That's it, my life with her is over. With a small sound, he'd lowered the casket lid. Turning to the funeral director, he'd said, "I've changed my mind. No open casket. I don't want anyone to see her like this, especially the children."
"Nevertheless you went after him," Dr. Sunderland persisted. "Most fascinating. Given your history, your amnesia, the trauma of your wife's untimely death set off a particular memory flashback. Can you think in what way your deceased friend is connected with the bloody woman?"
"No." But of course that was a lie. He suspected that he was reliving an old mission-one that Alex Conklin had sent him on years ago.
Dr. Sunderland steepled his fingers together. "Your memory flashes can be triggered by anything providing it's vivid enough: something you saw, smelled, touched, like a dream resurfacing. Except for you these 'dreams' are real. They're your memories; they actually happened." He took up a gold fountain pen. "There's no doubt that a trauma such as you've suffered would be at the top of that list. And then to believe you've seen someone you know to be dead-it's hardly surprising the flashbacks have become more numerous."
True enough, but the escalation of the flashbacks made his mental state that much more unbearable. On that afternoon in Georgetown, he'd left his children. It was only for a moment, but... He'd been horrified; he still was.
Marie was gone, in a terrible, senseless moment. And now it wasn't only the memory of Marie that haunted him, but those ancient silent streets, leering at him, streets that possessed knowledge he didn't, that knew something about him, something he couldn't even guess at. His nightmare went like this: The memory flashes would come and he'd be bathed in cold sweat. He'd lie in the darkness, absolutely certain he'd never fall asleep. Inevitably he did-a heavy, almost drugged sleep. And when he rose from that abyss, he'd turn, still in the grip of slumber, searching as he always did for Marie's warm, delicious body. Then it would hit him all over again, a freight train slamming him full in the chest.
Marie is dead. Dead and gone forever...
The dry, rhythmic sound of Dr. Sunderland writing in his notebook brought Bourne back from his black oblivion.
"These memory flashes are literally driving me crazy."
"Hardly surprising. Your desire to uncover your past is all-consuming. Some might even term it obsessive-I certainly would. An obsession often deprives those suffering with it of the ability to live what might be termed a normal life-though I detest that term and use it infrequently. In any event, I think I can help."
Dr. Sunderland spread his hands, which were large and callused. "Let me begin by explaining to you the nature of your disability. Memories are made when electrical impulses cause synapses in the brain to release neurotransmitters so that the synapses fire, as we say. This creates a temporary memory. To make this permanent a process called consolidation needs to occur. I won't bore you by detailing it. Suffice it to say that consolidation requires the synthesis of new proteins, hence it takes many hours. Along the way the process can be blocked or altered by any number of things-severe trauma, for instance, or unconsciousness. This is what happened to you. While you were unconscious, your abnormal brain activity turned your permanent memories into temporary ones. The proteins that create temporary memories degrade very quickly. Within hours, or even minutes, those temporary memories disappear."
"But my memories occasionally do surface."
"That's because trauma-physical, emotional, or a combination of the two-can very quickly flood certain synapses with neurotransmitters, thus resurrecting, shall we say, memories previously lost."
Dr. Sunderland smiled. "All this is to prepare you. The idea of full memory erasure, though closer than ever before, is still the stuff of science fiction. However, the very latest procedures are at my disposal, and I can confidently say that I can get your memory to surface completely. But you must give me two weeks."
"I'm giving you today, Doctor."
"I highly recommend-"
"Today," Bourne said more firmly.
Dr. Sunderland studied him for some time, tapping his gold pen contemplatively against his lower lip. "Under those circumstances... I believe I can suppress the memory. That's not the same as erasing it."
"I understand."
"All right." Dr. Sunderland slapped his thighs. "Come into the examination room and I'll do my best to help you." He lifted a long, cautionary forefinger. "I suppose I needn't remind you that memory is a terribly slippery creature."
"No need at all," Bourne said as another