Memoria - Chapter 3 - Revealia

"Truth and destiny,1

all shall be known.2

As time carries forward,3

Revealia his fate" - Infinitum Liberati4

It is a well known fact that extreme situations can cause the human mind to kick into overdrive. The proverbial turbo switch is flipped, and for a moment the brain and body can do things not normally possible. Mothers pick up cars if their child is trapped, people survive infernos and some walk away from deadly falls without a scratch. Somewhere deep within each person lies the potential to become great and powerful - all that is needed is a trigger.5

Speeding at over hundred and twenty kilometers per hour, Jason had no more than a fraction of a second's warning before the car was coming directly at him. He was halfway across the street in front of his shop, and it was almost dark. As with anything that causes shock, everything seemed to slow down. His senses grew tenfold stronger; the wind blowing softly became an ocean roar, only his own heartbeat drowning out the horribly loud sounds of traffic and the early evening throb of noise. His eyes magnified his view of the car until he could clearly see the driver, with a shocked face looking at him. She was pretty in a homely way, not enough to make faces turn, but fine sure enough. He didn't know what to do, except raise his hand in a reflex gesture. This was odd because it made him look like he was directing the car to stop. In fact, mentally he was. With no more than a moment, his only thought was a single word.6

An eyewitness reported later that a wave of heat came from the man in the street, and flicked toward the car. Nobody was sure what happened. And the only eyewitness was a kid of nine, going to the local cafe for bread and milk. What was sure though, was that a red Nissan car exploded after colliding with the lamp post and igniting a tree as well. As cars don't usually explode, this was a strange case. What was even stranger, was the fact that the driver wasn't in the car when it went Guy Fawkes all over Main Street. She was found inside Printed, the newly opened bookstore, having a glass of sugar water from the owner, who stated that she had come in there seconds before her car blew. Adding to this strangeness, the woman couldn't remember how she had gotten out of her car. She mumbled something about brakes failing, and how she had been meaning to get them checked.7

Jason glanced at the woman being helped by the police. He smiled and waved his hand as they drove away. The brightly flashing orange light of the breakdown truck was giving him a headache, and he already had enough to think about. Wishing they would just go away, and take that burning hulk away from the front of his shop before it gave him a hernia, he poured himself a strong cup of coffee and flicked through another book. After his ordeal a few hours ago, (he remembered exactly what had happened, but somehow didn't believe anybody else would take to it kindly) he had spent the past few minutes taking books from the shelves and looking for something. The local on-site paramedic thought it was shock causing him to randomly take a book, read a few pages, and then put it back again, before taking down the next one. Jason called it research.8

The bell above the door made a faint jingle. Jason looked up from his reading, ready to ask whoever it was (probably another local wanting to ask about the action) whether he could help, before realizing that this man didn't seem interested in the now dying embers of the burnt tree, the only remainder of the earlier accident. Instead he looked like a bum come begging.9

"May I help you?" Jason asked with a hint of hesitation,10

"Here, take this." the man replied, his voice a deep bass, comforting in a way. The unknown visitor placed a small object on the table before turning around. 11

"May it protect you from Mpundulu" he said, before disappearing out the door, the soft sound of the bell marking his exit.12

All this happened in a few seconds; Jason barely had time to respond. His eyes drifted back to the small trinket on his table. It was a small doll, made of wood, and carved into the doll's forehead was that strange symbol again. He dropped the doll onto the table and sped for the door. Gasping from the sudden exertion, he glanced up and down the street. But it was empty. The sudden, quick movement had re-wakened his headache, and grunting, he went back inside, hoping to see that man again. He had to know what this meant. Somehow the events of the past few days had conspired to make him be at key places at key times. This symbol meant something. Somehow it was related to the suicides. And to him. But how? He didn't know, except that word the man had spoken: Mpundulu. He knew that word, although he was certain that he had never heard it before. It sounded like something native, one of the local languages maybe. A thought occurred to him, and he swept off to the back room of his shop, hoping beyond hope that somehow he would find what he needed there.13

The back room was a small office intended for managerial purposes, but converted by Jason into storage space for the more expensive and rare items. Shelf after shelf was packed with books, each one in a protective covering. He knew he didn't have a book here like the one he was looking for, but yet somehow he knew that it would be here. And it was. The only one not in a protective covering caught his eye immediately. The spine bore the words "Infinitum Liberati", and he took it from the shelf.14

Opening the book, that strange sense of unrealism overcame him once again. But this time he suspected he knew what it was. As colors brightened to an almost unbearable glare, the words on the pages flowed and changed from Latin to English. Sometimes he could understand them - and sometimes the jumble of letters caused throbs of jackhammer pain in his already aching head. And Jason once again read from the book he had written millenia ago.15

Many years I have spent travelling, searching for a way to bind my essence throughout the lifetimes into a single existence. So that one day I may remember the ways lost - and stand proud - the man who remembers. You who are reading this, you are me, and I am you. Only you have the knowledge to find this book, and only you have the vision to see its words. This is my diary... and yours too.16

The words spoke at Jason. In parts what he read came to him as no great surprise, yet a feeling of dread, and great anticipation, came over him as he continued to read words he felt were his own.17

No man is supposed to remember what lives he has lived before, yet I was naive. I believed there must be a way, and there was. In Memoria, the power of the symbol binds us to forget. But he used it to make himself remember. How stupid of me, to think that nobody could twist the natural order of existence. My actions caused harm. Now, I alone can stop him. Forever through my lives I shall be cursed to find this diary and read its words. Forever shall evil follow me, intent on breaking my link to the past, and to the future. How I wish it could be done, yet the darkness that pervades me must not be allowed to continue. Stop it. I beg of you.18

Jason snapped the book shut, and exhaled loudly, a gasp of unbelief.19

For years he had been feeling like an outsider, somebody who would never fit in, an outcast. The only solace was found in books, stories of imagination where he could truly immerse himself. He understood now why: he was forgetting that he alone could remember the ages that had passed. He was a farmer; a wealthy politician; a murderer; a scholar; a teacher; a husband. As his memory opened to reveal his long past, a darkness settled around him like a cloak of numbing pain. Image followed image, a flashing film played off in his mind. So fast he could barely follow it, but the essence stayed the same. Sight and sound and smell soon blurred together into a chaotic order of memories, each carrying the same elements of sweet life, revelation, and then unending suffering. And throughout his lives, the shadow that followed him. Hours sped by as Jason remembered his past, and above all was the symbol, the one he had sworn to protect, coming back to haunt him unto eternity.20

His eyes snapped open to the sound of the ringing telephone, a loud noise that made his head hurt even more. Grunting, he stood up, wondering if headaches were to be his future. From far off he could hear mid-morning traffic and the sounds of passersby. Some of them eyed him through the large display window of his shop as he lumbered toward the phone. The coffee machine was full, so he poured himself a cup before answering. Jason was of the mind that if it was important, they would keep trying.21

"Printed Bookstore, Jason speaking", he answered, keeping a hand in front of his eyes to block out the painful rays of the morning sun, hoping this wasn't the onset of a pattern. He must have been out for hours.22

"Mr. Bell, Graham Tessen here. I was hoping you would come to my office if you have time. Seems you're just a magnet for attention these days." 23

Jason detected an iciness in the good chief's voice, which he was trying to cover up with idle chitchat. It didn't take long for Jason to imagine Graham sitting in his dusty office with a cup of coffee of his own in his hand, talking on the phone. No wait, Graham hated coffee, and preferred sweet Earl Grey tea, no milk. Glancing at the handset in his hands, the disembodied voice of the chief of police still drifting up from the piece, Jason wondered how he had known that. Then he realized that it didn't matter. After last night, events like these should seem almost natural. He would always know these things because somebody else did. He would always remember what others do. This was part of the curse the book was talking about.24

Jason listened for a few more minutes, occasionally cutting in to acknowledge some trivial bit of unpleasant nicety, before confirming that he would be there soon enough. Hanging up, he realized that this would also be a perfect opportunity for him to get his hands on one of the confiscated disks he had seen in Ryan's room. Somehow he had to have one of those disks.25

Sometimes hoping for something to happen is just enough to actually make it happen. Sometimes an added bit of help in the form of new knowledge helped too. But sometimes all that was needed was simply a twist of fate in the right direction. As a butterfly fluttering its wings could cause a tornado, so too could a simple thing like a malfunctioning fire alarm bring about events to fall directly into the favour of a single individual. Whether the fire alarm went haywire of its own accord is of course debatable. Jason was hoping for some way to get the chief out of his office for the few seconds he would need to grab one of the disks out from under the large stack of papers on the chief's desk, when just such an event occurred. Jason had hardly sat down in front of Tessen's desk, when the alarm in the entrance hall went off. Graham frowned, stood up and peeked out his door. He yelled to one of the deputies, who promptly exited in the direction of the offending sound. Seconds later it ceased.26

"Sorry about that. We've been having trouble with it since this morning." he said, taking his seat once again.27

Jason smiled at this. "How may I help this morning?"28

"That accident last night. We have all the reports, all the statements, and one eyewitness account. It sounds like a normal accident. and yet something about it seems amiss" he trailed off, eyeing Jason's expression.29

"It happened in front of my store, and you think I might have something to do with it." Jason stated. He was anxious to get out of the oppressive office, the disk nestled safely in his coat's inner pocket. A few seconds was all he had needed, and the chief had given him that when he peeked outside his door.30

"No, no, not at all. Except the eyewitness said there was a man involved ..." again he paused. A standard interrogation technique, hoping the person would end off the sentence, possibly revealing more information. 31

Jason didn't fall for it. 32

Graham noticed. 33

"You didn't see a man anywhere, perhaps?" His hand moved toward another folder, pencil in hand. It reminded Jason so much of a reporter out on a story that he almost laughed.34

"Not that I know of. I was in the back of my store when it happened"35

Graham read from the file for a moment before glancing up at Jason.36

"Word for word. I was just hoping that perhaps you may have remembered something last night that could help us. Other than this eyewitness, all seems like a just another accident."37

Now Jason did smile. The irony of the chief's words was amusing indeed.38

After a few minutes more of idle chitchat, mostly concerning the unrest noted in parts of town, Jason bade the chief goodbye and exited into the street. But instead of turning toward his store, he headed for his home. Thankfully he lived close to the shop; it certainly saved the fuel on a car, and walking to and from work daily, was excellent exercise.39

Graham smiled to himself as Jason left his office. Glancing at the untidy desk, he stood up and turned toward the window behind his chair. The dusty shade of sunlight was caused by a thick curtain he had put up to create the exact effect he wanted, that of an old office with an old look. This sometimes helped when interviewing possible suspects. It gave them the impression he was sloppy and careless, when in fact he knew perfectly well what he was doing.40

Graham was born on one of the farms near here, now reclaimed by the government for housing. He had left Enderton for Pretoria, bent on becoming the best police officer ever. Years of dedicated study, a list of duties in various towns, to be finally sent back home after a bad spot in the Cape. He sighed, an audible sound in the silence of his office, the only other sound that of an old-fashioned typewriter somewhere in the outer office. Probably an officer typing up a report about the accident last night.41

He mused about that one - this Jason character certainly was an enigma. Barely here for a few weeks and he gets mugged, and then it seems strange luck follows him everywhere. Granted it could be just coincidence, but Graham had long since learned that coincidence was just another word for hidden evidence. And now the guy had taken one of the disks. Probably thought Graham didn't know. He watched Jason walk away from the precinct and after a few minutes, took his coat and left his office. He told the officer at the typewriter that he would be back soon. It was not likely that anything would happen that would keep him away for too long.42

Down the street he could see Jason's form, walking briskly in the direction of the few scattered town houses that had sprung up recently. Each built to look like the perfect little house, but in truth he knew those houses would just fall in disarray soon, as more people left town. Nobody stayed long; it was a matter of course. This place was more of a passing-through truck stop than an actual home to most people.43

The wind was blowing strong and cold, and dark clouds were menacing on the horizon, making Graham pull his coat tighter as he followed the enigma, hoping that he might see what this was all about.44

Jason slipped the CD out of the case, carefully touching the sides to avoid scratching the surface. He took a sip from his glass of Coke and inserted the disk into his CD player. He had bought it months ago when he decided that tapes were a thing of the past, and the current age required a certain dash of modern taste. With a sigh he looked around at the half-empty house. The CD spun up, and at first Jason could hear nothing. After a few seconds a strange hum echoed from the speakers, followed by a clear silver note, reminding Jason of a bagpiper he once knew. The note was soon followed by a second, and more followed. The melody created was soothing and beautiful, unlike anything he had ever heard before. Jason walked over to the couch, sat down, eyes closed, listening to the music. He had always had a fondness for the sounds of the Scottish bagpipe, and more than once wished he could play it. Smiling to himself, he cast his mind back, and realized that he could play it now. The rhythm of the music was overwhelming, carrying him in a torrent of peaceful wonder. 45

He must have dozed off, for when he opened his eyes again, the day was almost over and the disk was finished. He sighed loudly, his glass was empty and he was very thirsty. Wondering what there was to eat; he switched off the hi-fi and set off for the kitchen. All thoughts of the disk were banished for the more urgent need to silence his hunger.46

Graham glanced at the window, barely able to see Jason's shape as he stood up and headed for the kitchen. He noted the time on his watch, a good one and a half hours. A long time for a man to sit and listen to music, even though it sounded like a flute, Graham's favorite instrument. He couldn't hear exactly what it was, he was in his car across the road, but from what he heard, he had a strong urge to grab himself a disk and listen to it. Driving away, he wondered who made it. It sure was a good tune.47