False Memory (5 page)

Nothing, no response.

Peter knocks three more times. “Room service,” he says. We share a grin despite the situation. “C’mon. Noah, Olive. Open the door.” After a few seconds, Peter sighs. “All right, I’m coming in. Don’t shoot.”

Neither of us has a key card, so Peter raises his foot and kicks above the doorknob. It sounds like a gunshot. The door swings open and bangs off the inside wall. It bounces back to hit us, but Peter shoulders his way through, gun up, muscles tense. I follow a second behind him, and take in the room at a glance—

Bed. Small desk. Tube TV with a bulging screen. Wooden dresser on the far wall. Window overlooking a section of downtown. A dark opening to my left, the bathroom.

Peter, frozen with a gun to his left temple.

“Drop it,” says the person holding the gun.

I recognize him immediately from the video. Noah. The

boy I kissed. The gun is suddenly too heavy to hold up, but I manage.

Noah’s eyes flit toward me. “Miranda?”

Right then, as we make eye contact for the first time, anger flares inside me, white hot.

Peter makes his move. He tries to knock the gun away with his left hand and punch with his right, but Noah is too fast. He swings the gun down and bounces it off Peter’s forehead. Peter stumbles a few feet and slams his hip against the desk, hand pressed above his eyebrow. Blood rolls down his cheek and drips off the end of his chin.

“Don’t try it,” Noah says to Peter.

“Thanks for the advice,” Peter says, leaning against the wall.

I still have my gun up through sheer power of will, and I point it at Noah. Not that it’s heavy, just, I know I shouldn’t be pointing it at him. This is
wrong
, any way you cut it. We’re supposed to be a team. His eyes widen; I know he wants to swing the gun from Peter to me.

He doesn’t. And I know why. I sense movement in the dark bathroom to my left. Before I can process it and decide to switch targets, a gun barrel nestles in my hair.

“Drop it,” a girl’s voice says.

Behind me, the main door shuts, closing us off from the hallway. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say.

“Don’t drop it,” Peter says to me. “She won’t shoot.”

“Shut up,” Noah and the girl say.

It must be Olive. I see her hovering in my peripheral vision, on the edge of darkness. The only detail I can make out is long black hair.

We stand like this for a whole minute—me aiming at Noah, Olive aiming at me, Noah aiming at Peter, and Peter really just holding his head. Finally Peter blinks a few times and raises his gun at Olive.

“I guess I’ll complete the figure eight,” Peter says.

“Lower your gun,” Noah says calmly.

Peter shakes his head. “Guys, just listen. For a minute.”

He waits. We haven’t moved. I study Noah at the end of my sight. He’s taller than he looked in the video, as tall as Peter. Sweat beads his forehead and he has this look on his face. I recognize it.

Suspicion.

He thinks
we’re 
the ones up to no good. It takes everything I have not to start giggling like an idiot. And not a
ha-ha
giggle, either. Definitely a
Get this girl to the crazy house
giggle. I’m looking at this guy who used to be my boyfriend, and something is definitely there. The Ghost of Feelings Past, maybe. But the idea that he suspects us when he’s the one who left the way he did...it’s so ridiculous that I doubt everything I’ve learned about myself so far. I believe we were together; I just don’t understand how. Plus that whole part where I’m pointing a gun at him doesn’t make things any clearer.

“If you have something to share, please do,” Noah says. His eyes keep cutting to me, searching for something. Recognition? He won’t get it. Maybe if he hadn’t altered my shots or whatever the hell he did...The anger I first felt has shrunk slightly, like turning down the flame on a stove. It’s no match for the emptiness in my chest, which seems to gobble everything moments after I feel it.

Peter takes a deep breath. “A few days ago we slept in the same room, ate our meals together, took turns using the showers. Trained together. Had class together. Do you all remember this? I mean, except Miranda.”

He smiles at me—his brilliant smile, the one that needs a trademark. Noah seems disgusted, but whether for me or himself isn’t clear.

“I remember,” Noah says.

“Me too,” Olive says from the shadows.

“Okay then,” Peter continues, “is it reasonable to talk about this minus the guns?”

“It is,” Olive says.

“Shut up Olive,” Noah says.

“
You
shut up,” she replies. “Who made you boss?” “You did, when you followed me.”

In the hallway, someone opens and closes a door. Kicking in that door wasn’t quiet, and I wonder if we’ll have company soon.

No one wants to make the first move, that much is clear. Fine. Let the girl who has the least reason to trust any of them show she’s willing to talk. “Okay,” I say. Slowly, I lower my weapon until it’s next to my thigh again. The grip is slippery with sweat.

“That’s my girl,” Noah says.

“Item one, I’m
not
your girl.”

His growing smile disappears like it was never there in the first place. He keeps his gun on Peter, who keeps his gun on Olive, who keeps her gun on me.

“Guys,” I say, “I just lowered my weapon. Good faith, anyone?”

Peter lowers his too, slowly. Noah and Olive don’t move.

“Now,” I say, “you two have the guns. Why don’t you tell us why you left? Why don’t you”—and now I’m speaking to Noah—“tell me why I can’t remember a goddamn thing.”

Noah swallows; I watch his Adam’s apple go up, then down.

“I saw something,” he says, keeping his gun on Peter. “What?” Peter asks.

“Don’t play dumb, you
know
what I’m talking about.”

Peter’s jaw clenches. He squares to Noah. Noah aims the gun, I don’t know,
harder
at Peter. Before I can stop myself, I walk forward. If Noah won’t stop pointing his gun at Peter, maybe he’ll stop pointing it at me. One hopes.

I slip my gun into my jeans, then reach out and put a palm on each of their chests. Both are warm. I feel the scales of their armor underneath the fabric. It shouldn’t be possible through the armor, but I feel their fast heartbeats thrum against my palms.

I try to make my voice as calm as possible. “Either we talk to each other, or we shoot each other. Pick one.”

I should’ve done that in the first place.

Noah tells us a story.

He was snooping in Dr. Tycast’s office last week, searching for pain pills. He’d hurt his back during a training mission. It was my fault, apparently. He was only allowed so many but the pain was flaring up, so he wanted to see what the doctor had in his desk.

We tell him to get to the good part.

Noah closes his eyes and seems to fall into a kind of trance. “Just . . . stay with me,” he says. “This is what happened.”

Two seconds after finding the pills, he heard Dr. Tycast in the hallway and slid into the small closet Tycast keeps some personal stuff in. It was already late, and he figured the doctor would be in and out. Instead, Dr. Tycast sat down and something vibrated on his desk, like a cell phone.

Dr. Tycast said, “On-screen,” and a video appeared on the far wall, like it had in the holding room for me.

Noah didn’t see who was on the screen—the door to the closet was shut, with only a sliver of light coming through. But he heard the voice just fine.

“Are you alone?” the voice said, which was female and familiar.

“Aren’t I always?” Dr. Tycast said.

“I mean physically, Brett.”

“Yes. Go ahead.”

“We’re moving ahead with the dry run.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean now. Two weeks.”

“You said I had another year with them.”

“I did.”

“I told you they won’t be at full potential until then.”

“You did, yes.”

“And you want to test them why?”

“Because our buyers want them now, and they demand a test.”

“Who are the buyers?”

“I am not at liberty to say.”

“Why do I have a feeling it isn’t our government?” “Because it’s not our government, Brett.”

“They backed out again.”

“Yes, they did.”

“Do they know about the children?”

“No, they do not.”

There was a long pause here, like Tycast was thinking hard.

“When you say dry run, you mean—”

“What we talked about, Doctor. You said you were okay with it.”

“I said we could talk about it. We had a year to talk about it.”

“And now we don’t have a year. The Beta team will move into the facility and you can have the extra year with them. Beta team will take part in the dry run to make up for the power Alpha lacks. The longer we wait, the higher risk we never recover a cent from this project.”

Another pause.

Finally, Dr. Tycast said, “Hundreds could die. Thousands. We don’t know how far it will spread.”

“Hence the test, Brett.”

“We can do this indoors. We can simulate—”

“We have a buyer locked in. A deposit has been made. But they have requested a real-world demonstration. We voted today, unanimously.”

“These are good kids. They won’t go along with it. You know this.”

“We have ways of convincing them. You know we won’t deliver them to their buyers without security measures.”

“Security measures,” Dr. Tycast repeated. “The tattoos.”

“Yes, the tattoos. You’re on board, Doctor.”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“I’m asking. Come on, Brett.”

“I want to know where they’re going. After the dry run, I want to know.”

“Of course. They’re your children as much as they are mine.”

“Right.”

Noah pauses here. He lays his palms flat on either side of his head. He says he wants to get the words right. It’s important. It’s why he’s here. Why he did what he did.

“There’s one more thing, Doctor, the woman said.”

“Yes?”

“The rogue.”

“You’ve found him.”

“No. Not yet. We last tracked him to Indianapolis, but lost him. He might be hiding there. Or he might be back in the city.”

“You think Rhys will repeat his actions.”

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t. You saw the aftermath of his escape. Four Roses dead in a matter of minutes.”

“You should’ve let Rhys go! You knew he was stronger than the others.”

“Yes, well, we’re trying to keep him away from the teams. He’ll either kill them, or try to use them against us. In that situation, I hope he chooses the former. If you understand.”

“He can’t get in here.”

“I hope you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Good night then, Doctor.”

“Good night.”

The light from the screen went dark. Dr. Tycast pounded his fist on his desk and swore softly, like he’d hurt himself. After a minute, Noah heard him crying. He sobbed for five minutes before pulling himself together, sniffing back tears and snot. Finally he left. Noah went to his desk and tried to find the video in his files, but it was gone.

He didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he knew enough. They were going to sell us, make us hurt people. A lot of people.

“I wanted you safe,” Noah says. “I switched your memory shots for the next few days until the drug was out of your system.”

He wanted me safe. Those people in the mall are dead because he wanted me safe.

“I took you away, and . . . There’s no excuse, I know. I just needed you safe.”

Everyone is looking at me.

He brushes a hand over his short hair. “Then I went to find the rogue. This
Rhys
they talked about. He could change everything. He could help us.”

“Or kill us,” Peter says. “Sounds like he kills Roses for a living.”

Noah raises his hands and spreads them wide. “Yes. Roses. Plural. More people like us. I had to know if it was true. And I knew if I found the rogue, there was a good chance he’d kill me outright, including Miranda if I brought her with me.”

Leave me at home, and I’m sold off as a weapon. Take me with him and risk death at the hands of someone who’s already killed four separate Roses. Yeah, I get it now. But it’s the furthest thing from right I can imagine. He took away my choice.

Oh, and there’s one flaw in his argument.

“It was okay to risk Olive?” I say.

Olive holds my gaze. “I don’t agree with what he did, but no one risked me. I came because we have to do
something
.” She licks her lips, sighs. “By the time I knew what Noah’s plans were, it was too late to stop him.”

“And did you find the rogue?” I ask Noah.

He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. Shakes his head slowly.

“You had no right,” I say, feeling more empty than angry again. It’s tiring to attempt understanding. “Why did you leave me downtown, if you wanted me safe?” I can’t even begin to wrap my head around Dr. Tycast’s betrayal. If he’s up to something, I can’t trust anything he said to me last night.

Olive and I sit at the foot of the bed. Peter leans against the wall with his arms folded, looking out the window, holding a red-spotted towel to his forehead. Noah paces, occasionally reaching up and lacing his fingers behind his head.

“I didn’t leave you downtown. I took you to Columbus,” he says.

“I woke up in Cleveland.” I must’ve traveled, forgetting along the way. Heading home, even if I didn’t know it consciously. Still, that’s a long way to be unaccounted for.

He shakes his head. Keeps pacing.

“You’re an asshole,” I say.

He stops pacing. “I know. Miranda, I did it because I—”

“Stop! Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear you say it.”

“I have to say it,” Noah says.

“No, you
don’t
.” If I hear him say the word love, I don’t know what I’ll do. I still have my gun. Maybe one day I can forgive him, but all chance of that goes out the window if he claims he did it for love. If you love someone, the idea is you respect them enough to trust them. Not to take away their freedom. Their life.

And if he says it, that opens up a whole new line of questions. Like, Why are you in a hotel room with this girl instead of me? If you really love
me
, why take
her
?

Noah shakes his head once, not meeting my gaze. “It was wrong. I know.
I
was wrong. I don’t know what else to say. I could say I’m sorry a million times.”

“So you were wrong,” I say. “Why not let me help? Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“No, of course not! I just couldn’t risk your safety. As lame as that sounds now, that’s what it was all about. Once we learned more, after we figured out who we could trust, I was . . . I was going to come get you.”

“So I was just some distraction you needed to hide until you had time to deal with me.”

He doesn’t say anything because there’s nothing he can say.

“You could’ve done anything else, anything but take away my memories.” I feel my blood beating faster, making me vibrate. Dull heat under my skin.

The room becomes very quiet. I hear air whir in the vents, and the electronic tone the TV makes even though it’s off.

Noah says, “I don’t expect you to understand right now. And I know sorry won’t cut it.”

“But why Peter?” I say. “Why leave him behind?” Noah stops pacing and turns to Peter, who raises his eyebrows, as if to ask,
Well?
“I couldn’t be sure,” Noah says. “He was always Tycast’s favorite, not to mention our leader. If he knew, or was involved, asking him would’ve given me away.”

“I don’t blame you,” Peter says. “I’ve been involved the whole time.” For the slightest moment, the room slides under my feet.

It takes Noah a second longer to get it. He shakes his head slowly.

“Bad joke,” I say, knowing Peter didn’t mean to upset us. Any irritation I feel is eclipsed by Noah and his actions.

Peter laughs at Noah’s scowl. “I’m kidding, you dick. But yeah, I get it. What I can’t forgive is what you did to Miranda.” I meet his eyes. For the first time since the mall, I feel like I might not be alone.

Everyone looks at me again, probably expecting some reaction. They won’t get one. I might be a shattered mess on the inside, but outside my face is placid. I give Noah nothing, because that’s what he deserves.

“I’m sorry,” Noah says to Peter. “I should’ve trusted you. I just didn’t know what I would find. What Rhys would do if I found him. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I . . .”

Peter holds up a hand. “Don’t worry about it.” He points at Olive. “Now,
you
I expected more from.” He laughs, and so does Olive. Noah cracks a careful smile, staring at the floor. It’s like I’m watching us stitch ourselves back together, but where I fit in, I’m not sure. Suddenly Olive turns me around and wraps her arms around my ribs, hugging me tight. After my initial shock fades, I hug her back. An idea flashes through me, burns me from the inside—I’m hugging a stranger.

“I didn’t want him to do it,” she says. “I didn’t know until it was done.”

From behind me, Noah says, “Oh please, Olive, I don’t need her to hate me more, all right?”

Olive pulls back, and I see her tear-streaked face. “It’s
true
. I only followed you because...”

“Because why?” Noah says.

Olive shakes her head and turns away. I can’t look at Noah without putting a glare on my face. It might be physically impossible.

Us...together? In love, even? Maybe in a different life.

Before I can figure out what to say next, someone pounds on the door.

“Police! Everything okay in there?”