“That’s impossible,” Marsh said. “They can’t do that—”
“They … they said they can, Marsh,” Barbara replied, her voice so low the two men had to strain to hear her. “They said the instructions and authorizations are very clear in the release you signed before the operation.”
“I don’t believe it,” Marsh declared. “Let’s take a look at that release.”
Silently Barbara handed him the folder. “I thought you’d want to see it,” she said. “I … well, I already read it.”
Marsh scanned the document, then went back and reread the whole thing very carefully. When he was done, he handed it to Frank Mallory.
“It won’t hold up,” Mallory said when he, too, had read every word of the agreement Marsh and Ellen had made with the Institute for the Human Brain. “There isn’t a court in the country that would uphold all this. My God, according to this, the man isn’t accountable to anybody. He doesn’t have to release any records, describe any procedures — nothing. And he can do anything he wants with Alex for as long as he wants. According to this, you’ve even given him custody of Alex. Why the hell did you sign it in the first place?” At the look on Marsh’s face, he immediately regretted his words. “Sorry, Marsh,” he mumbled, “that was out of line.”
“Was it?” Marsh asked, his voice hollow. “I wonder. I should have read it — Lord knows Torres told me to enough times. But I guess I thought it was a standard release.”
“It’s about as far from standard as anything I’ve ever seen,” Mallory said. “I think we’d better get a lawyer on this right away.”
Marsh nodded. “But I’m not sure what good it’ll do. Even if a lawyer can get it broken, it’ll take months, if not years. Besides,” he added, “even if I’d read it thoroughly, I would have signed it.”
“But it seems to me the circumstances constitute duress of the worst kind,” Mallory said. “It was either sign or let Alex die, for God’s sake! What else could you do?”
“More to the point, what do I do now?” Marsh asked.
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room, as all three of its occupants realized the position Marsh was in. Without the records, they had no idea of what had been done to Alex, but that was the least of it.
The first thought that had flashed through all their minds was simply to remove Alex from the area. But that, of course, was impossible now.
Besides not knowing what procedures had been used to save Alex’s life, they also had no idea of what treatment might still be in progress, and what the ramifications of ending that treatment might be.
It was a trap, and there seemed to be no way out.
Alex sat on the hillside, the afternoon sun warming his back even though the offshore breeze was already starting to bring the cool sea air inland. He was staring down at the hacienda, and in his memory, images were once again beginning to flash.
He seemed to remember horses filling the courtyard, then riding away toward the village.
He remembered people — his people — walking slowly away from the hacienda, carrying small bundles.
And he remembered three people who remained in the courtyard long after all the others were gone. In his memory, he couldn’t see their faces clearly, but he knew who they were.
They were his family.
Then the faintly remembered voices began in his head, one voice standing out from all the others.
“We are not afraid to die … we will not leave our land …”
But they had left. The book had said they fled to Mexico.
“It will do you no good to kill us … my son will find you, and he will kill you …”
The words echoed in Alex’s head. He stood up and began walking up the hillside, and then, when he was near the top, he plunged into a tangle of scrub oak, and a moment later began digging. The earth, packed hard after nearly a century and a half, resisted, but in the end gave way.
Two feet below the surface, Alex found the ancient skeletons. He hunched low to the ground, staring at the three skulls, their hollow eye sockets seeming to plead with him; then he slowly reburied them. When the job was finished, he began walking once again, staying high on the hillside, but always keeping the hacienda in his view. The memories were coming clearer now, and images of what had happened there flashed brightly in his mind.
The walls — the whitewashed walls — were stained with crimson, and the bodies, crumpled and torn, lay still in the dust.
And then, as he moved around to the east, the images began to fade, and soon were gone altogether.
The images were gone, but the memories remained.
Finally he came back down into the village.
Lisa Cochran looked up when the bell on Jake’s door clattered noisily, and waved to Alex as he walked into the pizza parlor. He hesitated, then joined Lisa and Bob Carey at the table they were sharing.
“How come you weren’t in school this afternoon?”
“I went to the library,” Alex replied. “There was some stuff I wanted to look up.”
“So you just went?” Bob asked. “Jeez, Alex, didn’t you even ask anyone if it was all right? They’ll mark you down for a cut.”
Alex shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
Lisa looked at Alex sharply. “Alex, is something wrong?”
Again Alex shrugged, then glanced from Lisa to Bob. “Can I … well, can I ask you guys a question without you thinking I’m nuts?”
Bob Carey rolled his eyes and stood up. “Ask Lisa,” he said. “I gotta get out of here — I promised Kate I’d come by on my way home and give her the homework assignments.”
“When’s she coming back to school?” Lisa asked.
“Search me,” Bob replied. Then he lowered his voice. “Did you hear anything about her not coming back at all?”
Lisa shook her head. “Who’d you hear that from?”
“Carolyn Evans. She said she didn’t think Kate would come back to school until after they try her dad, and if he gets convicted, she doesn’t think Kate will come back at all.”
Lisa groaned. “And you believed her? Carolyn Evans? Oh, come on, Bob. Even if Mr. Lewis did do it, nobody’s going to hold it against Kate!”
“I don’t know,” Bob replied. “Sometimes people can get really weird.” Then, after shooting a meaningful look toward Alex, he left.
“I don’t believe it!” Lisa cried when he was gone. “I swear to God, Alex, sometimes people make me so mad. Carolyn Evans spreading gossip like that, and Bob looking at you like you’re some kind of nut—”
“Maybe I am,” Alex said, and Lisa, her mouth still open, stared at him for a moment.
“What?”
“I said, maybe I am a nut.”
“Oh, come on, Alex. You’re not crazy — you just don’t remember a lot of things.”
“I know,” Alex replied. “But I’m starting to remember some things, and they’re really strange. I mean, they’re things I couldn’t possibly remember, because they happened before I was even born.”
“Like what?” Lisa asked. She started to fidget with a straw that lay dripping Coke on the Formica tabletop. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted to know.
“I’m not sure,” Alex said. “It’s just images, and words, and things that don’t look quite right. But I don’t know what it all means.”
“Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. Maybe it’s just all in your brain. You know, from the accident?”
Alex hesitated, then nodded. “Maybe you’re right.” But in his own mind, he wasn’t so sure. The memories had seemed too real to be figments of his imagination.
Suddenly Lisa looked up at him. “Alex, do you think Mr. Lewis killed Mrs. Lewis?”