Callsign: King - Blackout

19

Fiona ignored the big man’s dire pronouncement. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, her fists on her hips in a defiant pose.

The man she knew as Hercules and Alexander Diotrophes-the man now calling himself Carutius-ignored her and turned his gaze to the woman that had guided Fiona and Sara into the exhibit hall. “Dr. Preston, I need you to take them out of here immediately.”

The woman blinked at him and for a moment, seemingly on the verge of complying, but then Sara stepped forward. “Just a damn minute. Fiona asked you a question, and I think we all deserve an answer. I’ve heard a lot about you… Frankly, I think a lot of it is bullshit, but one thing I do know is that you’re a magnet for trouble.”

A gleam that might have been humor flickered in the man’s eyes. “And here you are, Sara. Interesting.”

“Are you following us?” Fiona asked.

“Not everything in the world revolves around you, my dear. The fact of the matter is that your presence here is a complication, and one that I wish to immediately resolve. Thus…” He glanced at Dr. Preston again. “My insistence that you leave immediately.”

“The pictures are singing to me,” Fiona blurted. “When I look at them…at the artwork here…it’s like I can hear voices.”

Alexander’s brow creased as he pondered this, and Fiona realized that maybe the big man didn’t have all the answers after all. Then his visage hardened again. “This changes nothing. You need to leave. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t even be in Paris, but there’s nothing to be done about that. Dr. Preston-Julia-please do as I asked. Escort them to the front gate and put them in a taxi. Get them out of here.”

Julia shook her head, overcoming her paralysis. “I don’t think so. This is all too much. First you close the exhibit and give me some cock-and-bull story about radiometric dating. Now these two show up and this girl says…what? That she can hear the paintings singing to her? And you don’t even bat an eye? What the hell is going on here?”

Alexander drew a deep breath, clearly struggling to control his anger. If he wanted, the big man could probably have scooped them all up under one mighty arm and bodily carried them out the door, but Fiona resolved that she wouldn’t be leaving any other way. It seemed that Sara and Julia were of the same mind, and Alexander evidently realized this. He faced Julia. “This young woman possesses a remarkable gift. She is quite possibly the last person alive with knowledge-albeit incomplete-of what might be the original language.”

A flicker of skepticism crossed Julia’s face. She glanced at Fiona, but said nothing.

“As you no doubt have learned in your own studies of anthropology, language and culture are learned behaviors, but at their heart, they represent the desire of our species to assign meaning to the physical universe. The same is true of art. In fact, artistic representations are the most basic form of communication; even before written language, people communicated with pictures. There are charcoal drawings on the walls of the Chauvet Cave made 30,000 years ago. We can’t know what words those ancient peoples used to speak with one another, but we have no difficulty understanding the message in those drawings. Art and language are therefore inextricably linked, so it comes as no surprise that Fiona here would grasp this connection in a way that remains hidden to the rest of us.”

“But…singing to her?”

Alexander turned his gaze to girl. “Do you literally hear singing?”

“Not exactly,” Fiona equivocated. “It’s like that, but…I don’t know how else to describe it.”

“When a person discerns a pattern, such as a mathematical regression,” Alexander said, “it changes their perspective. You start to see that pattern everywhere, without even trying. This is no different.”

“That makes sense,” Sara said, directing her words to Fiona. “Your brain just doesn’t know how to interpret the message.”

He sighed and folded his arms across his chest. “That is the only answer I can give you. Now, will you leave?”

Fiona felt Sara take her hand, gently but nonetheless insistently urging her to comply with the request. Julia still appeared troubled by all that had transpired and by the lack of any real answers, but likewise seemed eager to leave the big man’s daunting presence.

“Just tell me this,” Fiona persisted. “Why now?”

“What do you mean?”

“This just started happening when I came in the museum. It’s been months since…” She nodded meaningfully toward Julia. “That thing happened, and nothing. But the minute I set foot in the museum, it started. And there’s something else. It only happens when I look at the original art. I don’t feel anything when I look at photographs of the art.”

“From those? Nothing.” She pointed at the elaborate holograms of the Buddhas and shook her head. “But when I look at those-” Her finger moved to the display cases which seemed to contain only chunks of rock. “It’s like they’re screaming at me.”

Alexander’s eyes widened, transforming his countenance into what, on any other man, would have been a mask of outright terror. He knelt before Fiona, the top of his head still slightly higher than her own, and gripped her shoulders in either hand. “Tell me, child. What are they saying?”