Triggers

Susan enlisted Professor Singh to help her interview the other potentially linked people: he’d speak individually to half of the remaining group, and she’d take the other half. They could have gotten through everyone even more quickly if she had the other Secret Service agents do interviews, too, but she didn’t know who among them she could trust. But Singh, who she recalled had enough psychology courses under his belt to know how to effectively question people, had no secrets from her, and she could access his memories of each interview once it was done; it was almost as good as being in two places at one time.

Susan’s next interviewee was a young woman named Rachel Cohen, who worked in accounts receivable here at Luther Terry Memorial Hospital; she’d happened to be on the fourth floor, passing directly above Singh’s lab, when the memory-linking effect occurred.

“I don’t understand,” Rachel said, sounding quite distraught. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“We’re all still trying to get a handle on it,” Susan said. “It was an accident.”

“But it’s…God, it’s freaky. I mean, I wasn’t aware that anything was wrong until just now.”

“It seems the foreign memories don’t come to mind unless something triggers them, or unless you actually think about them. Some people knew at once that they’d been affected; others, like you, didn’t know until they were asked about it.”

Rachel shook her head in dismay. “But now that you have asked me about it, I can’t stop recalling things he knows.”

“He?” said Susan, leaning forward. “Do you know his name?”

“Sure. It’s Orrin.”

The chances of there being two Orrins around struck Susan as pretty slim, but: “Orrin what?”

“Gillett.”

Susan hoped she was keeping her face from showing distaste; Orrin Gillett was the lawyer who’d tried to run at the beginning of the lockdown. She asked Rachel a few questions about Gillett, just to be sure: the names of his law partners, which law school he’d gone to, and so on, and then she verified the answers on the law firm’s website.

“How—how long is this…this pairing…going to last?” Rachel asked, when Susan was done.

“I honestly have no idea.”

Rachel shook her head again. “This is so strange. God, it feels weird. I mean, he’s a man, you know? I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to be a man instead of a woman.”

“Maybe when this is all over, you’ll write a book about it,” Susan offered.

Rachel seemed to consider this. “Maybe I will, at that. It’s…it’s fascinating.” And then, after a moment, almost to herself, it seemed, she added, “He’s fascinating.”

“Okay,” said Susan. “Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Cohen. We’re still keeping people here at the hospital for a while, but please give me your cell number, so I can find you easily again if I need you.”

Rachel dictated it, then left Singh’s office. Just as she did so, Susan’s earpiece buzzed. “Hudkins to Dawson.”

“Go ahead, Darryl,” Susan said.

“We’ve located nineteen of the twenty people,” said the voice in her ear. “But one seems to have gotten out of the building before you initiated the lockdown.”

“Shit,” said Susan. “Who?”

“Bessie Stilwell, a woman who was visiting her son. And I’m the one reading her—which is strange, I gotta say. She’s visiting from Pascagoula, Mississippi—at least, that’s what I recall.”

“Do you know who she’s linked to?”

“No. And I’m not sure where she’s gone; I’m trying to recall it, but it hasn’t come to me yet. I just went to see her son, Michael Stilwell, but he’s pretty much out of it; he had a major heart attack. He’s got no idea where she might have gone today.”

“If you’re linked to her, why can’t you just recall it?”

“I asked Singh about that. His guess is that it’s because she’s elderly—she’s eighty-seven, her son said. Bessie has trouble recalling things herself; she’s not senile, or anything, just old. Singh thinks it may clear up for me; he suspects I might re-index her memories as time goes on, using my younger brain. But at the moment, well, let’s say I now know how my grandma feels when she’s struggling to recall something. It’s frustrating.”

“What hotel is she staying at?”

“She isn’t. She’s staying at her son’s place. I’ve got the address, and will get the DC police to stake it out.”

Susan didn’t want to become paranoid—and she’d known Darryl for four years now—but it was suspicious that he was both claiming not to be linked to Jerrison and was having trouble corroborating that he was linked to someone else. Still: “Copy,” Susan said. “But find her. Oh, and Rachel Cohen is linked to Orrin Gillett—can you tell Singh to add that to his chart? And I guess I better speak to Gillett now; might as well do this in some kind of order. Can you get him and bring him to 312? I’ve got him locked up in 424.”

“Copy,” said Darryl.