Suren found herself surprised by what he just said, because it caused her to wonder something for the first time. Now that she thought about it, she wasn’t sure why she never questioned it until then.
“I see. I have a hypothetical for you to answer. Kind of unrelated.”
“Anything for you. Really, anything.”
“Can this process be used to … say tap into a memory that has been erased? Or perhaps a memory that a person has lost or blocked out, what have you? Something the person has forgotten. Can this help them remember it?”
“Oh … hmmm … not really, I mean not technically. The most Veil could do is help someone else remember it for them.”
Suren was confused. “How so?”
“Well, say hypothetically someone Veils the person in question, and that person is stimulated into recalling facts or events surrounding the memory they can’t quite … ehhh … remember or recall. Well, that memory ain’t gone or vanished. It ain’t wiped from their brain. Their brain simply can’t access it, for whatever reason. Maybe it’s too traumatic, you know? Maybe their brain has been trained not to access it. Or tricked into not accessing it. There’s a bunch of reasons. During the Veil, as the events surrounding that memory get all triggered and stuff, the shadower will actually have direct access to that memory because their brain ain’t been trained or tricked into not remembering it. So, after the Veil is complete, that person could remember what the owner of the memory can’t.”
“So, what you’re saying is that if someone Veils with a person who is missing a memory, after the Veil is done, the shadower could tell them what they can’t remember?”
He thought about what Suren asked and after his brain pieced together all the words, he boasted, “For sure! I’ve seen it happen. There’s even a phrase for it, Veil Cryptomnesia. Or vCryptomnesia, for short.”
“That answers my question.”
“Like I said, anything.”
“So what happens next? Here, now?”
“Well, after they are done on their end, your Witness will get transferred back and uploaded onto you through your vCollar either in Veiltime or realtime, depending on how you have yours configured,” he replied and pointed at the collar she was still wearing.
“Oh! No!” Suren jumped out of her seat after he reminded her that she was still wearing the device. “No, no,” she mumbled and ripped the collar from her neck.
“What? What?” She caught him off-guard, “What’s wrong?”
“If my Witness gets transferred back into my device, and I’m not wearing it, what will happen?”
“What do you mean what will happen?”
“What will happen to my Witness?”
“Well, the way the old collars work, it will stay stored in there,” he pointed at her collar again. “That is, until you put it back on and it detects you. Then it will upload. But, I don’t know why you’d want that.”
“I just do,” she said. She had no intention of experiencing whatever was about to be transferred over to her vCollar while she was inside that store and while she was in front of that man. She had no intention of that whatsoever.
“Then you caught it in time, I guess,” he shrugged. Widow of the Great Jin Tsay or not, the lady was a nut as far as he was concerned.
The vHost in front of the storeowner beeped and then seconds afterwards so did the collar in Suren’s hand. She watched as a series of indicators lit up in sequence and when the final one was lit, her vCollar let out one last beep.
“There you go. All finished,” he smiled again and seemed pleased with himself. She figured he was probably relieved the transaction was almost over with. He wanted her out of his store; he wanted to be done with it.
“Thank you,” she replied as she violently ripped the cable from her vCollar.
He grimaced and waved his hands in a rapid burst. “Ah! Ah! Ah! No! Careful!” But it was too late; she already yanked out the cable and tossed it onto the counter between them. She opened her purse and gently placed her collar inside.
“One last piece of business,” she informed him while she zipped her purse. After it was zipped, she grabbed her hat from the counter and put it back on.
“Yeah?” he asked reluctantly.
“I want the names and VSNs of everyone who purchased this memory. I want the name and VSN of your Vault who stores this memory. I want you to remove all traces of it from your inventory. You are not to sell this memory again. You are not to speak of it. Ever.”
“Ehhh … ehhh…” he started to object.
She looked at him with such burning, angry, unfaltering conviction that, despite all his years of being a salesman, he knew it was pointless to protest. It was pointless to argue with her, to object. All she had to do was report him. It didn’t matter anyway, he figured. With the three sales, plus the money the Vault bid to get dibs on storing that particular memory, he already more than made his money back.
“Under one condition,” he attempted to negotiate.
“There are no conditions.”
“Please … please … hear me out,” he pleaded. “I’m a businessman, I have a home and a life to protect.” He raised his arms to shift her attention, and hopefully her sympathy, to the building surrounding them. “So all I ask is that you not say where you got these names from. That you not say who gave them to you. Especially to the Vault. Please.”
She lifted her purse and set it on the counter between them. It made a loud thunk.
“Get—me—the—fucking—names—now.”
Three minutes later, Mariano Sawyer emerged from the back room of his store with a sheet of paper in his hand. He retraced the same steps his employee Abby made nearly an hour earlier, around the counter opposite the Widow Tsay and through the swinging door at the end. He rushed to her with his arm outstretched and the paper in his hand.
“Here you go. All four of them. The first three are the buyers and the last one is my Vault for this particular … for the memory you’re claiming. As I mentioned, I don’t have any information for the original owner. I don’t know who it was.”
Suren snatched the paper from him, rose from the stool, grabbed her purse, and headed toward the door. She looked down at the list of names. She couldn’t believe she was looking at names of people who would actually purchase the memory of her husband’s murder. She couldn’t believe they would buy the experience of her husband’s death. The memory of the murder of Veil’s inventor, Jin Tsay. Her Jin.
As she opened the door, her eyes burned holes into the list in her hand. She barely heard him calling out from behind her.
“I guess I was wrong, I just never noticed…” he yelled out.
She continued her way through the door while her eyes made their way down the list, committing each name to memory. Stitching them into her brain.
“…I have come across an unusual VSN like yours before, guess it didn’t dawn on me—” he was cut off. The door was already closed.
While she slowly climbed back up the stairs, her eyes made their way to the last name on the list. She stopped and a shaky hand immediately went to cover her mouth, which opened out of utter horror, shock, and disbelief. She stared at what her eyes didn’t want to believe—what they couldn’t believe.
According to the paper she held, the Vault for the memory of Jin Tsay’s murder was: Dr. Kenneth Wise, VSN#000-000-000-004.
13
BREACH
“Ms. Suren?”
She got in the front seat of the limousine, right next to him. Something she’d never done. Not once. Nine years, tons of insane and completely out of control situations. Mobs of people pawing at her, in the hopes that they’d get a chance to touch her: the Great Widow Tsay.
Even then, she didn’t climb in the front seat with him.
“Ms. Suren, are … are you alright?” he tried again as he reached across the seat to touch her shoulder.
As soon as his hand made contact with her, she let out a piercing scream and went at him. Shrie
king, she attacked him with hysterical slaps and punches. She turned and contorted her body so she could kick as well.
“Ms. Suren! Ms. Suren! Stop! Ms. Suren—stop. Calm down!” he shouted to snap her out of it.
She didn’t stop screaming or thrashing her arms and legs. Her hat fell off; her hair was sweaty and glued to her forehead. The poor woman was a mess and that made it so much harder to do what he knew he had to do. Lord help him, he couldn’t believe what he was about to do to her, but he knew it had to be done.
“Lord forgive me,” he said out loud before, with the palm of his free hand—the other still warding off the barrage—he slapped her across the face. “Bitch, snap the fuck out of it!”
She stopped. One hand immediately went to flatten her hair. The other wiped at her cheeks in an attempt to dry them off, but instead mixed tears with makeup and smeared a sludge of both across her face. She looked at him with apologetic horror, while he stared back apprehensively. His hand was still raised, in case he needed to slap her again.
Lord, don’t make me slap a bitch twice.
Her eyes became unnaturally wide, looking like a raccoon, and her expression forced laughter out of him. He didn’t mean to laugh but as soon as the shock wore off and his eyes soaked in the absolute mess of a woman sitting next to him, he simply couldn’t help it. The Great Widow Tsay: always so composed, proper, and graceful.
Calling her the epitome of elegance wouldn’t have been an exaggeration. The woman who could make Jackie O. and Michelle O. look like ragamuffins. The wealthiest woman in the world. The very woman who once bluffed to the whole assembly of Congress that if they didn’t pass the Right To Veil bill, she’d flip some secret kill switch and cripple the entire Veil Network and thereby the entire Veil Industry. (The same woman whose bluff Congress was too scared, to call so they passed the bill—no questions asked.) That woman was sitting next him looking like one big Baby Jane of a mess.
Carter’s laughter was always infectious to Suren, so after a few seconds she joined him. Except, her laughter sounded more like the histrionics of a madwoman, which only made his cackles worse. The poor little woman had gone all messy bat shit and the only thing he could do was laugh at her. The two laughed so hard their stomachs ached and they waved each other off, trying to get the other one to stop laughing in the hopes that they could, too.
Through some deep breaths, she was finally able to manage out, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“I’m sorry I slapped ya ass.”
They recovered from lightheadedness, and after their mutual struggle for air subsided, she adjusted her clothes and told him, “That’s your one slap. Got it? Your one slap.”
He raised an index finger, pointed at her and responded, “That’s the last time your crazy ass gets in my front seat.” He switched fingers to point at the backseat with his thumb and added, “Now put yourself in the back where you belong, Ms. Suren.”
She smiled graciously. She put her hat back on, opened her purse, took out her sunglasses and covered her raccoon eyes. She leaned into him with her hand raised some and he jerked a bit, not sure what was going to happen next and if he really was going to have to slap a bitch again. However, she slowly and gently placed her hand on his right cheek, pulled his face to hers, and kissed him softly on his left. The only other time she kissed him on the cheek was when his wife passed.
He knew what she was saying and responded quietly as she backed away, “It’s ok Ms. Suren. No harm, no foul.” She opened her door, got out, and reentered in the back.
After taking her seat, she instructed him, “I need to go see Dr. Ken. Now.”
“Ms. Suren, he’s probably asleep.” He gestured toward the digital clock in the dashboard.
“Oh, I know he’s not. I know for a fact that bastard is not asleep, Mr. Carter.” She fell back onto the headrest, closed her eyes, and hugged her purse tightly against her chest.
Wish I knew the Asian word for bat shit, Carter mused as he pulled away from the curb.
“What? … Who … who is it?” asked an annoyed voice through the intercom.
“It’s Suren.”
“Suren? What … what are you doing here?”
“Let me in.”
“Ummm … ok, ok … it’s just that things are a bit crazy right now.”
Through the intercom, Suren could hear what sounded like screams of rage in the background.
“Maybe now isn’t such a good time,” the voice added.
“Hunter,” she scolded, “buzz me in goddamnit. I’m not leaving.”
“Ok, ok…” he groaned, followed by the sound of the buzzer that controlled the towering iron gates, which blocked the long road leading to the estate. They opened slowly.
“Drop me off out front, Mr. Carter,” she instructed her driver. “I have a feeling I’ll either be staying here tonight or in a holding cell somewhere.”
“You sure, Ms. Suren?”
“I’m sure. I’ll have their driver bring me back in the morning. Go home, get some sleep. It’s late.”
He pulled up outside the stately manor and parked between the two massive stone pillars that framed the main entrance.
As she got out of the car he told her, “Night, Ms. Suren. If you need anything, at all … you know.”
“I know. Thank you. Goodnight Mr. Carter,” she sighed and closed the door.
As he pulled off to drive back the same way they entered, he could hear the screams of rage coming from inside the manor. It took everything in him to leave her there, but he knew if she was safe anywhere at all, she was safe with the doctors. Ms. Suren was safe with the doctors.
“You knew about this?” she screamed as she pushed her way past him and headed toward the howls coming from Ken’s office, without so much as a pause.
“Wait … wait!” Hunter yelled after her. He closed the large front door; he tried to catch up with her.
When she got to the end of the long hallway, she turned around and faced Hunter. She lifted up her arm and pointed her finger at him. He stopped about ten feet from her.
“This is between me and him. You stay the fuck out. I will deal with you later.” She turned around, grabbed the two large brass knobs, and yanked open the doors to Ken’s office.
“Suren! The pills still haven’t kicked in yet!” Hunter yelled after her.
Suren ignored his plea and walked inside the office. She turned to close the door and glared at Hunter. She glared directly at him through the crack as the doors closed. She glared with fury he’d never seen, even from the “Great Widow Tsay” Suren.
She stared at him until the two doors met and he could no longer see her eyes. Although he couldn’t see the outrage on her face anymore, he knew she really was going to deal with him later. Hunter retreated to the kitchen to pour himself a few hundred drinks. Hunter wasn’t happy with the return of scary ass Lucy Liu. No, Hunter didn’t like Kill Bill Suren. Hunter didn’t like that Suren one little bit.
Suren took a deep breath before she turned around.
Ken was kneeling in the middle of his office and facing away from the tall windows. His hands clenched and pulled large clumps of his hair. He was screaming. Ken was kneeling there screaming at the top of his lungs. Kneeling and screaming, pulling his hair, and rocking forward and backward.
Suren placed her purse and hat in the chair next to the door; she unbuttoned her white jacket and draped it neatly across the chair’s arms. She walked slowly to where Ken was kneeling. She positioned herself directly in front of him and looked down at his face.
He knelt, eyes wide open but totally undisturbed by her presence, and continued to scream. Without the slightest twinge of guilt, she slapped Ken across the face as hard as she could. She slapped him so hard that she flattened the bottom of her wedding band against his cheekbone.
He stopped screaming and let go of his hair. His right hand immediately went to his cheek. He looked up at her. He was dazed, but he was aware.
�
��Who the fuck do you think you are?” she hissed.
“Suren,” he whispered and lowered his head, still cradling his cheek in his hand. He stared at the carpet and tears streamed down his face. “Suren,” he whispered again.
She knelt down in front of him and said his name. He lifted his head and looked up at her again. He could see the anger in her eyes as tears welled up in them. She slapped him again, as hard as she could, with her right hand that time. She slapped him so hard that it turned his head almost all the way to the right, and it remained there.
“Who the fuck do you think you are? Huh?” she roared. “Who the fuck? Who the fuck?” she yelled and beat on his shoulders. She yelled and punched until she became weak and fell forward into his chest. She rested in that position and sobbed, asking over and over, “Who the fuck?”
Ken put his arms around Suren and held her while she cried. He cried with her. Ken was also shaking all over. Trembling. His skin was burning up.
Suren calmed down, but as her tears subsided, her anger quickly swelled back up.
“Get the hell off me, I need some water,” she growled at Ken and pushed him away.
“How long?” she interrogated as Ken walked through the office doors carrying a glass of water with one hand and holding a bag of ice against his cheek with the other. The glass was shaking in his hand. He wasn’t able to open the doors on his own, so she saw Hunter’s worried face looking at her through the crack as the doors closed.
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