“I’ve got no comment,” Eric said. He cupped Jan’s elbow and propelled her toward the doorway.
“What was it like performing surgery on the president?” called the same reporter, and, “Any update on Jerrison’s condition?” shouted another.
Eric and Jan kept walking, but then another reporter called out, “Dr. Redekop, what about these memory linkages? They say you were affected.”
“And that woman!” called another reporter, pointing now at Jan. “Is that who you’re linked to? What’s it like?”
Eric pushed the door open, and they entered the building.
“Jesus,” said Jan.
“It’ll be okay,” Eric said. He led them to the elevator, and they headed up to Singh’s lab on three. When they got there, they found Singh in his room, working at his computer. Susan Dawson was also there, sitting with her face in her hands.
“Dr. Redekop,” Singh said. “And Nurse Falconi. I thought you both had today off.”
Eric saw Susan look up. She appeared devastated over something. Jan took a step backward and her eyes went wide. “Oh my God,” Jan said softly.
“What?” said Eric and Singh simultaneously.
“It’s you,” Jan said, looking at Susan.
Eric knew that Jan had been interviewed by Professor Singh, not Agent Dawson; there was no particular reason she should recognize Susan.
“Yes?” Susan said.
“You’re the one who killed me.”
“Pardon?” said Singh.
“I mean, who killed Josh.”
Susan put her head back in her hands.
“Jan collapsed,” Eric said. “She was having some sort of horrible memory.”
“You were reading Josh Latimer,” Singh said to Jan, “and, yes, you’re right, Mr. Latimer is no longer with us.”
“Because she blew him away,” Jan said softly, looking at Susan. “But it felt like I was the one dying.”
“Can you recall Mr. Latimer’s memories now?” asked Singh.
Jan nodded meekly.
“Are you sure? Umm, did he have any pets as a child?”
“Benny,” she said at once. “An iguana.”
“And the name of the street he lived on when he was ten?”
“Fenwick Avenue.”
“Fascinating,” said Singh. “He’s dead, but you can still access his memories.”
“I guess,” said Jan.
Singh frowned again. “Then I wonder…”
“Yes?”
“Does he have any new memories?”
Eric crossed his arms in front of his chest. “He’s dead, Mr. Singh.”
“Yes, I know, but, well, if she can still access his memories from before, they must be somewhere, no? And so it’s worth asking—”
“Asking what?” said Eric. “Whether she can recall angels?”
“It’s worth a try,” said Singh. “Or if not angels, maybe…well, I don’t know what.”
Janis made a long-faced frown, as though this was the most bizarre idea she’d ever heard. But she closed her eyes—indeed, scrunched them tightly shut in concentration. “Okay,” she said after a moment, “I’m thinking about angels. Nothing. Heaven, clouds. Nothing. And—um, my God, Josh tried to kill somebody, didn’t he?”
Ranjip nodded.
“All right, then,” said Janis. “Given that, I’m thinking of fire and brimstone. Well, not brimstone; I don’t know what that is.”
“Sulfur,” said Ranjip.
“Okay,” said Janis. “But it’s not bringing anything to mind.”
“This is bullshit,” said Eric.
“Perhaps,” said Singh. “But—”
“He’s dead,” said Eric. “He’s gone. And Jan felt him die. We should be worried about her, not him.”
“I understand that,” said Singh. “And, if there is an afterlife, I doubt that any of the symbolism from Christianity—or from Sikhism, for that matter—appropriately captures it. It may just be that the right trigger hasn’t come along to let Mrs. Falconi access Mr. Latimer’s new memories.”
“I don’t care about Latimer,” said Eric, firmly. “What caused Jan to feel this?”
“That’s a very good question,” said Singh, looking at her. “Something must have triggered you to recall Mr. Latimer’s death shortly after it happened, Mrs. Falconi. What were you doing when you had the flashback?”
“Eric was showing me around his condo. It’s just a few blocks from here.”
Singh frowned. “There was no—I don’t know—hunting rifle on the wall, or bloody roast defrosting in the sink?”
“No,” said Jan. “I was just admiring Eric’s furniture.”
“That seems unlikely as a trigger for this,” Singh said. “I wonder how long after Latimer died that the memory of it came to you.”
“Jan collapsed at 12:17 P.M.,” said Eric. Singh looked at him. “I’m a doctor,” Eric added. “You always note when a seizure or anything similar starts and how long it lasts.”
“Agent Dawson,” Singh said, “when did you, ah, um—when did you shoot Mr. Latimer?”
Susan looked up again. Her voice was small. “I don’t know. Sometime shortly after noon, but…”
“Hospital security will know,” Singh said. “They must have recorded the sound of the gunshot; I heard it even down here.” He picked up the phone on his desk and pounded out four digits. “It’s Ranjip Singh. I need to know the time the gun was discharged this past hour. Yes. No. Really? Are you sure? Are you positive? Thank you. Good-bye.” He put down the phone. “The gunshot was recorded at 12:17 P.M.”
“But memories are recalled after the fact,” Eric said. “That’s what recall means.”
“This wasn’t like the other memories of Josh’s I’d recalled,” Jan said. “It felt more real, more…”
“Immediate?” offered Singh.
Jan nodded.
“So you accessed Mr. Latimer’s memories not after they’d been laid down,” Singh said, “but in real time, as he was experiencing the event?” He looked at Susan and lowered his voice a bit. “Did your seizure, as Dr. Redekop called it, start with the gunshot?”
“Yes,” said Jan, “although I didn’t know what it was at the time. There was a flash of light and unbelievable pain, and then I saw her”—she pointed at Susan—“and then I was fading away bit by bit.”
“Amazing,” said Singh. His eyes were wide with excitement. “Amazing.”
“How so?” asked Jan.
“Until this point, people in our linked circle had been accessing memories randomly, and not in synchrony. What I was thinking about or doing had nothing to do with what Agent Dawson was recalling from my memories. But what happened to you was different. At the moment Mr. Latimer was being shot, you experienced what he was feeling, exactly when he felt it.” Singh shook his head slowly, and his voice was filled with wonder. “You weren’t just reading his memory, Mrs. Falconi. You were reading his thoughts.”
Chapter 36
Susan Dawson continued to sit in Singh’s lab with her head in her hands. That she’d done everything properly didn’t matter; she’d never get this image—her own memory—out of her mind: the bullet hitting Josh Latimer’s head, his blood geysering out, and him crumpling to the floor.
She’d studied the Zapruder film during training, of course—including the frames not usually shown that depicted JFK’s head blowing open. She remembered her instructor at Rowley saying that it was actually Kennedy’s bad back that had killed him. Oswald’s first, nonfatal shot should have caused the president to pitch forward, out of Oswald’s line of fire from the School Book Depository, but the back brace he wore had kept Kennedy upright, letting Oswald get the subsequent killing shot in.