The Memorist by M. J. Rose Read Free Book Online

suffering past life memory trauma and had helped almost all of them to some degree. Both trained psychologists, they believed their search for psychic DNA deserved serious attention and fought hard to keep their work free of populist faddism. Over the years, they’d seen the healing power of past life regression therapy with patients resistant to other forms of treatment.Seventy-five percent of the children who had come to the Foundation left within six months, their conflicts resolved. But it was the children he’d let down who plagued Malachai—like Meer, who was one of his greatest challenges and most disturbing failures.
    He’d just sat down at his desk and was checking his messages to see if Jeremy Logan had called, when Beryl Talmage appeared in his doorway.
    “So you’re back,” his aunt said. “How did the meeting go?”
    Afflicted with MS, Beryl had been in a wheelchair off and on for the last two years but tonight the only sign of her illness was an ivory cane.
    “You’re looking well,” he said.
    “No news still? How can this investigation just go on and on?”
    To a stranger, her comment might be interpreted as commiseration, but Malachai knew it for the indictment she’d intended it to be. Even though she believed completely in his innocence, she nonetheless blamed him for getting too involved in the search for the memory stones and bringing a scandal to the front door of the Foundation. The possibility that her co-director might be a thief and murderer had tarnished the reputation Beryl had nurtured for years.
    “It’s not your life that’s been laid open. You’re not the one who—”
    Beryl’s fingers tightened on her cane. “Are you asking me for pity?”
    “I’ve surrendered my passport, opened my files, my correspondence, my bank accounts, virtually my entire private life—to men in badly cut suits and polyester shirts who are getting an inordinate amount of pleasure keepingme under their thumbs.” Rising, he walked to the window and drew back the edge of the heavy silken drape and wondered if one of them was sitting in one of those parked cars right now watching him. “Being under surveillance feels as if someone’s performing constant surgery on my soul.”
    “Don’t be melodramatic.”
    “I’m past needing your approval, Aunt Beryl, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t appreciate your support.”
    “You have my support. You know that. For as long as you need it, both in public and private, but what I can’t do is pretend that—”
    The phone rang, interrupting her.
    Looking down at the caller ID, Malachai recognized Jeremy Logan’s number. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been waiting for this call all day.”
    With a sad good-night and favoring her cane, Beryl left his office. Relieved to be going, he thought, and he couldn’t blame her.
     
    “Did you meet with Meer? What happened when she saw the actual photograph of the box?” Jeremy asked in a rush once the two friends had exchanged greetings.
    Malachai described Meer’s reaction.
    “How upset was she?” Jeremy asked.
    “You know how well your daughter controls her feelings.”
    Like too many children of divorce, Meer had a strained relationship with the parent she blamed the most for the breakup—her father—and Malachai recognized the vestige of guilt he always heard in Jeremy’s voice when he discussed his daughter.
    “Giving up her music, studying memory science, taking on this Memory Dome project—why?” Jeremy asked.“She’s devoted her life to proving that what she remembers about the music and the box is nothing but a false memory, and the harder she tries to deny—”
    “Jeremy, this isn’t the way to work through how—”
    “I hoped if she understood that the box was real, she’d finally let us help her. Couldn’t it be therapeutic if she came here and saw the gaming box for herself?”
    “Of course. It could be the trigger we’ve never found. But she has to want to work on it and she’s