The Memory Painter

Septimus was the government official in charge of the executions, and a soulless man who had allowed the world’s barbarity to eat away at his heart. Juliana couldn’t understand what she had done to earn his hatred. She closed her eyes, and her thumb traced a circle around her index finger. It was something she often did to quiet her mind. She tried to envision where she would go when she left her body … if God would take her and show her heaven, and if she would be born again, as Origenes believed.

She had once asked him why he thought the soul returned to earth, and he answered that God gives us too much to learn in one life. But then Origenes saw the world on a grander scale than most. Juliana believed it was because his mind soared closer to heaven. It was tragic that men like Septimus cared nothing for his knowledge.

She did not know where the guards had taken him, and a shiver coursed through her body. Knowing that he would soon die for his beliefs gave her the strength to cling to her own.

*

After Linz had returned from the cemetery she had taken another dose of Renovo. Juliana’s memories had come minutes later. Bryan’s painting was still hanging on the wall across from her bed, and it became her lifeline as she fought to return to the present.

Her hands were shaking as she tried to call him, but he didn’t pick up. Her voice sounded foreign to her as she left a message. “Bryan? I’m coming over. Please be there.”

She gathered her purse and keys and opened the front door at the same time as her neighbors. The young couple gasped when they saw her.

The man took a step toward her out of concern. “Are you okay?”

Linz jumped back. “Fine. I’m recovering from…” Being burned at the stake? Destroying my apartment? “A car accident.” She closed the door on them before they could say anything else.

“Jesus.” What horrid timing. She must look certifiable. Her mind was out of control, spinning with multiple realities. Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside her. She was beginning to get an inkling of how Bryan had felt all his life.

She heard someone else in the hall and decided she’d better make an attempt to clean herself up. But when she opened the door to her bathroom, she walked right into Diana’s office—the same night she had died.

MARCH 9, 1982

Diana put the puzzles she had collected over the years in the pile of things that would be left behind, reminding herself she could only take absolute necessities. They had just a few more hours before people would start to show up for work—hardly enough time to pack up years of research. Her office looked like it had been demolished. A mountain of boxes sat stacked near the door.

She could hear Finn and Michael in the lab disassembling equipment. They would put everything in Finn’s van and drive it out of the city before dawn. Michael and Diana would follow in their car. All loose ends could be handled by phone or mail. The most essential thing was for them to disappear.

Diana joined the men. “Okay, I think that’s everything.”

The lab door closed behind her with a bang, startling them. The new deadbolt that Michael had just installed the previous morning clicked decisively. Someone had locked them in.

“What the hell?” Diana ran to the door. Michael and Finn were right behind her. Their keys were in the control room.

Conrad’s voice came in over the mic. “You seriously didn’t think adding a lock would keep me away, did you?”

They turned toward the glass window to the control room, where Conrad stood in the dark. “This was going to be our great experiment. And now you decide to scrap it all and run away.”