Cole felt like there was an animal in his stomach gnawing at him, eating him from the inside out. He still wasn’t sure he could trust Dr. Tyson. He wanted to be able to, but he simply couldn’t be certain. What were they talking about out there? Moments went by.
Maybe if he could remember one of Faith’s memories, maybe if he proved to Fergus that he had to leave because he knew how to stop the next bombing, then Fergus would have no choice but to let him go, even if Fergus knew that Cole had set Bernard free. Cole leaned back in his bed and closed his eyes, ready to begin the search for the murderer’s memories. Before he could even begin, he heard the door to the room open.
Cole opened his eyes and looked toward the door. His worst fears seemed to immediately be confirmed. Dr. Tyson walked in first, but Fergus followed immediately behind her. Cole tried to look into Dr. Tyson’s eyes to see whose side she was on, to see if she would send him a message, but she just looked away. So Cole looked at Fergus instead.
Fergus walked over to the controls on the wall, the ones that could be used to change the picture on the screen. He clicked off the desert scene that had been there when Cole woke up. He hit a few buttons and the entire wall became the image of a swirling, churning sea at night. It looked eerily like a storm was about to come.
Then Fergus began to walk toward Cole. He motioned with his head toward the black water. “I always liked the ocean at night,” he said to Cole. “There’s so much life hiding beneath those dark waters. The biggest animals in the history of the world are swimming below the surface and you would never even know it. You have to admire the sea’s ability to keep secrets, don’t you, Cole?”
Cole could feel sweat begin to collect on his forehead. He tried his best to play it cool. After all, he still didn’t know how much Fergus knew. Perhaps Fergus wanted to apologize for making Cole go through with the memory-erasing procedure against his will. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, Fergus, and I don’t care. I need to leave. If you want to stop the next bombing as badly as you say you do, then I need to leave.”
Fergus continued to walk closer and closer to Cole, until he was only a few feet from him. Cole sat up and swung his feet over the side of the bed, facing him. “I have to disagree with you there, Cole. I think you should stay right here. We induce post-transplant memory recovery here. It’s what we do. We know how to do it. We never let a customer leave without having remembered at least one of the memories that they’ve purchased before they go.”
Cole was disgusted with how easily Fergus talked about inducing the memories of people that his company had murdered inside the brains of the rich people who had paid for the murders to take place. He knew that there was little he could do or say right now that would make any difference, though. All he would do was risk pissing Fergus off. “You induce memories that don’t matter,” Cole reminded Fergus. “They may be amazing and awe-inspiring but they are also frivolous. It doesn’t matter if the memories are accurate. It only matters if they feel accurate to your client. And I can promise you that all memories, even false memories, feel accurate.”
Fergus reached out and put a hand on Cole’s shoulder. He squeezed it. “What are you telling me, Cole?”
“You use fake stimulants, fake triggers, to trigger memories. If you use fake triggers, then there’s a good chance that the memories will be fake too, at least in part. We can’t afford that here. I need real triggers to trigger real memories because we don’t have time to run down fake leads.” Cole reached over and gently removed Fergus’s hand from his shoulder. “If you want to help stop the next bombing, you will let me go.”
Fergus stared into Cole’s eyes. Cole thought he could see the anger in them. “You have a lot to learn about respect, Cole. I have done so much for you and you have repaid me with insolence.”
“I don’t think you understand, Fergus. How could you? You think that memories are worth what people are willing to pay for them.”
Fergus laughed. “I don’t think that, Cole. That’s just the way the world works. Everything is merely worth what people are willing to pay for it. Memories are no different.”
“But they are,” Cole assured him, “as long as they’re real. If they’re not real, then you’re right. I need to make sure that, when I remember Faith’s memories, they are the truth. Because in this case, the value of the truth can be measured in other people’s lives.”
“I’m not happy with you,” Fergus said bluntly, “but I am going to let you go. You better not fuck this up, though. I will call you a car. Tell me where you want it to take you—and this better be good.”
It only took Cole a second to think. “Her parents’ house,” he said. He said it because he knew it would appease Fergus. He also said it because it was a damn good idea. If Ivan’s memories were truly gone, then maybe a second meeting with Faith’s parents would unlock the memories that he was looking for.
“Okay,” Fergus agreed. “Your clothes are in the closet. You’ve got two days to stop this thing.” Then he leaned toward Cole. For a second, Cole was worried that he might have planted the triggering scent on his own clothes. Cole tried not to breathe. Then Fergus whispered in his ear, “Two days, Cole. It’s not much time. That’s the only reason I’m letting you go.” Then he turned on his heel and walked toward the door. Cole breathed again. He felt relieved, but only a little. The trigger was still out there. At any moment, any scent could send his mind spiraling down into unrecoverable hopelessness and despair, and Fergus’s whispered words echoed in his head. But he felt safe for now, and he still had a job to do.
Dr. Tyson was still standing there, watching. This time she didn’t shy away from Cole when he looked at her. She stared back at him. She had a look of confusion, as if she didn’t understand what their conversation had been about. “I’m not crazy,” Cole said to her.
Dr. Tyson shook her head. “No, I don’t think you are. But I’m not sure you’re out of the woods either.” She paused. “Can I come with you? I think I can still help you.”
Cole thought about it for a moment. Until he was sure if he could trust her, he would be skeptical of any help she might have to offer. She’d done enough already. Cole shook his head. “You can come with me but only to get in the car and ride out of here. That much I want. I want to make sure that you leave here safely. But, after that, if I need your help, I’ll come to you. Right now, I don’t think your help will do me any good.” Then he stood and walked over to the closet to get his clothes. He motioned toward the door with his head. “Give me a little privacy. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Chapter 23
TWO DAYS AND SEVEN HOURS UNTIL THE SECOND BOMBING
Cole and Dr. Tyson rode out of the compound in a black, windowless SUV so similar to the one that they had come in that it was hard to spot the differences. The leather in the one they were in now was a bit more worn, cracks showing up in a few places. Cole ran his hands over the cracks. He wondered how many of these things the Company had. Each one probably cost more than his annual salary.
“Have you remembered anything yet?” Dr. Tyson asked Cole as they rode blindly away from the compound.
“No,” Cole answered her, “but I haven’t really tried. It would be too dangerous now. My head’s still not in the right place. I don’t want to mess with the memories.”
“You accused me of doing something to you back there. What is it that you think I did?”
“When I was in Costa Rica last year, I met a client of the Company. Fergus had put a few drops of some sort of…perfume, I guess you’d call it, on my shirt without my knowing it. When this man that I’d met smelled it, I mean as soon as he smelled it, he went mad. So mad that he wrestled my gun away from me so that he could shoot himself in the head. Crazy’s probably not the right way to describe him, though. He was just morose, hopeless. I could see the despair in his face. They put a trigger like that in all their clients in case any of them start trouble. Then all they have to do is get them to smell thi
s barely traceable scent and the trouble goes away. They murder with sadness, but it’s not a murder that any cop is ever going to pursue.”
“What does that have to do with me, Cole?” Dr. Tyson asked.
“Fergus told me that during one of the memory transplants you performed on me, they had you insert a trigger in my head.”
“And you believe him?”
“I think Fergus is an evil son of a bitch. But as far as I know, he’s been a lot more honest with me than you have.”
“Are you even going to ask me if it’s true?” Dr. Tyson asked.
“No.” Cole responded with a frozen, guileless stare.
“And you’re worried that he’s going to trigger this madness in you?”
Cole nodded.
“Why would he do that to you?”
“Because when we were at the compound, I helped one of his assets escape.”
Dr. Tyson’s face dropped. “There was an asset at the compound?”
“Yes. His name was Bernard.”
“And you helped him escape?”
“Yes.”
“Even though you knew that Fergus would find out?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because we all deserve better than what we get.”
“You could have ruined the whole investigation into the bombing.”
“No. Fergus could have ruined it, with your help. I simply temporarily saved a man from dying.”
“I didn’t plant a trigger in your brain, Cole. I wouldn’t have done that.” Dr. Tyson’s voice was steely and sure.
Cole stared at her. “That you know of,” he finished her sentence.
They didn’t speak again for the rest of the ride. Eventually the car stopped and the driver opened the door from the outside. It was morning out in the real world. The sun hung low in the sky. Cole could hear birds chirping in the trees lining the small suburban streets. They were in front of the house Faith had grown up in. Cole stepped out of the back of the SUV. “She’s not coming with me,” Cole said to the driver, motioning back toward Dr. Tyson. “Will you take her to Penn Station?”
“If that’s where she wants to go,” the driver answered Cole.
Cole looked at Faith’s house. He could see some movement inside. “They don’t know I’m coming, do they?” he asked the driver.
“Nobody told me to call ahead.”
Cole nodded. It was shaping up to be one hell of a morning.
“Cole,” Dr. Tyson called out from the back of the SUV. “Be careful. You don’t know what type of effect Faith’s memories might have on you. I know you don’t trust me, but I’m here if you need me.”
“Thank you,” Cole replied, “but I don’t know if I have time to be careful.” Then he started walking toward the house that Faith grew up in. He walked slowly, opening himself up for her memories. He’d let them come now, unimpeded, knowing that Ivan’s memories shouldn’t get in the way anymore.
Chapter 24
TWO DAYS AND FOUR HOURS BEFORE THE SECOND BOMBING
Cole had made it all the way to the front door, but none of Faith’s memories had come to him yet. He had walked slowly along the brick path. He took every step deliberately, trying to feel the crooks and cracks of each brick beneath his feet. Faith must have walked this path thousands of times. There would have been happy times, where she rushed home to tell her parents about a good grade or new friend. There must have been sad times, where she plodded home, not wanting to talk to anyone because one of her friends had been mean to her. Anything would be a start. After each step, he waited a moment before taking another. He looked up at the house as he moved closer and closer to it. Cole was sure Faith’s memories would come at any moment. The house had to be full of them. But the only difference from before was that Ivan’s memories weren’t coming now either.
Cole stood in front of the door to Faith’s childhood home. He could hear movement from the other side. He looked behind him. The SUV was gone. He took his phone out of his pocket and checked it for the first time in hours. He had dozens of unread and unanswered text messages from Ed and others. He was sure he knew what they all said. Time was running short. He needed to have answers soon. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the fresh morning air. The air smelled crisp here. He could smell trees and flowers. It was nothing like the aroma of the city. He waited again to see if the smell triggered anything. When it didn’t, he knocked on the door.
While Cole could hear sounds coming from inside the house, they were quiet sounds, the shuffling of feet over the floor and footsteps on stairs. He didn’t hear any conversation. He didn’t hear any laughter. He wondered how different it would have sounded inside if Faith were still alive. Would it have been louder? Would their morning routine sound more rushed, as if there were still reasons to move quickly? Cole heard footsteps approaching the door. He had no idea what he was going to say when the door opened.
The door swung open silently. Cole saw Faith’s mother standing before him, framed by it. Neither of them said anything for a moment. Cole simply stared at her in a manner that was far too forward, but he only had two more days and he had to go for every trigger he could. Evelyn did not seem to be fazed by his stare. “Oh,” she said to him after their silence dragged on a few moments, “it’s you.”
“I should have called ahead,” Cole apologized. “I know it’s early. It’s just that we’re running out of time.”
“What do you want?” she asked. It was a simple question, and she didn’t ask it in a harsh or accusatory way.
“I want to talk to you and your husband again. I want to walk through your house again. I think it will work this time. I want to remember your daughter’s memories. I have to.”
“Why would it work this time?” she asked. She still hadn’t invited Cole inside.
“There were other memories before that were getting in the way. I’ve gotten rid of them.”
Faith’s mother glanced behind her, as if to see if anyone was standing there. “You mean the other man’s memories?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve gotten rid of them?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“But why?” Her voice cracked slightly as the question fell from her lips.
“Because I don’t need them,” Cole replied. “They weren’t helping. They were only getting in the way.”
“Because he didn’t do it?”
Cole nodded. “Because he didn’t do it,” he echoed.
“You’re sure?” she asked, hoping against all odds for at least a bit of doubt.
“I am,” Cole answered and she looked as if he had just slapped her across her face. He felt that he needed to say more, to say something. “We can keep this from getting worse.” He thought for a moment that she was going to finally invite him inside. Then he heard footsteps coming up behind her.
Cole looked over her shoulder. Carl was walking toward them. His footsteps were now louder than anything Cole had heard from outside the house. Faith’s father lifted his hand and aimed a stern finger at Cole. “You are not welcome here,” he said, jabbing his finger in Cole’s direction. “You are not welcome.” Cole began to speak but before he could even get a word out, Faith’s father cut him off. “Evelyn, close the door.”
“Wait,” Cole said, aiming his words at Faith’s mother. He put his hand up as if to stop the moment from moving forward. “Two days,” Cole said, his eyes moving quickly between Faith’s mother and father. “In two days, another bomb is going to go off and we only have one way to stop it.”
Carl moved closer to Cole. He stepped in front of his wife, placing his body in between them. He never dropped his accusatory finger. “We let you in our house. We told you about our daughter.” He swallowed, as if trying to wet his throat so that he could continue speaking. “We gave you her memories.” He lips were quivering. “They asked us first. We could have taken them. My wife and I could have taken them. But they promised us that you would use her memorie
s to save people’s lives.”
“And I’m trying to,” Cole cut in.
Carl clenched his jaw. Cole could see the veins pulsing down his neck. “You haven’t remembered a damn thing. They told us that. You haven’t remembered a damn thing and still you have the gall to accuse our daughter of being a murderer.”
Cole took a small step backward. He tried to make his tone as conciliatory as possible. “I can’t change what happened. Let me try to remember.”
Carl took another step toward him, coming even closer to Cole than he had been before. They were both now standing outside the house. Evelyn was still in the doorway, her face bereft of any emotion but sadness. “My daughter had everything. We gave her everything. She was kind and caring. She had no reason to do this.” He shook his head. “How could you accuse her when you haven’t remembered anything? They called us, the police. They told us that you had said she was the bomber. What about this other guy? From what I’ve heard, he had nothing. He had nothing to lose. He had every right to be angry at the world. How can you know it wasn’t him?”
“Because his memories came to me. He didn’t do it. He just didn’t.”
“Maybe you just haven’t remembered the right memory yet.” Faith’s father now put a hand on Cole’s chest and pushed him backward while still walking toward him.
“Carl,” Evelyn called out from behind him, as if to warn him that he was nearing a line that he shouldn’t cross.
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