False Memory Page 13

  I take a deep breath. “I’m calm.” Okay, so those are my friends, but wouldn’t my parents be here? I let my eyes fall, then brighten, as if an idea has just popped into my head. “Where are my parents?”

  Dr. Conlin sighs. “I’m afraid they passed away when you were a child. You developed your memory disorder shortly after. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s...fine. It’s not like I remember.” I shift in my seat, feel my armor flex with me.

  “No. Not yet.”

  I pull my T-shirt up, exposing the armor underneath. “What the hell is this?” I knock my fist on my stomach. “Is this armor?”

  Conlin looks prepared for this too. “Not exactly. It’s a suit that produces a minor electrical charge to stimulate brain function. That’s how the brain works—it’s like an organic computer that needs electricity. Instead of wearing some cumbersome helmet, we use the suit as a conductor. It allows us to keep the charge low. Think of it like a memory aid.”

  I put surprise on my face. “Wow. Pretty high-tech.”

  “It is,” Conlin says, smiling at me buying another lie. “We want you to remember as much as you do.”

  I let my eyes roam over the bookshelves. At the little green plant on her desk. “So what now?” I say.

  Conlin claps her hands and leans back in her chair. “Now I’ll talk to your friends and explain the situation to them. We have another test we’d like to do to see if we can jump start your memories.”

  “What kind of test?” I say. The dry run. What else could it be? Now I don’t mind being used in their little test; if they put us near Beta team, we’ll be able to stop them before anyone gets hurt. I try to keep anticipation off my face, the eagerness I feel to drop the facade and fight.

  Conlin pulls a syringe from a desk drawer. It’s filled with the lemonade-colored liquid. I’ve never been so happy to see a needle in my life—that’s my first thought. Then I wonder if it just lookslike a memory shot. It could be the first step to changing us, to making me like Grace. It’s possible Conlin didn’t believe my little act at all.

  “It’s complicated,” she says. “We can discuss it more in the morning. I have to give you this shot now.”

  “What’s it for?” For all I know, it could knock me out. Long enough to wake up with a tattoo at the top of my neck. But I have to risk that if I want to continue.

  “Antirejection agent for the compound we use. It’s a bit technical.”

  “Okay.”

  Conlin comes around her desk and swabs my arm, then sticks the needle in. I feel the prick and the pressure as she pushes the liquid into my vein. I wait to pass out, but don’t. She pulls a cotton ball from her coat pocket and has me hold it over the injection spot. “There,” she says. “Now, go down the hallway. It’s the last door on your right. I’ll see you in a few hours when the sun comes up.”

  I stand up and walk to the door. I don’t feel any different. Just the usual worries pounding at the gates, threatening to show Conlin the truth.

  “Miranda?” Conlin says behind me.

  I turn around. “Yeah?”

  She’s sitting on the edge of her desk, holding the empty syringe. “Do you remember your last name?”

  “North,” I say.

  She smiles. “Perfect. Good night, Miranda.”

  I walk down the long white hallway. Slowly. A little off balance and confused, maybe. A brand-new amnesiac wouldn’t walk with purpose and confidence. I pass doors on both sides. The desire to see what’s behind them is strong, but I keep moving. I hear Conlin leave her office and open the cell door again, retrieving whoever’s next. I don’t look back, fearing something in my face would give me away.

  I open the last door on the right expecting to see Grace and Tobias, or maybe an alternate version of Noah and Olive. I don’t even know how my Noah and Olive were captured, or how Noah managed to hide those vials in his mouth. And who knows when we’ll be alone next, away from eyes and ears watching everything we do. They won’t chance us faking it. They’ll be on us until we’re free.

  Instead of Grace and Tobias, I find a room identical to the one I called home. Bunk beds on either side, a table in the middle. The table has checkers instead of chess. A fridge and some dressers against the back wall.

  I stand in the room, feeling like a stranger. Which is perfect —if anyone is watching, they’ll think I’m confused about which bed is mine. The bottom bunk on the left has a pair of boxers on it, so I count it out. The bottom bunk on the right is the one I had back home. I kick off my shoes and roll onto it.

  I watch the door, expecting Grace to burst in and scream at me for being in her bed. It occurs to me I have no idea where the other clones are right now. Maybe watching me. The thought makes my skin crawl. So I think about my team instead, listening to Conlin’s little speech. Nodding at her lies and accepting her words as fact.

  I lick my lips. Which makes me remember kissing Peter and Noah in the cell. And what I felt when I did. The truth is I don’t have time to feel, not until we’re free. We haven’t stopped the dry run. We’re on schedule to be used in the dry run.

  Sadly, those facts don’t keep me from trying to decode the way Peter and Noah looked at me.

  I pull on my hair, roll over, and grip the pillow so hard my fingers ache. Noah’s kiss. Peter’s kiss. I shouldn’t be thinking about it when we’re so far behind enemy lines.

  Focus, North.

  I take deep breaths, letting my mind relax. Just as I get to a comfortable point, the door opens and Noah walks in. He stands in the doorway, taking in the room like I did.

  “This is great,” he says. “Which bunk is mine?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe that one,” I say, pointing at the top bunk across from me. Peter was on the bottom, and I’m going with the theory some things will be similar.

  Noah walks past me to the dressers and starts going through the drawers. “Hey, check this out,” he says.

  I roll out of bed and come up behind him. He hands me a few pictures. The first one is Grace playing one-on-one basketball with Tobias, trying to shoot over his tall frame. I laugh nervously. “I like basketball, huh?”

  “Guess so,” Noah says.

  The next picture is of Alter-Noah kissing Alter-Olive on the mouth. They look just like my Noah and Olive, except Alter-Noah’s hair is a little longer, not buzzed to the scalp. “Guess you have a girlfriend,” I say.

  Noah snatches the picture away and stares at it. “Huh.”

  No way to tell if it’s fake, or if the other Noah is really with the other Olive.

  The next picture is all four Beta team members standing side-by-side, arms looped over one another’s shoulders.

  “So we’re friends,” Noah says. He hands me the picture.

  “Looks like it.”

  “Good. We’re smiling. That’s a good thing.” He chuckles and turns away, heading back to his bunk. “I was beginning to feel like a prisoner.”

  20

  Peter comes in next, followed by Olive. I’m giddy with how well everyone plays their parts, especially Olive, who sits on her bunk with a confused look I can’t match. Her eyes keep darting between us. She’s selling it better than all of us, maybe too well.

  Noah hangs an arm over the side of his bunk. “So what do we do now?”

  Peter shrugs. “I don’t know. What do we do every night?”

  Noah points at the checkerboard on the table. “Somebody likes checkers. Anyone?”

  “We could trade names?” I say. “I’m Miranda North.”

  Noah chuckles. “Noah East, how about that?”

  Peter wrinkles his nose. “Peter West. Directions? That can’t be a coincidence.”

  The boys look at Olive on the top bunk. “I’m...Olive South.”

  “Maybe they’re codes,” Peter says. “Maybe these aren’t our real last names. Dr. Conlin told me this was a facility.”

  “Whatever,” Noah says. “Too much for one day.”

  “Agreed. I’m going back t
o sleep,” I say. Conlin mentioned there were a few hours left until dawn. “It’s almost morning, and we have to do that experiment tomorrow.” Referring to mass panic as an experiment makes my stomach sour. I take off my outer clothes so I’m just wearing my suit, or Conlin’s memory aid. “Nice meeting you guys again, by the way.”

  “No one thinks there’s something off about this?” Olive says. “That we just woke up in that tiny box room together?”

  At first, I think she’s playing it up too much, but then I realize she’s acting better than all of us. It’s the small furrow between her eyebrows; it seems like she could burst into tears at any moment.

  Noah raps his knuckles on his armor. “I would say yes, something is off. Look what I’m wearing.”

  Olive doesn’t say anything. She just folds her legs under her on the bed and covers her face with both hands.

  “You okay?” Peter says. “The doctor said we might get our memories back tomorrow.”

  She nods into her hands. “Yeah, I just need a minute.” “We should really sleep,” I say.

  She abruptly lies down and rolls away from us. For a moment, I think she’s mad because I kissed Noah. But no, Olive is reasonable. She knew it was the only way to pass the vial.

  “Right,” Peter says, “sleep.” He takes his clothes off too, but doesn’t mention the armor. I suppose we all got the same explanation.

  Noah gives me a subtle look that seems to ask if Olive is okay, but I don’t want to risk answering, so I pretend I don’t see it. I get into my bunk and pull the covers around my neck.

  Peter faces me on the lower bunk. For the next twenty minutes, I watch his open eyes in the dark. I allow a little of myself to show through when I look back at him, the real me, not the pretending-to-be-amnesic me. He does the same, but it’s not enough. Noah snores on the top bunk. I can’t hear Olive. The silence and waiting is killing me; I can’t just lie here.

  A few minutes later I pretend like I’m waking up. I set my feet down quietly, heel to toe, then pad to the bathroom. I tell myself it’s to be alone, to get a drink, to stretch, but I know it’s because Peter will follow me. It’s a stupid risk, just to talk to him. But I need to.

  Maybe he’ll call me reckless. He might not comfort me at all. I shouldn’t need him to, not if I’m as strong as them. I’m supposed to be.

  Several toilets line the right wall. I enter the farthest stall, just before the showers. A few minutes pass. In the dim light, I can barely see the water in the toilet. It’s so quiet I can hear my pulse. Until I turn around, and Peter is in the stall with me.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper. “They probably saw you come in.” Yet I came in here knowing he would follow me.

  “I don’t care,” he says.

  We stare at each other. I reach out through the dark and put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m scared, Peter. I’m scared we won’t be able to stop them.”

  He doesn’t offer words of encouragement. Instead, he pulls me to him. I lay my head on his chest and wrap my arms around him, and he rests his chin on top of my head. He holds me like that for a while.

  “What if we fail?” I say.

  “We won’t.” His voice vibrates in his chest. I lean away so I can look at his face, but his arms are still tight around me, pressing our lower halves together.

  Tonight could be the last moment I have to talk to him. To be alone with him. Who knows how tomorrow will go, or if we’ll all make it out in one piece. We don’t even know who our true enemy is.

  “Miranda,” he says, but I kiss him before he can finish the last syllable. His mouth opens to my kiss, and what I said about him kissing soft doesn’t apply now. He buries one hand in my hair to pull me closer, the other pressing against my lower back. I wrap my arms around his neck. I pull away for a second to draw breath but then his mouth is back on mine. His fingers find the seam in my suit; it cracks open along my spine. He tears his lips away and kisses along my jaw, to the soft spot under my chin. Down my throat. He peels part of the suit back, exposing my left collarbone, which he kisses to my shoulder. Every square inch of me is on fire, like I swallowed a coal and it’s burning low in my stomach. Peter comes back to my lips and kisses me softly this time, lingering.

  A wave of guilt crashes through me, almost physical, and I take a step back. Guilt because of Noah. Which is absurd. We kissed in the river out of necessity. That doesn’t mean I’m beholden to him.

  Peter holds my gaze. “You still love him.”

  “No,” I whisper.

  “Yes, you do. I can see it.”

  “No, Peter. How could I? I can’t even forgive him.”

  “Yes, you can. I see it happening right now.”

  I put my hands on his shoulders, let them trail up to cup both sides of his neck. “Peter, I don’t remember. Whatever we had is gone.” Saying the words doesn’t make it true, as I hoped. Not gone, but different. Is it different enough for Peter...or will it always be something that hangs between us?

  He lets that sink in. “We’ll see. Tycast said it was unlikely you could forget everything, no matter how long you went without a shot. Given enough time, the pieces of you that still love him might come back.”

  I want to deny it again, but I can’t. Despite the anger I have for Noah, there is something inside me that clicks when I see him. Like looking at an old photograph and remembering the smells and sounds of it, even if the exact moment is fuzzy.

  Maybe that’s why Peter said no when I first asked him about my memories returning. Because he doesn’t want me to remember how I felt about Noah. He said he didn’t want to get my hopes up, but there could be more to it. Or most likely I’m overthinking again.

  His pulse races under my palms. “Was there ever... between us, was there ever something?” I say.

  He shakes his head. “Just for me. But you were always Noah’s.”

  “I don’t want to be.”

  He doesn’t say anything.

  I lean back into Peter and he puts his lips against my forehead. “Don’t let this distract you,” he says. “I need you ready tomorrow.”

  “I will be,” I say.

  “I shouldn’t have come in here.”

  “No, Peter...”

  “What?”

  But I can’t think of anything to say.

  “We should sleep,” he says.

  “I know.”

  Then he’s gone. The empty space around me still smells like him. I still feel his lips on my throat.

  I sit down on the toilet and try to imagine the girl I was a few days ago.

  Dr. Conlin wakes us a few hours later. I drifted in and out of sleep, lucid dreaming of Noah’s lips under the water. Peter’s hands roaming over my bare skin. Of a city on fire, burning, panicked, crumbling. Dying. Part of me feels ashamed that I’m allowing myself to be distracted. Memory loss or not, I know I was trained better than that.

  Conlin has us sit at the table while we blink sleep from our eyes. The others look awful, like they spent the night boxing rather than sleeping. Olive doesn’t appear any different than Peter and Noah, maybe a little sadder.

  I don’t know how much longer I can act; it makes me itch, like worms under my skin. But we can’t make a move until we’re free of this building, and know the location of Beta team.

  Conlin slips her glasses over her eyes. “Now, I want to do a little test before we get on with the experiment. It’s likely this will bring back your memories, and I know you’re excited about that, but we still need to focus.”

  I want to glare at her when she refers to the dry run as an experiment, but I keep my face placid. Images of my nightmares resurface, a backdrop to Conlin’s reserved posture and face. People run and scream and die behind her. The pieces of her test are moving into place as we speak, but we’re stuck here, helpless. Waiting. I blink the images away.

  “Some coffee would be nice,” Noah says.

  Conlin smiles politely at him. “Breakfast is on the way. Now I want you to focus on
the space behind your eyes, just behind them. Can you do that?”

  I keep the alarm off my face, just barely; Conlin isn’t wearing a headband, or a helmet. Which means she’s built up a tolerance to our fear, like Tycast seemed to. Peter and Noah are carefully blank-faced. Olive wrinkles her brow in confusion.

  “Focus on that area,” Conlin says, “and imagine relaxing it. Then imagine it heating up, and expanding. Can you do that? Then let it expand further, into this room. You might get a headache but that’s completely normal, I assure you.”

  I do it. The waves build. The familiar pain returns, then narrows, until it passes through my skull, expanding. The scent of roses is immediate. Conlin smiles tightly—it’s clear she’s uncomfortable. But apparently they have to be sure we can create fear before sending us into the open.

  Olive presses her fingers to her temples. “What is that? It hurts.”

  “That’s enough,” Conlin says. “I’m sorry, you can stop now.” She blinks a few times, licks her lips. “Very good. Okay. Feel free to wash up and eat, then we’ll get on with the experiment.”

  “Uh, Doctor?” Noah says.

  “Yes, Noah?”

  “What the hell just happened? Why does it smell like . . . flowers?”

  Conlin looks at a clipboard. “You have all been very patient. I understand this has been a troubling time for you. So please, just a bit more patience. Can you be patient for me?”

  Conlin only has to keep us in line for today. After she demonstrates us to the buyers, she can lock us up until our tattoos are ready, at which point we’ll be just like Beta team. Ready for delivery. Used in some other nefarious purpose.

  Controlled.

  “Sure thing, Doc,” Noah says.

  A big smile from her. “Good. The experiment will be just like that, but bigger. Think big. The more you push, the more you let flow, the better chance your memories have of returning. So when the time comes, let loose.”

  Think big, she says. Let loose.

  Conlin leaves. We take turns using the two showers. After I towel off, I wait in the shower until Olive comes in.

  “Oh, sorry,” she says.