The Memory Painter: A Novel (25 page)

Bryan kept his gaze on the floor and hurried through, not wanting to risk another episode like the one he had experienced at Conrad’s.

Off the gallery, two doors slid open to reveal a library. The room had leather walls and towering bookshelves filled with well-worn texts—a scholar’s room.

Finn Rigby sat in a big overstuffed chair next to an antique table lamp that cast a soft glow on the room. Bryan stared at him and recognized the Finn from his dreams—only this man was older, and the right side of his face, neck, and arm bore scars from severe burns. His hair was cut short now and it was more white than blond. But he was still Finn. Bryan noticed that he had on eyeglasses with dark-brown lenses and wondered if he still suffered from migraines.

Finn studied them with the same intensity. “Mandu,” he said.

Bryan stepped forward. “A lifetime you and Michael both remembered … two brothers from the Wardaman tribe in Australia’s Northern Territory. Neither of you knew the exact time frame, only that it happened well before the Europeans arrived in the sixteen hundreds.”

Finn seemed to have trouble forming his words. “How do you know that?”

Bryan stunned him even further by answering in Wardaman, an aboriginal dialect that was now almost extinct. “
Because you were my younger brother, Bardo. It was the first recall you ever had.
”

Bryan could sense that Linz was about to ask what language he was speaking, and he squeezed her hand in a silent signal to let him finish. “
Bardo loved to play tricks on Mandu … always taking his spear and finding ways to torture his brother. Their time together was short. You drowned when you were a boy.
”

To the Wardaman, death signals the twilight time, when the soul returns to its birthplace so it can be reborn. Remembering that life had given Bryan a deep connection to nature, to the Earth, and to the power of dreams. The Wardaman believe in a great tapestry of life and see their dreams as memories of Creation Time, when Ancestral Beings had walked the Earth. Mandu’s memories and the peace they brought Bryan had come at a time when he had needed them most. It was the reason he had finally felt able to come home to Boston and make peace with his childhood.

Finn remained perfectly still, except for two fingers that performed a staccato tap against the table.

Bryan knew this meant his old friend was deep in thought, and he switched back to English. “I remembered Mandu’s life three years ago. Overnight, I knew how to live off the land. I traveled to remote regions of the world, slept under the stars, hunted my own food, and made a fire by rubbing two sticks together—an ancient art long forgotten. It was a year before I felt the urge to see a modern city again.” He had only returned to civilization at Therese’s urging. When he had called her from some remote outpost near La Rinconada, Peru, to see how she was doing, it seemed that his art had become famous the year that he had been off the grid, and offers were coming in from gallery owners to present his work in Berlin, São Paulo, and New York in solo exhibits. He would never have been able to make that leap of faith without Mandu’s wisdom.

Bryan waited, giving Finn time to process everything.

Finn looked to Linz and then back to Bryan and whispered, “My God, it is you. Both of you. How?”

Bryan heard Linz’s breath catch at the recognition in Finn’s voice.

Finn sat forward. “I thought I’d never see you again. How long have you been remembering?” He motioned for them to sit.

Bryan led Linz to the couch. She was looking a little dazed. He answered for them. “Since we were children. She’s remembered Juliana but no one else. I can’t seem to stop mine.”

Finn absently touched the scar on his cheek. “Extraordinary. Renovo really has worked beyond our wildest dreams.”

Linz sat down. “Would someone please tell me exactly what you all did?”

Finn looked to Bryan, a bit of a challenge in his eyes. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Bryan could tell Finn still wasn’t sure if this was a hoax. He nodded in acceptance and turned to Linz. “The journey started in 1974, the first year Harvard Medical School partnered with the Medical Scientist Training Program. It was a national program for both MD and PhD students and was created to support the next generation of physician-scientists in biomedical research. We were all accepted. Diana and Finn already knew each other from when they were undergrads. The fellowship supported our individual research for six years.” Bryan addressed Finn, “Your research focused on understanding how to limit the release of glutamate, a vital chemical in the brain that, if produced in excessive amounts, kills cells.” His gaze returned to Linz. “Diana’s work concentrated on developing a way for the brain to produce more acetylcholine—”

“A chemical believed to be essential to thinking and memory formation.” Linz finished his sentence, growing impatient. “And Michael’s research?” she asked with a frown, as if trying to piece it all together.

“His dealt with brain cell regeneration, which at the time was a little-known field.”

A quiet knock on the door interrupted them. Finn’s assistant came in and placed a tray of green tea between them. Then the door whispered shut.

Finn nodded to Bryan. “Please, go on.”

“Back then, the general consensus was that the brain didn’t have the capability to generate new cells, but studies in animals had begun to show otherwise. Michael believed that if animals possessed an innate ability for neurogenesis, humans must as well. His work centered on developing compounds to trigger the growth of new neurons—later it was considered light-years ahead of its time. He wanted to keep things quiet until he was certain of what he had and only shared his results with Diana and you,” he said, gesturing to Finn.

“So he never published,” Linz said.

“No. But the compounds he created and tested in preliminary animal studies showed four times the number of proliferating neurons as the control animals. And the mice exhibited a ninety percent improvement in memory skills.”

Linz looked astonished. Her words tumbled out of her mouth with excitement. “Those findings are phenomenal. Neurodegenerative disease results in the slow death of the brain’s nerve cells. If it could be combated, it would revolutionize treatment across the board.”

Bryan saw Finn studying Linz with a curious frown, probably wondering how she knew so much. Bryan continued, “Only one other scientist at Harvard conducted research that dealt with neurogenesis.” He cleared his throat. “Conrad’s goal was to create a protein that would not only keep nerve cells in the brain from dying but also increase their ability to function. In a move that was even more unorthodox, he introduced the protein as a virus.”

Linz remained silent at the mention of her father. Finn still had no idea who she was.

“Conrad’s approach intrigued Michael,” Bryan said. “He reached out in the hope that they could become colleagues.”

For the first time Finn interrupted Bryan; he sounded bitter. “Conrad was an arrogant loner who thought he was God’s gift to science. I accepted the new addition to the group with less pleasure than Michael, even though I recognized his genius. No one could afford to be an isolationist. When our program at Harvard came to an end, the big question loomed—what to do next. Michael had the idea. Instead of pursuing the usual avenues—moving to a research institute, pharmaceutical company, or a hospital—he proposed that we combine our research and apply for a joint grant.”

Bryan remembered the night Michael had pitched the idea over beers at Doc’s. He explained, “Michael’s protein had proven to be incredibly effective and would be the cornerstone for the whole study. His proposal was to use Conrad’s delivery system with his protein to create a virus and couple it with the compounds developed by Diana and Finn.”

“Forcing the body’s immune system to respond by creating new neurons,” Linz summarized. “Basically, you attempted to create a super virus to combat all neurodegenerative diseases.” She shook her head in wonder.

Finn smiled. “The proposal Michael drafted was too tantalizing for the National Institute of Aging to resist, and we received a sizable grant. After development, we entered a phase-one clinical trial, targeting severe Alzheimer’s patients in a double-blind, randomized control study. Within weeks, it became apparent which subjects took the placebo. The effects of the drug were that dramatic. And once we were well into the trial, we started preparing to present the first-round findings to the NIA review board to determine if we could broaden it. There were twelve test subjects taking the drug. By the final test stages, their symptoms had virtually disappeared.”

“They all had Alzheimer’s? And it just went away?” Linz’s voice rose. “This never went public? Why?”

“Because of what happened after Michael took the drug. By the end, we all had taken it.” Finn got up to pour them tea. As he held the teapot, the tremor in his hand was detectable. He set it back down. “When it became apparent Renovo had the ability to repair damaged minds, Michael began to ask what it would do to a healthy mind.”

Linz leaned forward and burst out, “That’s insane.”

Finn gave a grim smile of agreement. “But you can’t condemn our curiosity. We had yet to see a side effect on an animal or human. The risk seemed minimal. Within days, we began accessing remote memories of other lifetimes as real as our own, from people who lived hundreds, even thousands of years ago.” He stared hard at Linz. “You know your mother as your mother. But what if you suddenly remembered her as your wife? Your sister? Your husband? Your killer? Lifetimes became crossed. The human psyche, the ego, is not equipped to process such information.”

Bryan challenged, “And yet
we
are processing it. Look at us now.”

Finn nodded, conceding Bryan’s point. “Your ability to remember is beyond what we thought possible. Michael died under the drug. His mind must have remained opened and all those memories, that ability his higher mind was perfecting, must have carried over into this life. In essence, you inherited this capability from your previous self. You share the same higher mind. I have no other theory to offer.”

“What about Diana?” Linz asked. “Did she die under the drug?”

Finn shook his head no, as if the question were too painful to answer.

“I don’t remember things, like him,” Linz clarified. “It’s just a recurring dream of one life.”

“And you can speak Greek,” Bryan reminded her, shaking his head. He couldn’t believe she was still holding out.

“You have fluency as well?” Finn asked Linz, looking surprised.

“I think she has the ability to remember more, but her mind is holding back,” Bryan answered. Linz frowned at that.

“Out of all of us, Diana took the least amount of Renovo, so perhaps her ability in this life is limited. After remembering ancient Rome, Diana was too terrified to move forward.” Finn stared at Linz like an exotic insect under a magnifying glass. “You’ve had that same dream your whole life? Fascinating.”

Linz shifted in her chair, uncomfortable with Finn’s scrutiny. She changed the subject. “After Michael and Diana died, what happened to the test subjects?” she asked. “In the project file it says they were all from Forest Green Psychiatric Center.”

Finn started in surprise. “How did you gain access to the file?”

“My father…” she admitted, “is Conrad Jacobs.”

Bryan held his breath, unsure of how this little bombshell would impact Finn.

Finn swallowed several times before he said, “Your father is Conrad? You’re…”

“Linz Jacobs.” She nodded, her eyes growing intent. “Did he take the drug too? As much as Michael?”

Finn didn’t answer. Bryan explained, trying to fill the deafening silence and keep the conversation going, “Michael took Renovo over the longest period of time, but, yes, Conrad increased his own doses.”

“Why has all of this been kept secret?” she demanded. “My father will barely admit he even knew you.” The questions tumbled out of her. “What happened the day they died?” Her eyes zeroed in on Finn. “I find it hard to believe you and my father are no longer speaking. You’re both happy to leave Renovo buried in Medicor’s archives?”

Finn looked like he was at a loss for words. He stammered, “Your father and I lost touch over the years. I’m sorry for subjecting you to the ramblings of a crazy old Buddhist. Now, I’m very tired.” He looked agitated and ready for them to leave.

Bryan leaned forward and spoke in Wardaman. “
I know you’re afraid. Help me.
”

Finn replied in the same tongue. “
He’s a very powerful man now. I didn’t realize … you need to leave Boston. Right away.
”

Bryan chose to continue avoiding English. “
I can’t leave her
.”

“
She’s his daughter. You’re the one in the greatest danger. He wanted us all dead, but you the most
.”

Bryan frowned in bewilderment. “
Why? Why me?
”

“
Come back tomorrow, alone. We’ll talk then.
” Finn stood up and rifled through a book cabinet, looking for something.

Linz sat fascinated and bemused as they carried on in Wardaman.

“
These will confirm everything you remember about Michael’s life
.” Finn handed Bryan five leather-bound journals. “
Come again tomorrow. We have much to discuss.
”

Bryan stood to leave. They could talk at length when he returned. He signaled Linz that it was time to go.

Linz held back. She wasn’t ready to go yet. “Dr. Rigby, I’m sorry if we’ve brought back pain from the past, but we really need answers.”

“I’ve already said too much.” Finn declined to shake her hand as she held it out to him. “Don’t tell your father you came to see me. Please.” He left the room by a different door, leaving Bryan and Linz to find their way out.

*   *   *

Linz and Bryan were headed back toward his car when her frustration finally got the best of her. “Can I get a translation please? How many languages do you speak?”

Bryan thought seriously about it before giving up. “I don’t know.”