Monochrome

by H. M. Jones

  He brought back two tall jars. “Eric’s, then Ishmael’s. Afterwards, your arm can be treated. Then I’ll take yours.”

  “Don’t worry about my arm. Just take the memories.”

  Geoff didn’t argue. He just sat next to Abigail and opened the first jar. “Think of the memories. I’ll collect them as you think of them.”

  He lowered his voice again, “Keep the two you wish to keep. Don’t think of them. Do it again with Ishmael’s.”

  She closed her eyes and thought of Eric. His memories flooded her head, more than thirty. She scanned them and held back two she thought Eric felt most strongly about.

  Geoff brought the jar close to her to keep her from pushing the glass deeper into her skin by moving. As the last memory left her, she felt weary but not as morose as when she gave her memories. Eric’s memories were confusing because they weren’t hers. She was tired from giving them, but not badly hurt by it.

  She knew Ishmael’s would be harder, though. Geoff closed the lid to Eric’s jar. “How do you feel? Can you keep going? That was a lot of memories.”

  She yawned. “Tired, but it’s not as bad when they aren’t yours.”

  He opened Ishmael’s jar. “Okay, then. Let’s get this over with.”

  Abigail reserved the two memories of Ishmael’s she was sure he most treasured, and let her hand drift to the jar. She gave about twenty back. Ishmael’s memories were sweeter and dearer to her, she found, than Eric’s. When she was done giving them, her hand dropped, lifeless, to her side and tears streamed down her face.

  Geoff replaced the lid and twisted away from her as she sobbed. It wasn’t just that her momentary happiness was taken from her or that she now felt like she knew Ishmael less, both of those things were terrible, but she would’ve given almost anything to give him all of his memories. Every memory leaving her was akin to pouring water on a drowning man.

  Geoff left her side and shuffled to the other end of the room. “You sure you don’t want me to take out the glass first?” In his hands he grasped tweezers, a bowl and vodka. “I got these from the supply closet while you were sleeping.”

  Geoff felt terrible for what he must to do to her, so she nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”

  He worked efficiently. He was careful not to hurt her and always paused when she made a pained sound. He poured vodka on the wounds when he was done then handed her the bottle. She took a long, grateful gulp, and coughed as she handed it back. Vodka was vile on its own. Might as well drink rubbing alcohol. He stopped for a second and stared at her awkwardly.

  “What is it?” she asked him, puzzled.

  He motioned to her torso. “Sorry. You’ll need to remove the dress from your side, for me to get the glass out.”

  Her dress was torn just below the wounds, which were high on her side. She remembered hearing it rip when she fought to get free of Kent’s grasp. “Rip it. It’s fine. It’s already ripped anyway.”

  Geoff nodded, as if he planned to do so but was waiting for her permission. He pulled carefully at the ripped seam, exposing her side to the chilled air. She winced as the glass shifted in her wounds.

  He knelt by the cot and took a few pieces out at a time, pouring vodka over it when he was done. “Not as bad as your arms and not as deep. They should heal fine. Trust me. I was a nurse at one time.”

  “Thank you. I feel better. You must’ve been a good nurse.”

  He shrugged, put the bowl and tweezers to the side and poured vodka on his hands. He wiped them on his worn jeans and sat back down. “You can rest for a bit if you want.”

  Abigail shook her head. “No. We might as well get it over with. Your boss will want the collection, and your stalling will only get you in trouble.”

  Geoff stood and collected the last jar. “I know. I just…I’m sorry. This will hurt. Not physically, but one gold memory is tough. I’m not sure what ten will do to you.” His voice was frightened.

  She closed her eyes. “Are you supposed to choose the memories or can I?”

  He spoke in a sad whisper, “I’m supposed to. I know which ones he wants most. I’m not sure he thinks you’ll care as much about your baby. Though, as a parent, I know that’s not true. He wants memories of your husband and your biological father. Don’t ask how he knows which memories you have. This is his domain. He just knows.”

  She wanted to feel sad, but she just felt angry. “What will he do with them?”

  “It depends. He’ll keep them if you decide to stay and take employment. He’ll use them as energy to power Monochrome and to pay his employees if you’re able to leave. Actually…”

  He kept his voice low, as he answered, “I was told to give your memories to a Plant Runner, Malachi, so yours won’t be staying here. Don’t go lurking around this place to find them. When I’m done, and they let you go, leave. Your memories won’t be here.” He seemed to have read her mind.

  She wasn’t about to let her memories go without a fight. They’re taking them to the power plant. “How do you use memories for power?”

  Geoff stared at her, stymied. “I’m not sure exactly how it works. I know he has a power plant outside of Steamtown. He collects memories from all over Monochrome and they’re taken to this plant or one of the smaller ones, and the plant produces energy. I’m not sure anyone knows how it works except for him, and the Powers, the workers who run the thing. It’s a job that doesn’t come up often because it’s top secret and because they have to work with memories without taking them for their own good.”

  His forehead crinkled in suspicion. “Why do you ask?”

  Abigail shrugged. The less he knew about her plans the better. Her memories wouldn’t be staying in Monochrome. She was leaving with her husband and father intact. He seemed to think it best not to ask any more questions, anyway.

  He breathed unevenly and opened the jar. “Okay, I need you to think of your husband and father, the best memories you have. I’ll know if you’re holding back.”

  She clenched her eyes and relived the best memories she shared with her husband and father. These glowing, gold moments were fewer than the other memories she was asked for, and she knew that was because these were life-altering moments. The first memory he took from her was one of her most precious:

  Jason’s Malibu rolled into her driveway right on time. She checked herself one last time in the mirror, and was satisfied she wore the right outfit. She was wearing a red plunge top, tight fitting jeans, and short boots. If he didn’t get the message her clothes were sending, being in love with him was hopeless. When she opened the door she knew all was not lost. Not only was he wearing a button-up shirt, which he rarely did, but he was wearing cologne, which he never did.

  His long black hair fell free upon his shoulders and back, his dark brown eyes wandered over her body indiscriminately. She blushed.

  “Wow. I’m not sure I look good enough to go to the concert with you.”

  She took his arm and stepped out of the house. “Believe me, you do.”

  His mouth lifted in a half grin. “Thanks for coming last minute.”

  This comment reminded her that his first choice, Jessica, bailed on him. Abigail said nothing, but dropped his arm and walked to the car. “Not a problem. It’s one of my favorite bands.”

  He didn’t rush to open her door, which she appreciated. She thought it was a stupid, outdated custom. She was born with working hands. He was kind and respectful and that’s what truly mattered.

  Once at the concert, it was apparent they were sitting in a whole section of couples. Fantastic. Couples stood and held hands, kissed and swayed around them. “How do you do it? Make me feel like I do?” The lead singer wailed, and she sighed. Indeed. She observed Jason, expecting him to be watching the band, but he wasn’t.

  His eyes were locked on her and in them was the unmistakable fire of longing. He didn’t turn away when she noticed him watching her. Instead, he leaned in. “I think we look out of place.” She nodded, too scared to make the first move.<
br />
  “It’s a shame to bring such a beautiful date and not get to hold her.”

  Abigail’s hands shook and she found she was speechless. He scooted closer to her and put his arm around her waist. “That’s better.” He leaned his head on her head, his hair falling over hers. She heard the intake of breath as he smelled her hair.

  The rest of the concert was a blur. She vaguely remembered the band finishing. She mostly remembered Jason wanted to walk back to the ferry, rather than take a taxi. She remembered him holding her hand all the way to the terminal, his long fingers nervous and shaking.

  She remembered sneaking shy peeks at him and noticing desire in his eyes. She remembered they never ran out of subjects to discuss, but not the specifics of what was said. She remembered him sitting on her bench on the ferry and running his fingers over her arm, laughing when she shivered. But the most beautiful part of her memory was in the car in front of her house.

  Her dad was asleep. He liked Jason and trusted him to get her home safe. Jason put the car in park and shut it off.

  He reached out and put his hand on hers. “Thanks for coming tonight. I don’t think I’ve ever had a better night.”

  Abigail bit her lip. “Me, too. I’m sorry to say I don’t regret Jessica canceled on you.”

  Jason leaned towards her and lifted her chin. “I never asked her. I just used her as an excuse because I didn’t know if you were interested.”

  Her heart seemed to float free of her body. “Really?”

  “Sorry. It was stupid. It probably made you think you were my second choice, but I don’t have a lot of experience in this area, so hopefully you’ll forgive me. I haven’t thought of anyone but you for a long time.”

  She laughed. “You’re forgiven.”

  “Good. Because I want you to know I loved that it was you with me tonight.” He wrung his hands, trying and failing to meet her eyes. “I want to kiss you now.” She grinned and leaned in to reassure him.

  Jason took her face in his hands and kissed her. It was soft but lingering, and very passionate. He pulled away and Abigail pulled him back in and kissed him more firmly. His hands ran down her hair and over her back. This time when he pulled away, she let him.

  There would be time to take him in. “I should go in now.”

  “Sweet dreams.”

  She winked. “They will be.”

  She wasn’t certain her legs were up to the task of standing, but she managed to walk into her house, fall onto her bed, and not sleep at all. Her thoughts were too pleasant for sleep.

  Geoff didn’t pause. He knew if he did, she wouldn’t have the energy to continue. Like a true nurse, he ripped the Band-Aid off quickly. He took the memory of their first time together—Jason’s careful touch, and shaking hands caressing her, his lean, graceful body leaning into her, and a whispered admission of love.

  The next memory was of Jason’s marriage proposal. Gone was the terrified Jason standing by the window in the Space Needle. Gone were his nervous fingers as he opened the ring box and offered a beautiful and simple white gold ring to her.

  Gone were his sincere words, “I don’t want anybody else but you. I want you to be in my life. Forever.”

  Her quivering body and their long kiss were taken from her, along with her whispered, “Yes.”

  Their wedding day was next. Abigail cried out in pain as Jason’s sincere, “I do” was ripped from her, the way he stared at her when she walked down the aisle, how tightly he held her for their first dance as a married couple. Their honeymoon to the mountains was gone in a heartbeat. The eager passion, their daring swim in a frigid lake, the feeling of security and total happiness in another person, all gone.

  Her body shook from exhaustion as Geoff extracted the memory of their first place together, all crown molding and old creaky floors. Next, was the memory of Jason’s face when she told him she was pregnant with Ruby. She’d married the right man. His joy was palpable—it shown through the light in his eyes and the way he whispered the words, “I’m going to be a dad?” Pure awe.

  Geoff shifted his focus and took the memory of her father asking her to come live with him in Washington. Abigail shook uncontrollably as the memory of that life-changing phone call was taken from her. The next memory was even more difficult. She and her father were driving around town, seeking out the best Christmas lights. The memory took from her his childlike wonder, his excitement as he pointed out the most impressive houses.

  It took from her his admission, “I do this every year. I know it’s corny, but I’m glad you’re here.”

  Her response was stolen from her with force, “I remember when we were little, when you were still close. I remember searching for lights with you. It’is one of my clearest memories.”

  Her father’s joy was taken from her, the glow of rainbow lights fading with it. She fought Geoff against the last memory, but she was too tired. Apologetic tears wet his face as he took the memory of her holding her father’s cooling hand in the hospital room where he was to die:

  Her dad stared up at her with the type of adoration reserved for holy things. When she ushered her family out of the hospital room, demanding he rest, he reached for her.

  She took his hand and he whispered, “I love you and am so proud of you.” It wasn’t the words that were so important; it was the fervor in his hazel eyes and trembling voice. His eyes searched her face, trying to transmit feelings beyond words.

  The sincerity and fear in his face confused her. He seemed to be doing better today, and she’d see him tomorrow. She didn’t realize he was saying goodbye.

  She kissed him. “I love you, too, Daddy. Get some sleep. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

  He didn’t nod, he didn’t say anything. He just stared after her as she left the room, his hand still reaching for her, his body shouting his adoration and loss.

  She wouldn’t see him alive again. Like it was never there, the memory was gone. Abigail stared dumbly at the cement ceiling of her cell, black eyes dry. Her heart ached and her body lay limp on the cot. She closed her eyes and fell asleep to Geoff patting her head and whispering, “I’m so sorry” over and over again.

  She didn’t wake when he delivered her memories to his boss half an hour later. She didn’t wake as he carried her to Ishmael’s cell.

  She didn’t wake to Ishmael’s screams, “What did you do to her, you motherfucker?!”

  She didn’t wake when Geoff whispered, “I’m so sorry” again, but to Ishmael this time.

  She didn’t wake as Ishmael lay her down on his cot, kissed her sleeping lips, and sat next to the cot, waiting for her eyes to open.

  When she did wake up, she awoke to Ishmael sleeping, his head on the cot. She shifted to get more comfortable, and her gentle movement startled him. It took him a short time to focus and remember his situation, but when he did, he stood and gathered her in a tight hug. “Oh, Abby, you liar! Why didn’t you just go?! I told you to leave.”

  She squeaked in pain over his embrace and he let her go, apologizing. He held her out and scrutinized her in the dim light and shook his head. “What happened to your arms? They’re all gouged and scratched.” His face was ghostly, “Did Geoff do this?”

  She didn’t speak. She just shook her head and tried not to think of Geoff.

  She sat up and made room for Ishmael on the large cot, patting it. Her arms burned as they fought to heal. He sat next to her, resting a hand on her leg. “Did Eric come to your cell? Did he do this to you?” His voice hatred personified.

  Abigail touched his hand. “I tried to take some jars from the boss’s collection. I slipped when I ran from the room, and they shattered and cut me.”

  His eyes went platter wide. “You tried to take memory jars? Are you crazy?”

  She shrugged. It was challenging to feel anything but tired right now. “Eric’s and yours.”

  “What? They broke? What happened? To the memories?” The questions came out so quickly it was hard to understan
d them, but she got the gist.

  “I collected them. Inadvertently. The boss sent me to my own cell, away from you and Eric, so Geoff could get them back.” She spoke in a monotone, too empty to express anything other than weariness.

  His eyes were still so wide they seemed ready to fall out of his head, and for the first time she registered something outside of her emptiness. “Oh, Ishmael, your eyes! They’re black again.”

  Ishmael searched his hands, rather than speak to her face. “I had payment taken from me. Weirdly enough, they let me keep my memories of you. I’m not sure what they took, but…”

  He paused, shakily. “I know they were of my mother and of Katie May because those were the only ones left.”

  Abigail reached out and grabbed his hand. “Katie has auburn hair?”

  Ishmael nearly jumped off the cot. “What? How did you know?”

  She traced his fingers. “She’s beautiful. She has big eyes and a genuine glow. She’s sweet, and she loved you.”

  He stuttered but found no words. She continued, “You look like your mom, you know. You have the same eyes. She must’ve lived a rough life, but she loved you, too. You have something to live for, Ishmael. You just can’t remember what it is.”

  He gaped. “I don’t remember my mother well, and I don’t have any good memories left of Katie now. Just the memory of her leaving me, telling me I needed to grow up and learn to commit. I remember my mother dying, but I don’t remember why I loved her. I only remember her being taken from me as a kid. She was too high to take care of me most of the time. I know we lived together again, but I don’t have many memories of it. They must’ve been good. The normal times were good. But the bad times were terrible, and I have more bad memories than good.”

  Ishmael paused, staring at Abigail. “How do you know about them? You gave my memories back.”

  “I gave most of them back. He won’t notice the two I kept. I’m sure he won’t notice.”

  He sat, saying nothing for a long time until Abigail finally broke the silence. “Do you want them?”