Legacy

Rita and Paul walked in silence, avoiding the crowds, turning at random. At least Rita tried to keep it random, but she always ended up at the same place.

“We’re here, again.” Paul stepped aside to let her pass, and she entered the storefront, nothing more than a small sigh to signify her defeat.

They passed through the cafe in the front and entered the bookstore proper. Rita knew there was no longer any reason to deny what drew her and went straight to the new releases. The book sat before her, pompous and arrogant, the author’s face surrounded by a cloud of mathematical formulae.

“Rita, dear...” Paul placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We’re here to help, but we can’t do it for you.”

“Yeah, no… I know.” She stared at the cover and time stopped. The symbols crawled over one another, shifting, turning. She knew they were wrong, somehow. “But, it’s not real… I mean….”

Paul tugged at her shoulder. “I understand, and we're here for you.” He glanced at the darkening sky through the plate glass of the store. “It’s getting late, we should go.”

Rita nodded almost imperceptibly and deflated, her shoulders dropping and her gaze fixed on the floor. She let Paul lead her away like a child.

The morning snuck in gray and damp. Rita paced the house, waiting for Paul to wake. When she heard him stir, she stopped herself and took several deep, measured breaths. I can do this.

“Are you ready to try again?” Paul smiled, as if it were any normal day.

“I think so….”

“You went almost four hours yesterday. Maybe your avoidance idea is working.”

“How many times, now?”

His eyes softened. “Let’s not worry about counting. We’re here for you, however long it takes.”

As they walked, Rita decided a conversation might help her stop obsessing over the book. “Sure is a chilly morning for summer.”

“Yes, it would be, except it’s early fall now.” Paul bumped her shoulder. “Still, I get what you mean. More like a late fall morning.”

“When you first met me, what was I doing?”

“You were staring at the book. Motionless and unresponsive.” He looked at her. “Do you remember that day?”

“Not really…. I can’t remember anything before that day. Unless…” something tickled the back of her mind. “It’s like I can almost remember something.”

“Memories rattling in the back of the brain?” He chuckled. “We've all been there. That's a good sign.” He stepped aside and motioned her in. “We're here again.”

Rita walked through the cafe and past the new releases to the non-fiction section. The book was here now, but she didn't have to search, it drew her.

“Rita, we've tried your way, but you're still stuck.” Paul stood behind her, his hand on her shoulders. “Let's try something different. Pick just one element on the book and focus on that until you remember that piece.”

She nodded and picked one formula. It was wrong, but she didn't understand why yet. The numbers and symbols drew her in, swirling around until she was wading in them.

“It's a mathematical model of… of… I can't….”

“Shh. Take as long as you need.” Paul stepped back, and the formula drew her in.

She waded deeper, the numbers and symbols threatening to drown her, and still she pressed on. Was the formula growing or was she shrinking? Did it matter? It covered her, but instead of drowning she felt herself infusing into it. There was something intimate about it, embracing her like a mother.

“I made this. This formula describes pareidolia.” Rita turned around to see Paul smiling, standing still. “It’s a mathematical model for how our brains make patterns out of things. Mathematically it’s sound. Neurologically it’s correct. But it’s still wrong.”

“Good, Rita.” He took her hand. “I think that’s enough for today.”

“Why is it wrong, though?” She had to know how something right, something she made, was so wrong.

“It’ll become clear the more you remember.” He put an arm around her shoulder to lead her out. “For now, remembering you made it is enough.”

In the days that followed she connected with more of the formulae. One was a model that described confirmation bias, another the electrical storm in the brain when oxygen starved. Processes of the mind, modeled in mathematical precision. She remembered the phrase “an astounding break-through in neuroscience.”

They stood in front of the bookstore, fresh snow drifting around their feet. Rita thought it had just been early fall a few days earlier. “Snow, already?”

Paul said nothing, but held the door while she entered. He followed her to the book. “You remembered a phrase the other day.” He pointed at the book. “Can you find it?”

She looked at the book again. Up to now, Rita had been so drawn by the author’s face and the cloud of formulae around her she hadn’t even noticed the words. “There, at the bottom. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it. Instead, try to look somewhere new. What is the title of the book?”

Rita stared at the book and time stopped again. There was a title here somewhere. “Got it. ‘The Deceitful Brain: Neuroscience Explains the Supernatural.’”

“That’s good, Rita. Shall we call it a day?”

“No.” Rita focused on the words on the cover. “I’l figure this out, today.”

“Ok, I’m here when you need us.”

Rita reached out, her hand inches from the book. “I can see all the words inside… it’s like… I know this.” She took in a sharp breath. “I remember writing this. The picture on the cover is me. I was right when I wrote it, I knew. So why is it wrong now?”

“Hm. What happened after you wrote it?”

She closed her eyes and saw herself holding a copy of the book, opening it and scrawling her signature. The book signing flooded back into her memory. Scores of people waiting for an autographed copy, but only one face was in focus.

“There was a man at the signing. He didn’t want a copy or an autograph. He got right in my face and told me I was going to hell, that it was the devil, not science guiding me. And then he….” She shook as fright overtook her.

Paul embraced her. “We're all here for you. He can’t hurt you now, but you’re close. Remember. What did he do then?”

“He pulled out a… a gun. I felt a burning flash across my face as the bullet tore through my brain.” She stepped back from Paul. “And then I was here, with you.” She looked back at the book. “That’s why it’s wrong. I’m proof that it’s wrong.”

“Do you regret writing it? Regret is powerful and difficult to shake.”

“Not… no, not regret. Just sad, I guess.” She turned away from the book. “Can we leave now?”

“Sure.” Paul smiled and led her to the door where an inviting summer day beamed in. “But we can’t go with you, you don’t need us any more.”

“Thanks, Paul.” Rita gave him a quick hug, sensing the multitude of souls gathered around him, before stepping out of the bookstore for the last time.