Chapter #57Speak, Memory! by: Seuzz   One of these days you're gonna have to start earning your keep. So your dad often growled when finding you goofing off on the laptop or game player. His words instantly recur to you now. You don't feel you've got a choice: If these guys are going to protect you for the rest of your life, you need to pay them back.
"I don't mind work," you say. But you still feel nervous. "So what kind of thing can I do for you?" you ask.
"Now we will have an interview," says Hyde-White. "We have placement services, of course, and I suspect we shall put you in various spots, just to see where your aptitudes and interests are. For right now, though, I'd like to go back over the story you gave Mr. Kim. Oh, let's all sit down, shall we?"
You think that you and Eric, in your quasi-castoff American clothes, look very out of place in this tasteful English sitting room, but the natty Hyde-White seems not to notice. From a briefcase by his side he draws out a thin sheaf of papers. "If I may," he says, "I'll ask you to tell me your story again from the beginning. Pray do not take it amiss if I ask you some questions that may not make immediate sense."
The interview that follows is very long, but it is not tiring, for Hyde-White keeps it cordial and relaxed, and his bright interest in your tale keeps you alert. A kind of tea is brought in not once but twice during the long afternoon that follows. You feel yourself settled in quite comfortably by the end.
Hyde-White covers everything from every angle, even asking about why you and Steve chose the victims you did, and closely tracks your process of reasoning at each step. But he is most interested, for obvious reasons, in the book, and how you came to have it. He asks sharply about Arnholm's Used Books and its proprietors. Here is where you are first startled by some of those questions that might not make "immediate sense." He asks you to associate certain colors with the bookshop and its staff, and odors associated with the station where Ted Arnolm liked to work. He asks for the feel of the book as you and they handled it. Your replies are impressionistic, for you've virtually no memory of that day. But then you blurt out "Blackwell acquisition" when Hyde-White asks you why the book was so expensive.
"What does that mean?" Hyde-White asks keenly.
"I don't know," you stammer.
"Then why did you say it?"
"I don't know. I seem to see a lot of books that it must have been with, because--" You feel like you're sinking. "Because of the 'Blackwell' acquisition'," you murmur. "It was part of the Blackwell acquisition," you add more firmly. "Why would I remember that?" In fact, you're not sure it's a real memory.
"Triggering of memory patterns via associations," Hyde-White says with a smile. "I thought we might find something there. Unbidden, you told me that Messrs. Arnholm did not know where the book came from. That suggested to me that you did know, but didn't remember, and that your subconscious was trying to provoke the answer."
"That's amazing!"
Hyde-White smiles and gives you a small bow. He resumes the interrogation.
Gradually, it moves on to a discussion of the Durrases. You do your best to tell him all you remember from your time inside them, and he again offers many indirect questions, but these lead to no breakthroughs as before. You express frustration; Hyde-White remains quite cool. "Do not let it trouble you. It actually tells me quite a lot about these masks. The memories they contain are only feigned, and make no impression upon your actual consciousness unless you are in direct contact with them. That is most interesting, and saves us a lot of troublesome speculation."
There is more profit to be had in recounting the things you did while playing Frank and Joe. With the same kind of prodding you are able to supply him with their address, cell phone numbers, and even debit card numbers. All this he puts down carefully in notes of his own. "Now close your eyes," he directs. "We are going to play a game of free association. You must reply with only one of three words: 'Joe,' 'Frank,' and 'Other'. Are you ready?"
The game lasts only a few minutes. The words "gold," "crossroads" and "sextant" get associated with Joe. "Pressure," "mantle" and "granary" with Frank. The other words--like "mirror", "watering can," "scepter," "aqueduct," and "blueprint"--go with "other." Hyde-White's face seems to glow with pleasure when you're done.
"I'm most impressed with your memory," he says.
"My dad always called me a scatterbrain."
"The mark of a fertile but undisciplined intellect," Hyde-White says. "I myself suffered that reputation for the first forty years of my life."
* * * * *
The sun has long since set--night sure falls early in England--when he announces himself satisfied. "For the moment," he adds as a laughing caution. "I've worked you hard, Mr. Prescott, but you've borne up admirably." He rings a bell. "Tomlinson will show you to a room." The butler appears and leads you upstairs to a small but comfortably furnished bedroom. You sit on the bed and reflect on the astonishing turn your life has taken in only forty-eight hours.
A few minutes later there's a soft knock, and Eric sticks his head in. "You here? Will, dude, you did great." He sticks out his hand, and you shake it.
"What happens now?"
"Not my business, I'm afraid. They're posting me elsewhere, since Saratoga Falls is now too hot for both us."
"Am I gonna see you again?"
"I hope so. I wouldn't mind working with you. You're impressing the hell out of a lot of people." With a chuck to your shoulder, he leaves you.
It's like the snapping of a thread. Eric Kim was your last connection to Saratoga Falls; and though you connected under bad circumstances, after the plane ride and his friendly talk and encouragement, you feel like you're losing a friend.
Not long after, Tomlinson summons you downstairs, where you eat a solid dinner by yourself. "The Professor will see you tomorrow," he says when you ask about Hyde-White. So he's a professor, you think as you chew a thick slice of roast beef. You'd have pegged him as a banker.
* * * * *
You wake the next morning to find fresh clothes--cream-colored slacks, a loose and comfortable shirt, and a blazer--set out for you. You bathe and dress and wander downstairs. You look into that parlor from yesterday. Hyde-White is sitting there, studying some papers through half-rim spectacles. You gasp, and start to withdraw.
He looks up, and with a quick motion pulls the glasses off and gestures you in. "You look very nice, Mr. Prescott," he says. "Pray don't worry about interrupting me. I was just about to send for you, if you were decent. How did you sleep?"
"Like a rock. I was pretty exhausted. Uh, are we going to have another interview?"
"If you don't mind," Hyde-White says. "It will be much less fraught than yesterday's, though." From the side of the sofa he lifts a large sketch pad. "I was most impressed with your memory yesterday. I was hoping you would allow me to put you into a hypnotic trance. I suspect there is a great deal more that we can learn that way."
"You're not going to make me walk around and cluck like a chicken, are you?"
He laughs--though it sounds a little forced--and assures you there will be "no tomfoolery" involved. So you agree to it.
He makes you get comfortable, and then sits close to you, opposite you. The preparations take a very long time, with him asking you to think of various things and to repeat various words and then he gives you the sketchpad and you spend a very long time drawing, and when he takes it from you he counts backwards. When he reaches zero you blink. "Is that all?" you ask.
"I think it's quite enough," he says with a slight chuckle. He eyes the sketchpad greedily.
You glance around. It is very dark, with no light showing through the curtains. "Is it raining?" you ask.
"Hmm? Oh no, it's quite late. I worked you much harder than I anticipated. The day is done."
"Already?" Your eyes nearly pop from your head. "What was I doing?"
"Not much, dear boy. Only giving us everything we could have asked of you. Look."
He turns the sketchpad toward you. The sheet is covered with a circle of elaborate and minutely drawn symbols. He flips the page. There is another, and another behind it.
You start hard. It can't be. "Those are--"
"Indeed they are. The sigils of the spells you and your friends worked."
"I copied some of them when I had the book, but--"
"And you remembered them, under hypnotic prompting. Prodigious." He sets the pad down and leans toward you. There is no mistaking the hunger in his expression. "Mr. Prescott," he says softly. "Would you care to continue your research into these things, under our guidance and protection? You need not say 'Yes'. There are many areas I think we could employ you in, to our mutual advantage."
You stare at him dumbly.
After a moment he speaks again. "Do not worry over it, please. Let your intuition be your guide. Speak sudden, be brief."  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
| Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author