Chapter 20: Resurrecting Jack (part 1)
As the spring semester's end approached Alan was as busy as he had ever been. Between preparing end of term papers, studying for final exams, his regular meetings in midtown with Wilkins and the others, the birth of Megan's baby (Marshall Philip Kelly ("Phil"), 7 pounds even), and his daily readings of the complete files and notes of Jean-Pierre Massimo, left him little time for leisure.
To make matters worse, for some unknown reason he was losing his ability to get by with scant amounts of sleep. He still required less than the average person, but now he was sleeping everyday, sometime for more than four hours at a stretch. His other abilities were unaffected, and if anything, becoming sharper.
The documents that Neil Swindon-Smythe had recovered were a treasure trove of information about the history of Hyrcanus and a few of his fellow Seed Vessels; also extremely useful were Jack's personal journals. Alan had learned a number of new tricks reading the diary. Now he could pass through doors, as if he was a ghost, and he could also turn invisible, not only to people, but to cameras and the like. He was always able to make others not see him by using his mind control powers, but this was more useful in this day and age, with surveillance cameras ever-present; though each of these trick took enormous mental effort, sometimes leaving him drained for hours after his training sessions.
In the back of his mind Alan was worried. He hadn't "heard" from Jack Massimo in months, since the night of the kidnap. If Jack was out there somewhere he still had no idea where, and the silence was troubling. On top of all that the dreams he was having were sort of freaking him out. He knew that they contained clues to where Jack was and how to restore him, but he couldn't cipher the clues in a fashion that made any sense. The one thing he was sure of was that he needed to go to Europe to figure it all out, to retrace Jack's last steps on earth. Once the semester ended he was headed off, and he was lucky to have Mr. Karick as a guide. Who better to help him go back over Jack's last days than the man who had been assigned to watch him every minute of every day? As he thought this through he arched his back, stretching the muscles, hearing the vertebrae click back into alignment, and he sighed.
He was reading at his desk, the laptop open, its screen glowing in the darkness of the room as Soren slept soundly in his bed. He was reviewing the text of the Scroll of Hyrcanus, his namesake, for perhaps the hundredth time. He was tired, his eyelids heavy. He persevered for another thirty minutes and then snapped the laptop closed, unplugged it, replaced it in its steel box, and used his mind to seal the box shut.
Crawling into his unmade bed he collapsed even before he could undress and pull the covers over himself, but he did not sleep. A dull buzzing sensation fell over his restless body, and out of the corner of his eye he began to sense the unearthly glow emanating from Jean-Pierre Massimo's ring. With his last ounce of strength he lifted the hand which bore this ring and held it right in front of his face, and the glow increased, nearly blinding him in rush of pure white light. The vision began. He saw it through Jack's eyes, heard it through Jack's ears, smelled it through Jack's nose.
Florescent lights, white walls, and the smell of antiseptic assaulted his senses.
* * * 29 June 2002
He could feel them getting closer; more to the point, he couldn't feel them, and that was more worrying than anything.
As he made his way through the highways and byways of his adopted hometown he could sense the voids in his power, the null points in his perceptive abilities. He had just left the offices of his financial managers in the City of London, his car just a few feet in front of him, idling at the curbside when he saw a man across the street watching him. It was nothing new; people had been watching him for the better part of a century. But this watcher was different. He had no mind to him. No mind that he could probe and read, and after reading minds, probing the innermost thoughts of nearly all the people he had encountered over these last decades, the reality of being in close proximity to an impenetrable consciousness unnerved him.
He could feel them getting closer. More to the point, he couldn't feel them, and that was more worrying than anything.
* * *
A hospital.
The Cancer Ward.
A stench of death, of impending mortality, pervaded the whole of the corridor.
"I'm very sorry, sir. Visiting hours have ended," the nurse said, trying to edge him to the bank of elevators. He was undeterred.
"A terrible way to die," he said, evenly, his eyes a million miles away. Emile had died in a place like this, the twenty-year old memory still afresh in his brain.
He had been lecturing, in the States. He hadn't even know she was ill. All of their phone conversations and letters, and she hadn't even broached the subject. Brave was she as she faced the final journey, braver than he would have been in her place. Had he known the solution would have been child's play.
His flight landed and he had made immediately for the hospital. The doctor, a model of Swiss efficiency, had laid the facts before him. "One week, Dr. Massimo, perhaps less. I am sorry, there is nothing we can do for her now. We will see that she is as comfortable as can be, and let nature take its course."
It was too late for him to do anything about it. Damn it all to hell! If he had only been here in Geneva a month ago he would have been able to reverse its progression. But now--now it was even out of his hands.
"Yes, sir, a terrible way to die," the nurse repeated, shaking him back to the present. "But, you'll still have to leave. Visiting hours have ended."
He reached out with a mind probe, relieved that his powers were not failing him in his old age, and took control of the woman beside him.
He scanned her brain for information. He was looking for a patient, one in a situation he could use to his advantage.
He closed the door to Mr. Dickinson's room and sat on the bed next to the dying man, laying hands on him like a shaman, a faith healer of old. He concentrated, using all his will, all his strength.
From the private bathroom off to the side he heard the bathtub overflow and went in there to turn off the taps. Water helped. Water made it easier. He eased himself into the tub, fully clothed, and submerged beneath the surface of the water. Through the hazy, shimmering surface of the water he stared at the tiled ceiling for a few seconds, and then closed his eyes and concentrated. A few seconds later he broke the through the surface, his lungs taking in great draughts of air. Dripping wet he made his way back into the room. As he passed the mirror he was only slightly startled by his new appearance which was now identical to the dying man laying in the bed.
Dickinson opened his eyes and they almost popped out of his head at the sight of Massimo. He thought he was having an out of body experience, like when in the movies a person dies and a shadow of them emerges and walks around the room. His double (Massimo) walked up to him and covered Dickinson's eyes, and he was asleep again. Massimo concentrated again, and in almost an instant Dickinson's appearance was transformed to match that of Jean-Pierre Massimo. Water helped.
* * *
The suitcase was the last of his things left in the dorm room. All the rest of his stuff was packed in his dad's car. He was leaving for London in three days, with a security team headed by Mr. Karick, and he figured it was better to pack his bag before he moved back home.
As he was taking a long last look around his room his mom popped in and came over right next to him. "So, sweetie, are you ready?" she asked, reaching up and ruffling his hair.
"Yeah, mom, let's go," Alan replied kissing her on the cheek.
