Unremembered (19 page)

‘No, you weren’t.’ I retreat back inside and slam the door shut. My breathing still has not stabilized.

Go away,
I think to myself.
Please just go away.

But he doesn’t.

He knocks again. ‘Sera,
please
.’

His plea immediately pulls me out. Back to the present moment. Back to now.

I recognize those words. I recognize that desperation. I heard it in the parking lot of the supermarket.

‘Please, Sera.
Try
.’

How many times have I forgotten this boy?

How many times has he begged me to remember?

‘I don’t understand,’ I say slowly, forcing myself to stay calm. ‘Why didn’t I recognize you? Why was I behaving like we’d never met?’

‘Because,’ he states in a measured tone, ‘they erased me from your memory.’

His answer punches me in the chest. And suddenly I feel
like I’m back in the ocean. The cold, ruthless waves slapping against my face.

‘W-w-what?’ I barely manage to squeak out.

‘Actually,
erase
is probably the wrong word,’ Zen admits. ‘
Removed
is a better one. Because the memory still existed after they took it from you.’ He
pats the silver cube on the table in front of him. ‘It just didn’t exist in your mind any more.’

‘Why?’ I cry out. My control over my emotions is slipping. ‘Why would they do that?’

‘Control, Sera,’ he says with such gravity I have to look away. ‘They tried to manipulate
everything.
Everything you remembered and everything you
didn’t
. They controlled what you knew. What you thought. What you experienced. But most of it was a giant lie. Your childhood, your friends—’

‘My friends?’ I ask in surprise. ‘I had
friends
?’

Zen shuts his eyes and rubs his face. When his eyes open again, I see that they’re tormented and bloodshot.

‘You
thought
you had friends,’ he clarifies. ‘You thought you had a whole life outside of the compound. With family and birthday parties and shopping sprees at the
mall. But none of it was real. It was all fake.’

‘Fake?’ I repeat dubiously. ‘How do you
fake
friends?’

‘By implanting artificial memories of them into your brain.’

I shake my head, refusing to believe it. ‘No. I would be able to tell the difference.’

‘That’s the thing,’ he says. ‘You can’t. No one can. They have computer programs that can generate such flawless memories that the brain can’t differentiate
them from the real ones. They fill your mind with these happy, comforting experiences that blend right in like they belong there. It’s all the same to you. Once the memory has been uploaded,
whether or not it really happened is irrelevant. Your brain
thinks
it did.’

I feel hot tears pricking my eyes. ‘I just don’t understand why anyone would do that,’ I choke out. ‘Why would they need to implant happy memories in my brain?’

‘To replace the unpleasant ones,’ Zen replies darkly. ‘It was part of a grand illusion. To hide the fact that you were actually a prisoner. They decorated your cell to look
like a real house, they crammed your head full of bogus memories. All so they could continue to do whatever horrendous things they were doing to you and you would never even know. Because you could
never remember.’

My head is starting to throb. I stand up and pace the floor. Counting the tiles. The tables. The chairs. But it’s pointless. Nothing alleviates this sickening feeling in the pit of my
stomach.

‘What
kind
of horrendous things?’ I’m finally able to ask.

‘That I don’t know,’ he admits. ‘Although I’ve assumed it had to be pretty bad if Diotech went to so much trouble to cover it up. We were never able to figure it
out because every time they took you from the house, you came back with a memory of something blissful and benign. A trip to the beach. A sleepover at a friend’s house. Always these perfect
little excursions.’

My feet slow to a halt. Something is happening. His words must have triggered some kind of reaction because I can feel another memory forming.

I look anxiously towards the hard drive, wondering what horrors it has in store for me now. Wondering if I can even cope with whatever it’s about to show me when I can barely handle what
I’ve already seen.

I reach up towards the sides of my face, ready to rip the rubber discs from my skin. But it’s too late. The images have already infiltrated my brain. They’ve already started their
dizzying chaotic loops.

My hands fall limp at my sides as I surrender.

I close my eyes and let go. Because I don’t have a choice.

‘Do you have to leave so soon?’

I recognize my own voice. I’m speaking to someone.

I glance up to see him. Rio. Standing by the front door.

My
front door.

It’s the same living room.

The same house.

He nods solemnly. ‘Yes. I’m sorry, Sera. But I have to get back to work.’ He raises his finger to the white plate on the wall. The electronic door beeps.

‘When will you be home?’ I ask.

Home.

The word yanks me out.

Did he
live
with me?

In the barn he told me that I was his greatest creation. Does that mean he’s my . . .

But I can’t bring myself to think it.

Instead I remind myself what Zen said. It was all a manipulation. A lie. None of it was real.

‘I’ll be back in a few hours,’ Rio replies. But he doesn’t leave right away. He lingers by the door, hesitating, before turning back slowly and asking, ‘Did you
have fun today?’ His voice is light and cheerful but there’s something in his eyes that doesn’t match.

Regret?

Sorrow?

Remorse?

Guilt.

The girl in the memory was the one who asked the question but now I’m the one who answers it. I didn’t recognize it back then when I was standing in that living room. I didn’t
have the right frame of reference. But now I do. Because I’ve been haunted by that very same emotion. And it leaves a mark.

A mark that looks like that.

‘Yes!’ I say, swooning slightly. ‘It was a perfect day.’

He smiles. A sad, tired smile that almost looks like something else entirely. ‘Good. I’m glad.’

The room fades to white.

I keep my eyes closed. Even though I know it’s over. I can’t face reality yet. I’m not sure I even know what that is any more.

‘A perfect day.’

That was my response.

Exactly as Zen described.

But Rio wasn’t really asking me about my day. He was asking if I believed the lie. He was making sure the memory implant was a success.

My eyes snap open and land directly on the door. The muscles in my legs explode with fire. I heed their request and break for the door, crossing the room in a blur.

I can’t stay here another minute.

Zen leaps from his chair but doesn’t attempt to chase after me. I think he knows he’ll never be able to keep up. Instead he tries to apprehend me with his words.

‘Sera. Please. Don’t.’

It works. The anguish in his voice brings me to a stop just short of the door.

‘You can’t keep running away every time you’re afraid,’ he cautions me. ‘At some point you have to stay and fight for what you know is right.’

I stare longingly at the door handle, my fingers twitching. My whole body screaming.

‘I stole these memories from Diotech so that I could
show
you. So you could see it for yourself. Because I need you to trust me. And I knew you wouldn’t believe me any other
way.’ His voice cracks, but the intensity never breaks. ‘Sera, please,’ he implores. ‘I need you back on my side.’

Despite every impulse that’s urging me out that door, I turn and glance back, moisture pooling on the surface of my eyes.

‘I know how hard it is for you to hear all of this,’ Zen continues, ‘because I’ve watched you learn the truth before. When we discovered it together. But we had more time
then. To let it sink in. We don’t have that luxury now. They’re coming for you. They won’t stop until they find you. And they
will
take you back there.’

The first tear leaks out, tracing a crooked line down my cheek. ‘Was
none
of my life real?’ I whisper.

He exhales, his shoulders falling. ‘
I
was real,’ he says.

He takes one step towards me. Then another. Moving slowly as though he was approaching a frightened injured animal in the woods. And I guess that’s what I must look like right now.
It’s certainly how I feel.

He stops only inches away. Then he reaches out and cups my locket in his hand.

‘That’s why I put the pebble in here,’ he says. ‘So if you were ever in doubt, you could touch it and feel it and know that what we had was never fake. It was never
generated by a computer and implanted in your brain. It was
always
real.’

I begin to shiver. It starts out small. A delicate tremble. But then it grows. Stronger and harder, until I’m shaking violently. My teeth chattering. My body convulsing.

Zen runs to the makeshift bed in the centre of the classroom and returns with the blanket. As soon as he wraps it around me, I crumple. Every muscle from my head to my feet giving out one by
one, like a chain reaction.

Zen catches me just before I hit the floor. Then, in one fluid motion, he drapes my limp hand around the back of his neck, bends down and, with his elbow tucked under my knees, scoops me
effortlessly into his arms.

My head sags against his chest as he carries me back to the foam pad on the floor and lowers me to it. I collapse on my side, my legs rejoicing and my head sinking eagerly into the pillow.
It’s only now that I realize how tired I am.

I peer up at the clock on the wall. It’s 3:42 in the morning.

‘What about my mother?’ I utter dazedly. My voice strangled. ‘Did I ever meet her?’

Zen walks back to the table and switches off the hard drive. From here I can see the soft green glow dim and finally extinguish. ‘You
thought
you did.’

‘Did I even have one?’

‘Not like the one you remembered. She was a figment just like the rest of them. But as for a real mother –’ he shakes his head forlornly – ‘I really don’t
know.’

‘And Rio. Is he . . . was he my father?’

This time, I manage to get the word out.

Zen’s fists clench into balls and I can see him eyeing the gun on the table. ‘That man is not your father,’ he growls.

‘But he lived with me?’

‘Yes,’ he concedes. ‘But he was also the one who was controlling your mind. He is
not
to be trusted under any circumstances.’

I think about the person I saw in the barn. When I looked into his placid greenish-grey eyes, I saw something there. Something I couldn’t pinpoint. But it made me want to protect him from
harm.

Was that just residue from a series of fabricated memories?

Or was it something real?

I wonder if I’ll ever know.

Despite the warm blanket around me, my whole body has turned numb. But at least I’ve stopped shivering.

‘Zen?’ I ask softly.

He sits down on the floor next to my head. ‘Hmmm?’

‘If so many of my memories weren’t real, how do I know I can even trust the ones you showed me?’

He pulls his knees to his chest and clasps his hands around his ankles. ‘You can’t,’ he admits. ‘You can’t trust
any
memories. They’re too easily
manipulated. You can only trust what you feel. What you
know
to be true.’

‘But,’ I protest, desperation seeping in, ‘what if I don’t—’

‘Shh,’ he says. ‘A part of you will always know. You just have to figure out which part to listen to.’

He scoots in closer and begins to run his fingers through my hair.

His presence has a calming effect on me. And I’m grateful that he’s here. That he’s the one telling me all of this. Even though I know how much it pains him to do it.
He’s like a shield that I’m able to place between myself and the truth. Softening the blow to some extent. Absorbing a tiny fraction of the impact. Making it just the slightest bit less
horrible.

And now I understand why I called him Zen.

I can feel my eyelids start to sag. It’s getting harder and harder to keep my eyes open.

‘Don’t fight it, Sera,’ he tells me. ‘Sleep. I’ll stay up.’

But I’m afraid of the silence. Afraid of the thoughts it will bring. And of the memories that I, ironically, once longed for more than anything.

‘Keep talking,’ I slur through drooping lips.

He chuckles. ‘What do you want me to talk about?’

‘Tell me more about the locket,’ I say.

‘I had it especially designed for you.’ I can hear the wistfulness in his voice. ‘You always loved that symbol. The eternal knot. You said it looked like two intertwined
hearts. Forever connected. Forever linked.’

‘How many times did I forget you?’ My voice is hoarse and barely audible.

He sighs. ‘Too many to count.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I offer weakly.

But he laughs again. ‘It’s not your fault.’ I can hear the soft rustle of his fingers running through my hair. ‘Besides, the joke was on them. Because I was never really
gone.’

I nod weakly into the pillow.

I want to tell him that I understand. That I’m starting to get it. That I think maybe he’s always been there. Lingering somewhere inside of me. Clinging desperately.

Revealing himself in subtle ways that I just couldn’t understand.

Even though I still don’t remember any of the details he’s told me, I feel the shadows of our past together. It continues to run through my veins. It echoes in his laugh. It’s
reflected in his eyes.

Reminding me that I’m safe here. With him.

Like clues left behind for me to find. Clues that somehow made their mark in permanent ink.