The Memory Touch

Chapter 2 : Whitmore's Notebook

The next morning, Ethan returned to the laboratory.

He had slept for less than three hours, and his head still felt heavy.

He hung his coat over the back of his chair and sat down.

The things he had been sorting the night before were still scattered across the desk.

So was the photograph.

Ethan picked it up.

The girl looked young.

Dark brown hair. A red sweater. A faint smile on her face.

He stared at the photograph for several seconds.

She looked like the woman from his dream.

Very much like her.

Ethan frowned.

Most of the dream was already fading.

The details of the room were becoming harder to remember.

But the girl's face was still clear.

He turned the photograph over.

A name was written on the back.

Claire Morgan.

Ethan stared at it.

“Claire…”

He said the name quietly.

“That name again.”

He shook his head.

Maybe it was just a coincidence.

He placed the photograph back on the desk and picked up the thick brown notebook.

That was what he had really come back to finish.

Whitmore's private notebook.

He opened it to the first page.

His mentor's familiar handwriting stared back at him.

Dates.

Times.

Numbers.

Abbreviations.

And several names that seemed to have nothing to do with one another.

Ethan slowly turned the pages.

Whitmore rarely wrote things down in full.

Most of the time, he left only a few key words.

A date.

A time.

Or a string of numbers.

Ethan knew the habit well.

Whitmore had been the same way in class.

He never simply gave his students an answer.

He would write down a few key points and make them work out the rest themselves.

Ethan had hated that when he was younger.

He remembered the first time he had worked with Whitmore on a research project.

“Professor, couldn't you just explain what you're looking for?”

Whitmore had been going through a report at the time. He hadn't even looked up.

“If I tell you everything, you won't learn anything.”

“I don't even know what you're talking about.”

Whitmore had smiled.

“Then you haven't found the question yet.”

Ethan had thought it was an incredibly annoying thing to say.

Looking at the notebook now, it felt strangely appropriate.

Maybe that was why the notes looked so scattered.

To Whitmore, they weren't incomplete.

He simply hadn't felt the need to write down what he already understood.

Ethan turned another page.

Then he saw the name again.

Claire Morgan.

His hand stopped.

This was no longer a coincidence.

He placed the photograph beside the notebook.

The girl in the picture.

The name in Whitmore's handwriting.

They matched.

Ethan looked down at the page.

Several dates were written beneath the name.

One of them had been circled.

October 14, 2009.

Below it was a location.

Riverside Private Clinic.

And beneath that—

8:05 PM.

Ethan stared at the entry for several seconds.

He had no idea what the numbers meant.

He didn't know why Whitmore had written them down.

But he knew one thing.

Whitmore hadn't been copying information from a newspaper.

These looked like notes from something he had been investigating himself.

Ethan kept turning the pages.

Another name.

Another case number.

Beside it were only a few words.

Initial record.

Another page.

Another case.

Follow-up.

Then another.

Confirm again.

Ethan slowly straightened in his chair.

He spread the notebook open across the desk.

Several pages lay side by side.

The notes didn't look quite as random anymore.

Different people.

Different dates.

Different case numbers.

But Whitmore had been keeping track of them.

And he had been doing it in much the same way.

Ethan took out a sheet of paper and began making a list.

First the case number.

Then the date.

Then whatever brief note Whitmore had left beside it.

A few minutes later, a column of information had taken shape on the page.

Ethan leaned back and studied it.

There was still no answer.

But one thing was becoming clear.

Whitmore hadn't been focused on one person.

He had been watching a group of cases.

Claire might have been only one of them.

That made Ethan even more curious.

If Whitmore had simply known Claire, there was nothing particularly strange about it.

If he had been interested in the disappearance of a young woman, that would still have been unusual, but understandable.

But this looked different.

Ethan picked up the photograph again.

For a moment, the dream came back to him.

The red sweater.

The rain.

The room.

The man standing in the doorway.

“Weren't you supposed to be dead?”

Ethan put the photograph down.

He didn't like connecting dreams with reality.

There was no reason to.

At least, not yet.

He opened his computer.

This time, he searched for Claire Morgan.

“Missing College Student Case.”

Last seen: 7.30 PM, October 14, 2009.

Location: Riverside Private Clinic.

A few reprinted articles.

One photograph that had already begun to fade.

Nothing else.

Ethan opened one of the reports.

He read it from beginning to end.

Then he read it again.

A missing college student.

That might be enough to explain why Whitmore had taken such a particular interest in her.

He closed the page.

“So why were you looking into her?”

He looked at the notebook.

Of course, there was no answer.

The laboratory was quiet.

Only the low hum of the air conditioner and the computer fan filled the room.

Ethan leaned back.

Then something caught his attention.

A thin sheet of paper was tucked near the edge of the notebook.

He had assumed it was just a loose note when he'd gone through the pages the night before.

He pulled it out.

There were no complete sentences.

Only several dates and case numbers.

Two of the numbers were already familiar.

He had seen them in the notebook.

The third was different.

Ethan frowned.

He set the sheet beside him and went back through the notebook.

One page.

Then another.

Then another.

Finally, he found the number in an earlier entry.

There was only one line beside it.

Riverside Private Clinic.

No date.

No explanation.

Just the name.

Ethan stopped.

This time, he didn't turn the page.

He stared at the words for several seconds.

Riverbend Private Clinic.

The name had now appeared twice.

Once beside Claire's information.

And once beside another case.

Ethan picked up his pen.

He wrote the words on his sheet of paper.

Riverside Private Clinic.

Then he drew a line underneath them.

He stared at the name for a while.

Maybe he was beginning to understand why Whitmore had written his notes this way.

They weren't meant for someone else.

They were more like a record of his own thoughts.

Something only he could fully understand.

But Whitmore was gone.

Ethan looked at the notebook again.

For the first time, he wondered if these papers should really end up in a storage room with the rest of the professor's belongings.

He opened his computer again.

This time, he didn't search for Claire.

He typed:

Riverside Private Clinic.

The results appeared within seconds.

The clinic had existed.

But there wasn't much public information about it.

Ethan clicked through several pages.

Most were old address listings and outdated business records.

Nothing stood out.

He closed the search.

If he wanted to understand why Whitmore had spent so much time recording these cases, the internet wasn't going to be enough.

Ethan looked down at the notebook.

He picked up the sheet covered with case numbers.

At the bottom, he wrote one word:

Verify.

This time, he didn't hesitate.

He would start with the first case.

Not because he wanted to investigate Claire.

At least, not yet.

He simply wanted to know—

Why had Whitmore cared about these people?