"I was given the task to persuade Stein into accepting that The Firsts were leading the population in the right direction as we processed the less desirables among us. I was very nice about it. I provided a rather good argument in support of what The Firsts were doing. But do you know what Stein told me when I finished?"
Chris shook his head, somewhat mesmerized by the breadth of information he was getting. It was possible that deep down inside, his lieutenant did see him as an equal now.
Cunningham let his hands drop into his coat pockets. "Stein said he could never join The Firsts because processing was bad for business. Bad for business. I realized then the kind of man I was dealing with. The guy was nothing more than a money-hungry TV evangelist. I couldn't believe I was going to have to use the money argument with him. But I did. I assured him we would greatly reward him for his devotion to The Firsts. He then pushed past me, saying I would never understand. And he was right. I still don't understand. That's when the whole thing went south."
A gloomy expression came across his lieutenant's face, which nearly pulled Chris down with it. "When Stein walked out of the church, two of his parishioners said I'd been disrespectful. They showed my men and me to the door. I couldn't let that stand, so I ordered my men to block the church's doors and burn it to the ground.
"That was the day I went from being a soldier to a murderer." Lieutenant Cunningham lifted his hands from his pockets and adjusted his coat. "But I don't regret the incident. I did it for the right reasons. I did it for the cause." Cunningham took an unnecessary step closer. "Do you see that?"
A sick feeling made its way up to Chris's throat. But he sensed that his lieutenant had a purpose for telling the story and for asking the question. Cunningham probably wanted to see if he could be a team player. Chris twisted about and pretended to look the room over to give himself a moment to swallow his disgust.
Cunningham was undoubtedly a troubled individual who just so happened to be at the center of The Firsts' operation. That didn't mean The Firsts supported his methods. In fact, they may not have known anything about the violent ends to which he was willing to go. If that was the case, Chris could use that information against him later if needed. But right now, what he needed was his lieutenant to trust him.
Chris glanced back at him. Cunningham wore neither smile nor frown. Chris realized his answer would determine which would show up next. "You did what you needed to do."
A smile spanned across Cunningham's face, but it didn't hold. "Earlier today, I was conversing with a man by the name of Kip Anderson," Cunningham continued. "He had some rather interesting things to say."
Chris didn't respond.
Perhaps not getting the reaction he'd expected, Cunningham pushed a bit more. "Kip said he'd been blackmailed, forced into giving up a couple of flash drives with Mac Donaldson's memories on it. He indicated that the blackmailer was you." Cunningham paused. His expression was again suspended in a state of neutrality.
Chris wondered what he hoped to gain from this interrogation. Did he desire some useful information on Chris to watch him fall from his elevated position, or did he just want to make sure his team member had a sensible explanation for taking the drives in order to report that his troops were ideologically pure?
Chris was taking a chance on it being the latter. But he'd already constructed an explanation for taking the drives. He'd guessed Kip Anderson would talk—eventually. He understood he couldn't trust a man who was willing to dump a pile of manure onto someone's mattress. "I wanted the drives because I didn't get much from talking to Mac." Chris had rehearsed the lie earlier, but it sounded even more convincing now. "I figured that by reviewing the information, I would find some clues as to why I—"
"Became a traitor?"
Chris turned his head away.
Cunningham paused. "It's eating at you. Isn't it?"
"Yes, sir. It is," Chris answered, this time with the truth.
"Well, whenever these idiotic bureaucrats get around to it, maybe seeing the processing of a Discord's leader will bring you some peace." Cunningham rested his hand on Chris's shoulder. He turned to go but halted. "Oh, and by the way, when you're done with those drives, I'll need them back."
"Yes, sir."
As Cunningham walked away, Chris rubbed his neck where tension had been mounting throughout the conversation. He still didn't know if Cunningham trusted him. It was true he'd praised him for doing the kind of things he would have done. Chris understood, however, that such deceptive actions would only be tolerated if they were for the cause. If Cunningham ever discovered the reason behind Chris's deceit, which was to reunite Irene with her children, then that would be something else entirely. But his commanding officer seemed satisfied with his explanation. The illusion that he was a loyal son of The Firsts was set in place, and Chris knew it was accurate to call it an illusion, for what he was about to do next would prove it so.
Chapter 19
When Chris returned to Irene, he found Melinda at the counter with her head resting in her palm as she read from a thick manual. He offered a quick greeting. Her countenance changed to one of delight.
"I still haven't had you over for dinner," she said, leaning on the counter toward him.
"Yeah, we'll need to set a date for that soon. I'm looking forward to it." Chris paused, holding his smile for emphasis. He pointed back toward the row of cells. "Do you think I could speak with Irene Duncan for a moment?"
"Irene?" Melinda's eyes narrowed. "Why would you want to talk to her?"
"I need to verify something. It's for the investigation that I’m doing. It will only take a few minutes."
Melinda straightened her posture. "No one mentioned to me that you needed to speak with her."
Chris slapped his hand on the counter and chuckled. "Well, Melinda, this inquiry is actually of an . . . unofficial nature. I wanted to check on something before I take it to the higher-ups. You know, so that I don't embarrass myself if it turns out not to be true. And it really can't wait for Irene to be processed."
Melinda tilted her head and smiled. "Oh, I see. Well . . . in that case." She moved around the counter and motioned for Chris to follow her back the corridor.
As Chris approached the cell, he searched for Irene over Melinda's shoulder. It wasn't until she emerged from a dark corner that he could get a good look at her. It seemed being in The Firsts' custody had done her some good. She no longer held her hand to the wound she'd suffered. She wore fresh clothes, and her blonde hair was neatly pulled up in a barrette. Apparently, The Firsts wanted to keep her in good condition to get the most out of her processing.
Perhaps sensing Chris's focus on the inmate, Melinda turned about to face him. Her closeness made him feel a pang of unexpected guilt that must have shown through, for Irene grinned knowingly when he glanced her way.
"I normally only allow five minutes for an unofficial visit," Melinda said. "But I'll give you ten." She offered Irene a quick glare before heading back down the hall. "Be sure to say goodbye to me before you leave."
Irene came closer and gripped the bars of the cell. "Making friends, I see."
"Yeah, well, I needed to," he whispered. He could tell she was taken aback by his melancholy expression, so he rested his hand on one of hers. He surprised himself by doing so.
"Where have you been?" She slid her hand from beneath his and moved away.
"I needed to set up some things."
"Did you talk to Mac?"
"Yes." Chris watched as Irene's eyes widened into a look of anticipation and hope. He hated to tell her the rest, but he needed to. "But it . . . came to nothing."
Irene moved farther away from him, but Chris assumed the news had altered her expression of hope. "What's important is that I'm still willing to help you. And that's what I've been doing. Did you think this was going to be easy?" Chris wrapped his hands around the metal bars in frustration, feeling as if she didn't appreciate what he'd accomplished.
"I didn't think I
was going to be left to do nothing in this cell," she replied, facing him again.
"Actually, your presence in this cell has accomplished quite a lot. It's given me access to things I would have never had access to." Chris tightened his grip on the bars. "But I can't get into that right now. I only have a few minutes to explain what's about to take place."
"I already know what's about to take place. Today, The Firsts will process me, and they will erase, from my mind, every memory that I've ever had."
"You're not going to be processed. I can assure you of that." Chris knew he was stretching the truth in making such a claim. He was still unsure if Ollie would come through for him. But he put those concerns aside as he explained his plan, beginning with some background information about how The Firsts were storing memories.
"They're keeping memories?" Irene looked at him with what appeared to be hope once more. He knew what she was thinking—people could watch those stored memories and perhaps remember who they were.
He decided to change the subject and quickly describe what he'd done so far. "As I'm sure you've guessed the only way for you to see your daughters is if The Firsts process you, so we'll make it look as if you've been processed. However, you'll still need to act as if you have been processed." Chris paused. "I've been told it can be quite painful for those involved with The Discord."
"I know," Irene answered coldly.
Chris grimaced but persisted. "When it's over, your performance will need to continue. And it won't be easy. Someone will call out your name, and you'll turn. Incidences like that will get us both killed. Until we get to your daughters, you'll need to remain in the character of someone who's had most of her memories, minus some basic skills like math and language, wiped clean. Do you think you can do that? Do you think you can keep up the act?"
Irene began to pace the floor of her cell. "You mean like you have?"
Chris scrunched his face. "What are you talking about?"
"Miss Melinda out there, does she know you're acting? And what if you're not? How would I know? Maybe you're just telling me all this so I go willingly."
Chris noticed a vein on the side of Irene's neck pulsating. He realized he'd left her in the cell for far too long. She'd had too much time to think things over, to consider all of the possible outcomes—the most prominent being that he would betray her. "Everything I've told you is the truth. Except—"
Irene stopped mid-stride. "Except what?"
Chris exhaled. "When I said that my going to see Mac came to nothing—that wasn't entirely true." Chris watched as Irene strolled back into the shadows of the cell. "Mac said I did come to see him. But to me, that bit of information was a dead end. He couldn't tell me why I came to see him. He was able to confirm I'd done it to hide some information about The Discord, but he was unable to say why I felt the inclination to do such a thing." Chris let go of the bars and moved away. "I know you thought you were telling me the truth, but until I know more, the outcome you'd hoped for hasn't materialized. I'm not in denial. I probably did something traitorous. But I'm still in support of what The Firsts are trying to accomplish. That's why I said that my going to see Mac came to nothing. For you, it had."
Irene emerged from the dark. She stood in the sun's rays that shined from the overhead skylight. The beams of light, more intense than before, made her features blur in the glare. Chris blinked to adjust his eyes to see her better. As he did, pain exploded in his head. He dropped to his knees. "Ugh."
"What's wrong?" she asked, bending down to him.
The pain intensified as a vision took form in his mind. A woman held an infant in her arms as she rested in a hospital bed. A yearning pressed in and around his chest. He loved this woman. Coming nearer, he recognized who she was. It was Irene. Unlike before, her features were crisp and clear. And different, too, were the words she spoke. "Meet your new daughter," she said as she placed the child in his arms. "We agreed we'd name her Tia, right? After your grandmother?"
Other sounds from reality were penetrating his vision. Irene, in her cell, was calling out his name. Her words grew louder until she yelled down the hall toward Melinda for help.
Chris realized time was moving quickly, and Melinda would be there shortly. He reached out through the vision to the present. He drew Irene close, their foreheads nearly touching. "I know who you are," he whispered as sweat formed on his brow, and his hand shook uncontrollably. "You're my wife."
"What's going on?" Melinda barked. "What did you do to him?"
Melinda's sharp tone broke the vision's grasp, and Chris collapsed back onto the cement floor. Its coolness provided some relief as he wiped the sweat from his face.
Melinda repeated her questions, sounding angrier than before. But Irene said nothing. His revelation had seemingly left her speechless. He slowly propped himself up on his elbows. "She did nothing. I had an attack." He looked at Irene, who stared back at him. She seemed to be trying to make sense of what he'd just told her. Then her eyes reddened and watered. She brushed her cheek with her hand.
"An attack?" Melinda asked, still sounding cross.
Chris shifted his attention from Irene to Melinda. "I . . . get them sometimes. They're from the war."
Melinda's posture relaxed. Her concern seemed to smooth out the creases on her face. "Let me help you."
Chris shook his head, trying to discard the residue left behind by the vision. He needed to get back into character. He outstretched his hand for Melinda to pull him to his feet.
She chatted at him about something as she escorted him back down the hall. But he paid little attention to her. His only desire was to keep his eye on Irene until the walls of the cell would no longer allow it.
Chapter 20
Irene sat on the cement bench in her cell, trying to digest the food she'd just consumed. But there were other things to digest. Things perhaps more difficult to comprehend than the strange stew she'd just eaten.
She'd first learned of The Gift of Remembering from Donatello, who'd described it as some kind of rare biological anomaly. Wallace, on the other hand, claimed it was nonsense.
But Chris demonstrated that it was real.
Whether it was caused by his unique biology or a glitch in the processing system, Chris experienced the effects. Could others who’d had their memories extracted and then erased be triggered to recollect just as he had?
Irene didn't know. Right now, all she knew was that her husband's remembering had reunited him to her once more. And along with his recollection came other possibilities. Chris would come to learn he'd initially gone to be processed voluntarily to have a set of wartime memories wiped clean. Irene had purposefully not told him that fact, fearing the revelation that his family's memories had also been erased would injure him mentally. In remembering the occurrence now, however, Chris would surely see that The Firsts had taken, by force, recollections he'd not requested. And if The Firsts had done that to him, then it was conceivable that they were doing it to others. In admitting that, he'd finally need to concede what a force for evil The Firsts were.
She knew, however, that to see that happen, she would need to perform well today. But how would someone behave after being processed? For some reason, the question made her think of her youngest daughter Emma. Always curious, Emma would often trail behind her as she carried out various household chores, asking countless questions, all of which were expected to be answered immediately and expertly. Feeling slightly pressured by her daughter's high expectations, Irene would usually keep her cellphone nearby to find the answers on the internet.
"Why do stars twinkle? Why is the snow white? Why is daddy growing a mustache?" Those were just some of the questions Emma would ask. At the time, Irene had asked herself the last one as well. It had been an inquiry that Kent had never answered—an unsolved mystery. Since she disliked mustaches, the cause for it brewed suspicion, and her thoughts descended to the lowest denominator. That long-ago secret accusation was perhaps the reason for her outburst concerning
Melinda. She wanted him to be guilty of something to justify her emotions.
For now, however, she needed to put that unhappy memory aside. But remembering it had done some good. It was most likely that someone who'd been processed would, like her daughter, ask questions. While going over his plan, Chris had explained that not every memory would be taken from her. She would retain some simple language and math skills. So she would have the ability to communicate—to make inquiries. Once she was processed, that was where she would begin.
Looking up, she saw Melinda and Lieutenant Wallace Cunningham coming into view from the hallway. The bars to her cell slowly slid open.
Wallace entered and moved toward her. "Get up."
Irene stood as Melinda reached for her hands and placed them in handcuffs.
"In another few minutes, you won't remember any of this unpleasantness," Wallace said with a stoic manner. "But it gives me little pleasure knowing you’ll lose your other recollections as well."
"Forgive me if I don't believe you," Irene said as Melinda led her away.
…
Workers for The Firsts clapped as Melinda guided Irene down a wide corridor. Up ahead, however, a few onlookers hollered profanities. Coming closer, Irene saw objects in their hands; various items picked off desks just in time to see her pass. She hunched down as a pencil struck the back of her head. A ruler hit her left leg. A few guards standing by rallied and pulled some of the rowdy spectators from the area. But it did little to control the mob.
"We need a detour," Wallace shouted to Melinda.
Following Wallace, Melinda tugged Irene around a corner to a door with a card reader. Flashing his ID in front of it, Wallace hustled them through to a passageway.
Irene stopped cold, yanking Melinda backward.
"Keep moving," Melinda ordered as she pulled on Irene's arm.
Wallace paused as Melinda tried in vain to move Irene. "You've never seen it before, have you?" he asked Irene.
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