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  Laughing at her own foolishness, she took a deep breath and headed back into the house.

  3.

  Mia stood back and surveyed the room. Not bad for a couple of hours work. She'd put her clothes away, made the bed with the flowery linen her mother had given her when she left home, hung her two favourite efforts from life painting class, wrapped the battery-powered fairy lights around the mirror, and placed "Teddy" atop the set of drawers, where he could keep an eye on her, as he had for the last nineteen years. Remembering the bag of groceries she'd picked up that morning, she decided to make herself a cup of peppermint tea and get under the covers for an early night.

  Tip-toeing down the stairs, she couldn't help thinking how ironic it was. Back in East Putney she was always complaining -- if not out loud, then to herself -- about the constant noise that made it impossible to think, let alone get any work done. Now she missed the music and laughter, and even the arguing that had filled that small space.

  The kitchen was at the back of the house, big enough to accommodate a long wooden table at the centre of the room and a well-worn armchair in the corner, beside the wood burning stove. Surrounded on three sides by an old formica countertop and worn out painted cupboards, on the back wall there was a blue door that Mia guessed would lead down to the cellar. Perhaps there was a utility room with a washer and dryer down there, like at home. She gave it a try, but it was locked.

  Aside from some old cheese, a half-eaten banana, and a box of Cheerios, the fridge was completely empty. Mia added a dozen eggs, a litre of milk, and a six-pack of plain yogurt pots before turning the kettle on. The cupboard was better stocked, with a half-dozen tins of tuna, about the same number of soup cans, a box of PG tips, a jar of Marmite, and several boxes of water biscuits. By the time the kettle boiled Mia had organised her things on the shelf above, and washed out a teacup.

  Balancing the hot drink as she headed back up the hallway toward the stairs, she noticed the drawing room door was ajar. Curious, she pushed it open a crack, but found only pitch black. Locating a switch near the door, she flicked it on, filling the room with a soft, incandescent light.

  The air was stale, the carpets musty, and the dark mahogany furniture was covered in a layer of thin white dust. Mia was drawn to the far end of the room, where a group of three photos stood in tarnished silver frames atop a grand piano. Placing her cup on a side table, she picked up the first frame which was a black and white shot depicting a young woman in a white lab coat posing outside an institutional-looking building. In her mid-twenties, the woman was tall and slender with straight dark hair, high cheekbones, and a delicate jawline. Her thin lips were unpainted but her eyebrows were drawn in two thick black lines arched across her forehead. On closer inspection, Mia could see that something had been scrawled in pen across the lower righthand corner of the picture. The year, 1974, was clear, but the rest was written in what Mia thought might be the Russian alphabet.

  The second photo, in washed out colour, featured the same woman, but this time she was standing on Highbury Crescent, with the house behind her. A few years older, she stood expressionless, tightly gripping a pram that held two seemingly identical infants. Perhaps eighteen months old, the children sat side-by-side in matching outfits, both staring intensely at the camera, as did their mother.

  The final photograph showed the woman with a group of men, all standing in front of a blackboard that had a very long, complicated equation written on it. The men, wearing white shirts and ties but not jackets, were all smiles while the woman, who stood slightly apart from the group, gazed stony-eyed at some unseen object beyond the photographer.

  "Don't look at that!"

  Mia gasped and swung around, knocking her teacup off the table.

  "Oh, my god, I..."

  She stopped in mid-sentence because no one was there. She was alone in the room. Confused, she went to the door and peeked out into the hallway. There was no sign of anyone, and the house was completely silent. Eerily silent. Had Ula been there and disappeared? How could she vanish so quickly? Mia started to wonder if she'd actually heard anything at all. She was tired and on edge, nervous about her first night in the big house. Maybe she'd imagined it. In fact, now that she thought about it, the voice did seem a bit unreal. Faint and hollow, as if emanating from some faraway place. Like a dream.

  After gathering up the scattered pieces of her broken cup and mopping up the peppermint tea, Mia headed back upstairs with the intention of getting straight into bed. It was natural, she told herself, to feel a bit strange in a new, unfamiliar environment. Things would soon get back to normal. She resolved to spend some quality time with Ula in the coming days. The better they got to know each other, the easier it would be for them both to make the adjustment.

  As she reached the top of the stairs, Mia paused, thinking she heard another faraway voice. But this time, instead of evaporating into thin air, it persisted. Muted and indistinct, but unquestionably real, it sounded like two voices having a whispered conversation.

  Following the sound to the back of the house, she paused at Ula's bedroom. The door was wide open, revealing a space at least twice the size of her own room. From her vantage point in the hallway, she could see the bottom half of a king-sized four poster bed, unmade, and, on the wall, a widescreen television that was playing electronic noise. A few articles of clothing were scattered around the room and there was a dead plant in the corner. But no voices.

  There was another door at the end of the hallway, smaller and narrower than the others in the house. Although open only a crack, Mia could see that a set of narrow wooden stairs led up, presumably to an attic. The voices, more distinct now, were certainly coming from there. Mia leaned in to listen.

  "It's not at all clear..." a man said in what sounded like a German accent. "There's too much interference."

  Mia recognised Ula's voice responding, but she was quieter, more difficult to understand than the German. She said something about "polarity."

  "Yes..." the German replied after a moment. "That's much better. In fact, it's very good. A very clear seven. Try another..." It was a moment before he spoke again. "Yes, excellent," he said. "Twelve. And another? Yes, forty-eight. No, wait, it’s a three. Forty-three."

  Straining to hear, Mia leaned too hard against the door and it shut with a loud CLICK. The man went suddenly silent and a moment later, heavy footsteps were coming down the stairs. Mia raced down the hallway, slipped into her room, and eased the door shut. She stood there listening, not daring to breath, as the attic door opened and the man stepped out into the hallway. He took a few steps toward her room, then stopped and retraced his steps back up the hall. Mia didn't exhale until she heard the door close and the footsteps fade as the man climbed the steps back up to the attic.

  Being extra careful not to make a sound, she reached down and slowly turned the key in her door, locking herself into the room.

  4.

  The alarm slowly pierced her consciousness, interrupting a deep, dark, empty slumber. She opened her eyes, but didn't move, not at first. She just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to piece things together. Where exactly was she? Had she been dreaming? Was she dreaming now?

  Propping herself up on one elbow, the world started to come into focus. She picked up the phone, swiped the screen, and found a message from Kat:

  sleep well, doll? up and at 'em! hey, let's do lunch!!!

  It made Mia smile, which was more often than not the effect Kat had on her. They'd met a year earlier, on moving-in day at the East Putney flat, and had quickly bonded. Kat, from up north somewhere, was new to London, too, but being a couple of years older and considerably more street smart than the small town girl, it was natural for her to take the American under her wing. Mia was sorry to lose her as a flatmate, but it all happened so fast and Kat was able to move in with some friends from home who had a house in Tooting.

  Employed in the makeup department at Marks and Spencer on Oxford Street, Kat would get t
he tube to King's Cross a couple times a week to meet Mia for lunch in the school caf. The food was cheap and she seemed to appreciate the off-beat atmosphere of the art school, probably a welcome break from selling foundation to pimply teenagers.

  Mia tapped out a reply:

  it's a date... and i'm buying! xx

  There was no response, but it was almost nine o'clock so Kat would be on the underground by now. Mia slipped out of bed, threw some clothes on, and headed for the bathroom. The sun was shining and, after her long sleep, she felt regenerated. And hungry.

  She was startled to find a man sitting at the kitchen table, eating a large plate of scrambled eggs as he perused his iPad.

  "Oh," she said, stopping in the doorway. "Hi."

  The man looked up and gave her a weary look. In his mid-forties, he was handsome, in a disheveled, scholarly sort of way. "You must be the lodger," he said in a German accent.

  "Um... Yeah... I guess I am."

  He nodded. "What’s your name?"

  "Mia."

  "Mia what?"

  "Mia Fraser."

  He nodded again and went back to his iPad. "Help yourself to the eggs," he said without looking up. "I thought Ula was going to eat something but apparently not."

  Mia looked over at the stove and saw that half her box of eggs had been cracked open. She found a plate and served herself.

  "What's yours?" she said as she sat down.

  "What?"

  "Your name. I told you mine, but you didn't tell me yours."

  "Erik Berg," he said.

  Mia ate a couple of bites then put her fork down. The eggs were overcooked and cold. "Where is Ula anyway?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

  "Sleeping," he replied. "We were at it all night."

  "Oh."

  He looked up and frowned. "I didn’t mean we were having sex."

  "No, I didn't think -- "

  "We were working," he said, going back to the screen.

  "Right." Mia got up and surreptitiously dumped the rest of her eggs into the bin. "What kind of work do you do?" she asked.

  "Bio-technical neurology."

  "Ah." She filled the kettle and turned it on. "I guess that doesn’t mean a lot to me."

  "It doesn’t to most people."

  "Sounds interesting, though."

  "It can be."

  He clearly wanted her to shut up, but she decided to give it one more try. "How do you know Ula?"

  Erik gave her a look. "You ask a lot of questions."

  "Sorry."

  He took his glasses off and breathed a long sigh. "We work together."

  "Oh. Would you like a cup of peppermint tea?"

  "Yes, all right." He showed something that passed for a smile, then put his glasses back on and went back to his reading.

  As Mia waited for the kettle to boil she started to feel a bit uneasy. It was that same feeling she'd had a day earlier, a vague sensation that somebody was watching her. But it was stronger this time, as if someone was right there, behind her, breathing down her neck. She tried to dismiss it, but it was impossible to ignore.

  "Is something wrong?" Erik asked.

  "No, I... I'm fine."

  "You don't seem to be fine."

  "Oh... It's just..." Her heart was beating fast and she was struggling to control her breathing. "It's silly."

  Erik put his iPad aside and stood up. He was suddenly very interested, watching her intently. "Silly in what way?"

  "It's just that... I have this feeling."

  "What sort of feeling?"

  "It's... like I said it's silly, but..."

  "Go ahead. I promise I won't think it's silly."

  "It's this feeling that... that somebody's watching me." Mia tried to laugh, but it came out wrong. "That sounds weird, I know."

  Erik cocked his head, as if seeing her from another angle would help him to understand. It was a strange move, Mia thought. "Tell me more about it," he said.

  "Forget it." Mia shook her head, as if that would shake the odd sensation off. "It’s silly. I... I don’t even know why I said it. It's probably just moving in and everything."

  Erik took a step toward her. The intensity on his face wasn't helping her feel any better. In fact, it was freaking her out.

  "What?" She attempted another laugh. "Have I got egg on my face or something?"

  He took another step and kept coming until he could take hold of her shoulders and look directly into her eyes.

  "What are you doing?" She tried to pull away, but he held her shoulders tightly.

  "You should open your eyes," he said.

  "What?"

  "Open your eyes," he repeated.

  "What are you talking about? They are open."

  "It's time to wake up."

  Mia tried again to pull away, but he just held her tighter. "Let me go," she said, feeling suddenly very weak.

  "Wake up."

  "What?"

  "You should wake up now."

  "Why are you saying that? I don't understand!"

  "You'll see when you open your eyes." He snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Wake up!"

  5.

  Ula opened her eyes to find Erik pointing a video camera at her. "Welcome back," he said from behind the lens.

  She looked from side to side, trying to get her bearings. With the exception of a single flood light located above the subject chair, where she lay, and a group of blinking lights on the instrument panel, the attic was in total darkness. Ula groaned, then sat up and removed the E.I.R. from her head, being careful not to disturb any of the ninety-two transmitters that were embedded in its padding.

  "How long?" she asked.

  "Twelve minutes," Erik replied, still recording.

  Ula frowned and massaged her temples. "It seemed so much longer."

  "You had a sense of time?"

  "Yes."

  "Does that mean you were able to experience coherent events?"

  She closed her eyes and tried to hold onto the images. "Yes," she whispered. "I was there."

  Erik lowered the camera. "It was a success?"

  Ula nodded. "Yes."

  "My god... Ula... This is amazing news. Absolutely amazing!" He raised the camera and pointed it at her again. "Can you describe the experience?"

  She took a deep breath. "It... it was like a dream, but... more vivid." She shook her head in disbelief. "It seemed so real. As if I was living it."

  "Please look into the camera, Ula. And speak up."

  She turned toward the lens, but couldn't bring herself to look straight into it. She spoke haltingly, struggling to capture the details of the memory before it all slipped away. "You were there... in the kitchen... It was that first morning after she moved in. You’d made eggs and... and she came in."

  "Yes, that’s accurate. What else?"

  Ula tried to continue but it was impossible. She turned away and, after a moment, Erik realised that she was crying. "Ula?" He zoomed in on her face. "Why do you cry? Can you explain it?"

  She put her hand up to block the camera. "Turn it off."

  Erik released the record button and lowered the camera. "Are you crying because you're happy with the success?"

  "No..." She needed a moment to gather herself. "It's just... It's just that seeing her again. Being with her. It felt so real. As though... as though she was still alive."

  Unsure how to react, Erik put the camera down and pulled up a chair to sit down beside her. They sat there under the flood light for several minutes, neither one saying anything. Then he put his arm around her.

  "We've done something remarkable, Ula. Truly remarkable. It's going to have a very big impact."

  Uncomfortable with his touch, Ula pulled away and reached for her cane. "That's enough for today," she said, wiping her tears as she headed for the stairs. "We'll continue in the morning."

  Leaving Erik to let himself out, Ula disappeared into the safety of her room and lay back on the bed. Closing her eyes, with the sound
of cold January rain lashing at the window, she let the emotions of what she'd just experienced wash over her. She had no idea how long she'd been lying there when the doorbell rang.

  "I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour."

  The woman stood on the doorstep, dripping wet in spite of the small umbrella she held over her head. An attractive thirty-two year-old, she fumbled around in her pockets until she found her identification card, which she displayed for Ula.

  "Detective Inspector Sarah Boyd," she said. "We met four months ago, on the night of September twenty-third. The night your housemate -- "

  "I know what happened," Ula snapped.

  "Of course. I'm sorry. May I come in?"

  Ula hesitated, but with no other choice, she stepped aside to let the detective pass. Boyd gave her an embarrassed smile as she closed the rain-soaked umbrella, leaving a puddle on the tile floor.

  "Ugly night," she said.

  "Yes," Ula confirmed.

  "If we could sit down for a few moments... I won’t take much of your time."

  Ula hung the detective's wet raincoat in the closet under the stairs and led the way into the kitchen, where they sat facing each other across the width of the table. No tea was offered.

  Boyd removed a folder from the black briefcase she carried. "I’m sorry to have to revive what must be a very difficult memory, she said. "But I’d like to show you something, if I may."

  "All right."

  She produced a sheet of paper from inside the folder and placed it on the table. It was a rather crude police drawing of a young man wearing wraparound sunglasses and a black hooded jacket. With so much of his face hidden, the drawing revealed very little about the subject. He was young -- mid-twenties to mid-thirties -- with no facial hair and no distinguishing marks, such as a scar or a tattoo. Aside from that, it could've been almost anyone.

  "Is this the killer?" Ula asked.