Ch 34 - Digging Into The Past

The residence was a simple-looking one, but tasteful.

Its walls, composed of angled planks, were made of

common wood, much cheaper than the one that made up

the doors of the university, and also much cozier. The

garage that extended from the side was elevated, to be

able to cover the vehicle it was meant to protect. The

yellowish truck bore on its face the marks of the

encounter with the walls and the lab material.

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Throughout its length, the front of the vehicle had

scratches, dents and missing parts. The windshield was a

notable exception, having a shine such as only a new

product is capable of. The owner of the vehicle finally

welcomed us, inviting us to sit down with him for iced

tea.

— It was a very unwelcome surprise, — he said

with a frustrated expression. — I woke up late the next

day, and my truck was gone. When I did get news, it was

that someone had stolen my only possession and

smashed up some building with it!

— Mr. Young... — Lucy introduced.

— Call me Dave, for God's sake, we're the same

age!

— Dave, — she corrected herself against her

will, — don't you remember going to that lab before?

— Well, I remembered the location; it was in the

back of the university where I was supposed to pick up a

load. Kevin accompanied me to your house and I

unloaded it there.

— And then; what happened the day before the

incident?

— I had gone to the same building. Someone had

called me, saying they had a load to be transported. I

went there and waited for hours, but the bastard never

showed up. Can you believe it? I couldn't even pay for

the gas with the delivery!

— It's really shocking, — Lucy commented,

unable to hide the irony in her words, which fortunately

Dave Young was unable to notice. — Did you consume

anything in the meantime, perhaps? Medication, food,

drink?

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— A little jambalaya in the evening, if that's what

you mean.

— And had anyone been with you in the house

before?

— You have been the first to enter these gates for

years. Even my family hasn't shown up. They say they

are always busy, a bunch of trite excuses, you know?

— Yes, yes, terrible ones. — And then, holding

the huge glass cup she had been given, filled with

chamomile tea and ice cubes, Lucy continued:

— One last question, Dave. Do you drink

anything besides tea? Coffee, perhaps?

— Why, a regular bit. Why?

— Just out of curiosity. Thank you for your

hospitality, I hope we can see each other again soon. —

Lucy's professional tone had already reached the point

where one naturally says things one doesn't really mean.

Impressive, really.

— Dave, — I made my voice heard at last, — I

see you are managing to fix the truck. Do you do it

yourself?

— No, no; my knowledge doesn't go beyond

driving it. That man who hired me, the dean — he paid

for the damage and had it fixed.

— Oh, really? — Lucy said with a twinkle in her

eyes. — That's interesting. Well, once again, thank you.

Leaving the house, Lucy guided me back to the

path that would lead to the university. Apparently, our

business on the campus was far from over.

Just as we were about to take the turn to return to

the buildings, however, Lucy took the opposite turn,

without informing me where she was going.

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— Aren't we going to the university? — I asked,

confused.

— We will, eventually. Did you realize that my

house, the Athlios buildings and one other building make

up something like a circuit?

— It depends on what that last building would

be.

— Well...you need a home now, don't you?

— Yes, that's true, but what...

— I hope you like record players.

It took a few seconds for me to understand what

Lucy meant, but as soon as I did, I felt immense

happiness. Could this be possible? It really seemed like

the only chance to feel at home again. When Lucy's

hurried steps took us around the next bend, my hope was

realized. Among the few houses, this one stood out,

keeping the same paint job and architectural style since it

was built in 1981. The garden landscape was not the

most beautiful; its plants were arranged without much

organization or method; they just existed, as their

caretaker liked them to be. The gate, always unlocked,

opened with the terrible sound of rusting metal. The

material, by the way, still had some traces of white paint,

showing that it had once had the same coloring as the

house. The place itself was built in a rather simple way,

totally different from the postmodernism so common in

the decade in which it was built. Stepping now on the

planks that formed the floor of the veranda, we could

hear them creaking with our weight. Why had I not

noticed these details when I was here with Keene months

ago? Of course, his continuous talking may have

contributed to this. Taking her hand to one of the vases

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that adorned the portico of the residence, Lucy pulled out

from under it a small, isolated key.

— Yep. Never changing, always sticking to the

old way of doing things, — she commented to herself.

Opening the door, she returned to the same doorway that

framed her the day we met, when the sun was shining

brightly and only her silhouette was visible at first.

The interior of the house was unchanging, as if a

gap in space-time had been created to protect it from the

passage of years and eras. The same blue armchair had

been there for forty years; the footrest that no longer

rose, and the piles of webs helped to remind us of the

piece's age. On the bookshelf, the record player and its

accompanying records, a hand-cranked machine whose

function was to churn milk into butter, and a collection

of books on a wide variety of subjects, from the

Bermuda triangle to Nessie, UFOs, mermaids, and

general folklore. Everything else; everything that a

human being would think to need was well protected

within the few drawers needed to contain them. In them,

one could find the oldest versions of dishes, jugs and

crockery utensils; nothing of importance to the master of

the house. Unfortunately, of course, the lapse in time that

kept his belongings intact had not been able to do the

same for the owner of the residence himself. Taken from

us, he had lost the power over his life and now over his

possessions. Looking around, I forced my mind to accept

the fact that we were back. This was Anthony Lane's

house.

— You are… — I said without being able to

finish.

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— Yes, Kevin. I'm giving the house to you. You

are the only person who could appreciate everything

these bookshelves hold.

I had to look around one last time, understanding

that everything Lane had taught me to value would now

be mine too, and I threw myself into Lucy's arms. I

hugged her until I heard her spine crack with the

pressure, keeping silent to finally have an emotional

moment without spoiling it. She herself didn't bring it to

attention, but was grateful that I kept quiet.

⬫⬫⬫

The sun was rising lazily over the orange

horizon. It had been hours since Lucy had gifted me with

the beautiful residence in which I now found myself and

which I eagerly cleaned. With the various places we had

been to, it would still take me quite a while to get used to

the time zone of the region, which would still cause me

to suffer through a few more sleepless nights. On this

first one, I used the extra energy to dust, wash and scrub

every spot in my new home. When the cuckoo clock

struck 6 a.m., I was slumped in the blue armchair,

exhausted, but at least surrounded by a much nicer and

cleaner environment. The smell of pine already

permeated the house, something it may never have felt in

forty years. The restful fragrance made me relax my

muscles, close my eyes, and slow my heart. Something

fell at my feet and I vaguely remembered that it was the

cloth I was holding, falling from my hands that were

losing strength due to sleep. Finally, after months of

traveling and facing prehistoric creatures, I would get

some real rest.

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TRIM

The hook phone sounded loudly on the tea table,

snapping me out of my state of semiconsciousness.

— H-hello? — I asked incredulously. Who would

dare call at such a time in the morning?

— Kevin? — answered the voice on the other

end of the line. — Meet me at the Athlios library in half

an hour; let's have a talk with the librarian.

I could have said anything in reply, and believe

me, a wide variety of possible options crossed my mind,

but it's not right to curse someone who has just given

you a home, is it?

— Okay… — I answered simply. There wasn't

enough time to take a shower before meeting her, but

frankly; no one should expect that from me after living

in the jungle for a week. I took a cup of the most

concentrated coffee ever brewed in America and walked

out into the still gloomy streets of New Haven, heading

for the university. Feeling the bitter cold of dawn, I

remembered that I was wearing nothing more than a

flannel over my shirt, and to my mind came the image of

someone well bundled up that I had seen recently. Who

was the figure that seemed ready to travel to the poles?

Then I remembered the events of the previous days.

Andri Bergeron — that was the figure. The man had

earned a comfortable bed and sustenance for as long as

he wished just by accidentally sitting next to the dean,

while I would have been left without a roof over my

head were it not for Lucy. Seeing on the streets men and

women warming themselves around fires housed in

metal drums, I thought about the injustice of life. The

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wicked prospered and lived for years on end, while the

gentlest of souls might not have the same chance.

A sequence of faces flashed through my mind —

Samuel Abal and his lifeless face, Baruti Elya and his

ability to lie and deceive, Alexander Boseman and his

irrational cruelty, and...there was a fourth face? There

seemed to be a final form of evil, something suppressed

but still present, something that my intuition noticed but

that my scientific mind was unable to comprehend.

Frustrated with my limitation, I continued walking with

a low frown toward the library.

As I made the turn that would take me to Athlios,

I saw Lucy already in front of the gothic arches, waiting

for me. I would love to share with her everything I had

thought up to this point and maybe she would be able to

identify the fourth threat, but then I also remembered

what I heard her say when she diagnosed Jacob Keene

— You are like me...you value nature more than

humans...psychology was a refuge for me...a refuge of

little help. — I halted my pace before she could notice

me at the corner. Was she like...me? Lucy was not a

foolish philosopher, but a scientist. She also loved nature

and only turned to these empty sciences in search of

something contrary to the logic her father sought. For the

first time in my life, the human mind seemed fascinating.

Freeing my eyes from this mental trance, I

realized that she was fixing hers on me, having long

since seen me. I hurried to reach her before she

suspected anything, but, as usual, it was too late.

— Lost in your thoughts again, Kevin? — The

tone of her voice was light, like a faint correction.

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— Just...wondering what we came here for, —

but her eyes locked on mine, reading all the truth explicit

in them.

— Yeah, sure. Well, let's go inside and you'll see.

I didn't tell anyone we were coming, so don't expect a

cup of tea.

Entering the cold main building, we went straight

through the hall, without paying attention to the beautiful

moldings and hardwood trim, or even to the corridors

that led to the right from the reception. With a firm step,

Lucy guided me down the corridor to the left, ignoring

all the art rooms, laboratories, workshops and archive

rooms on the way, aiming only at the room that ended

the corridor. Approaching the heavy door that guarded

its entrance, she slowed her pace so as not to arouse

suspicion. Gently pushing the mahogany slab open, she

revealed the enormous space that was Athlios' library.

Metal bookshelves, covered with books so innumerable

that there was not even space between one and another,

stretched for meters, to a back wall so dark that it

seemed to carry the bookshelves into infinite space.

To our immediate right, a middle-aged man,

completely bald and wearing a yellow and black

checkered shirt and a bow tie that finished his look, sat

behind his desk, reading the newest work obtained by the

library; next to him, an espresso machine, from which

those who came there helped themselves to cappuccinos

and macchiatos. The place was well known to me, as

was the man who maintained it.

— Mr. Mendel? — I called in a low tone so as

not to startle him.

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— I know you're there, Kevin, — he said without

taking his eyes off the book, — I just kept my

concentration. — And then, with a satisfied smile, he

marked the page where he had stopped reading, put it

away, and turned his attention back to the two of us.

— How are you, kid? — he asked, now more

animated. — And hello, little girl! I've never seen you in

this library before; you're not a fan of literature, I'm

afraid?

— Unfortunately, I have been concentrating on

psychology books, — Lucy admitted.

— How depressing. Oh, but that's no reason not

to come to me and enjoy my fine collection! I have 438

books here on that particular subject, — he said without

even thinking about the number.

— Wow, excellent memory, Mr. Mendel!

— Oh, were you also educated in Kevin's way?

That's great, but you can both call me Albert. I've been

urging Kevin to do so since he arrived, but I've never

been able to convince him.

— Well, Mr Mendel, — Lucy introduced, also

not allowing herself to be convinced, — we came to hear

about you, this time, not about the books.

— Not about the books? That's curious. Usually,

I'm just a human manifestation of the library; someone

who brings more books and catalogs the ones that are

already here.

— Anyway, we heard that you got sick a few

weeks ago. — The information confused me, but I tried

hard not to show any signs of not understanding what

she was saying. Still, when had we heard about this?

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— You did? — asked Albert Mendel. — Who

told you that?

— A young man who was here with you. Dave

Young is his name. — I don't think I could hide my

confusion at this statement. Young had told us this?

— Why yes...that boy...a truck driver, I believe.

He came here and had a long talk with me. You see, from

where my desk is, you can see the hall at the end of the

corridor. That day, by chance, my door had its hinges

changed and did not block my view of the hall. I saw

him walking back and forth and called him over to talk a

little. You know...sometimes I get a little lonely around

here.

— I'm glad you found some company, — Lucy

said in a genuinely kind tone. — And you fell ill shortly

afterwards?

— Yes, for some reason, I felt dizzy a few hours

later, and deep fatigue overwhelmed me. I had to go

home early and leave the library.

— Well, we won't bother you anymore, Mr.

Mendel, it was a pleasure to meet you and see that you

are feeling better already.

— Don't leave with such celerity! Get a cup of

coffee, please; there's still a lot to talk about!

— I'm sure there is, Mr. Mendel, but

unfortunately we have an expedition to plan.

— We do? — I asked, alarmed.

— Yes, Kevin. We just got one.

And so we left Albert Mendel behind, alone

again, just as we all are, in reality.

— When did...Young tell us this? — I tried to ask

nicely.

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— When he told us that he had been ill.

— Okay, what's the connection?

— Well, now that you know that both of them got

sick on the same day, you tell me. What is the

connection? Why would anyone want Dave Young to be

unconscious? Who not only knows Young, but also has

access to the university? And what would be the perfect

method to ditch the truck driver?

I allowed myself to meditate for a few seconds

on the questions; our steps not far from the library yet.

The method seemed clear and the list of people hanging

around the buildings is somewhat short, being quickly

shortened when considering who also knew Dave. Like a

diagram in my mind, the list came down to a single name

and I felt an immense chill surround my bones with the

weight of discovery.

— But why? — I asked, dejectedly.

— The reason is more complex than I can

explain right now. And that's why we are going to

organize this next trip — to have a chance to resolve

these issues.

I still did not understand the reason for such

cruelty, nor why it had extended to others. I wanted to

ask this question in person, but there was no way to do it

anymore.

— God...we have to talk to Frost, — I concluded

with no encouragement in my voice. With a nod from

Lucy, we headed for the hall again, although I was no

longer able to walk as resolutely as before. My steps

were now uncertain and light, as if I was numb to

discovering another sin that our species had committed.

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Was this the fourth face? I would have to wait to find

out.

⬫⬫⬫

Of the corridors that went to the right, we were

now going down the one closest to the street, the only

one with parallel windows and with a staircase at its end.

This, too, had its handrail and fencing made of the same

material as the doors and windows, though lightly

varnished, and it spiraled up to the second floor.

Climbing the steps, I now had time to feel contempt and

disgust, even if the target of my feelings could not hear

what I was thinking, but it was impossible to suppress

these shameful feelings. After all, at the top, there was

something like an exact copy of the lower floor, with the

long grey walls and dimly lit corridors stretching into the

distance, going so far as to have the same model door at

the end of the hallway. By now, however, I could feel the

contempt giving me strength, making me walk more

accurately again; Lucy doing the same beside me. —

Why? — Why deprive me of what little I had left? — I

felt my vision blur with the tears of hatred that already

covered my face. It had been a long time since I had

cried like this, but it would not be the last time.

Interlacing her fingers with mine, Lucy kept pacing with

me until we reached the end of that damned endless

corridor. As we reached the door, we heard laughter

coming from inside the room and I felt my contempt

rise, as if the happiness of others was an affront to my

disgrace. Turning the knob as I pushed open the huge

door, I slammed it against the opposite wall, cutting off

any remaining laughter as we entered.

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— Kevin? — exclaimed Frederick Frost,

stunned. — What on earth is this? Where are your

manners?

The question reminded me that for these 25 years

I had been taught manners and etiquette, which had

partly brought me to the pit of existential misery in

which I now found myself.

I had never tried to be extroverted, because that

went against good manners, or even to denounce those

who intimidated me, because that would create a

scandal, and there, before me was one of the

representatives of that ideal, sitting with the man I had

met two days ago, both of them playing cards and eating

tortilla chips — their hands and cards covered in orange

dust.

— He knows who destroyed the laboratory, —

Lucy explained, crediting me with the discovery.

— What? How could he? — asked the dean,

skeptically.

— Lucy found out, — I replied, still feeling

disgusted. — We were with Dave Young yesterday and

he told us that he got sick the day before Dr. Lane's lab

was destroyed. He felt something like dizziness and

sleepiness that came over him.

— And today, — Lucy continued my reasoning,

— we talked to Mr. Mendel.

Faced with Frost's inquiring silence, Lucy

explained:

— The librarian at your university, Mr Frost. He

also fell ill that day, feeling the same symptoms, on the

very day that Young came here, at the request of

someone who called him and told him to wait in the

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lobby. He came, as agreed, and waited for a long time,

but no one showed up. Finally, Mendel spotted him from

his seat in the library and invited him to talk. Of course,

the librarian is very lonely and misses human company.

You would know this if you paid any attention to your

employees. They talked for a while before Young

returned home and had his truck stolen.

— Right... and how does that explain the illness

of the two of them? — he asked with one eyebrow still

raised.

— Tell me, Mr. Frost, — I introduced, — who

installed that coffee machine in the library and when?

— It was Nathan, a few weeks ago. He said it

was a wise investment and, well, I approved the

purchase.

— And who had the library door repaired?

— That was him too, but he fixed it himself so

that I would have no additional costs. The lad is an

example of a good fellow.

— I'm afraid you should use the simple past to

refer to him, — Lucy advised.

— What do you mean?

— Let us explain the whole thing first. Nathan

did not fix the door that same day, did he?

— Actually, no. He said he needed a tool or

something and would have to finish the work the next

day. However, he did, indeed, as you may have noticed.

Especially if you opened the door as hard as you did

mine, — he hissed, casting a disapproving glance at me.

— Kevin did nothing compared to what your

subordinate did, Mr. Frost, — Lucy defended me. —

Your bodyguard put sleeping pills in the coffee machine,

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and set the stage for Mendel to serve it, not himself. He

was the one who called Dave Young, and he was the one

who planned to leave the door open for the librarian to

see him. At night, while the truck driver was fast asleep,

Allard stole his truck and crashed it into the lab, being

the only person with connections between you and him.

Frost kept a bitter look between the two of us for

a few seconds, while the Canadian kept quiet, his frown

lowered so as not to get involved in the matter. Finally,

he said in a threatening tone:

— You do understand that the statement you

make is very serious, don't you?

— Yes, and that's why we came to you first, —

she replied calmly. — He lined up the facts perfectly, so

that you would hear the news when we were at the Cape

Town airport and could not accompany us to Hluleka.

Unfortunately, he succeeded. Even now his plan is

working, because you prefer to believe him. I just want

you to know that giving me a house when my father did

not was a very commendable act. But if you did it only

so that he could continue to perform your expeditions;

your merit, Mr. Frost, loses all value. Now, before we

leave you and Mr. Bergeron to continue your little game,

know that what was dragged across the Everglades

plain...was the body of Nathan Allard.

Before Frost could pull himself together, we were

back out of the room; Lucy closing the door on the way,

not without causing a bang.