With every passing day, I become more and more convinced that this new procedure is the solution we have been hoping for. With the success of our treatments with patients seeking new reversals, the Director has sent over new batches that need to be treated for echoes alone. Our results thus far have been equally as successful. I work long hours, becoming borderline obsessed—rationalizing that I wouldn’t be able to begin moving on with new experiences with Kate anyway, before the transition period is complete. Having received the protocol for families days ago, I have yet to initiate the first steps. While I can tell Kate that I have been given a new assignment on the Committee, I am not free to expose many details. Slowly, over the course of months, I will introduce new responsibilities and benefits. We can have more children during that period and hopefully wrap up results of my trials. The timing literally couldn’t be better.
Though it is later than we had initially planned, tonight is the night. Kate tiptoes to the door of my workspace after lab hours, and I usher her in. Tamara has left for the day, so I don’t anticipate us being interrupted. Theoretically, I shouldn’t have to hide this from the Committee, but I’m not sure that research subjects are considered ‘resources’ at my disposal. Kate understands that we need to move quickly and immediately prepares herself for a scan. As soon as she is settled, I hit the button. My heart drops as the image takes form on my display. After pouring over her prior annual scans for weeks, I practically have them memorized and immediately recognize the areas that have been repeatedly treated. It’s a literal mess. I had previously determined to work on her childhood reversal, since her dreams have consistently stemmed from that, but now I am not so sure.
“Kate, you can sit up now,” I say, moving toward her. “How would you feel about doing a repair session?” I ask, acting more confident than I feel.
“Like, now?” she asks, surprised.
I nod.
“What would it entail?”
I explain the process of inducing REM sleep, the treatment, and the results we have seen thus far.
“But, full disclosure: I haven’t ever tried repairing reversal treatments that have occurred this far in the past,” I admit. “I have only been working with new or more recent procedures. I can’t see why it would be any different, though. If anything, it may just not work, but I don’t anticipate any negative results. It’s experimental, and I understand if you don’t want to try it.” I nervously pat my leg with my left hand. “The only reason I suggest it is...it may be awhile before we move into new trials and I—I have an extremely difficult time watching you in pain.”
She smiles at me then, trusting, and puts her hand on my cheek.
“Let’s do it,” she says.
Obediently, I place the port and gently strap her to the reversal table. She flinches when I tighten the restraints.
“Is it too tight?” I ask and she shakes her head, remaining silent. Not for the first time, I find myself wishing I could get inside her head.
I begin the drip, explaining to her that she will only be asleep for a short period. As her eyelids droop, I move to the display to make adjustments as needed.
Her brain lights up and, at first, it’s difficult to locate the specific area I am looking for. When I do, I slowly begin treatment, acting much more conservatively than I normally would.
What am I doing? What if it is possible to add damage to her already fractured neural pathways? I shake as my fingers clumsily continue on. Eventually, I slip into routine, forgetting for the moment that this is anything beyond a normal trial. When finished, I slow her chemical load, remove the port, and allow her to wake naturally, as I do with every patient. Having nothing else to do, I sit next to her and hold her hand.
Back home, a soft knock on the door surprises me, and I rush to open it, hoping whoever is there won’t make more noise and wake the kids or Kate.
“Shari?” I say, surprised, as the door swings open. She motions for me to step outside.
“What are you thinking, Nick?” she hisses.
“What do you—”
“You know what I mean. Why would you do this?”
My thoughts are reeling. How did she find out so quickly? Why is she so angry and here so late? My tired state contributes to send my typically slight paranoia shooting through the roof.
“How did—”
“Nick, your searches in the records system are logged! Did you think we wouldn’t be checking up on you after trusting you with such sensitive information? Eric is none of your concern!”
Relief and fear collide at once in my system. She isn’t talking about Kate. She doesn’t necessarily know about her treatment earlier tonight. This particular search she is referencing was days ago.
“I was just curious, Shari. I’ve made a lot of difficult decisions lately and I felt like—well, if I knew he was flourishing, it would help.”
“Eric is fine, Nick. I’m sure you saw that in your search. You are just lucky that I am the one who found it. I deleted it. You’re welcome,” she spits angrily. I swallow my pride and place my hand on her shoulder. Huffing, she shrugs it off.
“I’m sorry, Shari. It won’t happen again.”
“Nick, I went out on a limb for you. I recommended you for the Committee. There were plenty of other options considered, and I gave you a chance. Please stop questioning. Accept this amazing opportunity in life! Just give back as much as you can to make up for anything that doesn’t sit right with you. That’s what we all do and it has worked out pretty well for us. Please,” she practically begs. I have never witnessed Shari so vulnerable.
“Thank you,” I say. “Sincerely, thank you...for recommending me. I am grateful and I will do my best.” She stares at me, then stomps down the steps and into the car that is waiting at our curb. Should I have said something else? As I watch her car drive away, I commit to at least being more careful when accessing the database.
64 Kate
Waking up, I can feel it. Something has shifted. My body somehow feels...lighter. Had I not known what was happening, I probably would have simply gone on with my day. But I do know, and I am convinced that a part of me is now permanently gone. I don’t even understand fully what that memory was. I allowed it to be eliminated without even considering that it may have been something worthwhile. The grief overwhelms me, whether out of exhaustion or legitimate sadness, I can’t tell.
Nick walks in, carrying a breakfast plate and a glass of water. When he sees me, he immediately sets them down and pulls me onto his lap.
“It’s completely normal to be emotional, your body went through a lot last night,” he soothes.
Catching my breath, I refrain from speaking until I am able to bring my emotions to a manageable level. Nick simply holds me.
“The good news is that I know your treatment works,” I finally manage to get out.
“How?” he asks, sitting back to look at me.
“I just know. I don’t think I’ll ever dream about her again,” I say, the tears starting to flow. Nick looks confused.
“Why is that making you upset? That’s what we wanted right?”
“I didn’t like the dreams, they were horrifying. But they have been my constant companion for as long as I can remember. Somehow it tethered me to her, a mystery that kept her alive. Now, what if there’s nothing?” I pause. The reality sinking deep within me. “Or what if I needed to know whatever she was trying to tell me. I am grieving the loss of a memory I didn’t even have,” I explain, sniffing.
Recognizing the hurt on his face, I backpedal. “This all sounds very ungrateful, and I need to say thank you.” I sit up straight, wiping my tears. “Thank you, Nick, for putting in so much time and effort into finding something that will undoubtedly change the way we use reversal therapy. Thank you for taking a chance to help me. I love you,” I say, pressing my lips against his.
He doesn’t sink into the kiss as I had anticipated, rather pulls back and speaks abruptly. His voice is so quiet, I can barely h
ear him.
“I got a new assignment.”
“What?” I gasp, my voice matching his. “An assignment?”
He nods.
“Will it—will you still be doing trials?”
“Yes, I will be able to finish my current research, definitely,” he answers, pausing. “I was invited to serve on the Committee,” he says hesitantly, gauging my reaction.
My head jerks back as if hit by an invisible blow. “Wow,” I exhale. “That is...I think I need a minute. A moment ago I was thinking about my mom, and I can’t switch gears that quickly.
“It’s alright, let’s just sit here for a moment.”
He settles in next to me, and I focus on my breath. That memory is gone. I can think more on it later, but this is something I have to think about now.
“What does a seat on the Committee even mean?” I ask, my voice at a more normal level.
He looks at the floor. “I don’t know exactly what my responsibilities will be yet, but it will be a transition. I’ll give you more info as soon as I get it.”
“They must really trust you, Nick,” I say, surprised and suddenly proud. I honestly don’t know what members of the Committee do, beyond the few small tasks I have witnessed through my service assignment, but I know they are important.
“I will do my best,” he says modestly. “Hey, I also made an appointment for us. I can cancel it if you want, but I am feeling a push to start fertility. With all of these potential changes, I want to be available for you during those first few months, since I know they are the hardest.”
My mind spins again. New assignment, new baby…
“Nick, this is a lot for one morning.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been holding all of this in, and it seems that I am no longer able to. I didn’t intend to dump this on you all at once.”
“It’s okay, it’s just...a lot. As far as the fertility goes, I’ve been feeling the same way, but mostly because I am getting older by the day,” I needle him, hoping to assure him that I’m not upset.
“Better by the day,” he responds and I feel a pang of regret, my mind returning to the reversal. Lesser. I feel lesser.
“We could practice, you know, for when the fertility takes effect,” Nick flirts.
I laugh. “Nick, the kids have got to be getting up any moment and I need to get Bentley off.”
Nick looks at me strangely and bursts out laughing.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“What time do you think it is?” he asks through his guffaws.
“I—I just woke up, I thought it was maybe seven?” I stammer, suddenly questioning myself.
“Kate, it’s nearly lunchtime,” he says, laughing harder
I press my hands to my breasts. “How am I not leaking everywhere?” I ask, horrified.
“You were under anesthesia, you won’t be able to feed the girls for another couple of hours and that first amount will need to be discarded anyway,” he says, calming himself. “You will likely have to supplement for a day or two—the stress caused by the procedure will have lowered your production.”
“But...where are the kids?” I ask, still not wrapping my brain around the morning.
“Bentley is at conditioning, and I dropped the girls at the childcare center. They were thrilled,” he says, grinning, obviously proud of himself.
“They took bottles?” I ask, warily.
“Like champs,” he answers. “So. Practicing?” he repeats, leaning toward me.
“Pass me that breakfast first!” I exclaim, sneaking out from under him. His hands grasp my waist and I land gently back on the bed, laughing, the quilt covering my face. I can always eat later.
“Where are you?” I shout into the trees. “Tal! Bentley?” I hear giggles and move toward them. “I wonder where they could be,” I say, feigning ignorance. Pulling the branches away, I expose their hiding place. “Gotcha!” I proclaim, throwing myself toward them.
“That took forever, Mom!” Bentley laughs.
“Well, stop finding such tricky spots and I will find you faster!” I laugh. “I still haven’t found Dad.”
“I think I know where he went,” Tal says. “Follow me.”
Tal leads us through the trees to a small clearing and Eric is standing there, beaming.
“It’s like you aren’t even trying, Dad,” Tal sighs.
I run to him, kicking off my sandals and pressing my feet into the soft, spring grass. Suddenly, I see movement behind him. Shari? And Grace? They flank Eric, each holding one of his arms. Eric doesn’t flinch, just continues to smile at me.
“It’s ok, Kate. It’s for the best,” he says, allowing them to pull him back into the trees.
“Eric, wait!” I call, trying to follow after them. My feet are moving, but I am not gaining any ground. He is disappearing! I run faster, then faster. Pumping my legs as hard as I can. Tears streak my cheeks.
“Eric!”
“Kate!” I hear distantly. “Kate!”
“Kate! Kate! It’s a dream, it’s ok. I’m right here,” he murmurs. I wrap my arms around his back, clinging to him. When my breathing slows, he tilts my face toward him.
I wake, pressed against Nick’s chest, his strong arms enveloping me as they have countless times before. My breathing is shallow.
“So much for not dreaming about your mom, hey?” he asks, concern evident in his tone.
“It—it wasn’t about my mom, Nick,” I say, my voice barely audible. His eyebrows crease with worry. I don’t need to say it. He knows.
65 Kate
“This will allow for simultaneous entry across systems…” the presenter drones on. I focus on my template, tweaking the formulas and watching the results, hoping to master the new system before leaving tonight. This is a constant strategy I employ every time we have new tech to play with at training. With three kids at home, I can’t guarantee that I will have additional time to practice, and I don’t want to be left behind. Tonight I am struggling more than usual. Nothing seems to be sticking. I keep slipping back into portions of my dream last night. It was particularly vivid and disturbing, and I want to hash it out—but with who? It will hurt Nick’s feelings, regardless of whether he insists that he wants me to be open with him. And Shari—I don’t know. I still hesitate to open up to her, despite the guilt that accompanies my inaction.
“Why am I still having these dreams?” I practically scream inside my head. The force of the thought takes my breath away, and I stare at my display, unmoving. Alright. You won’t let me focus? Let’s hash this out then. I place my fingers on my sensor, attempting to appear engaged while I begin what is sure to be an intense mental conversation with myself.
“Yes, I am still dreaming about Eric, Bentley, and a child that YOU have made up,” I assert. “I know that this is due to damage in my brain. Nick is working on it and already I have seen improvements. That’s it! You will heal, I promise!” I suppress a hysterical laugh at the absurdity of this internal dialogue.
“Will I? Why are you dreaming of them? Your reversal damage was from when you were a kid,” I shoot back.
“Memories are stored in multiple locations in the brain—did you consider that memories could overlap? That certain memories could randomly link, meaning that damage in that area could have affected another traumatizing moment in my life? Or, or! That reversal has gotten significantly more precise over the years? Maybe they screwed up!”
“Or, or? We’re really saying that now?”
“Whatever.”
“You’re mad, Kate. You’re mad and terrified, pushing those feelings so far down that they are gnawing at your subconscious so persistently that you are talking to yourself. Trying to explain it away. You can’t! You know there is something else going on here and until you face it, you will continue to dream. You will continue to panic. You will—”
“STOP!” I shout, my hand nearly knocking my sensor to the ground. The person next to me glances over and I straighten up, feigning
interest in the speaker.
“Stop,” I whimper internally. “I can’t do this. I don’t know what you are talking about. There’s nothing else! Am I going crazy? Did having twins catalyze a mental break? I am doing all that I can!” I cry, tears welling up in my eyes. Blinking, I quickly wipe them from my cheeks.
“Why do you think you don’t want to talk to Shari? Why do you think you still dream—”
“Stop!” I silently plead again. “I don’t know, I don’t—”
Emptiness swallows me then, from the pit of my stomach, rising toward my throat. Heat throbs through my arms and a cold sweat breaks out on my forehead.
“Hey, are you okay?” my neighbor asks, reaching out to touch my arm. I recoil instinctively, standing and knocking my chair to the ground with a clatter. Not even noticing the turn of heads in my direction, I bolt to the washroom. Bile is rising in my throat and I barely make it through the door before vomiting violently into the sink. Coughing and sputtering, I empty the contents of my stomach, moaning softly. Tears stream down my cheeks and, when I am sure it is safe, I slowly gather myself and rinse my mouth. The water swishes through my teeth, taking the accumulated acrid substance with it. Spitting, I reach for a compostable towel and fiercely wipe it across my lips, blowing my nose as an afterthought. My legs collapse and I sink to the cold tile in a heap.
Moments later, I force myself to rise, rinsing my mouth again and stare at the chunks of half-digested food stuck in the drain. Grabbing another towel, I scoop it out and wipe the porcelain clean with a soapy hand. Satisfied, I stumble out into the hallway. With each step, my resolve intensifies, and soon I am practically jogging toward my destination. Turning the corner, I see him.
Tier Trilogy: Books 1-3 Page 35