F Paul Wilson - Novel 05 (21 page)

 
          
Can
there be anything this compelling in the real world? you think. It's like a
drug. I can't pull away.

 
          
"That
was a pretty tense scene. Was your father always so ill-tempered?"

 
          
Instantly
you resent the implication.

 
          
"Frankly,
I don't know if that was real."

 
          
"You
were present in the memory as a child."

 
          
"But
I don't remember that scene. I don't remember my parents fighting, or my dad
having a temper like that."

 
          
"You
were awfully young. Perhaps that memory is gone."

 
          
"But
not for Sam. And she was just as young."

 
          
"Different
people retain different memories."

 
          
"But
why am I encountering
these
memories? Is it a random process? Or have
these particular memories surfaced for a reason? And if so, what's behind
them?"

 
          
"Not
what,"
Dr. Siegal says.
"Who. Who could it be but your
sister?"

 
          
You
think he might be onto something.

 
          
"Could
some residue of Sam's consciousness
—
or
maybe her subconscious
—
have forced these memories
to the surface?" The thought jolts you, excites you. "Good God-
—
is Sam trying to tell me something?"

 
          
"That
sounds a little far-fetched, Julie,"
he says, ever the conservative
theoretician. "But
it might indicate
that
there could be more
than erne level to Sam's memoryscape."

 
          
Your
excitement grows. Multiple levels to die memoryscape
—
it's not a new concept, but you've never seen evidence of
it in anyone else's 'scape. It's not impossible. These memories struggling to
stay alive could be mere tracers, telltales of die real secrets buried deeper,
perhaps levels down in this construct of Sam's mind.

 
          
Lord,
what do
those
levels look like?

 
          
"Thanks,"
you say. "I'm going to keep looking."

 
          
You
float higher, searching. The scorched bleakness of the 'scape is relieved only
by the dim glow of a half-dozen nodes.

           
"Your sister's memoryscape
appears to be collapsing. You have to find a way to get to the deeper
levels."

 
          
"Right.
But how? Dig a hole?"

 
          
"No.
Look for a portal, maybe a common nexus point for all the levels"

 
          
You
drift past the sinking Oakwood to the cliffs overlooking the sea.

 
          
A
flash of white in the water.

 
          
"Did
you see that?"

 
          
Then
another flash near the dark shore below.

 
          
Maybe
it's another piece of the message from Sam.

 
          
"I'm
going to take a look."

 
          
You
click the window shut and drop down the hundred or so feet to something that
looks like a boat floating in the dark sea. A giddy white froth of waves
churning. The rise and fall of a choppy ocean.

 
          
No,
not a boat. Now you see that it's a bed. With two people in it. Sam and Liam,
rolling on the sheets, laughing, naked.

 
          
You
turn away. You shouldn't be here. This is too much of an invasion of Sam's
privacy. And you're not alone here. Dr. Siegal is watching. And there's a
videotape running. Other people will see this.

 
          
But
that will only matter to Sam if she comes out of this. And she won't come out
of this unless ...

 
          
You
raise your hand and pull yourself closer, floating toward the bed, floating
right over it and
—

 
          
Sam
laughs, running her fingers through Liam's red hair.

 
          
"Now,
why don't you tell me who you really are."

 
          
He
laughs too, but then he looks at the ceiling.

 
          
"And
haven't 1 been telling you?" he says. "I'm here representing a
bloody Irish import-export company." He turns back to Sam, a warm,
disarming smile on his face.

 
          
But
Sam doesn't believe him. No, she believes what her flamboyant friend Edmund,
owner of the Galeries Nouveau, told her.

 
          
He's
very bad news, Samantha, though I certainly see why you like him. But I'm sure,
even after the IRA cease-fire, he's still a criminal. Don't even
think
about
playing with him.

           
But that's what makes this so
attractive. And besides, she loves his brogue.

 
          
Slowly
she lets her hand wander down Liam's chest, playing with the curly hair. Liam
is old enough to have a wife and kids somewhere. Probably does. And that
doesn't bother Sam at all.

 
          
"I
should go...." he says gently.

 
          
Sam
shakes her head. "No. I don't want you to."

 
          
Now
his hand, a big rough hand, a strong, perhaps dangerous hand, reaches out and
caresses her. It trails haphazardly over her breasts. Such big hands, playing
so gently, toying with her.

 
          
"I
have work to do in the morning," he says.

 
          
"You
have no work." She laughs. "No
real
work." And then she's
serious. "Can you pick a lock?"

 
          
His
offended look is exaggerated. "You wouldn't be calling me a thief now,
would you?"

 
          
"No.
I just want to know if you know how to pick a lock."

 
          
"And
why would you be wanting to know such a thing?"

 
          
"Maybe
I have a lock that needs picking."

 
          
He
glances around the studio. "Here?"

 
          
"No...
in
England
. In my uncle's house."

 
          
The
uncle who's always looking after you? He already gives you everything. Why
would you be wanting to steal from him?"

 
          
"My
uncle's hiding something."

 
          
Liam
looks at the ceiling again. "I'm waiting for the day I meet someone who's
not."

 
          
"He's
hiding lots of things, I think. And I know just where he's hiding them. There's
a huge locked wall cabinet in his study. If you could get it open for me
—
"

 
          
His
grin is tight. "I could get it open for sure, but not by picking."

 
          
"Super!
Next time he's away, we'll fly over and
—
"

 
          
"Oh,
no, we won't. I'll not be flying to Merry Olde anytime soon."

 
          
Samantha
rolls on top of him, drawing up her knees beside his chest. She reaches down
and grabs his wrists, playing at imprisoning him.

           
"Yes, you will. I'll make
you."

 
          
"You
think you can?"

 
          
She
bends down and kisses him hard, punishingly.

 
          
"Wait
and see," she whispers.

 
          
Then
another kiss, gentler now, trying to rekindle the fire. Feeling him grow hard,
she loses herself in those kisses, until he kisses back and she can release his
wrists.

 
          
His
arms encircle her and hold her tight. He pulls her close until her breasts
press against his chest.

 
          
And
slowly, Sam straightens out, sliding her legs beside Liam, feeling him ready.

 
          
"But
if you have something better to do ..." she says, mischievously.
"Then... go...."

 
          
Liam
answers by turning her over. In one smooth move he rolls her onto her back. Now
it is her wrists that are pinned. A fierce glow lights Liam's eyes.

 
          
Samantha
wets her lips, watching Liam lower his head, arching her back as he starts
licking her....

 
          
You
wet your own lips.

 
          
They
feel full, rubbery. As if
—

 
          
And
there's more. Christ, you feel your nipples harden
—
as if you were standing in a draft after a shower. You're
chilled, then there's a warmth.

 
          
You
take a breath. Another.

 
          
You're
responding to what's happening here.

 
          
You're
there, inside Samantha's mind, inside her body, sharing the feelings washing
over her. In other nodes you've shared her physical pain, and even her emotional
pain. But this goes further. Your body is reacting; you're having a
physiological response to what's happening in the memory.

 
          
You
should leave. Yes, you know you should leave ... but God it feels good. You
shift in your recliner, the warmth spreading. ... So good ...

 
          
Samantha
reaches down and imprisons Liam's head between her thighs, locking it in place
with her hands. "Yessss," she says. Then louder.

           
She moans. The sounds could be cries
of pain, the cries of a little girl who scraped her knee and came to Daddy for
help.

 
          
Except
this is bliss. It makes everything else go away. There is no room, no studio
filled with paintings that surround the bed. No dark canvases that won't let
Sam go.

 
          
Liam
comes up and now he's a machine as he kisses her mouth, her eyes, while he
enters her and begins a steady, forceful rock.

 
          
The
kisses continue while the dance drives everything away. It's wonderful. It's
oblivion. It's heat. The burning of the two bodies, growing sweaty, almost
desperate.

 
          
Then
there's something else in the bed.

 
          
Fire.
The bed in flames. The white sheets turn orange and rock.

 
          
Samantha's
eyes open.

 
          
She
looks up at Liam.

 
          
He
smiles cruelly as if this was a plan, to trap her body, to consume her with
heat and flames.

 
          
He
speaks, and somehow it soothes her.