‘What is her name?’
“Danielle Bouchard.’
Lasalle swallowed hard.
‘Describe her,’ he snapped. ‘Now.’
‘She is in her thirties, long, curly hair. It’s auburn, dyed I think. Her skin is dark, not negroid but coffee- coloured. She’s wearing blue eye make-up, some lipstick.’
‘Do you know her?’ whispered Kelly to Lasalle.
The Frenchman nodded.
‘She’s part Algerian, a beautiful girl, she works in an office just down the corridor,’ he said, quietly, one eye on Joubert who was now flexing his fingers spasmodically. In fact, his whole body was jerking involuntarily.
‘What sort of response is showing on the EEG?’ asked Lasalle.
‘There’s no activity in any part of the brain except for the area around the occipital lobe,’ she told him. ‘Exactly the same as the subject we had.’ She paused, mesmerised by the rapid movements of the tracer.
Joubert spoke again.
‘She is wearing jeans, a red top. There is a slight tear near the seam of the top, beneath her arm.’
‘Is she still typing?’ asked Lasalle.
‘Yes, she hasn’t noticed me yet.’
Lasalle chewed his bottom lip contemplatively.
‘This doesn’t prove anything,’ he said to Kelly. ‘Joubert could have seen this woman earlier today.’
Kelly looked once more at the EEG read-out. The fifth tracer continued its rapid movement.
‘I’m walking towards her,’ Joubert said. ‘She has stopped typing now, she is taking the paper from the machine. She still has her back to me.’ He was silent for a moment then the tone of his voice seemed to change, it became harsher, as if his mouth were full of phlegm. ‘I want her.’
‘Tell me what is happening,’ Lasalle ordered.
‘I grab her hair with one hand and put my other hand over her mouth to stop her screaming. She falls off the chair and I climb on top of her, I must hold her arms down. She is stunned by the fall, she has banged her head. I think she is dazed. I pull up her top to reach her breasts and I am squeezing them, making red marks on them.’
Kelly looked in awe at the fifth tracer which was moving so fast it was little more than a blur.
‘I try to keep my hand over her mouth to stop her screaming but she seems to be recovering. I must stop her. I am putting my hands around her throat. It feels so good, my thumbs are on her windpipe, pressing harder. Her eyes are bulging. I am going to kill her. I want to kill her.’
Kelly looked at Lasalle then back at the EEG with its wildly careering tracer.
i WANT TO KILL HER,’ bellowed Joubert.
There was a loud scream from outside the room, long and piercing. A moment’s silence and it was followed by another.
‘Bring him out of it,’ snapped Kelly.
‘Listen to me,’ said Lasalle. ‘When I count to one from five you will wake up.
Do you understand?’
No answer.
From down the corridor there was the sound of a slamming door then another scream.
‘Do you understand?’ Lasalle said, loudly.
‘Hurry,’ Kelly urged.
Joubert did not respond.
‘I can’t bring him out of it,’ Lasalle said, frantically.
He thought about shaking his colleague but he knew it would do no good. He swallowed hard and looked at Kelly who was already moving towards the door.
‘See what’s happening,’ Lasalle told her.
Kelly hurried out into the corridor and saw that, about thirty yards further down, there were four or five people standing outside one of the doors. A tall man with blond hair was banging on it, twisting the handle impotentiy. He put
his shoulder to it as he heard another scream from inside.
‘Joubert, listen to me,’ said Lasalle. ‘I’m going to begin counting. Five …’
‘There’s something happening,’ Kelly told him.
‘Four …’
The tall blond man was taking a step back to gain more impetus as he tried to shoulder charge the door of the other room.
‘Three …’
Joubert stirred slightly.
‘Two …”
Down the corridor, the blond man gritted his teeth and prepared for one final assault on the locked door.
‘One …’
Joubert opened his eyes and blinked myopically.
He too looked round as he heard the shriek of splintering wood. The blond man crashed into the door, nearly ripping it from its hinges. It slammed back against the wall and he stumbled into the room, followed by the others who had waited.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Jouberl, pulling the electrodes from his head.
Kelly walked back into the room, a look of concern on her face. She switched off the EEG and pulled the read-out clear.
‘What’s going on?’ Joubert demanded, getting to his feet. He crossed to the door and looked out in time to see the blond man supporting a dusky skinned girl in jeans and a red top from a room further down the corridor. Even from where he stood, Joubert could see that her top was torn, part of one breast exposed. The girl was bleeding from a gash on her bottom lip and there were several angry red marks around her throat.
Lasalle and Kelly joined him in the corridor as the others approached them.
‘What happened?’ asked Lasalle.
‘Danielle was attacked,’ the blond man told him.
‘Who by?’ Lasalle wanted to know.
As he spoke, the dark-skinned girl lifted her head, brushing her auburn hair from her eyes. She looked at Joubert and screamed, one accusing finger pointing at him. With her other hand she touched her throat.
The girl babbled something in French which Kelly did not understand. She asked Lasalie to translate.
‘She said that it was Joubert who attacked her,’ the Frenchman said.
‘That’s impossible,’ Joubert snorted, indignantly. ‘Anyway, why would I do such a thing?’ He looked at Danielle. ‘She’s hysterical.’
‘Well,’ said the blond man. ‘Someone attacked her. She didn’t make these marks herself.’ He indicated the angry welts on the girl’s neck. ‘But I don’t see how he got out. The door was locked from the inside.’
Lasalle and Kelly exchanged puzzled glances as the little procession moved past them, heading for the infirmary on the second floor. Danielle looked around, her eyes filled with fear as she gazed at Joubert.
‘How could I have attached her?’ he said, irritably, walking back into the room and sitting on the couch.
Kelly and Lasalle followed him.
‘Can you remember anything of the last five or ten minutes?’ Lasalle asked him.
Joubert shook his head, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.
Kelly was the first to spot it.
‘Joubert,’ she said, quietly. ‘Look at your nails.’
Beneath the finger nails of both hands were numerous tiny pieces of red cloth.
Exactly the same colour as the blouse worn by Danielle Bouchard. There were also several auburn hairs.
‘Astral travel.’
Kelly’s words echoed around the laboratory.
