The Outsiders

by L. J. LaBarthe

  Bill flushed and looked away. "Sorry I asked."

  "You're forgiven." Matty continued to eat. He wasn't feeling particularly kindly toward Bill right at that moment, especially since Bill had searched his room. "I never asked you—have you got family?"

  Bill looked up at Matty, his face now registering his surprise. His eyebrows were raised, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. "Why do you ask?"

  "Well, seems like we're spending a lot of time together, I figured it'd probably be a good thing to get to know you as more than just that guy who escorts me everywhere. Don't you think?"

  Bill opened his mouth once more, then shut it again. His lips fixed in a firm, thin line and for a moment, Matty wondered if he would reply. He sighed and nodded.

  "Yeah, I got a wife, two kids. They don't live here in clinic, though."

  "Do you seem them often?"

  "Not as often as I'd like."

  "How old are your kids?"

  "Alicia's nine, Jonas is twelve. They're good kids, do well at school, take good care of their mom."

  "How long have you been married?"

  "Fifteen years next month." Bill started to sound proud. "My wife, my kids, they're the world to me."

  "I would imagine so. I can't remember if I had a wife or kids or even a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend." Matty didn't bother to hide his irritation.

  "Dude, I know it's hard. Believe me, I know. I've had a few others like you come through here. Some took longer, some were quick, eventually they got their memories back. You're on track. You're not reached a time to worry that you haven't remembered anything. Don't stress it, okay?"

  Oddly, Bill's words made Matty feel better. He set down his fork and reached over to pat Bill's arm. "Thanks, man. I appreciate that."

  "No worries. Now finish your food and I'll take you down to Dr. Andrews. You're right, he's the shrink. He can help you better than I can. I never wanted to go into that side of medicine—he's good at it, he'll help you out."

  Matty nodded and returned to his breakfast. "Thanks," he said again.

  As soon as he finished and Bill had taken his dishes to the counter, Matty got to his feet and stretched. He felt the pleasant pull of muscles and hummed to himself. Despite feeling tired from his night of little sleep, he felt okay. He was looking forward to talking to Dr. Andrews and figuring out what to do next.

  Bill led him again through the maze of corridors and unmarked doors to Dr. Andrews rooms. He knocked once, then let himself in, and Matty, as ever, trailed along behind him. The secretary was absent today, Matty saw, Dr. Andrews himself was puttering around the waiting room, looking very much as if he had nothing to do and wasn't sure what to do about it. Upon seeing Matty and Bill, his expression became one of great delight, a smile splitting his face from ear to ear.

  "Hello. It's good to see you again. Are you here to see me, Matty?"

  "Yes, if that's all right. I don't have an appointment…"

  "Nonsense. Come in, come in. You'll be all right out here, won't you, Bill?" Before Bill could answer, Dr. Andrews had taken Matty's arm and led him towards his own private office. "In here, Matty."

  Amused, Matty followed, and sat down, waiting until the door closed before he spoke. Dr. Andrews picked up his notepad and pen and sat opposite, looking at him with an expression of expectant interest on his face, his eyes wide, a warm smile on his lips.

  "How can I help you today?"

  "I want to remember," Matty said, getting straight to the point. "Bill says—and you said it too—that it'll take time, that it's different for everyone. Isn't there something you can do that will help me remember who and what I am more quickly? I'm tired of not knowing anything, of having a million questions and no answers to them."

  Dr. Andrews leaned back in his seat. The smile had faded, to be replaced with a slight frown. "I'm not really sure I can do that. The brain is uncharted territory and we don't really know much about how it works."

  That was odd, Matty thought—he'd had the impression that medical technology had advanced since he'd last been awake.

  "I mean, the tried and true method has always been to talk about things, to let the brain work at its own pace, there's obviously a reason it takes as long as it takes for things to come back so we don't like to meddle in that area."

  "What about hypnosis?"

  Dr. Andrews blinked at him, his brow furrowed and his eyes went round as saucers. "Hypnosis? My dear boy, I assure you, we don't practice that sort of thing in this day and age."

  "Why not?"

  "Well, ah, it's just not done. No, no. Just not done at all."

  A flash of intuition had Matty leaning forward, watching the doctor carefully. "You don't know how to do it." It wasn't a question.

  Dr. Andrews flushed and looked away. He shuffled his feet and crossed then uncrossed his arms. "It's simply a matter of what is advisable. The brain is a very delicate area and as a psychiatrist, we try not to meddle in the natural, organic processes of how the brain works."

  "Do you even know what hypnosis is?" Matty pressed.

  Dr. Andrews looked at him sharply. "Of course I do. It's a parlor trick, that's all. Certainly not something that's been proven to work in medicine."

  "I would imagine there are books in the library here that would dispute that," Matty said.

  "Yes, they were written before the Event, look how well that turned out." Dr. Andrews voice was clipped, curt. "No, I can't help you with that sort of charlatanism."

  "No regression therapy?"

  "Certainly not. I must say, for someone who says he has no memory, you're dredging up techniques of things from decades ago that have no weight or use in today's world quite well."

  "I seem to be able to remember these useless things with no problem," Matty said. "Which is what you're saying they are, right? Useless and outdated?"

  Dr. Andrews hemmed and hawed, taking off his glasses and wiping them with a kerchief he pulled from his pocket. "I'm sure they had use back in the distant past," he said finally, "however what worked in the past doesn't necessarily work today. Society—humanity—has changed considerably since those days. Back in those days, we relied far too much on technology and it destroyed us. Well. Nearly destroyed us. It destroyed most of the surface of the Earth anyway. Now we know what to avoid, we use far more organic methods."

  It was the second time he'd used the word organic. Matty hesitated a moment before asking his next question. "If that's the case, why keep me in cryo? Surely that's an outdated, inorganic thing? For that matter, why transport me from the other side of the world, from Australia, here to America to plonk me into a cryo tube for ninety-nine years? Isn't that a waste of resources?"

  "Whoever organized that obviously felt that it wasn't. We honor their decisions. The clinic and the doctors here only want the best care for everyone, not just you. Our people are happy, healthy and there are very few diseases now. When people wake up from cryo, they are treated so that their muscles are brought back from atrophy and inoculated against old diseases, then we work towards getting them out into the broader community."

  "When will that happen for me? I mean, I remember odd bits and pieces that aren't relevant to the here and now, I don't remember much about myself, I'm like a blank canvas guy. I could do or be anyone or anything. What's next for me?"

  Dr. Andrews put his glasses back on and peered at Matty over the rim of them. "Once you've had your final evaluation, which is a psychiatric and physical one, you'll be taken from here, assigned a mentor, who will help you find lodgings and work and assist you in adjusting to life here in the underground. From there, you'll live as you choose, which, I hope, will be as a law-abiding citizen and productive member of our society."

  "I'm sure I'll be a great member of your society," Matty said.

  "I'm glad to hear it. Please, no more mention of these things, these—these nonsenses like hypnotherapy or regression therapy."

  Matty leaned back into his seat, getting more comfortable.
"Roger that."

  "Good. Now, let's talk about something else. I'm told you went to the library and borrowed some books. Would you like to tell me about that?"

  Matty shrugged. "Sure, why not? I told Bill I was bored just staring at the four walls and ceiling of my room here, I asked if there were any books. He said he'd ask if I could visit the library, he did, so we went. I found a lot of books there that were interesting, made some choices, borrowed them and we left. That was about it."

  "And what sort of books did you borrow?"

  "Fiction," Matty said.

  "What genres?"

  "Thriller, mysteries, that sort of thing."

  "I see. Do you enjoy these books?"

  "So far. I don't remember if I've read them before or if that's the genre I liked before. I haven't been upset or offended by anything in the book I'm reading right now."

  Dr. Andrews peered at him once more. "Are you mocking me?"

  Matty grinned. "Maybe a little."

  A harrumph was the reply. "Well, I suppose I can't fault you for that. At least you're honest. These questions must seem rather odd to you."

  "Just a bit, yeah."

  "You want to remember your past. I'm hoping that by asking these things, something will come to the surface."

  Matty thought about that. It seemed like a reasonable idea, though he was still confused as to the reason for the revulsion for hypnosis and regression therapy, things that he knew—without knowing how he knew—had worked in the world before he'd gone into cryo. Time was rapidly becoming split into two points: before cryo and after cryo. He wasn't sure that he liked after cryo much.

  "I went looking for history books, too," Matty said. "I didn't find anything about the last hundred years. Why's that?"

  Dr. Andrews shook his head. "The history of the last hundred years isn't written in books. It's oral, passed down through families and the council. You'll learn more about that when you're assigned your mentor."

  "Huh. Okay."

  "What did you think of the library?"

  "I thought it was really sad."

  "Why?"

  "The sum total of human knowledge and creativity and it's covered in dust. No one goes there, it's obvious. The place was empty when Bill took me there and he had no interest in it at all. Information, learning, reading; that's all important. That helps people to grow and understand their world, what came before to bring them to now. It also helps people to escape if things are bad, to lose themselves in a novel and discover new and wonderful worlds of the imagination. Seeing the library unused and unloved like the way it is was very sad."

  "Books aren't really used these days," Dr. Andrews said.

  "I'm getting the idea a lot of things aren't really used these days."

  "Yes, well, just because it came from the past doesn't mean it was better."

  "Same could be said of the present," Matty said. "Are there any other Australians living here in New York underground?" He deliberately changed the subject, seeing that Dr. Andrews was beginning to bristle and grow irritated.

  "A few. Not many. We have a few nationalities here—some Europeans, some British, some Asians, Russians, a handful of Latin Americans. Why?"

  "Just asking." Matty wondered if Arkady was present. "I was just curious."

  "I'll give you some exercises to do," Dr. Andrews said. "They'll help your mind remember things. Please, don't get angry if it takes time. Everything takes time and everyone is different. The brain is a remarkable, mysterious thing. We must take due care with it. I'll also give you some medication that might help. I didn't want to give it to you before, because I wanted to be certain that you were progressing naturally, without adding anything that might restrict your rehabilitation. I think now is a good time to give it to you, you're doing really well."

  "Okay." Matty was certain that before cryo, advances had been made in the areas of mental health and brain function, but he wasn't going to argue the point with Dr. Andrews, when the man was obvious about his distaste of anything that didn't come from the present.

  Dr. Andrews stood up and went to his desk. He opened a drawer, pulled out a folder, which he opened, and he removed a sheet of paper. He held out the page to Matty, who took it and glanced at it. Then he removed a box of tablets and handed them over as well. Matty took them and tucked them into the pocket of his sweat pants.

  "Those exercises and pills should help. We've had success with other patients who have come out of cryo with little to no memory using these, I'm confident you'll see success as well."

  "And if I don't?"

  "Don't be defeatist before you even try," Dr. Andrews admonished in what sounded to Matty like a prim tone of voice. "Come and see me in a week, we'll talk about how you've progressed, all right?"

  Matty folded up the sheet of paper and put it in his back pocket. He got to his feet and nodded. "Okay. A week from today it is."

  "Good. Get some rest, eat properly and exercise; everything will work out."

  It was with a great deal of self-restraint that Matty managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Instead, he said, "Thanks," and turned, heading for the office door. On the threshold, he remembered something he'd wanted to ask, and he turned back to the doctor. "Is there a swimming pool or something like that here?"

  Dr. Andrews gaped at him. "Good heavens, no. What a waste of water. We don't—"

  Matty held up his hands. "It's okay, I'm getting the hang of it. Waste not. Thanks." Before Dr. Andrews could say anything else, Matty left the room and joined Bill in the waiting room.

  "Let's go."

  "All done?" Bill asked, getting to his feet.

  "For this week. I have to come back next week, same time."

  "All right. See you, doc," Bill said to Dr. Andrews, who'd followed Matty into the waiting room.

  "Indeed you will. Thank you, Bill. See you, Matty; remember what I've told you."

  Matty said nothing, and opened the door that led out into the corridor.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Alone in his room, Matty took the sheet of paper he'd been given and read it. The exercises were fairly simple—to him, they looked like basic meditation exercises. Funny how Dr. Andrews hated hypnosis and regression therapy so much yet suggested meditation as a means to unlocking his memory.

  He read through the sheet several times to make sure he knew what he had to do, then took one of the pills out of the box that he removed from his pocket. He sat cross-legged on the bed and closed his eyes. Focusing on his breathing, he forced himself to clear his mind. Concentrating on the in, out of breathing was a good way to not think about anything. It was also a good way to fall asleep, he mused, as he felt himself grow drowsy.

  Forcing himself to stay awake, Matty continued to breathe. When he thought it was reasonably even, he began to slowly count backwards from twenty. Everything faded away as the numbers and his breath became all he was aware of. He felt himself relax, tension he hadn't realized he felt seeping from him as he continued the exercise.

  He was at the number three in his count down when a memory swam to the surface of his mind. Not grabbing it and examining it closely was difficult. Matty made himself continue to breathe and to count. As he reached zero, he took another breath and began the count down from twenty all over again.

  At number eight in the count, another memory came to him, and another. Matty's heart started to pound in excitement. It was a Herculean effort not to stop the counting and the breathing to look at those memories, to do more than acknowledge that was what they were. Matty shook with the effort of it, but he forced himself to continue.

  Once again at zero, he began the count down from twenty for the third and final time. He had decided that would be his limit for one day, he had things in his head that he wanted to remember, examine and think about. At number twelve in the count, another memory surfaced, at number nine, another, at number six, yet another. At number one, a final memory bubbled up out of his subconscious where it had been locked.
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br />   When he reached zero, Matty took three more deep breaths, letting the air out slowly, then he opened his eyes. He was shaking, he realized, and he was sweating. He uncrossed his legs and got off the bed, feeling exhausted. It was like he'd done a hard day's work building a house with no one to help him carry bricks. He went to the sink, turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face and arms. He turned it off, went back to the bed and sat, leaning against the wall. The exercises and the medicine—and he suspected that the latter had done more—had helped a lot. He wondered what was in the tablets, and then decided he didn't really care. It had worked, that was the main thing, the only thing that mattered.

  Memories had returned to him, things that he had longed for in the last two weeks. Now he had them, Matty found himself strangely reluctant to examine them in case he confronted something he'd forgotten that he'd rather not know. However, his desire to know outweighed his fear. He wanted to be himself again, to have the knowledge that had been hidden from him by his own mind. "I won't be teasing Dr. Andrews about his technique for this, though, that's for sure," Matty muttered to himself.

  As clinically as he could manage, in as detached a fashion as possible, Matty began to sift through what he now remembered. The memories were a little fuzzy, so he closed his eyes, hoping that would bring them into sharper focus. It seemed to help. As he leaned his head back on the wall, the memories flooded his mind all at once, now seeming eager that he look at them without any more waiting.

  —The Botanic Gardens in Singapore were beautiful, and he felt at peace as he walked towards the rendezvous point. He passed families and tourists, young people and old, all enjoying the beauty and tranquility of the gardens. He knew where he was headed, though; that spot was a place only a select group of individuals knew about, a group that he himself was part of. He saw Pei Ling walking towards him from the opposite direction, her long black hair tied up in a knot on top of her head, she smiled and waved, as if they were normal people, the sort of regular folk who met for coffee and conversation.