between them.
“Sorry, I have to go.” He stood up abruptly. “Thanks for the puzzle.”
He reached out with his finger and touched her hand on the table. It was the smallest stroke, the slightest caress. By the time Linz registered what he had done, his hand was gone and Bryan was almost to the door.
He held his breath, terrified that a vision might take hold of him any minute. He had stayed longer than he should have, and could feel a recall bearing down on his consciousness like a wave. Only minutes remained before it crashed.
“Wait!” Linz stood up, looking flustered. “Derek said the painting was the only one that wasn’t for sale. I’d be willing to pay double what you’d want. Money isn’t a problem.”
Bryan tried to focus on her but his vision was beginning to blur. He shook his head and backed away in a blind daze. In two steps, he was out the door.
He hurried outside and staggered toward his car. Fumbling for his keys, he got into his SUV, locked the doors, and lay down in the back. The last thing he remembered thinking was that he was glad he had bought a car with tinted windows.
A low moan escaped his mouth as his mind dilated, allowing in another time and place.
NINE
FEBRUARY 8, 1982
Michael Backer’s eyes fluttered as he regained consciousness. He was lying on a padded table in a dim laboratory chamber filled with cutting-edge technology. Electronic equipment hummed in the background and a helmet-like device with electrodes attached to it covered his head, busy recording all the neural oscillations and electrical activity going on in his brain.
Three scientists observed him through a glass wall. Finn Rigby, the youngest of the trio, watched the EEG monitor and checked his watch for the tenth time, while fellow team member Diana Backer hovered next to him, reading several printouts. She looked tired. “Someone want to remind me why we’re doing this?”
“Because your husband is crazy,” answered the third member of the group. Conrad Jacobs took off his horn-rimmed eyeglasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was an East Coast intellectual who was perpetually disheveled, with food-stained clothes and a case of serious bed head. “People, I’m fried. This is going nowhere. I suggest we go home, get some sleep, and get back to real science tomorrow.” He stood up to leave just as Michael began to speak from inside the chamber.
Everyone strained to listen. “What’s he saying?” Diana motioned to the volume control for the laboratory’s microphone. “Turn it up.”
Finn turned a knob on the instrument panel and brought Michael’s voice into the room. The EEG reading went ballistic as Michael’s brainwave patterns spiked.
Diana closed her eyes to hear the words better. “What the hell is he speaking, Latin?”
Conrad sat back down. He wasn’t going anywhere now. “No. Greek.”
Finn looked over at them. “Mike knows Greek?”
Diana shook her head.
Conrad snapped his fingers twice. “Hey, Dixie, you recording this?”
Finn scowled. Conrad had a knack for getting under people’s skin. Finn was a gentleman, born and raised in South Texas. He had all the manners that straitlaced churchgoing parents could instill, but Conrad’s condescension rubbed everyone the wrong way.
Finn exaggerated his Southern drawl. “Never crossed my mind, Yankee Doodle.”
Conrad ignored the jibe as he listened to Michael ramble in fluent Greek for close to ten minutes.
Finn whistled as the EEG readings went off the charts. “Shit on me.”
“Not as eloquent, but precisely my thought.” Conrad folded his arms, his face set in a deep frown. “This is implausible, people. Anyone here fluent in Greek?”
Diana shook her head. “No, but somehow he is.”
Michael’s words grew softer until they faded to silence. The team waited to see if he would speak again. But Michael remained immobile, apparently still asleep.
* * *
In reality Michael had been awake, trying to
Learning to Kill: Stories