The Memory Painter

The housekeeper stepped out and smiled at her with surprise. “I’m so happy to see you are feeling better. Your boyfriend was very worried about you. You were so sick.”


Linz took in the woman’s hotel uniform, connecting the dots. “I’m much better, thank you. What is your name?”

“Layla. Layla Mubarak.”

Linz nodded. She opened her purse and pulled out a business card. “I have to take an unexpected trip back to Boston,” she said, offering it to Layla. “Could you please call me if there’s any kind of emergency? My … boyfriend is under a lot of stress right now. I’m worried about leaving him alone.”

Layla’s smile faded and she took the card. “Yes, of course.” She misunderstood Linz’s scrutiny and tried to reassure her. “Do not worry. I will watch over him for you.”

Linz nodded and stepped onto the elevator. She had no doubt that Layla would.

*

The afternoon light woke Bryan. He sat up with a start and then wished he hadn’t—his head was throbbing from a hangover. It took a few seconds for him to realize Linz was gone and had taken her bag.

He noticed her laptop and the cash and began to panic, thinking that she’d abandoned him. Then he saw the note on her pillow. He read it several times, trying to make of sense what it meant.

Stay in Cairo. You will find answers here. You once told me that, in the future, we would build a bridge to our past. I’ve remembered Egypt. Now I will help you as you helped me, by letting you face it alone.

I’m flying to Boston to deal with my father.

Go visit the pyramid. It has been waiting for you for a long time.

Bryan could feel the tears on his face. She had found the life he had been searching for—but she had found it without him.

He looked again at the signature and didn’t know what startled him more, the fact that the name was a man’s or that it was a name that had been passed down through legends.

She’d signed it Thoth.



FORTY-FIVE

DAY 31, CONT.

Tonight I dreamed I was a young man painting on a hotel balcony in Cairo. It took two days for the canvas to dry before I could fly home. In the dream I knew I was giving it to Diana, and that when she saw it, she’d know I had remembered.

This dream is telling me to go to Egypt.

*

Linz was surprised when the plane touched down. The past eleven hours had sped by. She had bought a journal at the airport and had spent the entire flight writing in it. Now she understood why Michael had kept so many diaries—she needed to make sense of her thoughts.

When she turned on her cell phone, she saw that Bryan had tried to call her twelve times and had left three voice mails. She ignored them and got off the plane to clear customs. They peppered her with a few questions about the reason for her quick turnaround.

“I got a call that my father is very ill.… I had to cancel a romantic getaway.”

The female customs agent studied her passport, noting how many pages had been filled. “And where’s the boyfriend?”

“He stayed. At least one of us should enjoy the vacation, right?”

The customs agent stamped the book. “Now that doesn’t sound like till-death-do-us-part behavior.”

Linz took the passport with a conspiratorial grin. “You have no idea.”

*

Linz rented a car and left the airport, already knowing her destination. It was pointless to put off the inevitable.

She got out her cell phone and made a call, feeling guilty that she hadn’t spoken with Finn since she borrowed his car. He answered on the first ring. “Finn, it’s Linz. Sorry I haven’t been in touch.”

He sounded flustered, which made her feel even worse. “Where’s Bryan? Is he with you?”

“He’s fine. I’ll explain in person. I’m on my way to see Conrad.”

Finn insisted that he wanted to be there. She was relieved to have his support and gave him directions to the house. He said he could get there in twenty minutes.

He hung up, and Linz tried to focus on the road. It was eight o’clock at night, and she was tired, jetlagged, and exhausted from the past week. When she finally pulled up into the drive, she stayed in the car and allowed herself a moment to think.

Her childhood still resided in this house, along with the man who had nurtured and loved her. The scientist who had killed his partners also lived inside it, as did the Japanese lord she had beheaded, the man who had dueled and shot her husband, and the official who had sentenced her to burn at the stake. She had read other stories in Michael’s journals—stories of lives she had fortunately not remembered. Had her father also been Tarr, the barbarian who had murdered her son and kidnapped her? And was he the same brother who had killed Hermese’s unborn child?