“Nothing?” Dorning asked, pen in hand. “Are you absolutely sure? Nothing at all?”
The boy took another bite of his lunch as he shook his head no.
Dorning sighed, sat back and considered the nearly blank notebook page. He sighed again, abruptly closed the book then capped his pen and stuffed them back into his ever-present briefcase.
“Very well. Perhaps tomorrow then.”
Miguel swallowed. “It’s been more than a week. I don’t feel any smarter.”
Dorning huffed as he ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, yes. I’m aware of that.”
Miguel scooped up another forkful of food. “Maybe it just didn’t work.” He stared down at his plate.
Dorning stirred uneasily. “Nonsense. This is still well within the timeframe I predicted for the first recovered memory. I’m not the least bit worried. Not in the least.” He drummed his fingers on the kitchen table.
Miguel kept eating.
Dorning studied Miguel’s motions, reluctantly concluding he saw nothing of the professor in the boy’s simple mannerisms.
His patience wearing uncomfortably thin, he knew he would have to take a much more direct approach to revive the professor instead of waiting for the familiar surroundings to do the job for him.
Dorning cleared his throat. “I’ve decided it would be best if I lived here with you, at least for a while. I will sleep in your old bedroom.”
“Why? Natalie takes good care of me.”
“Of course she does. I just want to be here when the professor’s memories assert . . . when the professor’s memories begin to return.” He leaned closer and pursed his lips, choosing his words more carefully as the boy continued to eat. “I’ll be honest with you, Miguel. You might find some of the professor’s memories a little . . . intense, maybe even incomprehensible. I will be here not only to record those memories but help explain them so you won’t be worried or afraid. Okay?”
Miguel shrugged. “Okay.”
Dorning rapped on the tabletop. “Good. I’m moving in tonight.”
The boy’s face brightened. “Hey, maybe we can run through the waves together.”
Dorning’s expression immediately turned dark. “Run through the waves? Out of the question. You can’t get your bandage wet, remember? Don’t tell me you’ve been in the ocean!”
Miguel put his fork down as he sank a bit in his chair. “Well, just up to my knees. I didn’t get my head wet.”
“Unacceptable! Is Natalie aware of this?”
Miguel hesitated. “No.” His voice was small.
Dorning took note of the hesitation. “That’s what I thought.” He turned to the open kitchen door. “Natalie?” his voice boomed. “Come here, please.”
Natalie appeared, drying her hands with a kitchen towel. “What is it, Doctor?”
“I understand the boy has been in the ocean despite my explicit orders to keep him away. Is this true?”
Natalie and Miguel stared at each other. She suddenly broke into laughter then covered her mouth with the towel to stifle it. “Oh, Doctor, he’s just a boy! What else is there for him to do but have a little fun outside? He’s not getting his bandages wet.”
Dorning was immediately on his feet, facing Natalie, his eyes burning with anger. “You will listen to me. The boy is to not go anywhere near the water. Is that clear? There’s much too much at stake to risk the professor’s—to risk Miguel’s safety in any way. If I find out he’s so much as gotten his ankles wet out on the beach, you will be out of a job and never return here again. I don’t care how important you are to my plans or the boy’s recovery, we will simply do without you. Do you understand?”
Natalie stood shoulders hunched. She answered quietly. “Yes, Doctor. I’m sorry.”
He nodded, his anger spent. “It’s for the boy’s own good. Please don’t take it personally. And I don’t want him climbing on any of those tall rocks anymore, either. I don’t want him injured in a fall. He must be allowed a full, safe, and complete recovery.”
“Yes, Doctor. If you insist.” She stood there contritely.
“I do.” He grabbed his briefcase, confident the housekeeper would now follow his orders. “As I told the boy, I’m moving in for a while to assist with his recovery. I’ll be back later today with some personal belongings. Please provide some clean linens for the spare bedroom.” He turned to go, stopped, and then slowly turned back around. “And one more thing. I would like the boy to go through all the professor’s belongings in the room. Have him look at everything. That would be much more productive than frolicking on the beach. It’s important he become thoroughly familiar with . . . his inheritance. It was very munificent of Percival to select an underprivileged boy to eventually receive the bulk of his estate. We must make sure the boy thrives here. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Good. Then it’s settled.”
Dorning abruptly left.
Natalie and Miguel followed him to the door and watched him drive away.
She gently squeezed the boy’s shoulders. “I’m afraid he just took away all your fun, didn’t he?”
“That’s all right. He just wants me to be as smart as the professor someday.”
Natalie stared down at the boy’s two bandages and laughed a little. “If you keep banging your head you’ll never be as smart as the professor. Maybe the doctor’s right to limit your activities. You must be horribly clumsy.”
Miguel was silent. He remembered then what the doctor said about not telling Natalie yet about the true nature of the operation.
For now, it was supposed to be just their little secret.
****
That night Miguel had a vivid dream.
He dreamt he was in the ocean, far from the shore, swimming towards one of the brightly lit ships he often saw in the distance. Each stroke propelled him faster and faster, until he suddenly found himself on the deck of the ship, surrounded by a crowd of admiring people. At first he thought they were admiring him because of his amazing feat, but then he realized he was an adult like them and they were anxious to meet him because he was someone famous. He looked down as he shook the hands of his guests one by one, and saw his hands were large and strong. He shook the hand of one man who didn’t easily let go. When he looked up to see who the man was, he was shocked to find himself looking into the anxious eyes of the doctor—only the doctor looked years younger.
“Hello, Professor Marlowe. I’m so glad to finally meet you. I’m Carl Dorning.”
“Oh, yes! I remember the letter you wrote. You’re the neurosurgeon with the interesting theories about memory preservation.”
“That’s right. I would like the opportunity to talk to you about my research.”
Miguel backed away slightly from the doctor, still smiling. “Well, my schedule is pretty full nowadays. Besides, that’s not my area of expertise, you know. Maybe you would be better off presenting your ideas to your peers. I found your research intriguing but perhaps a little beyond a mere astrophysicist such as myself.”
Both men laughed amiably.
“I came to you, Professor, because I think my research may eventually benefit you personally. I read your comments about needing another lifetime to truly finish your work. My research may actually provide you with that opportunity.”
Miguel backed away still further, looked eagerly towards the other guests waiting their turn to meet him in the hope the doctor would get the hint. “That sounds fine, just fine. Perhaps we can get together some other day. Write me again, will you?” He nodded politely to the woman standing behind the doctor then tried to extend his hand to her.
The doctor didn’t move out of the way. “To be perfectly honest, I came here today because I need your help, Professor. I’m afraid I’ll soon be deeply in debt because of my costly experiments. Naturally I had to quit my job to devote my full efforts to my research, but even a neurosurgeon’s savings only goes so far.” He stepped forward to close the growing gap between them. “Professor, the results I’ve achieved so far are nothing short of amazing, as modest as they’ve been. Quite frankly, my research could be your salvation if we could only discuss it further.” Dorning stepped closer still.
Miguel saw two uniformed security guards approaching with concerned expressions and motioned them to hurry.
They quickly flanked the doctor.
“Is everything all right, Professor? Is this man bothering you?” one of the guards asked.
“Let’s just say his welcome has worn out. Others are waiting their turn. Please escort him from the room, quietly. Good day, Dr. Dorning.”
There was a look of betrayal in the doctor’s eyes. “I don’t deserve to be treated like this, Professor. You’re my idol. I merely wanted to share my research with you.”
“Yes. Well. And apparently, you want me to pay for it. Doctor, there’s a time and a place for everything. This is neither. Now good day.”
The guards took the doctor away. Dorning glanced back at him, looking sadder still.
Miguel woke with a start and sat up bed, his heart racing.
“¡Ay, Dios mío!”
He jumped out of bed and raced into the bedroom next door where the doctor slept soundly.
Miguel turned on the bedroom light then shook Dorning’s shoulder.
“Por favor, Doctor, wake up!”
Dorning snored loudly and rolled away from him.
“Please, Doctor! I had a very strange dream.”
Dorning finally turned over and look at the boy, blinking from the light.
“What? A strange dream? You mean a nightmare?”
“No, it was like a vision about the professor. And you, years ago.”
Dorning immediately sat up. “Wait a minute. This might be important.” He grabbed his notebook and pen from the nightstand. “Go on. Tell me as much as you can remember.” He flipped the notebook open and uncapped the pen.
Miguel took a deep breath. “I was swimming out to a ship at sea, swimming real fast, and suddenly I was on board. Only I wasn’t just me anymore, I was the professor too, in some big room. There were all these people waiting in line to talk to me and one of them was you, only you looked a lot younger. You said some things I didn’t understand, and the professor said some things I didn’t understand, then the professor had two policemen take you away. He was mad at you for some reason, but I didn’t really know why.”
Dorning dropped his pen, paid no attention. His eyes bulged and his mouth hung open. “These things I said, and Percival . . .” his voice was no more than a whisper. “Try to remember some of the conversation. You must.”
Miguel thought. “Well, you had written him a letter and the professor had read it, only I don’t think he really understood it. And you said you could be his salvation, and I—I mean the professor—backed away as if he didn’t believe you. That’s when he went like this.” He motioned in the air. “And the two policemen came. They asked him if you were bothering him, and I said—I mean, the professor said . . .” Miguel screwed his eyes tight, trying to recall the words.
Dorning’s voice was still soft. “Nineteen years ago, the first time we ever met, the professor said, ‘Let’s just say his welcome has worn out.’”
Miguel opened his eyes, and his face brightened. “Yes! That’s it!” He snapped his fingers. “And you said you didn’t deserve to be treated like that!”
Dorning dropped the notebook and let out a yell as he jumped up and down on his bed, his arms raised triumphantly.
Startled yet amused by the unexpected sight, Miguel stood back and laughed.
Natalie appeared in the doorway. “Doctor! What’s the meaning of this? Are you all right?” She looked in bewilderment from the doctor to the boy to the doctor again, holding her robe shut.
Dorning stopped jumping and stared at her, his face beaming with joy. “The meaning? It means success, that’s what it means! The boy is making precisely the kind of recovery I predicted! This is only the beginning!”
Natalie shook her head, still baffled. “Well, I’m glad to hear he’s going to be just fine, but really, Doctor, aren’t you overreacting? You scared me half to death!”
“Sorry, dear madam. Let me make it up to you.” He sprang from the bed and grabbed Natalie around the waist, spinning her down the hallway in an impromptu waltz.
Now Natalie laughed along with the boy. “Doctor, really! Don’t be so silly!”
She pulled herself away from him and retied her loosened robe. “Do you know what time it is? It’s three o’clock in the morning.”
Dorning waved a finger in the air. “Three o’clock! Good point. I must record when these moments occur.” He bowed to Natalie, who giggled. “Now if you’ll excuse me, madam, I have to ask the boy just a few more questions.”
“You do what you want, Doctor. I’m going back to bed.” Natalie waved a hand to dismiss him then returned down the hall to her room. She glanced back at him from her doorway, still surprised and puzzled by his sudden, unexpected good mood.
“Come with me, young man.” Dorning guided Miguel back into the bedroom and retrieved his notepad and fallen pen. “I must get this down while it’s still fresh in your mind. Then we can all go back to bed, although I doubt I’ll be able to sleep anymore tonight.” He directed the boy to a spot in front of him and sat on the bed to write. “Now, I want to know how you felt when you had this dream.” He waited for an answer, pen poised over the page.
“Felt?”
“Yes. Were you scared, happy, mad, sad . . . ?” The doctor shrugged.
Miguel raised his chin up. “I wasn’t scared. Not one bit.”
“Excellent.” Dorning began to write. “What else?”
“Well, I was little confused about who I was.”
Dorning looked up at him sharply, the pen suddenly motionless. “Oh? In what way, exactly?”
“I felt like I was the professor when I was talking, and I even sounded like the professor, but somehow I knew I wasn’t really him. It was like I was just having the dream for him even though he’s dead. Maybe he used to dream that dream and now it was my turn.” He stopped, brow knitted in frustration from trying to explain it, to sort it all out. “Does that even make any sense?”
Dorning nodded slowly, pleased by the answer. “Yes. Thank you for that description. That’s exactly what I need to hear from you. Anything else?”
“No.”
“Fine. You can go back to bed now. Just be aware you will have more dreams like that, and soon you should start remembering things about the professor’s life when you’re awake. Goodnight now. Try to get some sleep.” He continued writing.
The boy silently turned to go.
“One last thing, Miguel. I’m glad you’re not scared of what’s happening. There’s no reason to be afraid. You’re doing a wonderful thing for the professor, you know.”
Miguel nodded wordlessly, his head low.
Dorning noticed the change in the boy. “Is something wrong? Something you’re not telling me?
“No. Well, yes. Just one thing. When I woke up, I felt . . .” He stopped.
“Go on. You can tell me.”
“I felt . . . sorry for you.”
Dorning gasped at the unexpected answer. “For me? What on Earth for?”
“Because the professor was mean to you, that’s why. I thought he was a nice man, but he sure wasn’t nice to you. All you wanted to do was to help me—I mean, him—and he forced you to you leave.” The boy pouted. “He shouldn’t have done that.”
A grin came slowly across Dorning’s face. “You know, Percival, I’ll take that as a long overdue apology. You were quite mean to me.” A distant look came into Dorning’s eyes.
Miguel shook his head, confused. “I’m not Percival. I’m Miguel.”
“Hmm?” Dorning roused himself and looked at the boy. “Oh, of course. Well, goodnight, Miguel. Thank you for waking me to let me know about your dream. Don’t ever hesitate to do so again.”
Miguel quietly left the room.
As he listened to the boy walk softly down the hall, Dorning spoke quietly to himself. “No, you’re not Percival, but he’s got his foot in the door, and soon he’s going to kick it wide open.”
Dorning capped his pen and put it back on the nightstand with the notepad. Despite his initial excitement, he pulled the covers up around himself, feeling pleased and vindicated but now also exhausted.
“Wide open,” he said again with a yawn.
Soon, the house was quiet except for the sound of gentle breathing from the three bedrooms, as if nothing unusual at all had just occurred.