Reset

by Sarina Dahlan

  “Don’t lie to me, Metis.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “First you lied to me about being a Dreamer and knowing Benja. Now, about being the Sandman. Is there any part of you that’s not a lie?”

  He grips her shoulders. “I gave up being the Sandman to be with you! I had to choose between the past and the present. Being the Sandman or being Metis, the pianist. The Crone told me I couldn’t be both. And so, I chose.”

  “Who’s the Crone?”

  “She’s the maker of Absinthe. She’s been around since the beginning of the Four Cities. Like you, she was a scientist. Now, she exists inside a book—a consciousness without a body. She guides us to remember our pasts.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me all this?” Her voice sounds hurt.

  “We have so little time left. I just wanted to spend it not worrying about anyone but us. Just me and you. Can you understand that?”

  He places his fingers on her chin, lifting it. He leans down and kisses her. The taste of her is intoxicating, making his head swim. He pulls her against his chest. He misses her. The woman she was. The woman she is. And every version of her in between.

  The wind blows, intensifying the scent of dry sage and the earthiness of the desert. It’s getting colder by the minute. He tightens his arms around her. She fits here. This is where she belongs.

  He has been trying not to think of time. The stealer of memories is creeping closer. Soon, his arms will be empty again. Can he handle it?

  The people they left at Bodie’s house could not. They chose to be together in death. To be free of Tabula Rasa. Would he one day make that choice? Would Aris?

  The image of their dead bodies comes back to him. Their figures lie on the floor, crumpled like inanimate objects. He is reminded of Benja’s dead body. Immobile and stiff. Skin cold and pale. He tries to shake it off. He does not want these memories to stay.

  “We’re not far from the hotel,” he says. “Would you please let me take you there and hold you? I can’t stand it anymore. And I’m afraid . . .”

  “Of what?” she whispers.

  He doesn’t know the science of how memories work. What he knows is that a part of his brain has a fortress Tabula Rasa cannot touch. Behind its walls, his memories are strongest. It is the place he keeps his knowledge of music and the feel of Aris, if not every detail of her.

  “I’m afraid we’ll keep that horrific memory from tonight forever,” he says. “I think our minds choose memories, even if we’re not aware of it. Things get impressed on a subconscious level.”

  He picks up her hand and traces the veins to her palm.

  “Like this spot where your green veins are most visible. Near the middle of your palm that dips in like a pool.”

  He sighs.

  “Sometimes I lie awake at night remembering this precise spot on your hand,” he says, “This is what my mind chose to remember. I don’t want to remember all those people lying dead on the floor in that house, and I hope I won’t.”

  He pulls her close again. A spot on his jacket blooms warm with her tear. He kisses the top of her head and breaths in the lavender scent.

  “All that matters is that I love you,” he says, “That’s what I want you to remember. The only thing I want you to keep from this night.”

  Aris looks at the small house-like structure that belongs to the Hotel of the Desert. There are others like it in the vicinity. This one is farthest from the others and is located at the end of a quiet and dark path. It sits on four stilts off the uneven, rocky land. They walk up the five stairs to the porch. It is empty.

  “We’ll have to break in,” Metis says.

  The wall-sized glass door does not look difficult to force open. In a world where there is no theft, security is minimal. Metis fiddles with the door, and the latch turns. They walk in. The space is dark and silent. Their steps echo—two prowlers in the night. Around them shadowy shapes of furniture crouch low to the ground like animals waiting to pounce. The smell of chlorine lingers.

  “Lights on,” Metis says.

  Nothing changes.

  “Your voice command doesn’t work. We’re not supposed to be here,” she says and walks to the bathroom.

  In one of the drawers she finds a candle and a lighter. She lights the candle; it emits a small, warm glow. She brings it out and looks around.

  The house is one large room. The ample living area with an L-shaped gray sofa is connected to a kitchen of shiny white cabinets. A large pendant light that looks like a cloud hangs above a substantial oak coffee table. Through another glass door at the back of the house, Aris sees a pool. It’s long enough to swim laps in. She finds the bedroom hiding behind a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf on the far wall.

  “There’s food in the refrigerator. Probably stocked for tomorrow’s guests. I guess that means we should leave before sunrise,” Metis’s voice speaks from the kitchen, “I’ll make us something to eat.”

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  “Do you want to eat now or have a quick shower first?” Metis asks.

  She answers by walking back into the bathroom. Its sleek whiteness contrasts with the darkness outside. A glass wall looks out onto the empty unknown.

  She sits the candle on the countertop and peels each article of clothing off her body. The heaviness of the day sinks into her pores, making her extremities feel like lead. She tends to harbor stress in her back. The weight of everything and everyone is on it. She needs to wash them off so she can feel like someone resembling herself again.

  There is no timer for the shower. No five-minute rule. The hotel is a vacation spot—a place where people don’t have to think about time. She turns on the rain showerhead and lets the warm water pour down her hair, her face. The stream travels down her body to her feet. The string that winds her so tightly starts to unravel.

  She lathers in shampoo and soap and reminisces of the days when things were simpler. The time when she did not question reality. When she could walk the world knowing where she belonged. But she belongs with Metis, she tells herself.

  Only for a month.

  Melancholy returns. In a few weeks he will be gone from her memory. He will live only in her dreams, to be reawakened later by whatever triggers her brain is receptive to. If at all.

  Maybe she will find Absinthe in the next cycle. But what if he cannot remember her then? Can she stand the pain of looking into the eyes of someone she loves and seeing no recognition? Seraphina said it is more painful than one can imagine. Metis has lived it.

  She opens her eyes and sees him leaning against the doorframe.

  “How long have you been standing there?” she asks.

  “Not long enough.”

  “I’m almost done.”

  “Is there room for me?” he asks.

  She nods, and he sheds his clothes. In all the times they have been intimate together, she has never seen his naked body from this distance. He is well made—tall with lean muscles and a strong chest wide enough to sleep on. His handsomeness is striking. It is not the conspicuous, peacock-like handsomeness Benja owned. His is born from the stillness of his features and the focused intensity of his eyes. Real. Warm blooded. And very male. She feels her core heating up.

  The door to the shower opens, and his skin is on hers at once. His hands run over the topography of her body like a river over land, leaving evidence of its passage. Her skin, slippery from water and soap, abides. She feels the roughness of his stubble raking down her neck.

  He continues lower until he is on the floor, kneeling. His hands are holding her by her hips. She feels tremors coming from him. He is crying.

  Suddenly her heart expands to accept everything she feels. The love she has for Metis. The loss they will soon face. The death of her friend. The emptiness left by those who killed themselves tonight. The sorrow of those who cannot be wit
h the ones they love.

  She kneels next to Metis and wraps her arms around him. She hums the tune she sang Benja to sleep with.

  Thane waits. He is in a white room with no windows inside the police station in Elara. The artificial light coming from overhead gives it a stark, clinical look. He feels agitated. One of his knees bounces uncontrollably. He doesn’t want to be here. Across from him sits a man in a brown fedora who has introduced himself as Officer Scylla. He is why Thane cannot simply leave.

  “Is there a reason you still need me here?” Thane asks.

  “We just need a few more answers.”

  “I told you everything I know.” His voice is gruff. He did not know the process with the police would take so long. He needs to be out there, finding Aris and Metis.

  “You still haven’t established the reason you were at Bodie’s house on a Thursday night,” Officer Scylla says.

  “I was lost. I walked from downtown and wanted to see the view. So, I went up the hill. I knocked on the house to ask for directions. When no one opened the door, I looked through the window and saw all the—”

  “The house is registered to a Bodie and Seraphina. Did you know either of them?”

  “No. I told you that.”

  “How about anyone else who was at the house?”

  “No.”

  “Where did you say you work?”

  “The Natural History Museum.”

  “The one in Callisto?” Officer Scylla asks.

  “The one and only.”

  “So you don’t know anyone in this city at all?”

  “No, I don’t. Why do you keep asking me that?”

  “Because, Thane, I’m confused as to why someone from Callisto would be in Elara this late at night. And that he happened to stumble upon a lot of dead people in a house.”

  Thane springs up. His chair falls backward and clangs against the floor.

  “I have nothing to do with this!”

  “I’m not saying you do. But something’s not making sense to me,” the policeman says.

  The voice of an AI speaks. “Officer Scylla, you have a reach.”

  “I’m in the middle of something. Please send to the databank.”

  “I cannot. It is from the Interpreter Center.”

  Officer Scylla scowls.

  “I’m sorry, I’ll be right back.”

  As soon as the door closes, Thane begins to feel angry. He is upset with himself for being too honest with Officer Scylla. At the Interpreter Center for giving him this horrible job. At Professor Jacob for recruiting him.

  His life would have been much more comfortable if he had never accepted this responsibility. What has it gotten him so far? He lost his friendship with Aris. Benja, the man he reported to the Interpreter Center, killed himself. He just saw a lot of dead bodies.

  But there was a reason he accepted this job. He wanted to help the Interpreter Center keep peace. He does not want anyone to destroy the Four Cities and the Planner’s ideology. That reason has not changed.

  Maybe I can tell him I was drunk. Maybe I was following an ex-girlfriend. Maybe I thought I saw them going into the house together. But I was mistaken. It was no one I knew. Jealousy is a good motivation, right?

  The door opens and Officer Scylla walks back in. His face is tense with what appears to be suppressed anger.

  “Thane, you are required at the Interpreter Center. If I have any additional questions, I will reach out. Thank you for your time.”

  Thane feels like the weight of the entire building has been lifted off him. He gets up, shakes the officer’s hand, and walks out of the Elara Police Station. As soon as he exits, he runs toward the train station. There are only a few places Metis and Aris can be at this hour.

  Aris turns on her side and watches Metis’s face as he sleeps. Even at rest, he looks worried. She wants to trace her finger on the line between his eyebrows. But she does not. His eyes flit under his lids. What is he dreaming about?

  She wonders if he would let her use the copper helmet on him. He has not offered, and she has not asked. Would she see their old lives together? What would that look like? Would she recognize the person she was? Does she even want to see herself as someone else—a stranger she shared a body with?

  A sigh escapes her. She doesn’t know if it is the openness of the sky, the barrenness of the landscape, or the sleeping man next to her that makes her feel so raw and fragile. She is not used to this Aris.

  Fresh air. She needs it. She eases out of the bed as quietly as she can. She opens the back door to the pool. The water lights up like the bright blue of the midday sky. She looks up and is dazzled by the real sky—black and blanketed with stars. No matter how many times she sees it, it still takes her breath away.

  The city lights in Callisto obscure all but the brightest stars. When she missed the night sky, she used to go to the planetarium, one of her favorite exhibits at the Natural History Museum. There, she shot through Jupiter’s atmosphere, witnessed the Big Bang, and watched stars die. But nothing replaces the reality of tilting her head up and seeing the brilliant dots of light that have traveled millions of years to her eyes.

  A baritone duet of hoots punctuates the air. Maybe great horned owls. In the old times, owl hoots were considered a bad premonition. An omen of a horrible event to come. But considering the season, the hooting is likely amorous. Most great horned owls mate for life. Each year they will find each other to mate before parting ways. A rare thing in the animal kingdom.

  In her world, only animals breed. Humans are artificially conceived in the Center of Discovery and Learning. She read that Old World women had to carry little humans inside them for nine months before birthing them. Aris wonders what it would be like to hold life inside her. She will never know.

  Aris finds a spot on the edge of the pool and dips her legs into the water. It’s warm. The hairs on her arms stand up, reminding her that the rest of her body is still in the cold air. She wishes she had a swimming suit, but then remembers she is surrounded by the nature preserve—the nearest structure is a long walk away. She pulls her shirt over her head, eases off her panties, and lowers herself in.

  The water relaxes her at once. She swims laps until her head clears. She flips over and floats. Her entire field of vision is filled with the starry sky. In the silence of the water, she begins to dissect her situation, the way the old Aris did with any obstacles that came her way.

  There are only a few weeks left before Tabula Rasa. That, she cannot change. Or can she? Is there a way to stop it from taking her and Metis down its destructive path?

  The idea is farfetched. If there is a way, it would have already been found. The people of the Four Cities have been around long enough to find out.

  Is there another way?

  What if I don’t go to the hospital? the question Benja asked her months ago resurfaces.

  She told Benja there must be a way for the system to find the stragglers. There is no place to hide.

  But what if there is?

  She and Metis can wait out Tabula Rasa. Instead of an AI as the first voice they hear, they would have each other. The idea sounds almost plausible. But she does not know of a place in the Four Cities they could go that would be safe.

  She feels a disturbance in the water. Something touches her leg. She screams.

  “I’m sorry,” Metis says.

  “You scared me!”

  “This reminds me of the first time we met this cycle. You screamed after running into me in the rain. Remember?”

  “How could I forget? You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  She kicks water up to the sky. A drop touches her lips. It’s salty. Untreated ocean water. It tastes of her dream with Metis.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks, wading toward her.

  “Tabula Rasa.”


  “Ah.” Melancholy touches his eyes.

  She changes the subject. “And something else. The rings that Seraphina asked me to take to the Gift Market. They’re like ours. Where did they come from?”

  Metis shakes his head. “One of us must have hidden ours in the chair cushion at home. I don’t know how we got them in the past. Maybe at the Gift Market.”

  “Everyone there had them. Was that why Bodie let us in? He thought we were there to—as well . . .”

  “Probably. Maybe that’s why Seraphina didn’t want him to know that we weren’t supposed to be there.”

  “The design—I wonder if it means something.”

  Metis shakes his head. “There’s so much we don’t know that we may have once known but have forgotten.”

  Aris leans back and lets the starry sky fill her vision once more. She thought their rings were unique—that their story was unique. But there are more couples like them, struggling to stay together through Tabula Rasa. There is no point in trying to figure out the riddle. At least not now. There is so little time left. She just wants to spend the rest of it with Metis.

  Just me and you.

  “The cottage by the beach. Where was it?” she asks.

  He pulls her close. “Do you want to go there?”

  She nods. “I want to see it in real life. But I don’t think I have enough entertainment points left.”

  “I still have most of mine.”

  “You didn’t use them?”

  “Not enough reasons to use them. I can see any concerts I want at Carnegie Hall for free. I don’t like eating out by myself. And I didn’t date.”

  “Do you think that’ll be enough?”

  “We’ll have to see. We’ll have to go back to my house and get my watch.”

  She realizes he never has his watch on.

  “Why don’t you wear it?”

  “Tracking. I didn’t want to be caught. None of the Dreamers are supposed to wear them.”

  “And you’re willing to wear it now?”

  “I’m not the Sandman anymore.”

  “Who is?”

  “I can’t tell you. The secret is not mine to share.”