The Erasure Initiative

by Lili Wilkinson

  Why was Paxton so scared of his mother finding out I was there? What did I overhear? Was Paxton trying to protect me? Was it Sandra who wished I was dead?

  Nia is awake, running her finger up and down the gold crack on her leg, and over the letters, lighting them up and extinguishing them, over and over.

  She glances up at me and I know she heard us. Me and Paxton. I feel heat flush my cheeks.

  I don’t care. Why should I care?

  But I do.

  I need company, and I can’t go back to Paxton, back to the wardrobe with one of his hands over my mouth, the other crushing my wrists. So I sit down next to her.

  ‘Can I help you with something?’ she asks acidly.

  ‘How’s the hacking going?’

  I can see Nia battling internally, torn between wanting to ice me out or update me on her progress. Mean-Nia versus Slightly-less-mean-Nia. She’s like one of those pictures that is a duck when you look at it one way, and a rabbit if you look at it in another, except Nia is an arsehole in both.

  ‘I’ve identified a server node,’ she says at last. ‘The computer that isn’t on the bus. But there’s a program I need if I’m going to break in. A shell script.’

  ‘Is that something your little bug can do?’ I ask.

  ‘No, I need a totally different program.’

  ‘So it’s a dead end.’

  Nia grins at me. ‘Nope. I’m writing the program.’

  ‘Judging by the incredibly smug look on your face, this is an impressive feat. So well done. I’m officially impressed.’

  The grin turns into a scowl. ‘Why do you have to be such a dick about everything?’

  ‘Me, a dick? I was paying you a compliment. You’re the one who takes everything so personally. You need to relax.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s hard to relax when there’s a soft porn soundtrack playing a few rows back.’

  I cough. ‘Any more decrypted files?’

  Nia pauses for a moment while she decides whether or not to keep baiting me. ‘A few. Nothing interesting, though. A lot of numbers I don’t understand – coordinates, maybe? Some graphs. And some more impenetrable legal documents.’

  ‘Anything about the Blue Fairy?’

  ‘Nope. The Blue Fairy is a dead end. It sounds like high school drama to me. I bet none of those wishes actually came true. I bet the Blue Fairy was, you know, like an agony aunt.’

  ‘Um, what about the part where the Blue Fairy tried to kill me?’

  ‘She obviously didn’t, because you’re here.’

  ‘What about the article? Chaos at Westbridge?’

  ‘Chaos at a posh private school could mean anything,’ she says. ‘Who cares if someone found out their boyfriend was cheating, or got a teacher fired? It’s nothing compared to whatever is going on here.’

  ‘But it has to be related. Otherwise why would it be on the computer?’

  ‘Because three of you are named in it – you, Paxton and Edwin.’

  Is Nia doing this on purpose? Trying to throw me off her scent? I have a sudden urge to blurt it out – everything, my flashback, her tattoo. But I need to be cleverer than that. I need to be strategic. Perhaps I can drop some breadcrumbs and goad her into confessing to me. It’s a gamble, but what else can I do?

  ‘I remembered something,’ I say.

  Nia’s head jerks around to me. ‘Really?’ she says, eager. ‘Was – did it feature anyone from the bus?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I tell her about Paxton, about Sandra’s baby and the wardrobe.

  Nia listens carefully, her forehead creased. ‘But you don’t remember what Sandra and the other guy were talking about?’ she asks.

  I shake my head. ‘Nothing. In my head it comes out like gibberish.’

  ‘It sounds like you’ve tried to block it out in your memory.’

  ‘I–I think I heard something I wasn’t supposed to,’ I say. ‘And someone found out and made the Blue Fairy wish.’

  ‘Enough with the Blue Fairy!’ Nia says. ‘It’s not what we should be focusing on.’

  She’s doing it again. I need to push harder. ‘Really?’ I say, my voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘You don’t think we should be focusing on it? I wonder why that could be.’

  Nia seems startled by my outburst. ‘Um, because I don’t care about a bunch of rich kids playing pranks on each other at their overprivileged playground of a school?’

  I snort. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Did I miss something?’

  ‘Yes. You missed me, figuring out your secret. I know who you are.’

  Either Nia is a great actor, or she is genuinely baffled right now. ‘O-kay,’ she says. ‘And who am I?’

  I open my mouth. This isn’t going at all how I planned. I wanted to force a confession, but now she has all the power. Is this what she wants? ‘You know.’

  ‘I really don’t.’

  I stare at her, looking for microexpressions, any clue that can help me regain the upper hand. Nothing. She’s good. Really good.

  ‘Why are you being so weird?’ she asks.

  The words escape from my mouth before I have a chance to consider them. ‘Because you’re the Blue Fairy.’

  SENATOR’S SON PHOTOGRAPHED WITH KNOWN RUSSIAN SPY

  Heavily pregnant senator Sandra Yates has emerged from maternity leave for a press conference, after her son Paxton was photographed talking to a known Russian operative.

  The photograph in question shows Paxton Yates, 18, wearing jeans and a polo shirt, handing a thick envelope to Maksim Dvornikov, a disgraced diplomat who was ejected from the Russian Embassy last June after taking bribes from developers.

  Pictured: Paxton Yates hands an envelope to Maksim Dvornikov

  When questioned about the photo, Senator Yates, 43, brushed the accusation aside, claiming that the man had dropped a parcel on the footpath when Paxton came across him, and that he was merely helping the man to pick it up.

  ‘My son had no knowledge of this man’s identity,’ she stated. ‘He is a kind and thoughtful citizen who was helping a stranger. This is clearly an embarrassing attempt to influence the outcome of the upcoming election. Luckily I know that voters are smart enough to recognise this kind of cheap trickery, and will let their hearts guide them when they take to the polls in November.’

  Senator Yates is best known for her appearances on hit reality TV show Dance Senator. Her popularity took a dip last spring after it was revealed that she holds significant shares in the controversial Prestige Shores property development scheme. Polling data suggests she is unlikely to hold on to her seat in the upcoming election.

  Paxton Yates is currently in his final year at the exclusive Westbridge Academy, where he is active in student government and is the captain of the water polo team.

  Pictured: Paxton Yates with girlfriend Cecily Cartwright.

  9

  DAY 2

  22:49

  Nia stares at me. ‘You’re crazy.’

  ‘You have a tattoo. On your inner thigh.’

  Nia hesitates, then gets up and sidles past me to creep up the aisle and into the toilet. I see the light flick on, illuminating the edges of the door.

  I don’t know whether I’ve just made a huge mistake or not. Is it possible that Nia really didn’t know?

  I stand up and look around to see if anyone has overheard our conversation, but they’re all asleep. Behind me, Paxton’s sleep looks deep and dreamless. There are faint snores coming from his throat, and I want nothing more than to crawl back under his arm and slip into sleep beside him. But that’s not how you win this game.

  Nia slips back down the aisle and clambers over me again to sink into her own seat. She doesn’t say anything for a moment.

  ‘I have a tattoo,’ she says, her voice low.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Of a blue fairy.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘And you think that means I’m the Blue Fairy.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Maybe it’s a coincidence.
Maybe whoever is pulling the strings here put the tattoo on me to make me think I’m the Blue Fairy.’

  I shake my head. ‘That’s not a fresh tattoo.’

  ‘So you’re an expert in tattoos now?’

  I give her a flat look.

  ‘What were you doing looking at my inner thigh, anyway?’ she says, glaring.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re so angry at me,’ I snap. ‘You’re the one who tried to kill me.’

  Nia clenches her teeth. ‘I did not try to kill you.’

  ‘What about the note? The message. I wish Cecily Cartwright was dead.’

  ‘I didn’t make the wish.’

  ‘But you granted it. Or at least you tried to.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  Nia hesitates and glances out of the window. For a moment I see a flash of her vulnerability, and in that instant I believe her. She really didn’t know. I feel for her – it can’t be easy learning you’re a high school trickster criminal mastermind – but I also feel a surge of triumph. I am in control, after all.

  ‘I remembered something too,’ Nia says, her voice barely more than a whisper. ‘When I was on the road and the bus was coming.’

  ‘Really?’

  She swallows. ‘Can I trust you?’

  I reach out and take her hand. ‘You can trust me. I swear it.’

  Nia’s hand is warm and strong. Her long fingers seem to instinctively curl around my own. ‘You might not, after you hear this.’

  I squeeze her hand. ‘Try me.’

  Nia closes her eyes and takes a deep, slow breath, before speaking. ‘I am in a crowd. Everyone is in a hurry, it’s noisy and busy. I can smell fresh-cut grass and petrol and people – fancy perfumes and hair products and lotions. I’m in a hurry too. I’m searching for someone. I need to tell them something, but I don’t know what it is. It’s urgent, though. I can feel my heart pounding. And then I glimpse her, through the crowd. A girl in jeans and a white T-shirt. Blonde hair to her shoulders. She’s pretty, in a preppy, posh kind of way. I start to run. I lose sight of her in the crowd, but I keep pushing, stumbling through the people towards the spot where she was. But I’m too late. I hear the squeal of tyres, and then a heavy thud. I stop pushing and running, and I feel …’

  Nia closes her eyes again, and doesn’t say anything for a long time.

  ‘What do you feel?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice gentle.

  ‘Guilt. So much guilt.’

  I ask the question, even though I already know the answer. ‘The girl. Is she . . . me?’

  A tight, brief nod.

  I let her hand go. ‘What did you do, Nia?’

  Nia’s face crumples, and she starts to cry. It’s so unexpected – she’s usually so prickly and invulnerable. She covers her face with her hands, her shoulders heaving with silent sobs. I hesitate, then pat her gingerly on the back.

  ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘Don’t do that. It’s weird.’

  She wipes tears from her eyes, but more keep coming.

  ‘Seriously,’ I tell her. ‘Stop it. You do not have the complexion for crying.’

  ‘CC, what if I am?’ she says, in between hiccuping sobs. ‘What if I am the Blue Fairy?’

  I blink at the nickname, but decide not to mention it. ‘Then you’re even more of a badarse than I thought you were,’ I say. ‘You’re a criminal mastermind!’

  ‘I don’t want to be a criminal mastermind.’

  ‘You just don’t want me to be right. About the red-shirts being criminals.’

  Nia coughs out a laugh-cry, then sobers. ‘Does anyone else know? About the tattoo?’

  ‘Nobody.’

  ‘You didn’t tell Paxton?’

  I shake my head. The relief on Nia’s face tugs at my heart.

  She wipes tears from her eyes. ‘Why would I do it? What possible reason?’

  ‘Are you kidding? You can’t see any reason why someone like you would want to create chaos in one of the most exclusive schools in the world? Why you wouldn’t want to make the lives of those privileged rich kids a living hell?’

  Nia swallows, and I know I’ve hit a nerve.

  ‘You were probably there on a scholarship,’ I tell her. ‘You’re smart enough. But you didn’t fit in – you couldn’t. People like that would never accept someone like you.’

  People like me.

  ‘But the wishes,’ Nia says. ‘Did I sell drugs? Get teachers fired? Humiliate kids?’

  ‘They probably deserved it.’

  ‘Did Edwin lose the lead role in the musical because of me? What did I do to him? Did I give him food poisoning? Get him suspended? Hurt him somehow?’ Nia claps a hand over her horrified mouth.

  ‘You don’t know that the Blue Fairy carried out every single wish,’ I tell her. ‘In fact, we know that you didn’t.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Because I’m here. You didn’t kill me. Thank you for that, by the way.’

  ‘But my memory. The car. The guilt.’

  ‘Clearly it didn’t happen, because I’m here. You didn’t see anyone get hit by the car. Maybe it hit a pole or something.’

  ‘It didn’t sound like a pole.’

  I know she’s right, because I’ve heard it too. That noise, the wet thud, is one of the sounds that has penetrated the blank fog of memory.

  Nia bites her lip. ‘Do you hate me now?’ she asks, and it’s so unlike her that I do a double take.

  ‘No more or less than I did before,’ I say. ‘Enough of this pity-party. Where’s the bossy Nia who is always lecturing people about social justice, and who hates my guts?’

  I see a glimmer of a smile.

  ‘I feel so lost. I’m afraid that I’m not the person I thought I was. That I want to be.’

  ‘Don’t be lost. Be angry. Someone did this to us.’

  ‘I signed up to it. I’m angry at myself. At whoever I really am.’

  ‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Be angry at yourself. But take that anger and point it at something useful.’

  Nia bites her lip, then nods. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘Of course I’m right.’

  She reaches out to the seatback display, but I put my hand on hers to stop her. ‘Tomorrow. Right now we should both get some rest.’

  Nia gazes at my hand on hers. I pull it away, self-conscious. There’s a tension in the air now, and I break it the only way I know how. I put on my most serious face, and let my voice throb with meaning.

  ‘Can … Can you promise me one thing?’

  She nods, her face a question mark. It’s possible that right now she would promise me anything.

  ‘Promise you won’t kill me in my sleep?’

  The tension shatters and Nia’s face becomes its usual mask of irritation and disdain.

  ‘I kind of want to kill you right now,’ she mutters.

  I lightly punch her on the arm. ‘Attagirl.’

  I don’t go back to Paxton that night. I stay next to Nia, and drift into an uneasy sleep.

  Memory Erasure: A Guide

  The human brain is a hugely complex and powerful organ. It can store up to 2.5 petabytes of data – more than is contained on the entire internet. It runs on the same amount of data as a dim light bulb – 50 million times less energy than a computer would need to process and store the same amount of information.

  Recently, scientists have discovered five rules pertaining to the way we remember other people:

  1. Memories are either episodic (autobiographical) or semantic (general knowledge) Example: your memory of your mother is episodic, but your memory of the President of the United States is semantic.

  2. Episodic and semantic memories are stored in different areas of the brain.

  3. Episodic memory always takes precedence over semantic memory. Example: If your mother is a well-known figure, such as the President of the United States, she will exist only in your episodic memory.

  4. When a memory erasure device (MED) is fitted (such as the newly developed NeuroBell), only epi
sodic memories will be erased. Example: If your mother is the President of the United States, you will not recall her. If you have never met the President of the United States, you will remember who she is.

  5. In the event of a MED reboot, new memories formed after the initial erasure will not be retained in either episodic or semantic memories. Example: If you met the President of the United States after having an MED fitted, after a MED reboot, you would not recall her.

  10

  DAY 3

  08:00

  We spend the next day doing more trolley problems. Nia versus Sandra, and Nia faces the bus again. Edwin versus Pax, and Pax is chosen, Edwin almost crying with relief.

  Catherine’s name comes up for the first time, paired with Riley. Everyone votes to spare her. She clambers down the steps so slowly, making her way down the road towards the blue X step by shuffling step. Her slowness irritates me. Whatever schedule we’re on, she’s drawing it out interminably. When at last she finally reaches her mark, Catherine turns and looks directly at me, like she can hear my thoughts, her glittering little eyes fixed and hard as we reverse away around the corner.

  Next is me versus Nia, and I choose myself, of course. The others are evenly split, and Edwin’s random selection spares me.

  The day wears on endlessly as we go through every possible pairing. Always red versus blue, though. Riley and I are paired together again and I face the bus. Riley mumbles to himself as he stomps down the road to his mark.

  It doesn’t scare me this time. I half-wish it would hit me, just for something different.

  When it’s over, I turn to watch Riley return. Halfway up the hill, he shouts something and makes a break for it, into the rainforest.

  He’s trying to escape.

  I glance up at the windscreen, and see the others watching. We’ve all thought about it. We’ve all wondered what would happen. Every time I get off the bus I think about pushing through the twisted trees and vines and fronds, away from all the questions and doubts and fears.

  The thick vegetation quivers as he shoves it aside with his tattooed arms, then admits him, swallowing him into the jungle as if he never existed. Good for Riley. I hope it works out for him and he doesn’t get eaten by a snake. Maybe he can survive for a while on berries or roots or whatever it is that people survive on in jungles. He could fight one of those monster crabs and dine on its flesh like a king.