Chapter Five

 

Endemic Amnesia Spreads

 

Feeling more confident than he had in the past two weeks Hiram prepared for the day’s work. A quick visit to the office and then back to March, Cambridgeshire, but in a company car. He looked forward to talking to Bernard again, as the old man intrigued him. This time he knew his way to Norwood Avenue. Arriving in the town on Dartford Road, he drove past the peculiar Edwardian iron edifice known locally as the Fountain.

As he arrived at eleven fifteen, Dr Nightingale stood in the front garden puttering with the rose bushes. The professor walked over to the car to welcome his visitor.

“Good morning, young man,” he said politely.

Hiram climbed out. “Good morning. Sorry I have to make a second trip. But I screwed up the pictures, you see.”

Bernard laughed. “No problem at all, Hiram. I love to have good listeners for company. Come.” He led the way into the house. “Would you like tea?”

“Yes, thank you. The tea you make is really good.”

Bernard walked directly to the kitchen. His remote controller lay on the counter top. Quickly he activated the tea-maker. “Please sit, I would like to talk to you while the tea is brewing.”

“Sure.” Hammy sat at the table.

“I have been doing some investigating of my own,” he said with a smile.

“Oh, what about?”

“You intrigued me with those photos you took up at Dunbar. The little church, St Andrew’s. It is Church of Scotland, but it is privately owned by the Lord of Craig.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Now here is the interesting part as far as I have been able to ascertain –”

“Yeah, go on.”

“All your patrons made an earth-shattering discovery a year before the date on each plaque.”

“Well I don’t see anything exciting about that. How could you possibly remember all the names on those photos?”

Bernard laughed. “Oh, I couldn’t remember hardly any. All the donations are registered at the diocesan office in Edinburgh. I got them to fax me a copy. You know, for a reporter you don’t seem to use your common sense.”

“I didn’t see anything interesting in it.”

“Isaac Newton’s name appears twice – 1679 and 1705.”

“So?”

“Well, he announced his big theory on gravity in 1678. And then made another on optics in 1704. That in itself is not peculiar, but when I checked into the others, it’s 100 per cent. Every time there was a big discovery, presto, one year later a large donation.”

“That’s very interesting, Bernie, I mean Bernard. But so what?”

“Yes,” Bernard said slowly. “The tea is ready.” He placed the correct amount of sugar in one and handed it to Hiram. “I just found it rather interesting; you could say quite a coincidence.”

“I’d leave it alone if I were you,” Hiram said jokingly. “My girl started to look into all that and she’s disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“Now that is interesting,” Bernie said, his eyes lighting up. “I love a good mystery of any kind, but especially a missing person case.”

“Yes, she went up there a couple of weeks ago and no one has seen her since. I went up there to look for her. Would you believe, every one’s suffering from amnesia. No one can remember ever seeing her. Funny thing, they didn’t remember me, either. ‘cept for the postmaster.”

“This is becoming more interesting by the moment,” Nightingale added with a smile.

“I don’t know,” Hammy said. “I’m sorry to burden you with all my problems.”

“Not at all, I enjoy a good mystery, scientific or sociological. Perhaps I shall stop investigating the patrons of St Andrew’s Church and start looking into the legend of Morag.”

“There’s nothing in it,” Hammy said. “It’s all just a load of rubbish.”

“You are a cynic, young man. You know there are more unexplained wonders in fact than there are in fiction.”

“Sure,” Hiram smiled. “But if you look closely you will find the explanation. Take this stupid flying-saucer story I’m working on. The kid stands there and looks me in the face and blatantly said he saw this machine land. It’s about 15 metres in diameter and would you believe, the depressions it made in the ground were made by something that was only 300 kilograms.”

“Perhaps they have the technology that allows a ship to be that big and only weigh 300 kilograms.”

“Yeah, sure. They also used hairspray for fuel.”

Bernard laughed. “Hairspray for fuel?”

“I took a sample of the burn marks. The kid had used hairspray to create the effect.”

“What would be his reasoning?”

“I would guess he’s lonely. Talking to the locals about it and appearing in the magazine will make him popular, maybe even famous, like the kid who saw aliens.”

“You have cause to be a cynic, Hammy, my friend, but there are real mysteries in this world,” Bernard said.

“Oh, I doubt it. I’m sure if you inspect them closely you will find all the fakery and trickery, the lying and all the skulduggery.”

“Well, no matter what your thoughts are on the subject,” Bernard said, “I am going to take a look at this Morag of yours. I’ll wager there is truth behind the legend and all the tittle-tattle. I would like you to keep in touch, let me know how you get on finding your girl – and anything else you may discover about this mysterious malady of amnesia. Is it pandemic or endemic?”

“What?”

“Is this amnesia global or specific to special people?”

“Gee, I don’t know.”

“You said the postmaster remembered you, but every one else had forgotten.”

“That’s right.”

“Don’t you find that very suspicious? Why would they forget? Is there some terrible secret that occurred on that day that causes the village to cover it up by secrecy and silence?”

“I don’t know. You do make it sound sort of mysterious. I’m supposed to be the journalist, maybe I should get you to write my column for me.”

The photo session went well and for a second time Hammy tried out the PXI. He was enthralled with the peace and tranquillity it instilled the instant it was activated. Hiram sat soaking up the euphoria until Bernard switched it off.

“Well?” Bernard said.

“Very. That thing is better than grass. You don’t even have to smoke it. I wonder if it would work on amnesia cases. I’ll bet it has great medical potential.”

“I suspect that it may. But you would have difficulty getting an amnesiac to wear it. However, I’ll make you this offer. If you can get an amnesiac to volunteer to try it, I most certainly would allow it. I think it would be quite an interesting experiment.”

“That’s a deal, prof. I’ll have to put some thought into it.”

“Though it’s rather funny.”

“What is?”

“Well, I never thought of it until now, but you know your list of patrons ...?”

“Sure.”

“I phoned Dr John Willoden at Cambridge University. The man wouldn’t talk to me. Yet we were quite good friends at Edinburgh.”

“You were at Edinburgh with him?” Hammy quizzed.

“Yes. That’s not what was strange, though. His secretary absolutely denied that he was ever at Craig or that he ever made any form of donation. She did, however, confirm his paper on nuclear propulsion.”

“I don’t follow your thinking, Bernard.”

“Could it be a case of endemic amnesia?”

“You think this loss of memory centres around that church of St Andrew’s?” Hiram said, beginning to realize the connection for himself. “But I haven’t forgotten anything,” he said, looking puzzled. “Have I?”

“Haven’t you?”

“No, no. I’m sure I haven’t, my memory is clear and continuous, no gaps at all,” Hammy said, his eyes searching the room for a clue. “At least I think it is. I would know, wouldn’t I?”

“Perhaps you would and perhaps you would not,” Bernard said. “It is possible that your girlfriend is a figment of your imagination. Perhaps she left you a long time ago and there is a gap that you can’t remember. This could explain why you think others are lacking in memory.”

A sudden feeling of excitement or fear rushed into Hiram’s head. Suddenly his clear thoughts became scattered and scrambled. “You don’t think that it’s your PXI screwing up my memory, do you? I mean, it was after I first wore it that I thought I lost Barbara.”

Bernard smiled. “See how fickle people’s minds are. Now even you are not sure. You don’t know if you had a girlfriend or not.”

“Oh yes I do, I did. I am certain that I did. She took off for Craig and never returned. I know for sure. You can’t confuse me that easily, she took my car.”

“But at first you were not certain, were you?”

“True.” Hammy realized how easy it was for a person to be confused. “I am not crazy. I know what I know; you are just trying to confuse me. But it won’t work, Bernard, it just won’t work.”

Bernard smiled. “I am quite pleased that you have your feet so firmly planted on the ground. Some people would have panicked and become totally unsure of themselves. You have a good and stable mind. This is why you do not believe in things ethereal. Do you believe in telepathy?”

“No, not really. All the demonstrations that I ever saw were fake.”

“So you believe that my PXI is also a trick?”

“No. It works – I’ve been there. But what it does is only your explanation. I don’t have to agree with that. The truth of the matter could be … well, it could be anything.”

“True,” Bernard said with a thoughtful scratch of his head. “What about hypnosis – do you believe that also to be a fake?”

“I don’t know,” Hammy said. “I’ve seen it demonstrated. But no one has ever been able to hypnotize me. I think the subjects are weak-minded people who would believe anything.”

Bernard laughed. “You are an extraordinary man. Single-minded and true to your cause. Remember, I shall be only too pleased to help you in any way I am able.”

On his way back to Leicester, Hammy was pensive. The ideas that Bernie had implanted in his mind were to him earth-shattering. He could not get his mind off the thought that all his troubles began after using the PXI device. Could it be that the thing caused some form of distortion in his memory? He began to doubt if he had jumped over the Dunbar Common. Or perhaps Barbara was only in his imagination.

Once back at the office he soon reorganized his thoughts with a few hard and cold facts. Barbara was on the payroll and had been for several years. Her address was the same as his. The apartment was cold and empty. It was difficult for him to resign himself to the fact that Barbara had truly gone. Supper was a miserable affair without her and the apartment felt cold and distant, almost as if he didn’t belong there.

The nights were long and lonely. It all seemed so pointless as he lay on his back in the dim light staring at the ceiling. Sleep only brought nightmares and the waking hours brought dread and fear. The building creaked, the furniture snapped. Every now and again he could hear people outside in the corridor, their voices muffled and unintelligible as though ghosts were wandering the halls.

Arriving at work, he slumped down into his desk seat. Mavis Thompson, who worked at the desk opposite his, looked at him.

“God, you look like shit,” she said.

“Thanks, Mave, I really needed that.”

She was a woman close to retirement; her position being copy-editor. Most of the young reporters couldn’t spell. Mavis had been educated in the old way and had a perfect command of English, though by her colloquial speech she did not show it.

“You should take a few days off, this job’s getting to you, man,” she said with a smile.

“No, it’s just that I had a tough night last night, nightmares all the way,” Hammy said. “In fact, I’ve had several.”

She got up from her desk and walked over to him. “You know, dreams mean things. Tell me what you dreamed and I’ll explain it to you.”

“Sure,” Hammy said in disbelief.

“Oh, I forgot,” she said. “You are the original disbeliever. Tell me anyway, I like to hear about other people’s pain and agony.”

“Well, mostly they didn’t make any sense, but it was always along the same line. There was this house, a big one. God, it was an ugly house, very old. I didn’t want to go in it, but I didn’t have any choice. Something dragged me there no matter which way I wanted to go.”

“What did the house look like?”

“Oh! sort of Tudor – you know, with the oak beams and the white plaster. The windows were divided up into diamonds, small pieces of glass held together with lead. You couldn’t see through the glass. The inside, oh God! The inside. I can’t explain it.”

“Come on, Hammy, give it a try.”

“Well, it’s hard to put it into words. There was more of a feeling than anything I saw. But there was slime ... well, not really slime, sort of like foam, stuck to the ceilings and walls. Like what you would expect the inside of a cocoon to look like. Not wet but silky, you know.”

“That’s it?”

“No, there were disgusting things.”

“Come on then, don’t keep it a secret. What disgusting things did you see?”

Hiram brushed his hair back with one hand and stared into infinity. “There were pieces of people, sort of wrapped up in stuff like cobwebs. And then there was this thing – God knows what it was. But it was terrible.”

“Well what happened in this dream?”

“Nothing. Just this terrible place and this God-awful creature that defies description.”

“Well what did you do in this terrible dream?”

“Nothing. As I said, it was just this thing and this place. Yet somehow I knew that Barbara was there. Something seemed to tell me that she was in this terrible place and I could do nothing about it.”

“Poor lad,” Mave said. “You really are missing this woman of yours.”

“Yes, I am.”

Hiram found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on his work. Writing became an impossible chore. At the end of the working day he walked to Godiva Street to see if Hardwick had found anything useful. The office was closed and locked. Terence Hardwick was out on some job or other. As soon as Hammy reached his own apartment he phoned the police. They had made no progress, either.

As Hammy put the phone down he began to experience something completely new for him. He could feel a presence, as if there was someone in the apartment with him. Someone or something terrifying, something that wished him harm felt to be occupying dark corners. Whatever it was, it felt like a cat about to pounce. Silence made the feeling more terrifying. At any moment Hammy expected to see this awful presence, but it never appeared.

Carefully Hammy searched the apartment, tiptoeing about in order not to startle the thing or give his position away. He searched for clues that it was either still there or that it had moved something. Everything appeared normal – nothing had been disturbed. The “it”, whatever it may be, was only in his mind. He became even more convinced that somehow it must be a residual effect from the PXI.

Hammy tried to calm himself, to pull himself together. He looked into his hands – they were trembling uncontrollably. “Nerves!” he shouted. “I’m having a nervous breakdown.”

Quickly he dashed back to the phone, pulled out his pocket book and hurriedly pressed the appropriate buttons. The phone seemed to take forever to be answered.

“Hello, Nightingale here,” came a friendly voice.

“Oh! thank God. This is Hiram Kawalski. Professor, I need to talk to you. You have to help me.”

“You sound distressed, Hammy. What’s the problem?”

Hiram still felt that something terrible was watching his every move and listening to every word. “I think your PXI machine has a terrible flaw in it,” he whispered into the phone. “It creates mental instability.”

“Speak up, Hammy, what are you talking about? I can barely hear you.”

“Your machine is faulty,” he said then glanced nervously around the room.

Bernard laughed lightly. “I hadn’t noticed it. What do you think the problem is?”

“It causes paranoia. I’m terrified out of my skin. There’s something terrible watching me. You machine has created a monster and I have to live with it.”

“I assure you, Hammy, I have used it hundreds of times with no side effects and definitely no after-effects. There must be something else bothering you.”

“No,” Hiram snapped. “Not bloody likely. I never had any problems until I used your thing. Now I’m sure I’m losing my mind. You have to help me. I don’t know what to do.”

“I most certainly would, if I could,” Bernard said earnestly. “I’m sure whatever it is that’s bothering you, it’s not the PXI. Just try to relax and try to convince yourself that it’s not there. Calm your thoughts. Remember, there are no ghosts, you said so yourself.”

“But what if there is?”

“Just relax, untense those nerves and muscles. Concentrate on being the master of your own destiny. Relax; remember what it was like with the PXI switched on. Try to recreate that feeling of well-being.”

Hammy began to feel better for the old prof. was right, as usual. He began to breathe deeper and tried to instil more confidence in himself.

“Thanks, Bernie, I mean Bernard. Thanks. I knew talking to you would help me. I guess it’s shock caused by the loss of Barbara. Yes, that’s what it is.”

“You are right,” Nightingale said. “Now, take it easy, control your thoughts, don’t let them have their own way. We’ll find Barbara and solve the mystery of Morag. Think positively. If you have to, please come and see me. I can calm you with the PXI.”

“Thanks, Bernard,” Hammy said. By then his heart rate had calmed down a little. Just like the rush of fear when skydiving, he could control it. He hung up the phone and looked around the room. “If you are here, bastard, I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

To reinforce his feeling of self-confidence, he turned all the lights in the apartment on. The night passed very badly. Just like the night before, sleep only brought nightmares. Time dragged painfully slowly. He would lie on his back staring at the ceiling trying to convince himself he was alone, but he had difficulty believing himself. Sleep would overtake him, then he would wake in a cold sweat.

After a long shower he walked to work, ready for another boring day at the office. There were no outcalls on the book until next month. He would have to stay at his desk and talk to the nuts on the phone. As he entered the front door he was struck with the idea that he could catch Terry Hardwick before he began his day. Hammy stopped, turned and then marched with speed and determination to Godiva Street.

At the top of the stairs, he found the door to Hardwick Investigations open. He pushed it aside and walked in. Hardwick was sitting at his desk in the office across the short hall. Hiram walked to the door and, unannounced, entered the office.

“‘allo,” Hardwick said. “What can I do for yo’?”

“I want to know what you’ve found. I can’t wait any longer.” He walked over to the chair and sat.

Hardwick looked puzzled. “What the ‘ell are you talking abart, cock?”

“Come on, Hardwick. Don’t tell me you haven’t done anything yet. I’m not paying you to twiddle your fingers.”

“What case are you talking abart, guv?”

“My case.”

Hardwick looked at him as if expecting something else. “Well?”

“Well what?” Hammy said.

“I ain’t got no clue what yo’ talkin’ abart, guv. Now, start from the beginnin’ an’ explain yo’self.”

“Kawalski, I’m Kawalski. I was here a couple of days ago to employ you to find my girl Barbara and my car.”

“Not me, mate, I ain’t never seen yo’ in my life before.”

“Get off my case, you cockney twit. I paid you 100 quid as a down payment. What the hell are you running here? A rip-off agency?”

“I fink yo’d better go, mate, ‘afore I call the rozzers.”

“I want satisfaction, you little squirt. Now you made a tape of the interview. Play the tape before I get violent and do someone an injury.”

“There ain’t no tape. We ‘aven’t made one yet.”

“Yes there bloody is. Look for one marked Kawalski, Hiram Kawalski.”

Terry Hardwick was not a man easily intimidated, but to humour Hammy he walked to his cabinet where he filed all his tapes. Quickly he thumbed through them, knowing that there was no Hiram Kawalski in there. Suddenly he stopped and looked at Hiram, then back at the drawer.

“What is this? Some bleedin’ trick.” He pulled out a tape.

“That’s it,” Hammy said. “Now play it.”

Terry popped the tape recorder open and replaced the tape with the one from the drawer. He pressed Play and listened with his mouth wide open.

“I don’t know ‘ow you’s done it, but it’s gotta be a fake,” he said. “I ain’t never clapped eyes on yo’ ‘afore today.”

“You did, and you took a cheque from me for 100 pounds. Just check your deposit slips,” Hiram said. “You’re not the first to suddenly go blank after meeting me. There has to be something weird going on. Where were you yesterday?”

Terry sat feeling stupid and ill at ease. “I don’t know, I just don’t know. I seem to ‘av lost most of the day. Can’t remember.”

“The prof. was right,” Hammy said. “It’s endemic amnesia and I seem to be in the centre of it all.”