Flowers of Darkness by Tatiana Rosnay (e novels to read online TXT) 📕

“There must be a reason,” said Jim Perrier. “Everything here happens for a reason.”

“They’re testing us,” whispered Clarissa. “All this is to test us, to monitor our reactions. They must need it for something, but I don’t know what.”

“Will we ever know?”

“You guys have too much imagination,” said Adelka.

Jim Perrier laughed.

“That’s my job,” he said.

“Mine, too,” said Clarissa. “Are you a writer, as well?”

“I am, but I write for others,” said Jim. “I’ve never published anything under my own name.”

Dr. Dewinter had started the roll call. They had to be quiet, like in school.

“Arlen, first floor right. Azoulay, fourth right. Bell, fifth left. Engeler, second right. Fromet, fifth right. Holzmann, seventh right. Katsef, eighth floor. Olsen, seventh left. Miki, fourth left. Perrier, third left. Pomeroy, third right. Rachewski, sixth left. Van Druten, sixth right. Zajak, second left.”

There was no one missing. But the young girl with the long braid that Clarissa had seen earlier on was nowhere to be seen. She glanced around for her in vain. The strangest thing was that she now knew whom the girl looked like. The spitting image of Mia White.

She found this perturbing, felt her wariness flare up again. Was she becoming utterly paranoid? She could easily imagine Jordan’s amused but worried expression.

Jim Perrier drew closer. He whispered in her ear.

“If you want to talk to me, I’m at Café Iris every morning, in the new part of rue Saint-Dominique, near the dry cleaner’s. I’m there early, after eight. Don’t use the internal messaging system if you have anything personal to say. Remember that everything coming from your mobile or your computer goes through them. Good night!”

He disappeared, weaving his way through the people heading back to the residence. Dr. Dewinter, followed by Clemence and Ben, was also leaving. Clarissa watched them till they turned the corner of the street. She went back inside with Adelka. The young woman took her back to her door, handed her the cat, and told her to go quickly back to bed. And she hadn’t forgotten their drink!

Clarissa couldn’t sleep. She sat on the sofa, with Chablis burrowing against her, and watched the sun rise. She looked at the building on the other side of the street, full of those lives she had come to know intimately. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Jim Perrier had said concerning C.A.S.A.

Last night, she had left an empty mug of tea on the kitchen table. When she examined it, she thought she saw a minute trace of white powder lining its bottom. She turned her back to the camera, then wrapped the mug up in a paper bag, which she put away in the cupboard.

The new part of rue Saint-Dominique, called rue Neuve Saint-Dominique, had sprung forth with grace from the ruins of the attack. Modern edifices daringly reinterpreted Haussmannian outlines. The street was predominantly pedestrian, lined with large sidewalks planted with man-made trees, which were pleasing to the eye. Driverless cars quietly slid by, mingling with bikes and gliders. Clarissa found the new arrangement hard to take in. She kept seeing in her mind the ancient configuration, which superimposed itself onto the new one in spite of herself. Higher up, the Café Iris had a nice sunny terrace, and she quickly spotted Jim Perrier seated there, behind his computer.

When he saw her approaching, he smiled.

“I knew you’d come.”

She sat down in front of him. She could see him better than last night. He had lively, twinkling dark eyes, cropped black hair, and a tattoo on his right arm. He was young, in his mid-thirties. Clarissa ordered some tea.

Jim Perrier had a look around.

“You never know,” he said with a grin. “Always checking. So! Mrs. Katsef. Meanwhile, I’ve read a lot about you. Interesting career. How your job as a property surveyor led you to writing after an extraordinary hypnosis experience. Romain Gary. Virginia Woolf. Their homes, their privacy, their demons. The obsession with dwellings. I ordered Topography of Intimacy on the spot!”

“That’s very kind,” she said, slightly embarrassed.

“I admire novelists, their imaginary world, the way they write. It’s different for me. I listen to people, more or less famous; then I transcribe their story. I also create TV shows, like you do. I love doing that. I have a ball. Maybe, one day, I’ll write a book. So you see, I did my homework concerning you. You give out a nice aura. Your books are well received.”

“Thanks. Except people don’t read books anymore.”

“I know,” he said, making a face. “People take pretty photos of books, post them with the right hashtags, but nobody reads. Or very few. Books have become ornaments.”

“I hear a slight accent. Where are you from?”

“You’ve got a good ear. I grew up in Brussels. But back to C.A.S.A. Why did you sign up?”

“My marriage broke up. I had to find a new place. And you?”

“I had heard about it. I found it intriguing. I wasn’t at all expecting to be taken on.”

“Me, neither.”

Jim Perrier glanced around once more. He began to speak in a low voice. Clarissa had to lean forward in order to hear him. He had been skeptical from the start. The cameras, for instance. The medical checkups. And the incredibly low rents. It was all too clear. Every artist living there was a C.AS.A. guinea pig. But it was impossible to glean any information about C.A.S.A. Had she noticed that, too? He’d done some interesting research on Dr. Dewinter. She was brilliant, with a string of qualifications, one of the greatest artificial intelligence specialists, running far ahead of the pack. Very respected in her field. But her recent projects were no longer mentioned. Dr. Dewinter had retreated into the shadows. Nobody knew what she was working on. Nothing was coming to the surface.

Clarissa let him go on, without interrupting him.

One day, he’d gone back to C.A.S.A. headquarters, where they had passed their interviews. Near here. He wanted to know more, to understand. He hadn’t been getting any response