Remember

by Karthikeyan, Girish

  “I’ll check if Dr. Stephens is ready for you.” Morgan enters the next room and shuts the door. I start reading my pad. The article about the IMMMR, a secret government craft frequents speculation about how it works. Magnetic fields propel its flight through the air in theory.

  Morgan returns from the apartment. “Dr. Stephens is ready to see you now,”

  She holds the door open from inside the darkened apartment save for feeble lamplight. Gary abandoned the L-shaped window seat, along with all two meagerly stuffed chairs facing the door. The elimination leads to the plush sofa facing the window on the far left side. I go to Gary slumped there, staring out the window — the entire top half of the wall circumnavigating the apartment. I sit in the chair facing him under the engulfment of strong liquor vapors coming from… him. His hand swaggers with a heavy, shallow filled glass in tow. A decanter pregnant with the licorice black elixir languishes nearby.

  Gary looks outside, dazed without acknowledging me sitting there. I relax in the chair, waiting for a response of some kind. Gary looks bad, disheveled with clothes stained black, red, yellow, and blue. His hair hangs limp and oily over a day old shave. I look out the window at nothing unusual for a dreary, downpoured day in July, Mountain Overlook. Unremarkable in any way. A stray bolt of lightning shifts his view, so he sees me for the first time.

  “Conor, nice to see you.” He plunks the glass on the table with a healthy slosh.

  Act cool. “Gary.”

  “What do you think this meeting is about?” He drawls out every word.

  “You want to talk about your father?”

  “We can start with that. It has given me a lot to think about. I have learned some things.” He freezes looking at me with a dour expression.

  “Okay.”

  “I know now, he was just pushing me to be my best. He always knew I could meet the challenges he gave me. He never wanted me to fail.”

  Good, he is thinking about something except drink. “That’s good.”

  “The second thing is my father always wanted me to run the Stephens Institute. He was grooming me to become the scientific adviser for the entire Stephens conglomerate.”

  “Good.”

  He balances his elbows over his knees and hugs his head. An aggravated growl follows. He looks up with reddened eyes and falls back into the sofa. “Your canned responses are getting tiresome. This will help loosen your tongue.” He fills another glass with the liquor, steady hands unseen until now, slides it across the table to me, where it spills everywhere. I carefully take the slippery, dripping glass, taste a small sip of the burnt chocolate with an alcoholic bite, force myself to swallow, and put the glass down. I’m just going to say what I think.

  “I learned one more thing. I’ve been under the thumb of that vindictive bitch for 4 long years. Irena Mekova has grown obese with the power to lord over me. She has taken pleasure in holding me back. Bitch.” A maniacal grin creases his face.

  “Are you sure you should be making that kind of decision, now?” A risky question for anyone to ask. Lighting in the distant background lances the sky.

  “It is already done. Mekova is leaving at the end of next week. I just need a replacement by then.” A roll of thunder shakes the room.

  At least Irena has a place to go. “Do have any possibilities?”

  “I’m thinking you.”

  Did he just say me? “Are you sure about this?”

  “You were my only friend in that shithole research division. You saw me as Gary, not Dr. Stephens. You were willing to try helping me. You failed miserably," A dry laugh, "but you tried. That’s all I can ask.”

  “Thanks. I don’t know what to do next.”

  Gray downs the glass and serves himself another. “Mekova should be good enough to train you in.”

  “Do you really want me to do what I think is right?” Why should I be surprised? He just wants someone else responsible. Leaders delegate.

  “Yes, I’ll call Morgan to show you out.”

  “Sorry, I have to do this.” I take the cloth on the tray, wipe the spills on the table, get my glass and grab away Gary’s from his wavering hand. Go to the sink across from the sofa, dump out the glasses. He can always get more. I rinse the glasses and cloth. The cloth stays hanging on the sink. The glasses returned on the tray, I empty the decanter. Morgan comes in. I take the tray loaded with the empty decanter and two glasses and go where Morgan waits by the door. We go into the other room where I keep the tray on the table, get my shoes, while Morgan waits patiently for me to get ready.

  I check my shoes tied and look back to her bare feet. “I think Gary is getting himself in trouble. He is drinking too much.”

  She presses her hands into her hips until they turn white. “I’ve noticed that. He says stuff without thinking of the consequences.”

  “That’s something associated with intoxication. People can lose themselves to impulsiveness. Sim drinking doesn’t get you more than buzzed or lightly intoxicated. Nothing manifests with that.” I stamp on my heel and get up.

  “I can’t do much about his drinking, I’m just an underling.” She crosses her left arm and brings up her right to untangle the sapphire beaded strands of her earring.

  “You have done a lot to help him already. I have frequent meetings or will have with him. I can monitor his habit.”

  She presses her lip together. “Should I do anything different?”

  “No, just do the normal stuff. I’ll take care of the rest.” I lightly hold her shoulder and she shrugs my hand off.

  “You must be a good friend to him.”

  “He thinks I’m his friend. I might as well act the part.” Just shut up already.

  “Thank you for helping him.”

  “Not a prob, Morgan.”

  “Congratulations on your new job, Dr. Abby.”

  I look at her feet again.

  “I’m just waiting for Dr. Stephens. I think he’s going to need something, soon.”

  “Good luck with him.”

  “Dr. Stephens needs something.”

  Morgan gets the tray and goes into the apartment. I leave. Gary is trying to stop feeling, drinking, and avoiding dealing with the events of the last 3 days. The way it’s going, he will keep drinking. The amount keeps increasing from just treating the symptoms, without trying to overcome the real issue, his father is dead, and I killed him.

  Numbing everything isn’t the answer. Something needs to be done. I just hope he lets me help, or at least someone.

  Hypnopompic State

  Mon 1/1/18 9:36 a.m.

  My eyes open in a strange place, not the institute or my apartment. Now I know, the memory recovery center. Sarah sits with me, and I just feel horrible. How could all that have happened? Did I really kill Kiros? I must have. A sick feeling dominates me. A gag reflex threatens ejecting my stomach contents with a halfhearted attempt. Pull yourself together. That command fills the desired effect of pushing the memory away. Sarah must not find out, and I will expose the truth soon. My finger twitches alerting Sarah to me, I pull my now sweaty hand away.

  “Do you want to talk about what you remember?”

  “No.” I must leave. She will liberate dangerous info right into security's hands. Hide the truth from her. I have to deal with it by myself.

  “Did you see the date?”

  “Wait a sec. It was July 21.” The truth struggles for a way out. Just let me out, Sarah. I desperately hold on a little more.

  “Let me just finish something before letting you go.”

  Did I freeze after finding Kiros dead? Up for debate. Jenna said the suit malfunctioned, so she used the external controls to complete the mission. What else could it be? If I froze, how did Jenna get through to me? Our non-existent relationship? She protects no one, especially me. I froze. I can at least believe that.

  “That’s everything. You’re free to go.”

  I ride that wave of relief all the way back to my room, the last good time before looking at
the dark, murky depths of my memory. I land hard on the foot of the bed. A strangely rational and distancing thought process takes over my thinking. Sarah will betray me, if she knows in any way. I retrace my reasoning like before but better. Think through everything. Did I do it to Kiros or was it Jenna?

  Jenna controlled him alone for some time. He wasn't dead before the NLIT —the NLIT (with the S-tech disabled) murders, killing the victim, Kiros.

  The NLIT means either Morris or me. Morris stuck with me. He never touched Kiros after our trip to the data line, Morris impatiently waited for me to check the guards in the hallway. He loitered somewhere against the wall when I NLITed Kiros. I delivered the fatal dose of electricity.

  Kiros and I never knew each other, much less meet. These feelings trap me. His connection with me begins and ends with Gary. The son of the Institute’s manager took an interest in me. Gary just wanted someone close to his boss Irena. He tried getting inside info about her for career advancement. Then he used me for my social connections to Irena. That never stopped until I killed Kiros. The first person I killed, maybe not the last. Why am I even talking to him after killing his father? I rattle the footboard and slap it.

  I must have another reason besides the fact he’s my boss. I care for him as a doctor. He is in shaky medical territory with his alcohol addiction. I’m just helping him as a friend through this situation with Kiros. I caused the death in the first place. Could I feel guilty enough to be friends with Gary just for that alone? No. Seriously, I didn’t do it. It was the Security Division.

  I didn’t turn off the S-tech. I did everything exactly the same when NLITing Kiros. My intention just to immobilize Kiros. Someone or something changed the NLIT into an instrument of death. The Security Division. They planed everything out to the smallest detail. I didn’t want anything to happen. It was accidental.

  Veracity

  Mon 1/1/18 3:41 p.m.

  I wait for Claire to visit. My parents are a now routine occurrence of non-consequence. The window is the only pastime in this waiting room. The experience of being outside outshines this in every way imaginable. The interwoven and unbroken canopy of evergreens leverages my attention on this day. The gentle breeze sends ripples through the sea of green.

  Claire comes in. She has an infectious smile that radiates making everyone feel a little better. She looks absolutely beautiful with a smile. This must be true with everyone. She waves at me. “Hi, Conor.” Add in grey jeans, a grey jacket, and a billowy red top.

  “Hi, Karina-uh- Claire.” Why do I keep doing that?

  Claire pushes her hands into her pockets. “How are you doing?”

  “Good, I guess.” I slide a chair out with a loud scrape.

  Claire steps a little away from the chair and leans on the table with the back of her thighs. “Are your dreams getting any better?”

  I just stay with my hands on the back of the chair. “They are, actually. There are some good parts now. The hook is always good these days. If I had a choice to stay, I would. Then everything changes. I can deal with it. The dreams are wacky, so I can’t figure out what they mean.”

  She nods a few times. “Do the dreams help you remember?”

  “Yes. That part is working well. One recovery session is mostly enough. The memories are becoming a part of me.” A quick smile.

  “That’s the important thing. What memories are new?” Claire sits in a chair she pulled out from the head of the table, extracting her hands before, obviously.

  I sit facing her. “There was something actually about you.” This came up over the week between visits.

  She crosses her legs and almost meets mine. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

  I cross my arms. “It’s around 10 at night. There is a furious knocking at my door. You’re waiting outside to talk. You have red, puffy eyes and look a little - what’s the best way to say this - ruffled. You seem angry. I allow you in. You remember this?”

  “Yes,” Claire says quietly.

  “You were still upset with Zhou and yourself. The fact he broke up with you without giving you a chance to open up to him, all in a delayed message. You wanted to be a better person. That is what you said. I was trying to talk you out of it. After a while, I just let you talk. You left at 12 or something.”

  She closes her eyes for a good while. “I don’t know what to say, just that it happened.”

  “The latest is the 3 days I was sick.”

  Claire settles her feet on the floor. “So not much, then. When are they letting you out?”

  “My dream guide says less than 2 weeks. I don’t believe it.”

  “Let’s see. You got back over 25 years of memories in a little more than 3 months. You have about 2 additional months you need to remember." She rolls her eyes skyward, then back. "That can easily happen in 2 weeks.”

  “It’s just a feeling. Anyway, has something changed with you?”

  “There isn’t much I can tell you. Everything’s good with me. Everyone at the Institute can’t wait for you to come back.”

  We just sit looking at each other with nothing more to say. It just seems like forever. It feels as if there is something else left unmentioned. What should I say?

  I stand up. “Thanks for coming, Claire.”

  She does the same. “I can stay longer, if you want.”

  “No, Claire. You’ve already done more than I can ask for.”

  She buttons her jacket. “I’ll be here next week. Do you want to talk about anything else?”

  “I think that’s everything.”

  “Conor, it was fun.” She’s ready to leave. An idea comes to her as she reaches the doorway. She turns around and comes to hug me. Where did this come from? I let her do it. She whispers something in my ear.

  “Just a little longer, now.”

  Claire leaves like every other week. A hint of her smell lingers, what you smell by laying in a grassy field. I just need to sit down. What happened in the last minute? I start seeing flashes of black and white. I feel unsteady and dizzy. Bracing myself on the table helps. The flashes get more intense and faster. I know if anything happens a switch on the table can bring help. A white and black fuzzy image covers my entire field of view. It resolves into a text doc, the logs of some Agent 7429. That is somehow familiar. Another doc flashes in. Over the next short span hundreds flood in. I can see again. The info is gone. A small black dot tracks with my sight. I reach for where it appears to be and the info comes back. I know to look at the first one, a convo between this Agent and someone else, probably Report about a target, me.

  Mental log of Agent 7429

  Wed 8/23/17 11:02 p.m.

  A:

  Ready to start briefing?

  R:

  Yes.

  A:

  We met in person for an unscheduled briefing. Is this required?

  R:

  Yes. The briefings have to continue on schedule. Is there anything to report from the intervening time?

  A:

  A source within the head office of the Stephens Institute has confirmed that an Agent within the Institute has been promoted to director.

  R:

  Good. Does this open new possibilities?

  A:

  Yes. Dr. Stephens has started confiding in this Agent. The Agent has privileged access to Dr. Stephens.

  R:

  Anything else to report?

  A:

  No.

  R:

  End briefing?

  A:

  Yes.

  A:

  That interview with Report in person went better than expected. She asked questions that required narrative answers. I answered something inclusive of what actually happened. The suit malfunctioned because the user gave bad commands. I got through to Conor from the outside, referred to as external suit controls. Now if she demanded one word answers of yes and no, the odds are a coin toss, 50-50. When one of us lies, including Conor, the signs amount to one of a few such as a twitch of pupil cons
triction, a 0.1 degree change in palm skin temp, an uptick in breathing volume, and maybe a millisecond delayed response. Maybe half the Reports out there could sense it. But for her it amounts to good or bad days. I passed that day. Yes or no questions suck.

  That's everything for the latest week.

  End of the Line

  Mercifully Sunset

  Thurs 1/25/18 10:49 p.m.

  The boundless ocean stretches ahead. Its jagged, mirror-like surface reflects back on me the pale orange sun. The boat moves at speed through these gently rolling waves sending up a spray of fine mist. On every conceivable surface the salted droplets land, a coating of flaky, crumbly mineral forms. The salt covers my lip with an enhancing taste. My grip on the railing provides a source of security and strength against the cool winds and damp. The sun helps too. Water maids accompany me on this journey, swimming in the wake and ahead of the bow, in the form of dolphins.

  I peer to the upper deck, flying high above, well over the worst of the spray and sound. Perched upon this, my constant companion whom I couldn’t do without. She gazes out past the local scenery with the aid of binoculars, to some far off wonder beyond my grasp. From that outlook another horizon is visible just a bit farther than my own. She takes a more pedestrian view by carrying the eagle-eyed tool off to her side. Her other hand forms a shade visor over gleaming eyes. A shift in the oncoming rays turns Claire’s body into a silhouette of a goddess on the harsh radiating light that is our life bringing sun.

  She comes down from her heavenly perch, nestled upon the higher deck. The ease and grace with which she moves in nothing less than perfection. Claire is down at this deck to exchange words with me. The sweet sounds of her irresistible intonation wash over me. I hear her words but that is not everything. This exchange has the surprising quality to put me at ease and in a state of supreme contentment.