’ll decide.’

‘Does Kevin know?’

‘The husband-to-be?’ She grimaced. ‘I thought it best not to tell him. Don’t look at me like that, John. I’ve been trying to work out what’s the best for everyone. Call me idiotic, but I figured if all this cleared itself up and Lauren is perfectly OK then there’s no need to upset their wedding arrangements.’

How considerate of you
. I thought it but didn’t say it. Maybe she read the response in my face anyway.

‘Yes, John. I’m being loyal to my friend even though she wasn’t at all loyal to you. But everything I’ve done is for Lauren and Kevin. Maybe I was insanely optimistic in asking for your help.’ She looked wounded. She’d gone through hell herself. Here I was, not making things one jot better.

I smiled, and then leaned forward to squeeze her hand in mine. ‘That big Scottish lummox is here. He’ll do what’s for the best, too.’

My gesture of support, for what it was, moved her. She blinked. A tear rolled down her cheek. When she spoke again I realized she felt she could trust me with something she hadn’t planned to reveal.

‘You know, when Lauren was really sick I did some research. That’s a statistician’s training coming to the fore, huh? In times of crisis trawl the internet for a bunch of facts and figures. Well …’ She wiped her eye. ‘I did find something. It’s not definitive proof but it supports one aspect of what I’ve been telling you. Recently, universities in Britain, America and the Czech Republic have been involved in a joint research project into cats.’

When I raised an eyebrow she leaned forward to grip my hand. ‘Bear with me, John, it is relevant. Listen. There are around nine million domestic cats in Britain. Most of them carry a parasite called toxoplasma gondii – type that into a search engine and you’ll get all the proof you need I’m not making it up.’

‘I believe you. Go on.’

‘It’s been proved that this parasite has been transferred to the human population on a massive scale. Half of us are infected with it. Don’t worry, normally it doesn’t harm us. But scientists have shown that in certain cases infected people don’t display physical symptoms of the parasite. Instead, it induces changes in their behaviour. Infected men are apt to become aggressive; they have a tendency to be antisocial; they care less about their appearance; add a propensity to become scruffy and you’ve got clear evidence of real change. In women the parasite can induce modification of their personalities that lead them to becoming more warmhearted and easy-going. The downside is they become less trustworthy.’

‘And these changes are all down to a parasite?’

‘Yes. An emphatic yes! Humans became infected through close contact with cats, which originally became infected by eating rats that carried the bug.’

‘Jesus.’

‘But as I said, infection with the parasite doesn’t guarantee a behavioural change … only that it can occur in infected humans in certain cases.’

‘OK, let me catch up,’ I told her. ‘This stranger tried to infect you. However, for once he didn’t complete the process that involves knocking his victim out in someway. You broke the bastard’s nose with your head, so he got the hell out of there. However, his blood almost led to you being infected, but as you say you’ve the immune system of a mule, and this parasite, or virus, couldn’t get its hooks into you.’

‘That’s the size of it.’

‘Then he has infected other people. Now my question is why? What for? What’s his master plan?’

‘Ah,’ she stood up. ‘This is where I made one of those eureka connections.’ Crossing the floor she went to a cork noticeboard where picture postcards, reminders and shopping lists had been pinned. She tugged a piece of photocopied paper from where it had been attached by a pin.

‘A eureka connection?’ I tilted my head to one side, inviting elaboration.

‘When I was reading about the parasite found in cats’ brains for some reason an article I read years ago came back to me. I dug it out and copied the page. You know when you chip a tooth and keep running your tongue over it? You can’t stop yourself? Well, this quote was like that. I didn’t know why, but I guess it was instinct. Something was telling me that this quote, and the
behaviour
-altering bug were connected. It’s from a speech made to the Royal Society over a hundred years ago by Darwin’s son, Francis. Listen to this:
It is impossible to know whether or not plants are
conscious; but it is consistent with the doctrine of continuity that in all living things there is something psychic, and if we accept this point of view we must believe that in plants there exists a faint copy of what we know as consciousness in ourselves.
Go on, John tell me I’m nuts for making the connection.’

I met her gaze. Perhaps part of her wished that I recommended she visit a psychiatrist. Then she wouldn’t be forced to confront the reality of some new form of epidemic.

‘I haven’t heard that quotation before,’ I said after a moment’s pause. ‘But I have read that some scientists believe that nature demands, that in order to survive, creatures must develop
intelligence
. Intelligent plants are debatable. But you only have to take a look at apes and dolphins to know that animals are capable of developing a degree of intelligence.’

‘And now research shows that parrots and octopus have highly developed thought processes.’

‘And that includes microscopic organisms?’

‘Darwin said … what were his words? Ah …
it is consistent with the doctrine of continuity that in all living things there is something psychic
. By psychic he means psychological … a mental structure that constitutes a mind. Bingo!’

‘But intelligent bugs?’

‘Is there a natural law that precludes intelligent bacteria? Just think, John, we’re just a collection of single-cell creatures that find it convenient to all live under the one roof.’ She patted the top of her head. ‘So the cells are integrated and interdependent, but you compare a cell from heart tissue under a microscope with a cell from that cat parasite and they’re basically the same. They have the same physical structure with a mass of protoplasm contained in a membrane. Both self-replicate.’

‘And the reason why he – this man who smells of spices – is spreading the infection through the city?’ She began to answer but my words kept on coming as the truth hit me with a force that made my flesh crawl. ‘Survival of the fittest. Like we breed to populate the planet, the man is infecting as many women as he can in order for the parasite he carries to become the dominant species.’

‘Women? Why not men?’

‘Not just women, but young women. They’re likely to have children. Perhaps the infection can travel down the placenta.’

‘So that way he can spread the infection on a huge scale for generations to come … oh my God.’

I took a mouthful of coffee but it had all the allure of canal water right now. With a grimace I put the cup down on the table. ‘You said that in Britain there were nine million cats. You’re the statistics expert. How long do you think it took for them to be infected with this toxoplasma bug?’

‘Without more research it’s impossible to tell.’

‘Shoot from the hip – go on, I dare you.’

‘Once an influenza epidemic strikes a country it can infect the populations of its major cities within days. The cat parasite occurred originally in rats. It might have taken ten years to spread through the cat population, but then once it had got a grip on them it probably took only months to infect their owners.’

I rubbed my jaw as the implication sank in. ‘So, whatever the nature of the plague this man is spreading, it could infect
everyone
in this country inside a year.’

‘If they’re not naturally immune. Which I appear to be. Also, it might not be so easily contracted. Possibly, he might be the only one who can infect people.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Half past one. I think the time is ripe for you to see Lauren.’

See Lauren? There were compelling reasons not to. A voice in the back of my head begged me to leave the house, don’t look back, go to the station, wait for the first morning train back to Edinburgh. And yet … and yet … I nodded. Cold waves washed through my blood as we climbed the stairs. When we passed a window Colette didn’t pause but I looked out. A crescent moon hung like a curving steel blade in the sky. It reminded me of the executioner’s axe that had sent so many heads to be impaled on spikes above this city’s gates in ancient times. My eyes were drawn to that long and lonely section of wall, just part of the citadel’s fortification. There, a hundred yards away from me, high on the wall, stood a lone figure. It didn’t move. I could see
nothing
but a silhouette.

It was him. I didn’t doubt it for a moment. The
him
who stalked the walls at the dead of night. What’s more, I didn’t doubt that he stared at me as I looked out of the window. Is he waiting for me? Does he want to speak to me? Perhaps he has someway of divining what Colette and I have been discussing. Now, does he want to share his own thoughts with me? Or does he merely want to fill my veins with his disgusting, squirming parasite?

‘John.’ Colette’s soft voice came down the stairs to me. ‘Are you ready to see Lauren now?’

‘John! It’s lovely to see you again!’

So I went and asked myself:
What did you expect, John? A zombie creature? Someone with a grey face and eyes that stared like a dead fish? Or something vampiric? Pointed teeth, blood-red lips and a big, black cape?

Lauren was profoundly normal. No, better than normal. She moved lightly across the floor toward me. She was dressed in black trousers that were complimented by a crisp orange top. Her eyes sparkled. Her short auburn hair had been neatly brushed. Lauren always wore an expression of someone about to burst into a delighted smile. This was the expression she wore now. What more can I add? Here was a healthy young woman in smart clothes that didn’t have so much as a crease; she didn’t have a hair out of place. The only off-key note was that she could have been a professional woman just about to head off to the office while, in reality, the time was nudging its way toward two in the
morning
.