The Bourne Betrayal Read Online Free PDF

him, so like those in the funeral home. He saw Marie-lying still, hands crossed on her flat, athlete’s belly. She floated as if on a barge, as if on a swift river, taking her away from him.
    He pressed his forehead against the mirror. The floodgates opened, tears welled up in his eyes, rolled freely down his cheeks. He remembered Marie as she had been, her hair floating in the wind, the skin at the nape of her neck like satin; when they’d whitewater-rafted down the Snake River, her strong, sun-browned arms digging the paddle into the churning water, the big Western sky reflected in her eyes; when he’d asked her to marry him, on the stolid granite grounds of Georgetown University, she in a black spaghetti-strap dress beneath a Canadian shearling coat, holding hands, laughing on the way to a faculty Christmas party; when they’d said their vows, the sun sliding behind the jagged snowcapped peaks of the Canadian Rockies, their newly ringed hands linked, their lips pressed together, their hearts beating as one. He remembered when she’d given birth to Alison. Two days before Halloween, she was sitting at the sewing machine, making a ghost pirate costume for Jamie, when her water broke. Alison’s birth was hard and long. At the end, Marie had begun to bleed. He’d almost lost her then, holding on tight, willing her not to leave him. Now he had lost her forever . . .
    He found himself sobbing, unable to stop.
    And then, like a ghoul haunting him, the unknown woman’s bloody face once again rose from the depths of his memory to blot out his beloved Marie. Blood dripped. Her eyes stared sightlessly up at him. What did she want? Why was she haunting him? He gripped his temples in despair and moaned. He desperately wanted to leave this floor, this building, but he knew he couldn’t. Not like this, not being assaulted by his own brain.
    Dr. Sunderland was waiting with pursed lips, patient as stone, in his office. “Shall I?”
    Bourne, the bloody face still clogging his senses, took a breath and nodded. “Go ahead.”
    He sat in the chair, and Dr. Sunderland reattached the leads. He flipped a switch on the movable cart and began to ramp up dials, some quickly, others slowly, almost gingerly.
    “Don’t be apprehensive,” Dr. Sunderland said gently. “You will feel nothing at all.”
    Bourne didn’t.
    When Dr. Sunderland was satisfied, he threw another switch and a long sheet of paper much like the one used in a EEG machine came rolling out of a slot. The doctor peered at the printout of Bourne’s waking brain waves.
    He made no notations on the printout but nodded to himself, his brow roiled like an oncoming thunderhead. Bourne could not tell whether any of this was a good sign or a bad one.
    “All right then,” Dr. Sunderland said at length. He switched off the machine, rolled the cart away, and replaced it with the second one.
    From a tray on its gleaming metal top he picked up a syringe. Bourne could see that it was already loaded with a clear liquid.
    Dr. Sunderland turned to Bourne. “The shot won’t put you all the way out, just into a deep sleepdelta waves, the slowest brain waves.” In response to the practiced movement of the doctor’s thumb, a bit of the liquid squirted out the end of the needle. “I need to see if there are any unusual breaks in your delta wave patterns.”
    Bourne nodded, and awoke as if no time had passed.
    “How do you feel?” Dr. Sunderland asked.
    “Better, I think,” Bourne said.
    “Good.” Dr. Sunderland showed him a printout. “As I suspected, there was an anomaly in your delta wave pattern.” He pointed. “Here, you see? And again here.” He handed Bourne a second printout. “Now here is your delta wave pattern after the treatment. The anomaly is vastly diminished. Judging by the evidence, it is reasonable to assume that your flashbacks will disappear altogether over the course of the next ten or so days. Though I have to warn you there’s a good chance they might