The Memory Painter

The scientist within him could not accept those findings. He wasn’t sure how to even begin to form a hypothesis, let alone how to analyze the data.

He found himself kneeling and closed his eyes. The Act of Love prayer came to his lips of its own accord. “Domine Deus, amo te super omni et proximum meum propter te, quia tu es summum, infinitum et perfectissimum bonum, omni dilectione dignum. In hac caritate vivere et mori statuo. Amen.”

As he spoke, he listened to the Latin, simultaneously translating the words in his mind: O Lord God, I love you above all things and I love my neighbor for your sake because you are the highest, infinite, and perfect good, worthy of all my love. In this love I intend to live and die. Amen.

The prayer sounded alien to him, and he wondered how he, a declared atheist, could have internalized these beliefs. But his spirit embraced the words and the emotions they inspired, making him forget the question. He felt tears well in his eyes, and despite himself, he cried without shame.

Soon the sounds of parishioners intruded on his thoughts as they began to file in for mass. The curtain at the altar parted and an elderly priest came out from behind, busy preparing the table. He gave Michael an inquisitive look. It was obvious he had been listening.

Michael hurried to the exit, wanting nothing more than to avoid people. Outside, he got back in his car and stared at the church. What in the hell was that about?

Without warning, he felt an urgent need to sleep. The library would have to wait.

He locked his doors, leaned back in his seat, and within moments sank into blissful oblivion.



TEN

Bryan opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his car, still feeling himself fall asleep as Michael Backer. His visions had never brought such clarity before.

He was Michael Backer.

Bryan sat up and laughed at the irony of it: he no longer thought he was crazy because he believed he was a forty-year-old neuroscientist from the eighties. But somehow it made perfect sense. Although he still had a thousand questions—to begin with, who the hell were these people and what had happened to them?

He closed his eyes and tried to recall more, frustrated that he had only remembered a small part of Michael’s life. This man was the key to everything, just as he felt certain that Linz had been Diana, Michael’s wife.

Bryan abandoned his attempt to retrieve more memories and checked his watch. He had been in Linz’s parking lot for over nine hours. Their meeting this morning felt like a lifetime ago. He grabbed his cell phone and called her.

*

“Hello?” Linz answered, between bites of pizza as she worked on her computer.

“Linz? This is Bryan, from this morning.”

She sat up in disbelief.

“I was wondering if we could meet again?”

Linz was speechless. He literally ran out the door this morning and now he wanted to meet. This man was an utter enigma. And one thing Linz couldn’t resist was a puzzle. “Um, when?”

“Now, I’m outside.”