False Memory (12 page)

Choose.

The room tilts, but I hold on to the armrests. As far as persuasion tactics go, this is pretty awful. I made it clear we won’t help them no matter what they do to us. They’ll have to erase our memories if they want any cooperation, or give us one of those tattoos. But if I didn’t believe she would really kill one of them, my heart wouldn’t pound. My mouth wouldn’t be dry and it wouldn’t feel like I’m the one with a gun to my head.

Grace said they only need seven. But that doesn’t mean they’d destroy something as valuable as a Rose. I have to believe that.

She stands up and leans forward, fingertips on the desk. “Agree to help us. We can’t just take your word for it—you’ll have handlers. But cooperate and I’ll spare both of them.”

“Don’t agree to anything,” Peter says.

Grace ignores him. “Stand up, Miranda. Look at them.” I hold Grace’s gaze a moment longer, as long as I dare, then push myself out of the chair and turn around. Peter and Noah kneel with assault rifles pointed at the backs of their heads. Both of them manage to smile at me. It fills me with strength, and something else . . . something warm. It keeps me standing.

“You should pick me to die,” Noah says. “Peter needs to lead us.” He says it blandly, like I’m picking something to drink instead of someone to kill.

“Oh please,” Peter says, taking on the same careless tone. “You love Noah. If you pick him to die, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

Noah snorts. “Are you
kidding
? I saw you guys holding hands. I saw that shit. She hates me for what I did to her.”

“I don’t hate you,” I say. I’m not sure what I feel, but it’s not hate. The two helmeted soldiers behind them are statues. To them I say, “I’ll remember you both, even if I can’t see your faces.” The one behind Peter tilts his head to the side, like a dog.

“You have five seconds,” Grace says.

I turn around. “I’m sure I have more. You won’t kill us.”

Peter and Noah hid their fear, so I must do the same. I can smother it with reason. The creators would gain nothing by killing us. Instead, they’re about to gain four blank slates. That’s just logical. You don’t throw away a weapon this valuable to gain cooperation. They have other ways.

And yet...

Grace’s eyes hold a crazy sheen, some glimmer of madness.

I was wrong. She’s going to do it.

They don’t care who lives and who dies, as long as they have their seven Roses for the dry run.

Peter’s and Noah’s faces haven’t broken, but this time it does nothing to comfort me. Give me a sign, I think. Let me know I’m doing the right thing. That everything will be okay. Don’t make me pick.

“Okay, I’ll choose,” Grace says behind me. “Kill Peter.”

Peter closes his eyes. Noah lets his head hang again. I turn around, ready to leap over Grace’s desk, but she has a gun pointed at my face.

Behind me, a soldier fires.

It’s so loud in the tiny office. Everything inside me dies and rots. I should have picked. I would have picked.

Who would I have picked?

“I wish you could remember this moment,” Grace says. She jerks her chin to the boys behind me. I turn around and Peter has his eyes closed. Smoke curls around his head. On the floor, near his knees, is a smoking bullet hole.

They didn’t kill him. Relief floods through me, making it harder to stand than ever before. I reach out and use the back of the chair for support.

Peter opens his eyes and they are tearless and fierce, revealing a glimpse of his true self. Pure animalistic strength. There was never any fear for him to hide.

“Take them back to the cell,” Grace says. The soldiers yank Peter and Noah to their feet, then shove them roughly into the hallway.

She huffs a sigh and collapses in her chair. “Now we wait.”

The soldiers pull me from the room a few seconds later, but our eyes stay locked as Grace slouches in her chair, grinning at me with big eyes. The madness clearly hasn’t faded. I don’t look away until the door shuts.

Tattoo or not, I make a silent vow to kill her before this is over.

They toss us back in the cell. I stand in the corner, away from everyone, and listen to my pulse slowly ratchet down. The shot plays again and again in my head. My ears ache and feel packed with concrete.

Noah comes up behind me. He grabs my shoulder and turns me around. He takes his finger and tilts my chin up. I open my eyes.

“You did the right thing,” he says. “They were never going to kill us.” He leans in until our lips almost touch. I kiss him. I know he wouldn’t kiss me right now for any other reason. My mouth opens and I feel his tongue slip over mine, dropping two of the small vials into my mouth. He pulls away and smiles without teeth, uses his thumb to brush some hair out of my eyes.

Peter stands in the corner, watching us. I shift one of the vials under my tongue and give him a glimpse of the other, a flash of the yellow liquid inside. I hold out my arms like I need a hug. Someone is watching us, listening. It’ll look odd kissing Peter right after I kiss Noah, but it’s the only way to do it without bringing the vials into the open. Better to look odd than obvious.

Peter stands in front of me. His shoulders are so wide I can’t see Noah and Olive behind him. “I’m okay,” he says.

I put a hand on his chest. “I know. Come here.” I wrap my fingers around the back of his neck, pull him down to me. He kisses me softer than Noah. Goose bumps spring up along my arms and back. He opens his mouth and I pass the vial to him, slipping it in with my tongue. He pulls back the second he has it, but I find myself reluctant to let him go, moving forward to keep my mouth on his. Finally I pull back, lips burning, vial secured under my tongue. He looks as confused as I feel.

We still have a job to do. I bite the cap off the vial and let the bitter liquid roll down my throat. Then I swallow the pill-sized container. The phantom I had of Tycast comes to mind—of remembering that Noah sometimes took his shots mixed with a drink, but how that made them less effective. If only we had access to a syringe.

I watch Noah give Olive her “kiss good-bye,” and can’t help but wonder what’s going through her head. And Noah’s. I wonder if he can feel her love in that one kiss. When they break, he stares into her eyes for a long moment. For the briefest second, confusion flickers on his face. For what, I don’t know. Either because he felt something in her kiss, or felt something
for
her. Stop. I’m speculating. You can’t feel things in kisses; but even as I think that, I know it’s not true.

Noah turns away from her, to Peter.

Olive touches her lips with her fingertips, feeling his kiss. She notices I’m watching and quickly lowers her hand. I want to tell her it’s okay in some way, but I don’t know how.

Peter hugs Noah, but I see it’s so Peter can whisper in Noah’s ear. Noah nods almost imperceptibly and heads toward me.

How long the vials will last is a mystery, fine—but I can’t deal with just hoping it’s long enough. I need to be doing
something
.

Noah puts his arms around me and whispers in my ear, “We fake losing our memories. Go to sleep. If we can trick them into thinking we’re wiped, they’ll give us shots again. Be convincing. Now start crying.”

Behind Noah, Peter whispers to Olive. I squint so hard my eyes water, then blink a few times to shake the tears free. I’m listening to him, but it’s hard to focus when his arms are around me like this. After just kissing Peter, it’s too much. I don’t want to look at either of them.

“Say you’re sorry,” Noah whispers.

“I’m sorry. Noah, I’m sorry.”

“Shh, stop. This isn’t your fault,” he says, in a normal voice now. He releases me and dabs at his eyes, too, but they’re dry.

The cell door opens. Tobias stands there, flanked by two soldiers. He claps Peter on the shoulder, like they’re old friends. “Open your mouth,” Tobias says. Peter does. Tobias shines a flashlight around, making Peter’s cheeks glow red. I’m frozen, hoping everyone got rid of their vials fast enough.

He points at me. “Open.” I do. He finds nothing. He does the same with Olive and Noah, makes them lift their tongues.

Noah coughs in his face. Tobias backhands him without a word and Noah falls against the wall, chuckling, until Tobias raises a fist.

Noah shuts up, and Tobias steps backward to the door. He appraises us one at a time. “You guys are pretty weird,” he says.

“You have no idea,” Noah says.

“Hopefully that goes away when you lose your memories.” 

“Doubt it,” Olive says.

Tobias shakes his head in disgust and leaves the cell. It shuts again, and the glass darkens.

We wait.

The desire to talk to them gnaws at me like hunger. We can’t just sit here waiting; we need to fall asleep and wake up changed if we’re going to convince them.

That’s how it happened for me.

Peter rubs his temples and manages to look sad. I have to remember we’re acting, we have a plan. “I’m sorry,” he says. “For what?” Noah says.

“I failed you.”

“Stop,” Olive says. “Don’t put this on you. You don’t get to do that.”

Peter shakes his head, eyes unfocused. “They’re really going to erase who we are.”

“They’ll do whatever it takes,” I say.

We fall into another silence.

I make the first move. “Look, we shouldn’t drag this out.

It won’t be much longer—I’m going to sleep. I’m going to fall asleep, and when I wake up I won’t care anyway. We’ll just make new memories.”

Noah fights hard to keep the smile off his face. I go to each of them—Peter, Olive, then Noah—and kiss them once on the cheek. Then I walk to the other end of the cell. I lie down facing away from them and pull my knees up to my chest. And wouldn’t you know it? I actually fall asleep.

The cell door slams open and wakes me up. I roll over and blink at the fluorescent lights as groggily as I can, propping myself on an elbow. It doesn’t require too much acting. There are no windows, but it feels like the middle of the night. The cell door is open but no one is there.

Time to convince everyone I don’t remember a thing. It’s hard, considering the glut of emotions coursing inside me. So many things to consider, to worry about, and I have to pretend I don’t have a care in the world.

Slowly, piece by piece, I clear my mind. I think about us in here, trapped behind enemy lines, and I wipe it away. I think about the people in the city, the pure terror they will soon experience, and I wipe it away. I think about Peter and Noah. What they feel for me, and what I feel for them. I wipe it away. My friendship with Olive, if I can ever rebuild it. I wipe that away too.

Of course they don’t really go away. How could they? Instead they vibrate in the background, humming, threatening to break though and cut my legs out from under me. But for now I can act the part. I know what it’s like to not remember.

I let my gaze drift around the cell, taking in the others while trying to make my face blank. I add a slight furrow to my eyebrows, like I’m trying to solve a puzzle. The sound of clicking heels echoes down the hallway. In walks a short Asian woman with black hair in a bob cut and black-framed glasses. She has a white coat like Dr. Tycast wore.

I sit up. “Where am I?”

The woman smiles. “Hello, Miranda. My name is Dr. Conlin. You’ve all been in an accident. Do you remember?”

“What accident?” I say.

Peter and Noah look at me like they’ve never seen me before. Olive rubs sleep from one eye.

“How do you know my name?” I say.

Dr. Conlin licks her lips. No soldiers accompany her. The others make their best bewildered-and-slightly-confused faces.

Noah uses the wall to stand up. “Where are we?”

Conlin holds up her hands. “Relax. I’ll explain everything in due time. Start with telling me what you remember.”

I close my eyes. I open them. I shake my head. “Nothing,” I say.

Conlin nods once, then holds out her hand. “Come with me.”

I walk past the others warily, like I’m afraid they might lash out. The cell door slides shut behind me and sweat breaks all over my skin. I feel so alone without them. Naked and exposed.

“Where are we going?” I say. I try to recall those initial feelings in the mall, but they’re fuzzy. There was confusion, but also acceptance. I can fake it the same way.

Conlin leads me back into the office, where my friends were kneeling not long ago. The faint scent of gunsmoke is still in the air. Conlin points at the chair in front of the desk and I sit down, wringing my hands in my lap. Then I stop— that might be too clichéd a gesture. I don’t want to appear so nervous it draws attention.

Conlin sits behind the desk and folds her hands on top of it. “You were in a traumatic incident, Miranda. You and your friends.”

“What happened?”

“The four of you are at this facility for special treatment. You have a rare memory disorder, and we’ve managed to cure it with a series of shots you take daily. We tried to boost the potency, and it failed in the process. Your memories are gone, but we believe they’ll come back shortly, once we put you back on the old dose.”

Okay, what would I be curious about next? I look over my shoulder at the door we came through. “I know those people back there? The two guys and the girl?”

Conlin nods. She nods
gravely
, trying to sell it to me just like I’m selling to her. “Yes. They’re your friends. I want you to stay calm though. This will get sorted out.”

I’m stunned at how easily she lies. It’s effortless, like she believes it herself. So real it’s enough to leave me slightly unhinged. The only thing missing is a bit of warmth behind her gaze.

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
looks
like 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.”