The Artemis Connection

By David Di Paolo

"...The absorbing fantasy mystery is replete with plot twists, an ancient curse, Italian folklore, Native American Folklore and includes eye-opening brain science. The novel is totally unique illustrating the superb writing skills of the author."
—Reviewed in "The Mindquest Review Of Books," February 2016 by Lightword Publishing

"... Di Paolo deftly weaves the various plot threads together, creating an enjoyable, well-crafted mystery that whisks the reader from Philadelphia to Milan to a small village in the Italian mountains, all while exploring both Italian and Native American folklore. The fantasy elements, which are subtly teased out until the end, may occur a bit abruptly for some readers’ tastes—and the idea of magical Native Americans is well-trodden—the journey makes for a fun read. Diana’s a compelling main character who strikes just the right balance between Mulder and Scully.
An imaginative fantasy that has fun weaving together folklore, medicine, and ancient curses, providing a fresh twist on a classic formula."
—Kirkus Reviews, September, 2015

She doesn’t believe in ghosts. She doesn’t believe in witches or curses or spells. The doctor doesn’t believe in anything that science can’t explain, but Diana Valleverde is about to learn that knowledge is an evolving proposition. Her research into brain function is uncovering secrets within the mind, but none like the one kept hidden from her since before she was born. When her brother, a curator at the university museum, gives her a family keepsake from their recently deceased grandmother, Diana begins a journey that will take her from Pennsylvania to Milan and the Italian Alps, to discover what lies hidden inside and what has caused her recent affliction by what she knows must be sleep paralysis attacks, a frightening condition in which she awakens, unable to move or cry out, with the overwhelming sense something unseen is suffocating her. There must be a medical explanation for these attacks. There must be . . . Right?

• Language: English
• Publisher: SDP Publishing
• Release date: Nov 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9780990559641

David Di Paolo

A Pennsylvania native, physician, and lover of folk tales, David Di Paolo helped investigate the cross-cultural occurrence of sleep paralysis attacks while in medical school, a project inspired by the Old Hag myth of Newfoundland. He has specialty training in brain and spine imaging and has participated in research studies using MRI. He has written scripts for medical segments airing on the television evening news, contributed fitness articles to the Tyler Morning Telegraph, and authored a wellness blog for BSCENE.com.

Book preview

Prologue

Ican still feel the chilly mist in that foggy meadow and see in my mind the checkered flannel arms of the scarecrow billowing in the autumn breeze, as well as my target—a pale green Granny Smith apple, perched atop the scarecrow’s head. My body was as still as a statue as I peered down the arrow’s shaft, while boldly colored pennants of red, yellow, and blue streamed on either side of me. The event was the 27th Annual Bucks County High School Archery Classic. An eerie silence filled the gaps between the rows of spectators, who awaited the tournament outcome to be determined by my final shot.

Just before my fingers released their clasp on the bowstring, the croak of a raven echoed from somewhere overhead.

CHAPTER

1

The Raven

Call me Diana, or Artemis—as I used to inscribe the interior of my school textbooks, imagining that I was not just any normal child, but someone special, the offspring of Zeus, the most powerful of the Greek gods. My parents chose the name Diana in commemoration of the mythological figure who was a huntress, a goddess of the moon, and an independent spirit who would be subservient to no one. I believed by second grade that I could see the future in my dreams. After having a vision one night of a lightning bolt cleaving the oak tree in front of Saint Augustine elementary school, I was convinced of my ability the very next day, when a sudden afternoon storm erupted and a blinding flash of light left the tree evenly divided down the middle.

It was with wonder, but also an odd sense of foreboding, that I now stared up at the totem pole in the Native American Gallery at the Museum of Anthropology and Archaeology, waiting for my brother Marco. That part of me that still believed at age twenty-nine that I had a clairvoyant ability that gave me the sense that something was about to happen. The pole I faced was ten meters high, carved with totems— animals and objects felt to have spiritual significance. These included two deer, a turtle, a pair of black bears, a wolf, a turkey, an eagle, and a raven. It was the raven, with its flared beak, protruding tongue, and spread wings, which held my gaze.

A stack of crates fell from a platform and crashed to the ground behind me with a loud boom.

You idiot! exclaimed a man’s voice.

I spun around before the words finished coming out of his mouth. He wore a dusty T-shirt, faded blue jeans, and hiking boots and was addressing the work-study student who had been assisting him.

Sorry, replied the student. Like, I don’t know what happened. They just fell.

You leaned up against them, the more senior man said gruffly. Let’s hope nothing broke.

They began unpacking one of the fallen boxes with the aid of another undergrad who had rushed to the scene, and I returned my attention to the pole. It nearly reached to the ceiling. How did they even get it in here? I wondered. Arcane figures were inscribed at regular intervals between the animal images, and there was some writing etched at eye level. It was minute in comparison to the scale of the post. I leaned in for a closer look and touched the pole with the fingers of one hand.

Hey! a voice reprimanded me from twenty feet away. Don’t touch that. It’s part of the exhibit!

Sorry, I said, as the stranger strode toward me. I pointed to the far end of the room where Marco paced the floor with a cell phone pressed to one ear and his free hand covering the other. I’m meeting my brother, Marco. He’s a curator here. Marco was actually an associate curator but referring to him by the former title imparted more authority to my response.

Oh, you must be Diana. I’ve been helping your brother with the installation of this exhibit. The man who stood a head taller than me extended his hand. I’m Julian Weaver. He motioned to the towering pillar of wood. This is a replica of a Native American totem pole, he stated. It’s quite a piece.

It was imposing as well as impressive, with each of its deeply cut figures being its own little work of art.

Have you heard of the Mi’Ki’Passa before? Julian asked.

I shook my head.

They were a little known tribe of nomadic Native Americans who lived in Eastern Pennsylvania, primarily in the lands between the Lenape and the Minquas. Their name roughly translates as, ‘The People in Search of the Valley.’

It seems like this scene is telling a story, I said, circumnavigating the pillar.

That’s very perceptive of you. If you walk counterclockwise and follow the figures as they spiral from bottom to top, the characters portray a legendary journey of the original Mi’Ki’Passa. The upper tier of the pole contains significant characters from their tale of creation.

I’m familiar with the Lenape.

The Mi’Ki’Passa were a small group of little-known Delaware Indians. They lived for generations along the banks of the Delaware River and its tributaries. Most of them intermarried with settlers in the years before the Revolutionary War, rather than move out of Pennsylvania, as did many other Delawares, but there is a small community of pure- blooded Mi’Ki’Passa that have been living a clandestine life for over 300 years. They number less than a hundred. They’ve only recently surfaced and shared details of their culture, in an effort to obtain federal recognition as an official Native American tribe.

He saw me cast a glance in Marco’s direction. My sibling’s phone conversation had ended, but he was now gesticulating wildly as he spoke with a museum employee in front of a diorama. He was clearly displeased with the layout of the figures in the display entitled, A Typical Mi’Ki’Passa Family.

Are you meeting your brother for lunch? Julian asked.

Yes, we try to get together a couple of times a week, since I only work two blocks away. You’re welcome to join us.

I’d love that. I’m not from Philly and don’t really know my way around yet. I was just going to grab a grinder from one of the street vendors on 33rd. His smile was disarming.

Don’t underestimate those vendors. The gyro you’ll get from the cart at 34th and Chestnut is the best in town. I looked at my watch. Marco had better hurry. I have to be back at the hospital soon.

Let me see if I can peel Marco away. I’ll fix that display myself this afternoon if I have to.

My eyes followed Julian as he made his way toward Marco. There was a natural elegance to his stride, one that made it appear that his full frame was gliding across the floor. I hadn’t paid much attention to a member of the opposite sex since my ex-fiancé Billy had abruptly terminated our engagement one week before our wedding date. That was almost a year ago. I closed my eyes and sighed. On what would have been our honeymoon weekend, Billy flew to Antigua with Kelly, his girlfriend of less than a month. What made matters worse was that Billy, like myself, was a physician doing a fellowship at Children’s Hospital. I saw him five days a week. Our break-up was the wound that wouldn’t heal.

Oh! Opening my eyes, I was startled by a face looking right into mine.

Your pendant: May I see it? The woman making the request had eyes that sparkled. Thin wrinkles around her eyes and lips betrayed her years, but she was still stunning. I unhooked my necklace and placed it in her palm.

Coral beads? I’ve never seen a necklace like this, she said.

It’s from Italy. My nonna—my grandmother—gave it to me as a good-luck charm. Coral necklaces are considered amulets in the province where she lived.

There is a raven pendant attached to it.

She was referring to a miniature silver raven dangling from the necklace, wings outstretched. I think it’s just decorative, I said, while she handed me the jewelry. My nonna never told me that it had any significance. The woman looked to the top of the totem pole, and my eyes followed hers, coming to rest on the raven. What a coincidence, I said.

Yes, the raven of the pole is special, the most respected and feared of all the animal spirits, she said. The raven has the reputation of being a wily trickster, cunning and devious. My inquisitive expression prompted her to continue. He can make other creatures believe what he wants them to believe, she said. He is the most powerful spirit in Mi’Ki’Passa legend, which is why he is at the premier position of the creation pole. She brushed back a lock of jet-black hair over her shoulder, and I noticed her necklace of wooden beads carved with figures like the ones on the totem pillar. The raven flew the skies before people walked the earth. In the creation story of the Mi’Ki’Passa, he is the one who brought light to the world, the woman said, but he stole it, outsmarting the ones who kept it hidden above the clouds.

Marco and Julian headed in our direction. I see you’ve met Chief Robertson, Marco said to me.

No, not formally, I replied. I reached for the chieftain’s hand. Pleased to meet you. I’m Diana, Marco’s sister.

My pleasure to meet you, the sachem said.

Chief Robertson is our invited guest. She is also serving as a consultant for the exhibit, stated Julian.

Diana is a physician at the children’s hospital at the edge of the campus, Marco said, addressing the chief.

Her eyes seemed to twinkle as she said approvingly, You help children.

At times, it’s difficult, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Do you have time to grab a bite at Andromeda? Marco asked me. Everyone’s invited.

No sooner had we left the museum than my cell phone rang. Diana, it’s Evelyn. Dr. Bergman wants to see you right away.

Is something wrong?

He didn’t say. He just told me to have you report to his office ASAP.

I’ll be right there, I said and switched off the phone. I’m not sure how long this will take, I announced. I’ll try to meet you at Andromeda if I can.

CHAPTER

2

Listen to My Heart Beat

Isat, peering around the office. Len would be off the telephone in ten minutes or so, if I were fortunate. Dr. Leonard Bergman was chairman of radiology at Children’s Hospital. On a good day, he was a happy-go-lucky, six-foot-five-inch teddy bear; on a bad day, he was the devil incarnate. His desk was a disaster area. Papers were piled in precarious heaps—chin high, sheets protruding randomly from the sides, in danger of collapsing at any moment. A foam container with a half-finished meal of hash browns and scrambled eggs rested beside a thirty-two-ounce soda from which a chewed, doublewide straw protruded. MRI films were strewn about the floor, and crumpled wads of paper encircled an overflowing wastebasket. If that pile of missed free throws were any measure of his shooting ability, Len would surely have made a terrible basketball player, despite his height. I noticed a flier on top of the heap on his desk:

Save the Date: Saturday, November 13th

Take a train ride with us to Lancaster County for the 13th Annual Children’s Hospital of Pennsylvania Fall Celebration

It’s a second chance to celebrate Halloween!

Festivities at Old Mill Inn on the grounds of Twigkenham Farm Chartered train leaves from 30th Street Station at 4 p.m. sharp!

Beverages on-board

Prizes for Scariest, Funniest, and Most Original Costumes

Karaoke Contest, Hay Rides, Apple Bobbing, and Cider Tasting

Dinner and dancing from 6–9:30 p.m.

Guests welcome. Contact the Department of Human Resources for more details.

Well, I have to get going, Len said into the transmitter. I have an eager fellow doctor waiting for me. He must have caught me sneaking a peek at my watch. "Okay, well—really? No! When did that happen?" he continued.

This faux conclusion to the conversation came as no surprise. I turned my gaze to the campus. I truly envied the view from Bergman’s retreat on the second floor. Most radiology rooms were devoid of windows, a tradition dating back to the early days of radiology when films were interpreted in pitch-dark conditions.

After hanging up, Len leaned back in his armchair. He slowly stroked the undersurface of his chin with his thumb, a chin already showing razor stubble. Diana, you’ve been a real asset to this department. You’re doing some novel research. There’s a very good chance that you could have a permanent position here next year.

He knew from prior conversations that I would jump at such an offer. Len retrieved a letter from the morass of paperwork on his desk. I have an opportunity that should be of interest to you. He tapped the football helmet of a bobble-head doll on his desk and set it in motion. I’ve been speaking with Dr. Brandisi from the University of Milan.

I felt my heart begin to beat faster.

He hosts an in-depth functional MRI workshop. I’d really like to expand the research we are conducting at Children’s Hospital. You’re the most familiar with the study designs of functional MRI, and you speak a little Italian, don’t you?

I have basic conversational skills, but—

That’s plenty, Len quickly added. The instructors are supposed to be bilingual. If you attend this workshop, it’ll give you a chance to rub elbows with some of the brightest minds in the field. In fact, you can talk up the research work you’ve been doing here. I smell the possibility for a multicenter research collaboration.

When is the workshop? I asked.

The week after next. He clasped his hands together. I can only send one person, and you’re my first choice for this, he said, pointing at me with both of his index fingers. He rose, walked around his desk, and put his hand on my shoulder. I think this will be really good for you, he declared.

How long is the workshop? I asked.

It’s for two weeks, he replied. Why I had misgivings, I wasn’t even sure, but Len sensed my hesitation. Come on, Diana, he said, spreading his arms. In a gesture ever so familiar, like one of my Italian relatives, he gathered his thumbs and fingers together, placed his palms up, bent his arms at the elbow, and rocked his forearms to and fro. What’sa matta? he joked. It’s Milano.

I was sold. Milano, I repeated in my head. For one dreamy moment, I imagined myself strolling the Piazza del Duomo toward the immense Gothic cathedral, licking a chocolate hazelnut gelato, whistles being directed my way by smartly dressed male models reclining against the cavernous entrance to the upscale Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, where chic women emerged, arms weighed down with bags of designer clothes, while small children trailed them like ducklings, nibbling on slices of pizza.

"I could make the offer to Billy…"

Not a chance. I’m in.

CHAPTER

3

Andromeda

T he head of a horse, the wings of a bat, and two long legs with cloven hooves, Marco said to Julian, as I neared them at the circular sushi bar of Andromeda.

You’re kidding me? Julian replied, standing to pull out a bar stool for me.

No. That’s what it’s supposed to look like, Marco stated.

Sounds ghastly, Julian said.

What are you talking about? I asked, sliding in between them.

The Jersey Devil, Marco said. I think the original sightings of the Jersey Devil were actually of a type of crane that lives in the Pine Barrens, but they’ve made for great folklore. The Devil is Jersey’s version of Sasquatch or the Loch Ness Monster.

I was disappointed when I realized the Jersey Devil wasn’t real, I said. It was exciting to think something supernatural could be lurking in the woods. When I was young and my grandparents would take us to visit relatives at the Jersey Shore, I used to keep my car window rolled up and my face pressed against the glass, staring into the trees the whole time we drove on Route 30.

Uncle Joe had 101 stories about the Jersey Devil, Marco said.

"And now you tell them," I quipped with a smile.

Devils are always portrayed as grotesque creatures, Julian remarked. Do you know that Lucifer was supposed to be the most beautiful of all the angels? He reached for a bowl of dim sum from the serve-yourself conveyor belt that ran the perimeter of the sushi bar.

Andromeda was an Asian fusion restaurant with a futuristic feel, located in University City. The walls, ceilings, and counters were stark white, counterbalanced by the waiters and waitresses, who were clad in black from head to toe. They zipped from one frosted glass table of diners to the next during the busy lunch hour. Each tabletop was embedded with shining LEDs of a different star constellation. On a series of conveyor belts, sashimi, edamame, sushi rolls and other Japanese staples orbited the chefs carving fish. Patrons seated around the circular bar freely plucked the saucers of food from their orbits.

Very cool place, Julian said.

We come here a lot for lunch, Marco remarked. It’s only a five- minute walk from work for both of us.

That looks like quite an exhibit you’re preparing, I said to them.

It’s the first of its kind, Marco said. We’ve only recently learned about the Mi’Ki’Passa and their quest for federal recognition. This is a great opportunity to educate the public and muster community support for their efforts.

Chief Robertson is lending several items for the show, Julian said. She is amazing. She carved that totem pole that you saw.

Really? That’s quite a piece. She couldn’t join us for lunch?

No, she had to meet her granddaughter, Marco said.

Granddaughter? She looks so young.

I had a chance to visit with her and some other tribal members a few months ago, Julian said.

Julian is the driving force behind this exhibit, Marco noted.

I gathered a lot of information by interviewing Elder Robertson. There is a small ‘underground’ community of Mi’Ki’Passa near Doylestown.

How about that? I said. That’s not far from where I live.

There is another small enclave in Lancaster County. Most of the descendants have assimilated into modern culture, but the chief ’s tribe observes traditional Mi’Ki’Passa rituals and practices. Until very recently, they had been doing it secretively.

How did you find out about them?

I learned of them when I was doing field research on the Delaware Indians. Some of the descendants of the Lenape live in Ontario, where I work.

Julian is an ethnologist from Canada. He’s just here for a few weeks, Marco said.

Robertson is not a surname I would expect for a Native American chief, I said.

Her family adopted that name generations ago. It’s a shame, said Julian. For three centuries, these people have kept their identity and culture a secret. They surrendered their language and even their names. They survived smallpox and tuberculosis, attacks from other Native American tribes, and repeated displacement from the places where they lived. They were a peaceful tribe, living in small groups of families, moving around frequently. Chief Robertson has been instrumental in a movement to recover the lost heritage of the Mi’Ki’Passa.

She teaches children the native language and shares oral traditions with clan descendants, Marco added. She has begun to organize traditional festivals.

It was important to have her present for the installation of the exhibit and the opening ceremony, Julian said. His sizable hand sent the saltshaker tumbling as he reached for his drink. He righted it, after tossing some of the salt over his shoulder. Marco shot me a quick smile. That was something that Nonna would have done.

So, Diana, Marco tells me that you specialize in brain imaging, Julian said, stirring a wad of wasabi into his bowl of soy sauce.

I nodded, a hand concealing my closed mouth while I tried to gulp down a forkful of noodles.

He said that you actually study the mind—not just the brain. That sounds like pretty exciting work.

"It can be. Neuroscientists have been making the claim that they are ‘unlocking the secrets of the human brain.’ That’s not an exaggeration.