The Memory Painter

“He said to be careful and gave me Michael’s journals.”


“I know he said more than that. He had a coronary when he found out who I was. Why is he so afraid of my father?”

Instead of answering, Bryan handed her the journals. “These were Michael’s diaries. I already know everything in them. They’re for you.”



THIRTY-TWO

DAY 31—MARCH 8, 1982

Tonight Conrad finally admitted to recalling lifetimes. More than any of us, he has lost his way in the mire of memories. His attack on me was shocking and terrifyingly real. Who had he remembered, another one of the monsters who destroyed my life?

I now believe a soul can hate another soul, wrap itself around the other and suffocate its light, releasing tragedy and pain as its venom.

I can no longer reconcile the lives I’m remembering with my own. I fear I am losing my identity altogether, and I am not sure how much longer I can stay sane.

Last night, when I dreamed of the Egyptian queen, I thought about my death again. I have begun to think it will happen soon. I’m not ready to die, but if I do, then at least this whole experience will be mercifully forgotten.

Diana and I are meeting Finn at the lab tonight to pack our equipment and leave Boston. Simply changing the locks won’t do. We need to disappear in order to survive. Conrad is dangerous to us all.

*

“He wrote this entry the night he died?” Linz put down Michael’s journal and thought for the hundredth time, This can’t be true. Each word had shattered her heart.

Bryan sat next to her on her sofa, remaining quiet. He gave the slightest nod.

Her fingers fidgeted with the journal cover. Something inside of her snapped—she had reached her threshold. She stood up and threw it on the table. “Now I’m not only supposed to believe I’m this Diana woman, but that my father may have killed me?” She knew she was screaming but couldn’t stop herself. “Do you realize how insane this is? I can’t believe it! I can’t!”

“Calm down.” Bryan reached out to her. “I know—”