He lifted his eyes to Dr Haven, who was frowning and tapping his lips.
The doctor finally replied. “I have no idea.” He gave a light tut and shrugged. “It sounds like gibberish to me. The nonsense graffiti of a bored resident, perhaps. I’d pay it no mind.”
Flashes of light spilled over the curtain’s top. Butterflies flickered as if fluttering in their frames.
The director continued. “Have you mentioned what you saw to anyone else?”
Cyan shook his head. “No.”
“I’d suggest you keep it that way.”
“How come?”
“Those words convey a somewhat…unhealthy sentiment, not helpful at all to the care we provide for residents. I mean –” the doctor’s lips pursed with amusement – “why would anyone not want to forget? That’s how we heal here. It’s how residents recover from their traumas and tragedies. Which makes the whole…memory thieves thing absurd. I assume that’s supposed to refer to our work at the sanctuary. But how can we steal memories that aren’t wanted? How can it be thieving if we’re removing something that causes suffering?”
Cyan chewed at his lower lip, deep in thought. “That’s what I didn’t get. It still felt kind of…weird, though.”
“That’s because it’s illogical and confusing. Like I said: nonsense. Nevertheless, it’s nonsense best kept to yourself. It would be inconsiderate of you to tell anyone. Naturally there’d be…consequences.”
Cyan’s eyes went to the doctor. “Consequences?”
Dr Haven was watching the curtain. “I mean, there’s no point in making anyone else feel uncomfortable, is there?”
Cyan considered this, thinking of his own discomfort over the etched message. He nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Perfect sense.” The doctor adjusted his grey tie. “But back to you, Cyan. What of your fear of fire? Is your pyrophobia improving?”
Cyan gave a gloomy shrug. “Comes and goes. I had a little panic today – first one in a while. I thought I saw a fire through the window. In Ms Ferryman’s office.”
Dr Haven nodded knowingly. “It was imaginary.”
“Always is.” Cyan looked glumly into the doctor’s face. “It’s still really scary when it happens, though. Every time I think I see fire—” He sucked in a deep breath and nodded at the vinyl curtain. “Is there really no way to…remove the fear?”
The director sighed. “I’m afraid not. Strobe therapy erases memories of the past, and your condition is unrelated to your history. It’s an irrational fear, more common than you’d imagine; a phobia you’ve likely carried around since birth. We’ve been through this before, haven’t we?”
Cyan stared at his plimsolls and shoved his hands into his blazer pockets.
The doctor continued. “But don’t be downhearted. There are various therapies for pyrophobia and you’re in the best place to receive them. I’ll do everything I can to beat your condition, once and for all. We’ll keep talking about it, and I’ll continue to refine your medication. We’ll get there eventually, Cyan. Just make sure you continue to avoid revealing it to anyone. Interference from others might—”
“Hinder our progress. Yeah, I know.”
Cyan took his hands back out of his pockets. After managing to rustle up a smile, he spoke cheerily over the chair’s clunks and clicks, nodding again at the curtain. “Jonquil seems nice, doesn’t she? It’ll be good when she’s better.”
Dr Haven smiled. “It most certainly will.”
He cracked his knuckles, and the ceiling stuttered with light.
Later, in the library, Cyan handed Jonquil a mug and set himself down beside her. They were sitting in sleek, low armchairs, not far from the library’s wooden counter.
Cyan gestured at Jonquil’s drink. “Fresh from the lounge. The sanctuary has the best hot chocolate. It’ll perk you up in no time.”
Jonquil gazed glassy-eyed into the mug, which she cradled in both hands.
“It’s normal to be groggy after strobe therapy,” said Cyan. “It passes soon enough. I always come here after my sessions. It’s nice and quiet while you get your bearings back.”
He closed his eyes, listening to the library’s sounds: hushed words from staff at the counter; the soft padding of plimsolls across carpet.
When he heard the crackle of something burning, his eyes opened and he whipped his head towards the sound. There was no fire, though; just a creak from a hanging wicker pod-chair. A resident was sitting cross-legged inside, propped up by bright cushions and lost in a book.
Cyan steadied his mug and waited for his pulse to settle down. He smiled at a slurp from Jonquil, nodding encouragingly. “Did you look around while I fetched your hot chocolate? It’s a beautiful library, isn’t it?”
Jonquil’s eyelids fluttered. She peered past Cyan at curving lampshades and boldly patterned beanbags; cushioned hammocks between mahogany pillars; armchairs and loungers in dim, comfy nooks.
Some of the colour returned to Jonquil’s face. Her pupils seemed to shrink. “If this is the library…where are the bookshelves?”
“Behind you.” Cyan nodded at the tall cabinets looming in rows behind the counter. Their long shelves were protected by steel-framed doors, with glass panels revealing the spines of books.
When Jonquil twisted to stare, Cyan beamed with pride. “Ms Ferryman says books are milk and honey for the soul, which I think is spot on. And there’s loads of time here for reading. That’s one of the best things about the sanctuary.”
Jonquil was looking at him with her head slightly tilted. “But why are the books all locked up like that?”
“Because there’s a limit to the books you can take out.”
“Isn’t there always?”
“Not the number of books; the type of books. Each resident has certain books they’re not allowed to read, in case they trigger…unwelcome memories. The last thing you want is a plot twist or character messing up your treatment.”
Understanding began to dawn in Jonquil’s eyes. “Oh.”
“That’s why they’re all locked up like that. If you fancy getting a book out, you have to go to the counter and get an orderly to scan your locket. After that, they’ll give you an electronic catalogue of the books you’re allowed.”
“Right…” Jonquil looked distracted. She was watching the library’s other residents, who were nestled with novels in hammocks and chairs. “So you guys…have all forgotten stuff from your old lives, right?”
“Yup. All the bad stuff that’s happened to us.”
Jonquil’s eyes were on Cyan. “Then how much of the world do you remember? I mean…” She sucked her upper lip. “Do these books make sense to you when you’ve forgotten about the world and…all the stuff that’s in it? All the stuff that isn’t here on the island?”
Cyan had to give this some thought. “Well, we still sort of remember things. It’s like Dr Haven said: the treatment gets rid of the bad memories, but you keep your understanding of the world and how it works. So, all the stuff that’s out there beyond the island – you know, countries, sports, animals, stuff like that – it’s all still in here.” He tapped the side of his head. “But not in a way that’s connected to our personal experience. It’s sort of abstract, I guess. Detached.” Cyan’s forehead furrowed. He drummed his fingers against his mouth. “Does that make sense? Or am I talking rubbish?”
Jonquil sipped her chocolate, then began to nod slowly. “I think it makes sense. Sort of.” Her eyes returned to the other residents. “So how many residents live at the sanctuary?”
“About a hundred or so. I think.”
“And it’s just young people?”
“Hm?”
“I haven’t seen any adults in this uniform.” She patted the lapel of her bottle-green blazer.
“Yeah, it’s just kids and teenagers. The only adults here are staff. Been that way as far back as I can remember.”
“How far back is that?”
“I don’t have the foggiest. That�
��s kind of the point here. It’s—”
Cyan was interrupted by a chorus of muffled bleeps. Residents throughout the library reached for their lockets.
Cyan opened his own and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “A shuffle in thirty minutes. That’ll be the one Ms Ferryman scheduled, so I can show you how to handle it safely.”
Jonquil straightened on her seat. “I thought we were waiting for a…what was it…reconfiguration?”
“Same thing. We mostly call it a shuffle, much as it winds up Professor Vadasz. You’ll meet him soon enough.” He pointed with both hands at the library’s exit. “Finish your drink. We’d better get going.”
They were soon in the foyer, at the foot of the staircase to the right of the handless clock.
Cyan drummed his palms on his trousers. “Okay, Jonquil. You lead the way.”
“The way?”
He nodded at the coiling flight of steps. “To the upper rooms. Anywhere up there you want.”
“Anywhere at all?”
“Sure. Doesn’t have much effect on where we’ll end up.”
Jonquil tipped her head to one side. “I don’t understand.”
Cyan’s eyebrows wriggled behind his chunky glasses. “You will. Just get up there and go wherever you want. Have a quick look around. I’ll follow.”
“Quick?” Jonquil’s brown eyes twinkled. Her lip began to curl. “Think you can keep up?”
“Sure I can. I’m—”
Jonquil was already up several steps. Cyan grabbed the rail and followed, with the foyer disappearing below him.
After passing the oak walls that hid the engine floor from the stairway, he hopped off the top step and hit the carpet of the upper rooms’ first floor.
Jonquil was waiting for him in a wide hallway – a cube-shaped space with dark, wood-panelled walls. She turned to take in its thick rugs and the colourful fish paintings on the walls, then looked at the doors facing each other from the room’s opposite ends. Each one of them had a small porthole window. “So I’m just going anywhere?”
“Anywhere. Makes no—”
She was off again.
Cyan trailed behind while Jonquil raced through hallways and up and down spiral staircases. Other residents sometimes had to hop aside, so that they bumped against tall plants and bronze lamps.
“Slow down!” panted Cyan. “Man alive – you’re really fast!”
Jonquil showed no sign of slowing. “Thanks! I used to be a—”
“Don’t…say more…”
“Sorry!”
“But seriously…slow down. Need…to show you…something.”
Jonquil stopped and Cyan stumbled into her. He stooped for some moments with his hands on his knees, so that his white fringe hung over his face. After getting his breath back, he straightened and patted his chest. “Right. Okay… While you were running, did you hear your locket beeping? Three separate times?”
“Yeah. There was one just now.”
“That’s the countdown. Five minutes left until the shuffle starts. Notice anything about the hallways and staircases you’ve been whizzing around? And the bedrooms you’ve seen through open doors. Anything they’ve all got in common?”
Jonquil studied the hallway they were in. “The walls are all wooden. And they all have the same shape. Like big cubes.”
“That’s right. The rooms are all cubes. That’s how it works – how the upper rooms move.”
“What?”
“You’ve seen those puzzles, right? The flat ones where you have to slide plastic tiles around to make a picture.”
Jonquil eyed him cynically. “Yeah, I know the ones.”
Cyan used his fingers to make a square shape. “Now imagine one of those puzzles, but in 3-D. What would those moving tiles be in 3-D?”
“I guess…cubes?”
“Bullseye. And that’s how these bedrooms and hallways move around; like cubes in a giant sliding puzzle.”
Jonquil’s eyes searched the walls. “I don’t believe you.”
Cyan laughed and carried on. “And those cubes need a grid to move around in, right? That’s what this is part of.” His finger traced the room’s broad ebony trim, which skirted the twelve edges of the floor, ceiling and walls.
“This border is part of the upper rooms’ framework – the huge grid that holds all the cubes in place. It also lets the walls slide in all directions while the rooms – their floors and ceilings and whatever’s in them – go wherever they’re sent. So during a shuffle there’s stuff moving all over the place, but the framework stays put. That’s why it’s the safest place to be.
“So basically, if your locket tells you a shuffle’s coming and you’re up here, you need to get safely into the frame before it all kicks off. Here.” Cyan pointed at the hollows in each vertical section of the room’s frame. “These are called snugs, okay? They’re for residents and staff during shuffles.” Both of their lockets were beeping regularly now. “Quick, get into one.”
Jonquil shook her head. “This is ridiculous. You’re having me on.” Even so, and with a look of mounting worry on her face, Jonquil reversed cautiously into one of the snugs.
Cyan tucked himself into the opposite snug and gave her two thumbs up. “There’s nothing to worry about, Jonquil. You’re perfectly safe, as long as you stay in your snug. Have you noticed the beeping’s getting faster?”
Jonquil was as pale as she’d been before her hot chocolate. She nodded wordlessly.
“And you feel that faint trembling?” Cyan had to raise his voice while the noise grew louder. He could hear it travelling up from the engine floor, reverberating through the framework – the gnash of cogs, the squeal of pulleys.
Cyan’s heartbeat quickened. A laugh began to rise in his throat, but when it failed to reach his mouth he frowned. Something was sucking the joy out of this shuffle.
He pouted slightly, suddenly deep in thought. When he realized it was the message he’d found on the whale bones – that those words still niggled him more than he’d liked to admit – his frown deepened.
Jonquil shrieked across the rising din. “What is it?” Her eyes darted nervously left and right. “Is something wrong?”
Cyan pushed the thought aside. The walls thrummed and trembled around them, and he forced a giddy cackle through his lips. “It’s all great!” he shouted. “Just stay put ’til it’s over! Heeeeere it comes!”
The floor beyond the frame’s edge fell away, followed swiftly by the room’s descending ceiling. Cyan caught sight of Jonquil’s widening eyes, before a wall slid along the frame’s grooves to block his view. When it was gone, he managed to shout a quick, “It’s okay!” before another wall shot up from below.
Wooden walls – many of them with doors – flew by with increasing speed, from top to bottom and bottom to top, left to right and right to left. Cyan saw staircases, bedrooms and hallways, all coasting through the space within the cube-shaped frame, most of them on the cusp of collision with sliding walls.
On it went with a thunderous rumble – with an exhilarating grind and relentless squeal. And with every passing room, Cyan glimpsed floors and ceilings, wardrobes and beds; beanbags and tables, mirrors and shelves; quaking plants and nodding lamps; fat bright cushions and vivid fluffy rugs… On and on, lurching and sliding, until the movements began to slow.
The noise gradually fell in volume, and when everything finally slotted into place, Cyan and Jonquil found themselves looking into a new hallway with a spiral staircase in its centre.
Cyan left his snug and passed the stairs. “You all right?” He offered a hand to Jonquil, who clutched it and allowed herself to be pulled from her hollow. Cyan felt the trembling in her arms.
She looked anxiously around the room, her grip still tight on Cyan’s fingers. “We’re…” Her voice was hoarse. “We’ve been moved. Moved to…somewhere…”
Cyan scratched the back of his neck. “Not technically. We’re still in the same part of the framework. It
doesn’t move, remember? But, yeah, a different room’s been moved to us. Every room and hallway up here’ll be different now. There’s no going back the way you came. It’s all been rearranged.”
Jonquil gawped at each of the walls now surrounding them. Her brow furrowed. “So how do we get back? How do we find our way to the foyer?”
“Open your locket. Okay, now keep your thumb on the screen and say ‘foyer’.”
Jonquil did so.
Cyan pointed at her screen. “See that green arrow? That’s basically a compass. It’ll take you along the quickest route to wherever you say you want to go. But if you’re ever wandering around these floors and hear a buzz from your locket, check there’s not a red cross pointing where you’re heading.”
“What’s a red cross mean?”
“No-zones. I’ll show you.”
With Cyan holding her hand and ahoying any residents they passed, they drifted through cubic corridors and up and down staircases, until their lockets buzzed suddenly in unison.
“There we go.” Cyan pointed at the red cross on Jonquil’s screen. He tapped one of its four arms, which was slightly longer than the rest. Then he pivoted Jonquil so that the cross revolved like a compass needle, pointing at a door ahead. “So, all the places we’ve been so far have been go-zones – places that are safe to walk. But this little cross warns you there’s a no-zone behind that door.”
Jonquil took a step back. “What’s a no-zone? Is it dangerous?”
“Only if you’re a moron. Go on, have a look.” He nudged her gently forward.
“You sure it’s safe?”
“Sure I’m sure. Just hold on to the door frame and keep your feet in this room. Go on.” Cyan smiled and put a hand on her back. “I promise it’s safe.”
Jonquil’s locket buzzed more angrily with every step she took. While holding the door frame with one hand, she eased the door open.
Cyan saw her grip tighten. He crossed the room and peered over her shoulder at the floorless space beyond the door.
There was a distant ceiling about two storeys above. The drop from where they stood was several storeys down. Cyan could see some exposed bedrooms and hallways, each bordering this huge shaft of hollow space.
The Memory Thieves Page 3