The Memory Painter: A Novel (11 page)

Linz.
He needed to help her remember. Juliana or Diana—at this point it didn’t matter. She just needed to start remembering something. His thoughts landed on the painting. Before he went to clean out the storage shed, he had to get it.

FOURTEEN

Linz rode the elevator down to the tenth floor. It was one of five housing genetic research. Her lab was at the end of the hall, and she couldn’t have designed a better workspace. Everything was state of the art—no expense had been spared. Boston was the epicenter of Medicor and it showed.

Even though the biomedical industry was witnessing a decline in research and development, the pharmaceutical market projected it would grow at a rate of over eight percent a year due to an aging global population. Linz believed that her father’s vision and tenacity had kept Medicor on top, boasting the largest development portfolio in a shrinking pond. Not only were they responsible for a huge percentage of the country’s pharmaceutical research, but they also invested in other labs across the globe, helping to keep them afloat.

Growing up, she had played on the floor of her father’s office with her toy microscope and sat beside him on planes as they flew off to conferences around the world. Her unusual childhood had helped to shape who she was, giving her a love for science and the ambition to become a pioneer in her own right.

In college, she had reached a crossroads where she had to decide what path in science she would take. The human brain had always fascinated her the most because she had often wondered if her own mind was abnormal. The recurring nightmare of the woman in ancient Rome had always felt more like a memory to her and this conviction had galvanized her to try to understand where it had come from. Specializing in neuropathology and genetics had seemed only natural. In many ways the tangible findings and detective work were a comfort, and she believed that it would be possible for her to fully understand how the brain created memories within her lifetime. It was a belief that gave her extraordinary drive.

These last several months had been encouraging, especially now that the lab was up and running. When Linz had come aboard, she had absorbed a small staff from a project that had been terminated after the lead scientist had retired. Steve, Maggie, and Neil were all hungry, just out of grad school and ready to make their mark. At first they had been intimidated by the idea of working for her—the CEO’s daughter—but Linz quickly won them over and the initial awkwardness hadn’t lasted long.

Linz ducked into the employee kitchen and found Steve making coffee. He was the youngest in the group and had a crush on her as obvious as a neon sign. She tried hard not to notice. “Hey, where is everybody?” she asked him.

Steve started and turned around, eyes wide behind his John Lennon glasses. “Doughnut bonanza down in Patents.”

Linz thought he could use a few doughnuts. The poor guy gave skinny jeans a whole new meaning. She wished he would stop staring at her.

“I put your mail on your desk and I got your favorite coffee, Kona.” He showed her the bag of beans as proof. “I just made some now.”

Linz poured herself a cup. “Thanks. Can you do me a favor?”

“Anything.” He held out a sugar pack and stir stick.

“Research phonetic studies documenting unexplained cognizance of a foreign language.”

“Unexplained cognizance? Can that happen?”

“I think so.” She was about to leave, when she turned around with an afterthought. “This is a little off the wall, but do you believe in reincarnation?”

“Well…” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “I think, um,” he gulped again. “You know … that you meet certain people you feel this, um, intense connection to … and maybe it means something?”

“Er … right.”
That was not helpful.
Linz saluted him with her mug. “Thanks for the coffee.” As she turned away, she caught Steve putting his finger to his head and pulling an imaginary trigger. She smiled and closed the door.

She walked along the long glass hallway and peered into the various labs as she made her way to her own lab, slowing to admire Cyclops, the heart and soul of the Genome Project. Its long robotic arms took slide samples from endless rows of drawers against the wall with surgical precision. It was an omnipotent octopus of technology that generated matches to potential gene fragments with lightning speed, providing answers in seconds.

Dr. Parker saw Linz pass and smiled, waving as if they were old friends. Linz was surprised by the warmth of his greeting—she had only met him this morning at the board meeting. She gave a quick wave back and continued down the hall, entering her lab at the same time as Maggie and Neil.

Maggie had magenta hair, two nose rings, and could make a lab coat look cool. She was also brilliant and worked with Linz on genetic screening and sequencing. Neil managed all the programming and was a serious computer jock who could barely squeeze his large gut into his chair. Linz didn’t know how she had ever lived without him. In the space of three months, he had written new software to track all the data results they had generated. He was so ingenious that she suspected he just might be a computer hacker on the side—when he wasn’t attending gaming conventions.

“Neil, the scavenger program you wrote is kicking serious ass.”

“All my programs kick serious ass. Why do you think I always wear this?” He pointed to the faded Bruce Lee T-shirt under his lab coat.

Maggie snorted. “Because you don’t do laundry.”

Linz chuckled and headed to her desk, trying to ignore the Greek books piled next to her computer. She had brought several in to work, thinking she would read them at lunch. Now she was beginning to question her sanity. They were nothing but a screaming distraction. She checked her cell phone again, hoping Bryan had tried to get in touch.

Maggie followed her over. “Your father called to remind you about the company party on Sunday. You going?”

“Yep, planning on it.”

Maggie perched on the edge of her desk. “Bringing anyone?”

Linz considered the idea. In an ideal world she would have invited Bryan, if they could just have one normal meeting together. Instead, their encounters had been surreal, and the last one had been flat-out unbelievable. He had left her sprawled in the sand garden and then he hadn’t even called her later to apologize. The more she thought about it, the more she began to seethe. If he did call, she would let it go to voice mail. She didn’t want to talk to him.

Maggie was waiting for an answer and growing more excited by the second. “Oh my God, you met someone.”

Linz sighed. What could she say? Technically, yes. But she and Bryan defied normal.

Maggie gushed, “You totally met someone. Say no more.” Turning to leave, she noticed all the books. “Wow, you know Greek?”

Linz nodded, glowering at the incriminating evidence. “A little,” she admitted and shoved the books into her bottom desk drawer. She forced Bryan from her thoughts and got back to work.

*   *   *

When Linz arrived home ten hours later, all thought of work fled her mind. A wrapped canvas was propped against the door with a little card taped to the top:
A gift to a fellow dreamer. Call me.

Linz unwrapped the painting in disbelief and brought her hands to her face with a gasp. It was too much. Reaching out to touch the canvas, not caring that she was still in the hall, she sank to the floor and began to cry.

It was the painting of Origenes and Juliana. Bryan had given it to her.

*   *   *

The last box was marked “wedding,” and a photo album rested on top. Underneath were stacks of Super 8 film and an old projector. Without hesitation, Bryan sat on the storage room floor and took the photo album out.

The first picture reached out and stole his heart. Michael was holding Diana in his arms as her wedding dress trailed to the ground, forming a pond of frilly lace. Bryan smiled, remembering how she had worn her mother’s gown because they couldn’t afford a new one. It was originally three sizes too big, and the seamstress who had altered it had messed up twice before producing something wearable. Next to the beaming couple, Doc, Conrad, and Finn stood in seventies tuxedos alongside Diana’s bridesmaids. Everyone made funny faces at the camera.

Bryan stared at the portrait, captivated by the joy it contained, and the question played in his mind like a broken record.

What went wrong?

FIFTEEN

EDO, JAPAN

APRIL 21, 1701

Lord Asano, Daimyo of the Province of Ako, woke with a start, knowing he must have been dreaming. He had been standing on top of a mountain, with clouds swirling around his feet. In the mist a woman was seated on top of a boulder, still as stone.

At first Asano had thought the woman was a statue of a strange goddess, but when he moved closer, he saw her breathing. She was the most exotic creature he had ever seen, and she reminded him of a portrait that a Dutch trader had once shown him from his travels to a place called Egypt. Her long black hair had been plated into braids that cascaded over her shoulders, and her eyes were decoratively lined in black kohl and emerald powder. Gold and precious jewels adorned her body, holding an intricately knotted robe in place that shimmered like a blue Akoya pearl.

Asano had hesitated to speak. The luminous stranger appeared to be in deep meditation, but then she had opened her eyes and said, “Yes, I see you too.”

Then Asano had awoken.

This was not the first night during Lord Asano’s stay in Edo that had brought poor sleep and strange dreams. He hated the city and his obligation to attend the Shogun’s court. Today would be his last for the year, and then he and his wife could return home to their castle at Ako. He just needed to make it through the ceremony.

The thought brought on a surge of anxiety. Under normal circumstances, Asano would only observe the pomp at court, but his name had been drawn to be the Shogun’s official representative at the reception for the Emperors’ envoys. The Emperor’s ministers rarely visited, so it was crucial that everything be perfect.

Asano had tried to excuse himself from the assigned duty, implying that he was a simple country lord who knew nothing of the ways of court. The truth was that he was a private man who could not shoulder the mental burden of having to perform duties in such a severely formal ceremony. He was also currently unwell and suffering from a cold, his third in as many months. But the court had denied his request and placed him under the tutelage of Lord Kira, the Shogun’s Master of Ceremonies—and a man Asano despised. To Asano, the bribe-taking bureaucrat embodied everything wrong with the decadence that was drowning Edo.

Lord Kira expected Asano to pay him for his guidance, which Asano had no intention of doing. Even though Asano was only a young lord of thirty-five, he still adhered to the old ways and lived by a samurai’s code of honor. He knew Kira was already well paid by the court, and he would not give in. The animosity between the two men had reached a boiling point, and as the hour of the reception drew near, Asano grew more nervous about his decision. Kira had the power to make him look like a fool.

The morning light crept into the room, scattering Asano’s thoughts. He might as well get up and begin the painstaking process of putting on his ceremonial robes. It would make the day’s end seem closer.

Once dressed, he took his palanquin to the castle. He sat enclosed within the ornate litter’s small box, which was hanging from a long pole that was carried by four men—two in the front and two in the back. A man walked in front of them, proudly holding a banner with the clan’s
kamon
. The crest on the flag was the only way anyone could discern which lord was inside.

Asano could barely tolerate the suffocating space with all the jostling. His head was throbbing and his stomach felt hollow. Maneuvering through the market was always an annoyance—to both the lord and the people of Edo. Whenever a lord’s entourage went past, everyone on the street—merchants, farmers, and beggars alike—had to stop, drop to their knees, and bow. They were not even allowed to lift their eyes to watch the procession.

Even with his passage cleared, it still took all morning to reach the Shogun’s castle. When he arrived at the inner sanctuary, Asano exited the palanquin with relief and made his way to the Hall of the Thousand Mats. He greeted the other lords who had arrived early. They were all forced participants. Everyone but Asano had paid Kira to enlist his help in getting through today’s spectacle, and they all gave him calculated looks, wondering how the young, handsome lord would fare.

Lord Kira entered in all his glory, adorned in ceremonial robes that outshined them all. He smiled at the lords, showing blackened teeth.

Ohaguro
, staining one’s teeth, was a fashion originally reserved for married women with children, or geisha, but had become quite popular with some noblemen and those in upper society. The effect was obtained by melting metal in a vinegar base and then adding Chinese sumac powder. The tannins in the powder would turn the foul-smelling brown liquid into a black viscous lacquer. One had to paint the teeth every few days to maintain the effect, and Asano found it repulsive—another symbol of the vanity and corruption eating away at the court. He stared at Kira and thought it made the old man look like a lizard with a diseased mouth. He made no effort to hide his disgust and turned away, making sure Kira noted the snub.

Asano went to stand by the door, where a servant entered and approached him. “Forgive me, Lord, but my master asked me to inquire about the starting time of the ceremony?”

Before Asano could answer, Kira interjected in a voice loud enough for the entire room to hear. “Don’t ask that one, his ignorance is even greater than yours.”

A hush fell over the hall. Asano could not believe his ears. To add further insult, Kira moved toward him and whispered. “You see, young lord, I can make your life quite miserable. But I am still willing to help an Ako-inbred country monkey like yourself.”