Unforgotten

by Jessica Brody

  It occurs to me that I’ve just discovered our first similarity: it appears I can’t be trusted either.

  22

  NOVICE

  I follow Kaelen out of the bedroom and into another empty room with floor-to-ceiling blackened windows. This one is much larger, with glossy white wooden floors instead of carpet and bright electric-blue accents painted on the white walls and ceiling. Illuminated lamps with strange rounded shades hang from the ceiling, and shelves are indented directly into the walls. I assume keepsakes or decorations once occupied the space, but the shelves are now empty and barren. There is no furniture at all, making this room, which appears to be a living room, even sadder than the last.

  To my left there is a pristine, untouched kitchen. Judging from the modernity of the appliances—dishwasher, refrigerator, and a few I don’t recognize—which are all a sleek metallic navy blue, it appears we’re not anywhere near the seventeenth century anymore.

  I’m completely taken aback by the stark contrast of everything around me compared to the world I just left. While the Pattinsons’ house felt warm and cozy and lived in, filled with imperfect handmade wooden furniture, a fire burning in the hearth, dust gathering in the corners, and a general atmosphere of habitation, this place feels exactly the opposite. Cold and sterile. The word abandoned comes to mind.

  “Is this a house?” I ask, glancing around.

  “An apartment.”

  “Why is it so empty?”

  “It was foreclosed,” Kaelen explains.

  I drag a fingertip across the lustrous metal countertop of the kitchen. “Foreclosed?”

  “The people who lived here could no longer afford to pay for it so they were forced to leave. Now it’s owned by the bank. Foreclosed homes are the easiest places to inhabit when you’re on an assignment.”

  I suppose his logic makes sense. If no one lives here, it would be simple enough to transesse directly inside and stay. Although the idea of entering someone else’s home after it’s been taken from them makes me feel a little ill.

  I peer around in the darkness, trying to imagine what this place must have looked like with furniture in it. With people in it. When it was a home. And not an empty hole. “What time is it?”

  Kaelen glances at a watch on his wrist and I find it humorous that he even has one. Clocks aren’t exactly useful when you’re hopping through time. “1300 hours,” he announces officially. As though he were the clock, not just reading it.

  I shake my head and glance toward the darkened windows. “One in the afternoon? That’s impossible. It’s completely dark outside.”

  Kaelen walks over to the window, swiping his fingertip along a clear glass plate affixed to one of the panes. Instantly the darkness evaporates and the view through the window magically transforms. The sunlight is bright, blinding me for a second. But when my eyes adjust and I witness what is on the other side of the glass, I’m speechless.

  In awe, I take a step toward it, hardly believing what I see.

  Hundreds of massive towers rise into the sky. They go on for miles. It’s a forest of buildings taller than I’ve ever seen before. And as I inch closer, I realize that we must be inside one of them, because when I peer down, I nearly jump at the sight of the ground so far beneath us. Over a thousand feet, I estimate. On the busy street below I see tiny cars—mostly yellow—zooming around. And people. So many people. They walk in a swarm, moving as one. Expertly maneuvering around other swarms heading in the opposite direction.

  Somewhere in the distance, high in the sky, I see a flying aircraft, propelled by giant revolving spokes attached to the top of it. It soars gracefully through the air, making elegant turns and banking around buildings before coming to land on the roof across the street.

  “Where are we?” I ask, gobsmacked. It seems unreal. Unbelievable.

  “New York City, New York, United States of America,” Kaelen replies.

  “In what year?”

  “2032.”

  Now I turn away from the window. “2032? Why did you bring me to 2032?”

  “It wasn’t my decision,” he explains blankly. “The memories dictate our destination.”

  Find me.

  I think back to the vision I saw in my prison cell but I can’t, for the life of me, recall any reference to a year. I could barely figure out where I was, let alone when.

  I watch as Kaelen swipes his fingertip on the glass plate and the city once again disappears behind a sheet of darkness. “What is that?” I ask, jutting my chin toward his hand.

  “Digitally enhanced windowpanes,” Kaelen explains. “They create artificial night.”

  I attempt to peer through the window at the massive metropolis outside but it’s entirely concealed.

  Kaelen gestures away from the window. “It’s time to go.”

  I gaze down at my outdated (and charred) seventeenth-century clothes. “I can’t go out in this.”

  But he doesn’t seem to understand the objection. “Why not?”

  I sigh. “Because these are old and outdated. If people see me in them it will attract too much attention. I need modern clothes.” I sniff the air. “And a shower.”

  Kaelen reaches under the collar of his shirt and flips open my locket. Then he walks toward me and extends his hand in the direction of my arm.

  I move fast, darting to the far corner of the living room. “Don’t you dare touch me when that thing is open,” I warn.

  As far as I know, this could all be one giant ruse to get me back to Diotech. I certainly wouldn’t put it past him … or them.

  “I am simply transporting you to a clothing store.”

  “I’m not transessing anywhere with you,” I vow.

  His jaw hardens again and I know that I’m starting to irritate him.

  Good.

  “Fine,” he allows, snapping the necklace shut. “You take a shower. I will acquire some new clothes for you.”

  Once he’s gone I find my way to the bathroom, run the water, and peel off my scorched garments. A slight sadness settles over me as I watch each layer of my seventeenth-century ensemble tumble to a heap at my feet.

  It’s really over, I realize. The dream Zen and I spent so long planning and perfecting is finished. No matter what happens after this, we can never go back there.

  But admittedly, it does feel amazing to finally be out of those binding clothes. Like I’ve been liberated from fabric bondage.

  And the hot water is wondrous on my skin. It’s been six months since I bathed in anything other than a cold tub. I turn in slow circles, letting it wash away the dirt and grime and smoky remnants of the past.

  When I’m finished I turn off the faucet and step out of the stall. Kaelen is standing there holding an armful of clothing. I let out a shriek.

  “What are you doing?!”

  He seems confounded by the question. “Bringing you new clothes.”

  I grab them out of his hand and use them to cover my wet, naked body, as there don’t appear to be any towels in this foreclosed apartment. “I mean in here. You’re not supposed to see me without clothes on.”

  “Why?”

  I remember when I, too, didn’t understand everyday social rules about dress codes and manners and propriety. But you learn fairly quickly when you live in the real world. As opposed to a lab.

  “Because,” I say, making zero effort to hide my impatience, “it’s not appropriate. Now turn around.”

  I can tell my explanation is unsatisfactory but regardless, he turns around, suspiciously watching me out of the corner of his eye until the last possible second.

  “I’m not going to run,” I tell him. “I promise.”

  Once his back is turned, I quickly survey the garments Kaelen brought me. Clamped to each item is a small metal tag with a dollar sign and a price scrolling across a transparent screen on the front.

  “What did you do?” I ask, pulling an ugly brown sweater over my head. “Steal these?”

  I could just picture hi
m transessing into a store at night, after it was closed, grabbing random items off the rack, and then transessing out again.

  He shrugs. “It was determined to be the least complicated method of obtaining suitable garments.”

  I slide my legs into the loose-fitting pants and button them. “Okay,” I announce with a sigh, “you can turn around.”

  As he does, I study my reflection in the mirror. The clothes are pretty hideous. And they’re way too big. I have to roll the waist of the pants to keep them from slipping right down to my ankles.

  “Nice selection,” I say, content with my appropriate use of sarcasm. My foster brother, Cody, would be so proud. He was the one who first taught me the meaning of sarcasm. And so much more. I feel a pang in my chest at the memory of Cody. When I was lost and alone in the year 2013, he was the only one I could trust. Until Zen found me.

  “Thank you,” Kaelen replies, taking my compliment literally. Clearly he was never taught the meaning of sarcasm either and the thought of being somehow more experienced than him in the ways of the world makes me feel extremely smug.

  And grateful that I had Cody.

  I flick my finger against one of the digital price tags. “I can’t walk around with these on.”

  “Then remove them.”

  I think back to the time my foster mother, Heather, took me to the mall and bought me new clothes. All the items had small metal clamps, similar to these, that she explained were programmed to set off an alarm if you tried to leave the store without paying for something. The cashier had to remove them with a special device.

  “I don’t think it’s that simple,” I reply.

  Kaelen hesitates before approaching me. I know he’s fearful of the proximity, just as I am. I can feel the pull as soon as he’s within a few feet of me. I grit my teeth in an attempt to endure it.

  He comes close enough to study the tag fastened to my sweater. Then he grabs the two ends, one in either hand, and pulls down, bending the metal easily. I watch the tag pop off. He repeats the process with the pants before hastily retreating, as though I’m a deadly snake with bared fangs.

  “We will go now.” He reaches for my locket again.

  “Nuh-uh,” I say, shaking my head adamantly. “I told you, I’m not transessing anywhere with you.”

  I can tell by the look on his face that this puts some kind of damper on his plans but I really don’t care. I don’t trust him at all.

  He thinks for a moment, glancing again at his watch. Then he finally pivots abruptly on his heels and opens the front door of the apartment. “We’ll have to hurry.”

  I crane my neck to steal a peek at the long white-and-gray corridor. It’s a new world on the other side of that door. A foreign world. I have no idea where we’re going. I have no idea if I’ll ever be back. I look longingly toward the barren room where Zen now lies, his life slipping away like the last minutes of precious daylight.

  For him, I tell myself. I’m doing this for him.

  I brace myself for whatever lies outside these walls. For whatever tricks Diotech might have planned. For the wretched sensation I will undoubtedly feel when I leave Zen behind. And then I take a deep breath and step into 2032.

  23

  IDENTIFIED

  Kaelen holds the door open, gesturing for me to walk through. I edge past him, my back pressed tightly against the jamb in an attempt to keep as much distance between us as I can.

  As we walk down the corridor, I stay a full five paces behind him. Kaelen stops when we reach an elevator at the end, studying it curiously, as though he’s not quite sure what to do with it.

  I laugh and press the Down button. “First time out of the compound?”

  His head jerks in a succinct staccato motion, like gears snapping into place. “I’ve received extensive training in twenty-first-century civilization and society,” he replies, sounding, to my delight, just a tad defensive.

  “What kind of training?”

  He presses a finger to a spot behind his left ear, as though he has an itch there. “Virtual-simulation downloads.”

  “Clearly they forgot to include a few things,” I say with a smirk. “Like how you’re not supposed to barge in on girls when they’re in the shower.”

  The elevator dings as the doors open and I think I see Kaelen jump, although he composes himself so quickly, I can’t be sure.

  “So they don’t have elevators on the compound?” I prod.

  But he responds gruffly, “They work differently.”

  We both eye the confined space, and I cringe, stepping in and quickly moving to the far corner while he does the same at the other side.

  Seeming to have caught on to the mechanical functions of an elevator, he presses the button labeled “Lobby.” The gears hum to life, moving us swiftly downward, and I watch Kaelen carefully. His reaction reminds me of mine during my first ride in an elevator, at the mall that Heather took me to. A little bit of fascination mixed with a lot of fear. The only difference is, he does a much better job of hiding his reaction than I did.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell him, a small, triumphant smile dancing on my lips. “It won’t hurt you.”

  The doors open to a spacious, elegant lobby. We walk through it, toward the street. Kaelen opens the heavy, glass door. A gust of frigid wind whips across my face, blowing my hair back. It’s by far the coldest air I’ve ever felt. But fortunately, we seem to have been built for any kind of weather. The chill doesn’t appear to bother either of us. One of our many advantages, I suppose.

  Kaelen walks briskly down the street and I struggle to follow him through the throngs of people.

  I can feel a hundred pairs of eyes on us. Like a heavy wall closing in from all sides. Some people actually stop walking and turn to stare. The women gawk silently at Kaelen, while the men seem more interested in me, some of them actually letting out low whistles as I walk by. Kaelen is completely oblivious, but my face flushes with heat and I drop my head, attempting to avoid eye contact.

  I suppose I no longer have to worry about drawing attention to myself, now that Diotech has found me, but I still don’t like the feeling of people watching me. It makes me uneasy. Quickens my breath.

  “Do you know where we’re going?” I pick up my pace so that I’m walking alongside him.

  “To the corner of Canal Street and Elizabeth Street. And we’re running out of time.”

  He moves fast, faster than he should in front of all these people. And when he dodges people so effortlessly, so swiftly, his body nearly blurs. Passersby are starting to give him astonished, frightened looks.

  “Stop!” I finally shout. He draws to a halt and turns to look at me. “You can’t run like that,” I whisper, barely audible, but I know he can hear me.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s not … natural. You’ll cause a commotion. You have to act like everyone else. You have to act human.”

  “I am human,” he says, but it’s not a whisper. He speaks in his regular voice. And about ten people stop and spin to look at him.

  I grit my teeth and grab him by the arm, pulling him into a small alley. But I’m taken aback by a startling electricity that suddenly zaps through me. It originates in the five fingers that are wrapped around his impressive biceps and spreads swiftly through my chest, giving my entire body a shuddering jolt.

  I hastily release his arm and study my still-tingling fingertips.

  I don’t think I should ever do that again.

  But unfortunately, just letting go doesn’t completely alleviate the sensation as we are now crammed together in this small space, which I immediately realize was a mistake. His proximity is overpowering. I feel a strange energy pulsing around me, emitting waves of something I can’t understand. Can’t fight. Don’t want to.

  Suddenly I forget everything I was about to say. I’m breathing so heavily. Feeling so drawn to him. I close my eyes tight and attempt to push it away but just when I think I’ve succeeded, I open them again and he’s th
ere. And his brilliant shimmering eyes are setting me on fire and putting me out and setting me on fire again.

  Stop that!

  But I don’t know who I’m sending this silent command to. Is it me? I’m certainly not the one doing it.

  Is it him?

  That’s doubtful. He looks just as put off by our closeness as I am.

  “What do you want?” he nearly growls at me. It’s probably the most emotion I’ve heard from him since we met.

  “I…” I search for what I was going to say. Why I pulled him in here to begin with. “You have to try to blend in.” I finally remember. “You’re not like anyone else out there. Neither of us is.”

  “I know that,” he says.

  “But they don’t,” I go on. “They don’t know anything about you or me. And unless you want us both to end up in a hospital while inquisitive doctors and specialists run tests on us, you have to be more careful. We can’t draw too much attention to ourselves.”

  This seems to get through to him. He silently acquiesces and takes a step back. Then another. I feel the fire fade with each speck of distance that he puts between us.

  “Now,” I say, taking control of the situation, “do you know which way it is?”

  He nods sharply. “I’ve received a download of a map of the city. It’s about four miles south of here. And we have twenty minutes to get there.”

  He starts to walk urgently again in the direction we’ve been heading.

  “Wouldn’t it be faster to drive?” I say, gesturing to the vehicles whizzing by on the street.

  He stops and seems to contemplate this before finally deciding, once again, that I’m right. Another small victory for me.

  “Yes. We will take a taxicab,” he resolves. “They are the most common form of hired transportation in today’s society.”

  I have to fight back a groan. He sounds like he’s reading from a dictionary. Did I ever sound that ridiculous?

  Kaelen turns and walks directly into the street. There’s a loud screech as a blue van swerves around him, its horn honking. Kaelen leaps back onto the curb, looking frazzled.