The Eidolon (25 page)

“Then you’re going to have to take a step back from the way you see the world. And given how much time you’ve invested in studying the way things are, you might find this a little tricky.”

“Just tell me.”

Sattva regards me silently for a moment before he begins.“We all lived here once, the same as you. Different places, different times, but we all had a mother and father, we were all children, we all grew up. We had lives and families and occupations. We loved our children, and wanted the best for them. We had dreams and worries, ambitions and fears. We were, essentially, just like you. But at some point, those lives ran out. Whatever we learned from dying, we forgot when we were reborn. But over time, we evolved through each death, remembering and understanding a little more of what we really are.

“We’ve been called many things over the ages, but I think the term ‘Eidolon’ best describes us.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means shade, or shadow. We can move between worlds.”

It’s sinking in, slowly, like a pebble falling through a drum of crude oil. “You mean you’re all dead.” I glance about the room, feeling queasy. “All these people...?”

Sattva nods and raises an eyebrow. “Does that bother you?”

Does it bother me that I’m in a roomful of stiffs? “You could say that.”

“Why?”

“Because none of this should be happening, that’s why. You shouldn’t be here – you should be food for daffodils, nothing more. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“So, it’s not fitting in with your idea of how things are.”

“No! None of it is.”

“I see.” Sattva clasps his hands loosely on his lap. “Have you considered that perhaps you’re working from the wrong premise?”

“No, I haven’t, actually, because everything in my life experience so far tells me that my premise is working just fine.”

“So,” says Casimir, “how do you explain me being here?”

“I have no idea. Maybe it’s insanity.”

“You’re not going mad,” says Balaquai, as though he’s said this a thousand times before. “Everyone finds it difficult to adjust at first.”

“Everyone? Who is everyone? I’ve not met anyone who knows anything about this stuff. Apart from Cora.”

“It’s all semantics,” says Sattva. “Death is just a word for something you’ve forgotten. It’s not an end point; it’s just a transition, that’s all. Once you come to terms with that, the rest is easy.”

“Easy? Why is it that we don’t all know about this?”

“I think it’s fair to say that a lot of people do.”

“That’s not what I meant. Why is it that I suddenly know about this? Why is this happening to me?”

Sattva leans towards me, resting his elbows on the table. “Ah, now that’s a better question. Because your brush with death opened your eyes to what else is around you. It’s not as sudden as you make out, Robert. You’ve always known, to some degree, that there’s more. It’s why you dedicated your life to looking for something no-one can see.”

I stare at him. “That’s different.”

“No it’s not. You see, Robert, life and death are fluid; they’re not binary states. There’s a spectrum of existence that corresponds to awareness. At one end are men and women who live their life on the understanding that that is all there is. At the other are those like us, who know our potential and use it. And in between are Sentients; who sense things others can’t, but are still searching for what that is.”

“Like Cora,” says Casimir.

“Cora?”

“She’s always known. Like you, only you’re afraid to admit it.”

He’s wrong. That’s not how I think, at all. At least, it wasn’t... my objections cave in on themselves. Visions of insanity come to me – tranquilizer injections, wearing a dotted nightgown and playing Connect Four in some high security unit that doesn’t allow visitors because you already have enough of your own. No-one will ever believe any of this. I know I don’t. I reach up and pull my T-shirt away from my neck. I feel like I can’t breathe. “How did you know about the sabotage?”

Casimir leans forward. “When I pulled you from the sea after the crash, your mind was wide open. It told me everything.”

“Victor Amos is not who you think he is,” says Sattva. “We need you to help us find out what he’s planning.”

“Why? If you know so much about everything – if you can just show up when I need help – why do you need me? Why can’t you figure this out yourselves?”

“We have too much history with Amos. You are our best link to him, and for now, he is unaware that our paths have crossed.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, making me jump. There is a God, and he’s giving me a way out of here.

I stand up and take the call, moving towards the fireplace. “Hello?”

“Robert?”

“Cora?” Relief floods through me. A lifeline to reality. “Thank God.”

“Robert, are you alright? Why are you whispering?”

“Yeah, I’m... I’m okay. Where are you?”

“I’m at the airport – in Geneva.”

“What?”

“Did you get my message? I called you three times this morning.”

“No, I, eh... my phone was on vibrate – I must have missed them.”

“Listen, I got a standby flight, last minute. Where are you?”

“I... I’m just heading back to the apartment now.”

“Great, I’ll see you there.”

I hang up, and turn back to them, sitting watching me. A clash of two worlds, and I’ve no idea which one I’m in. “I need to go.”

Sattva and Casimir get to their feet. “Robert, please,” says Casimir. “You can’t go through with your plans. At least speak to your father. Find out what’s driving him, and you’ll understand.”

Sattva nods. “You know where we are.”

Chapter Thirteen

I
MAKE MY
way hastily down the stairs and weave past a group of people coming into the pub, glancing back, wondering if they’re alive or... I break out into the street, gulping in real air with the smells of the city: hops from a vent in the wall, cooking fat, fresh bread. I emerge from the alley and turn back onto the main drag, moving between the ambling consumers, all doing normal things.

When I get into my apartment, I slam the door and bolt it shut. The place is just as I left it. The wall-mounted TV, the gas fire, the perfect kitchen. I flick on the TV. Normal news, normal crap daytime TV. Normal.

The sound of the buzzer makes me jump. “Hello?”

“Robert? It’s me.”

She doesn’t get far through the door before I fling my arms around her. I bury my face in her neck, breathing in the scent of jasmine, the scent of home. I don’t want to let go.

She untangles herself from me, frowning. “Are you alright?”

“No, I’m not.” I’m past pretending.

She comes inside, and I glance up and down the corridor, not quite sure what I’m expecting to see, then close the door.

“Wow. This is some place. You must be doing something right.”

“You know what, Cora? I’ve no idea what I’m doing.”

She sits down on the edge of the couch, looking uncomfortable. “More nightmares?”

Oh, God, if it that was all it was. Where do I begin? “Something like that.” I pace over to the window and glance down at the street.

“So does this place belong to Mr Amos?”

“Yeah.”

She nods to herself as she appraises the layout. “Well, he’s certainly looking after you. Listen, I’m sorry all this happened so quickly. I didn’t give you much of a choice. It’s just the dreams have been getting bad recently. You’re the only one I can talk to about it.”

“Who’d have thought?”

“Yeah. It’s the feeling that scares me more than the dream. I can’t shake it when I wake up. Is that how you feel?”

“Yeah, but...”

“What do you think it means? Do you think she’s trying to tell us something?”

“I don’t know. Cora, I need to talk to you about something, too. Let’s go out. You must be hungry.”

T
HE LIGHT IS
beginning to fade and there’s a cool drizzle on the air. I glance behind me as we turn into a side street. There’s a small cafe on the left with a bay tree propped outside next to a couple of empty tables and chairs. It looks quiet inside. “This’ll do.”

It’s long, narrow and dim inside, with a counter on the left. Candles spill pools of yellow light onto the tables tucked against the wall beneath pictures of Geneva in the ’fifties. I choose a table near the back and make a point of sitting so that I can see through the door to the street. A tall, skinny candle drips wax onto a saucer in the middle of the table, beside the laminated menu.

“What would you like?”

Cora glances at the menu then folds it and puts it to one side. “Just a coffee. I’m not hungry.”

The waiter takes our order, smiles and leaves.

“What’s wrong, Robert? Is this about the dreams?” Cora says.

I drag my fingers back and forth across my chin and breathe a laugh. “I don’t know if I’m going mad, Cora ...”

She stares at me, waiting.

“I saw Michael Casimir today.”

“What?”

“In a bar. I had a conversation with him, and some other people who were... like him.”

“Do you mean...”

“I mean dead, Cora. I had a conversation with people who were dead. I had a beer with them, for Christ’s sake.”

A ripple of scepticism crosses her face. “You had a beer with them.”

“Look, I know this is hard to hear, even for you, but they knew things they couldn’t have known. Things no one else knows.”

“What kind of things?”

“They knew about the... job that Amos wants me to do.”

She chews on the corner of her lip for a moment, then says, “What
is
it he wants you to do, Robert?”

I take a deep breath but I can’t meet her eye as I speak. “He wants me to sabotage the CERN experiments.”

“
What?
”

I can’t look at her. The waiter arrives and places two small cups of black coffee on the table, each with a chocolate wrapped in golden foil.

“Are you crazy?” She says when he’s gone. She glances around then leans closer, whispering. “You didn’t do it, did you?”

“Not yet.”

She has a look that’s somewhere between incredulity and disgust. “You mean you’re going to?”

“Listen, I know how this sounds, but there’s evidence, strong evidence, that the experiments have a high chance of triggering a cataclysmic event. End of the world scenario. I didn’t believe it until I read the research myself. CERN knows about this – they’re burying it.”

“Have you spoken to your dad about all this?”

“He knows all about it. He was the one who alerted Amos. He’s convinced, like I was...” I break off, stifling the frustration that’s bubbling up inside me. “Dammit, I had this all worked out!”

She sits back quietly, watching me, turning the chocolate over in her fingers, then puts it in her pocket.

“So, you’re not sure?”

“I was, until Casimir and his friends showed up. Eidolon – that’s what they call themselves.”

“Eidolon? Isn’t that a Greek concept?”

“I dunno. I’d never heard of it.”

“Yeah, they believed that when you die you divide into three parts – your Psyche, or consciousness, your Thymus, or life force, and the rest of you becomes an Eidolon – a shadow.”

I don’t say anything.

“So what did they say?”

“They knew all about it. They tried to talk me out of it, said Amos isn’t who I think he is.”

“Well, who is he, then?”

“We didn’t get that far.”

“Why would he want to stop the experiments?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you believe them?”

“I don’t know what to believe any more.”

She lays a hand on mine.

“Robert, are you sure about all this? I mean, it just sounds...”

God, I really need her to believe me. If she doesn’t, no-one will. But I can see in her eyes that she’s struggling. “I saw them, Cora. It happened.”

“You mean like I saw Sarah?”

I knew it was coming. “Yeah. Like you saw Sarah. I’m sorry. I should have believed you.”

She lowers her eyes and twirls the salt pot on its base. “Did you ask them about her?”

“No... I didn’t get a chance.”

She nods at her coffee cup.

“Please, Cora, I’m not making this up.”

She leans her elbows on the table and doesn’t meet my eye. She doesn’t buy it.

There’s nothing else for it. “Alright then, I’ll show you.”

I
LEAD HER
down the cobbled alleyway into the quiet lane. It’s dusk now, and a streetlamp flickers on and off above us. La Caverne is at the end of the lane, and light from its windows spills onto the pavement. The weathervane spins on the eaves in the breeze. Chatter, laughter, music, the muffled sounds of a bar, come from inside. Thank God it’s here. Part of me was afraid it wouldn’t be. I push open the door. Most of the tables are full, and no one pays any attention when we walk in. Behind the bar is a young blonde girl with a nose-stud and a tattoo and a stocky guy in a tight T-shirt. The girl says something to me in French, then, realising I don’t understand, switches to English. “What would you like?”

“Is Rosinda here?” I ask.

“Who?”

“Never mind.”

I lead Cora to the door in the corner, but it’s locked. She stares at me expectantly.

“This was the way in...” I mumble, then go back to the bar. “Can you open the door? I need to go upstairs.”

The barmaid frowns. “There’s no seating upstairs. It’s just a store room.”

“No, there’s tables and a fireplace and...”

She’s looking at me like I’m crazy. “It’s a store room. There’s nothing up there except boxes.”

Anxiety flutters inside me. “Please, I need to see it. I was here earlier today. Just let me have a look, and if I’m wrong we’ll go. No problem.” I slide a twenty euro bill towards her.

She glances sideways at the guy in the tight T-shirt and pockets the money. Then she lifts a bunch of keys from a hook and leads us to the door. It creaks as it open and she flicks on the light switch and steps over two boxes of beer. She gestures for us to go on up. I walk up the stairs, Cora just behind me. It’s too quiet.