A Vision of Fire

“But we’re not just talking about vague feelings or even ideas. Maanik and Gaelle seemed transported, almost totally.”

“And me,” Caitlin said.

“To where? A volcano somewhere in the past?”

“Not just the volcano, the Vikings too,” she said. “A lost language.” Then she murmured, almost as if it came from her unconscious, going with the flow: “No, not genetic imprinting. That’s too specific, individual-to-individual, and Gaelle wasn’t related to her stepmother, at least not genetically. What about racial memory, Ben? Group experiences.”

“You mean like past lives?”

“Honestly, I don’t know what I mean,” she said. “Because there’s something the girls and I share, my Viking ship and the Old Norse factor in their language.”

Ben shook his head no. “That’s tenuous at best. And really, really specific. Besides, where do the Mongolian and Japanese fit?”

“I don’t know, but my point is we are dealing with something way older than any of us that has somehow manifested itself here, now.”

“I don’t know, Caitlin. If you’re going to consider racial memory and past lives, what’s to prevent you from considering future lives or—”

“You’re right.” Caitlin nodded.

“Cai, I wasn’t being serious.”

“But I am! Ben, what if? What if these phenomena—or just a single big phenomenon—are somehow free of time constraints? What if there is some kind of communal stream that’s carrying images and language—information—from ‘somewhen’ to ‘now’ and we’re here to receive and pass it forward?”

“Why you four?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I need to look up Pompeii, I remember there were eyewitness reports—”

“Pliny the Younger,” Ben said. “Chilling stuff. One of my schoolmates did a translation for his thesis.”

“Atlantis,” she muttered.

“Cai, don’t.”

Caitlin was only half-listening. Her brain was free-associating all over the map and through all the calendars that were and ever would be.

“Time to reattach your wires to the ground,” Ben said. “This is beyond speculation.”

“I’m fighting myself,” she said.

“Huh?”

“One of my professors always said that guesswork is part of the scientific method and if you skip that step, you just keep living in the same box that was handed to you at birth. I never really liked that intellectual bungee jump—but here I am, doing it!”

“And heading for the rocks,” Ben said. “You remember what your sophomore roommate used to call you?”

“ ‘The girl with rivets,’” Caitlin said. “Yeah. I like things to make sense. And this thing doesn’t seem to, does it?” Then she added almost dreamily, “But it must.”

Caitlin’s phone buzzed with a text. It was from Mrs. Pawar: My husband suggested I send this to you. It’s from Maanik.

Caitlin tapped on the attachment and a triangle made of triangles made of crescents filled the screen.

“Oh no. No.”

She turned the phone to show Ben.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “That’s impossible.”

“I’m going over there.” She stood, already tapping a reply to Mrs. Pawar. “I’ve got a couple hours before my first session.”

Caitlin started walking toward the Pawars’ building, then turned and spoke as she walked backward. “Thanks, Ben. Thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “For everything.”

CHAPTER 19

Caitlin stood in the hall outside the Pawars’ apartment door for an unusually long moment. The corridor was thick with the same still, unwelcoming atmosphere as the last time she was there. And then a click on the other side of the peephole: someone had lifted the cover to look out. When the door opened, Caitlin realized why Mrs. Pawar had used it. The wife of an Indian diplomat would not allow most outsiders to see her in a housedress with no makeup. The woman clearly wasn’t eating or sleeping enough. When they’d first met, stress had penciled dark smudges around her eyes, but these past days had hollowed her cheeks. Caitlin was mildly shocked by her appearance.

“I’m sorry you had to wait,” the woman said.

“Don’t worry about that,” Caitlin answered, stepping into the apartment. She waited until the door was shut before asking, “Is Maanik all right?”

Mrs. Pawar locked the door behind them. “The blackberries finally worked,” she replied, with no sign of being relieved.

“Finally?” Caitlin asked. She noticed Kamala standing sentry several paces back. Caitlin guessed that Mrs. Pawar was beginning to micromanage the household, trying to control anything she could in the face of a nearly uncontrollable threat to her daughter.

“Just after I sent you Maanik’s drawing, she began running around the room, shrieking,” Mrs. Pawar said as they walked down the hall to Maanik’s bedroom. “She could not hear me. Or would not, I do not know. Finally, her father managed to restrain her and I was able to use your cue.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Caitlin said. She gently took the woman by the arm and slowed them down. “Tell me something, Mrs. Pawar. Have either you or your husband been having nightmares?”