The Left Hand of Memory (Redlisted)

by Sara Beaman

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Force yourself to see things as they are, warts and all,” he says. “The harder something is to look at, the more important it is to understand.”

  I turn away. When I look back, opening my mouth to speak, he’s already gone.

  “It’s so good to see you again, Kate,” Markham says in a sardonic, sing-song kind of voice.

  “Shut up,” I say.

  “I recognized your voice in the parking lot,” he says, still with the same false cheerfulness. “You’re the reason I have a bullet in my head.”

  “Yeah, well, you killed my friend,” I tell him. “So I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Jennifer Schuster was your friend?”

  “Enough of one that I care that she’s dead,” I say.

  “Why are you helping them?”

  “I’m not helping anyone.”

  “That man—Richard?—was a Mnemonic,” Markham says. “Your teacher, I take it?”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Mnemosyne got her claws in you, didn’t she? You poor fool.”

  “I’m not sure you’re in any position to call me foolish,” I tell him. “Anyway, I’m done here. I’ll see you again soon enough. Sooner than I’d like.” I start walking for the door.

  “Kate, wait,” he says.

  “What?”

  “You aren’t like the rest of them,” he says, his tone softening. “You’re kinder than they are.”

  “Please don’t tell me that you like me,” I say. “I’ll probably puke.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You’re horrible.”

  “Am I horrible?” he asks. “Or were my misguided deeds horrible?”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “They want you to hate me,” he says. “What I did was wrong. I understand that. But the rest of them are just as monstrous as I am.”

  “Sure,” I say, feigning indifference.

  “Julian, for example,” Markham says.

  I frown. “You mean the guy you’re in love with?”

  “I choose to see past his actions,” Markham says. “But he’s a murderer, Kate. Plain and simple.”

  “Yeah. I know that.”

  “But you don’t think he’s horrible, do you?”

  I shrug.

  “Do you know what he did to Adam?” Markham asks in a low, confidential tone.

  “Yes,” I say. “I do.” I put my hand on the doorknob.

  “Do you know about all of it?” he asks. “The entirety of what he did to him?”

  “If I don’t already, I don’t want to,” I say. “We’re done. Goodbye.”

  I step outside and shut the door behind me.

  Under His Skin

  I wake up in the motel room, lying on top of the covers on one of the double beds. Julian is sleeping on the other bed, fully-clothed, curled up on his side in the fetal position. Haruko is passed out on the floor. Carefully, so as not to wake her, I tiptoe over to the desk and grab the remote. I turn on the television, turn the volume all the way down, and watch the news with the closed captioning on, thinking of what Richard said, trying to ignore what Markham had to say.

  Is Richard right? Am I too soft? Do I lack the will to do what must be done?

  God. What am I thinking? Richard is a douchebag. And very likely a sociopath. He barely reacted to anything Markham said, grotesque and revolting as it was. I really ought not listen to sociopaths.

  After a while the news starts to bore me; my attention drifts inward. I flip through the channels, agitated. The amulet is under Markham’s skin, I guess. He must have cut himself and forced the wound to stay open while he shoved the amulet inside. It’ll be a bitch to get it out, but at least we know he has it.

  I settle on a shopping channel and wait, watching a middle-aged redhead wearing too much makeup hawk overpriced costume jewelry.

  Why won’t Mnemosyne tell me about Adam? What could she possibly gain by withholding that information? Oh God. Maybe he’s already dead and she doesn’t want me to know—since if I knew, I’d take the amulet and run.

  I dig my fingernails into my palms, bring a fist to my lips. What will I do if he’s dead?

  I think of the brown bag Haruko brought into the bathroom. Whatever it was, I wonder if there’s any of it left. I slide off the bed, tiptoe past Haruko, and pull the door to the bathroom open. It’s cramped and dim, with mildew on the mirror. I pick a bottle out of the wastebasket. A fifth of cheap vodka. It’s completely empty.

  I’m ready to be done with this trip.

  ***

  Julian wakes up shortly after nightfall. Once the clock says seven-fifteen, we pull down the blackout curtains. Julian folds them up and puts them in the plastic Walmart bag. Kneeling down to Haruko, I nudge her shoulder until she wakes up with a start.

  “What?” she says, blinking. “What is it?”

  “It’s past sunset,” I tell her. “Time to go back to the estate.”

  “I fell asleep down here?”

  “Yeah.”

  She pulls herself to her feet and brushes herself off. Looking down at the stained, worn carpet, she wrinkles her nose. She opens the door to the parking lot, where Matthew is waiting, smoking a cigarette and leaning against the stucco exterior of the motel.

  “You’re up,” he says to Julian as he emerges from the room. “Good.”

  “What is it?” Julian asks.

  “I’m done,” he says. “I quit.”

  “Right,” Julian says. “I can’t blame you.”

  Matthew nods.

  “Will you at least come back to the estate with us?” Julian asks. “To get your things?”

  “No. Thanks for everything, but…” He shudders.

  “Very well,” Julian says, reaching into his back pocket. He pulls out his wallet, pulls out several hundred-dollar bills. “This should cover your last paycheck.”

  Matthew nods curtly and pockets the money. With that, he shoulders his bag and walks away.

  “I hope he’ll be all right,” Julian says once he’s out of earshot.

  “Whatever,” Haruko says. “We should be able to make it back to Atlanta tonight in any case.”

  Julian shakes his head, looking distressed. “I hate that I put him through so much.”

  “It looks like you were paying him well, at least,” Haruko says. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  Julian sighs.

  “So, uh…” I trail off.

  “What is it?” Julian asks.

  I smile awkwardly. “Do either of you want to help me with something gross?”

  “Gross?” Haruko raises an eyebrow. “How gross?”

  “Downright vile,” I say.

  “I’m going to say no, in that case,” she says.

  “What is it?” Julian asks.

  “You know the thing we were sent to Chicago to find?”

  “Markham?” Haruko says.

  “No, the amulet,” I say. “It’s, uh… under Markham’s skin.”

  “Like… literally under his skin?” Haruko asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “In his chest.”

  “Are you sure?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know?” asks Julian.

  “I asked him,” I say. “In a dream.”

  “So we need to cut it out of him?” Haruko asks.

  “Yeah.”

  Haruko looks at Julian.

  “I’ll help you,” Julian tells me. “But we should do it en route. I’d rather not stop and spend another day in a motel, and the drive to Savannah should take about ten hours.”

  “Cool,” Haruko says, sounding relieved. “I’ll drive the first leg.”

  I think of the fifth of vodka. “Are you okay to drive?” I ask.

  “Why?”

  “Uh…”

  “Oh. The liquor?” She laughs and waves her hand dismissively. “I’m fine.”

  “All right, then,” I say, trying to sound enthusiast
ic. “Let’s go.”

  Haruko gets into the driver’s seat, and Julian and I climb into the back of the van. It smells faintly of rotting trash—the odor of Jennifer’s dead body, I guess. I reach into my memory for a more pleasant scent; the first thing that comes to mind is the smell of soap. I concentrate on the sense memory until the odor fills the van.

  “Thank you,” Julian says. “That will make things a great deal more bearable.”

  We start rolling down the road, gathering speed. Julian climbs into the back of the van and drags Markham up to the middle row, where I help him lay his body down on his back on the bench seat. Julian looks down at Markham with an expression I imagine he normally reserves for roaches or dog shit. Not a burning hatred, but a cold disgust. He wipes his hands on his trousers.

  “All right,” I say. “Do you have a knife or something?”

  “I do. Let me get it out of my suitcase.”

  He goes back behind the middle seat again. I don’t want to look back there, so I stare at the sliding door, listening to him unzip his bag and rustle through it. He returns a moment later with a Swiss army knife.

  “It might be a bit dull,” he says with a sour expression.

  “It’s not like he’s going to feel it,” I say.

  “Are you sure of that?”

  “No…”

  “You should make sure he stays unconscious,” Julian says.

  I look down at the hole in Markham’s face where his left eye used to be. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

  “I’ve seen pain awaken revenants with more grievous wounds than that,” Julian says.

  “Really?” I say. “Shit. All right.”

  Julian pulls the knife blade open with his fingernail. I place my hand on Markham’s chest and compel him with my silent voice: Stay asleep.

  “Will you open his shirt, please?” Julian asks.

  I unbutton Markham’s shirt to his navel. In the dim light it’s nearly impossible to see the faint raised outline of the amulet under his cold skin.

  “I don’t see anything,” Julian says.

  “There,” I say, pointing.

  Julian frowns and squints.

  “It’s the little circular thing,” I say. “I know it’s hard to make out…”

  Julian nods. “I see it now.”

  I take a deep breath and hold it, waiting for Julian to make the cut.

  “Awfully bold of him, don’t you think?” Julian says, smiling wryly. “If the Wardens had found it, they’d have had to rip it out of his chest, and I don’t think they would have been too careful about it.”

  “He’s deranged,” I say.

  Julian laughs a little.

  “Okay,” I say, feeling an electric, nauseating sense of anticipation. “Let’s just do this. You cut, and I’ll, uh… reach inside.”

  Julian nods. Holding the little knife by the blade, he stabs Markham right above the place on his sternum where the amulet protrudes out. He loses his grip on the knife as he tries to slice through Markham’s skin. He makes a second attempt, holding the knife in his fist and pulling it towards himself, raking open a tiny gash that starts to close almost as soon as it appears. Though I can’t see the amulet, I shove my fingers inside the gash, holding it open. I swallow hard, forcing down my disgust.

  Julian keeps tearing Markham’s skin open, little by little, straining with the effort. Markham’s blood flows out, staining his shirt. Then I see it—a tiny flash of gold against deep pink flesh. A segment of the chain. I reach for it and pull, holding the wound open with my other hand. The necklace slides out along with its pendant, covered in blood and fluid. I pull my hands away, suppressing the urge to vomit. Julian pulls the knife away. Markham’s wound disappears.

  I drop the amulet on the carpeted floor of the van and hold my hands as far away from my body as possible, fingers splayed. “Okay,” I say. “That was horrible.”

  Julian wipes off the blade on Markham’s shirt.

  “I need a million wet wipes,” I say. “Then I need to wash my hands a million times.”

  Julian takes out a handkerchief from his pocket, unfolds it, and hands it to me. “Here.”

  I smile at him weakly as I wipe the blood off my hands.

  Julian looks down at the amulet, which rests now in a tiny puddle of Markham’s blood. “Have you given any thought as to what you will do with this?”

  “Give it back to Mnemosyne?”

  “I wonder,” he says. “Does it simply hide one from the Wardens, or from all forms of manifested surveillance?”

  “I don’t know, but it didn’t hide Markham from Horace,” I say.

  He is silent for a moment, looking thoughtful.

  “Katherine,” he says, “why are you bringing the amulet back to Mnemosyne?”

  I look away.

  “Did she place you under a compulsion?”

  “No.”

  “Then why?”

  “It’s stupid,” I say. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  “Yes.” I grab my elbows.

  “Try me.”

  “Fine,” I say. “She’s blackmailing me, if you really want to know.”

  “Blackmailing you?” He frowns. “What could she possibly have on you? You’ve practically no past.”

  “Well, okay, not blackmailing me, then. Bribing me.”

  “With what?”

  I don’t answer.

  Julian’s eyebrows rise as comprehension dawns. “Adam.”

  “Look,” I say, embarrassed, “I don’t really believe she’ll follow through. I’m not stupid.”

  “Oh, but I think she will,” Julian says, looking at me with an expression I can’t decipher.

  “Why?”

  “She wants to retain your loyalty.”

  I curl into myself, miserable. I don’t believe him. “Why would she care about that?”

  “She needs you for something,” Julian says.

  “For what?”

  “I’m not certain.”

  “Why’d you say it, then?”

  “It’s something I gathered from speaking to Richard.”

  I give this some thought.

  “She told me she wants me to be the new Mirabel,” I say. “You know, to run SpiraCom. But I don’t understand why she can’t just do it herself. She already looks exactly like her.”

  “It’s something else, I think. Something more important than that.”

  I’m not sure whether or not I should feel reassured or disturbed.

  “Adam must be special to you,” Julian says. “To give this up of your own free will.”

  “Whatever,” I say. “I don’t really want it.”

  Julian narrows his eyes, lifts an eyebrow, and smirks.

  ***

  Shortly before sunrise, we pull into Julian’s garage, where some unlucky members of his staff help us carry the two bodies inside. I put my hand in a plastic bag and pick up the amulet from the floor of the van, then turn the bag inside out and tie it in a knot. After seeing where it’s been for the last few decades, I’m really not sure I want the amulet after all.

  I don’t even have time to make it out of the garage before Mnemosyne’s voice echoes through my head: Katherine. Come out to the clearing in the trees.

  I glance at a clock on the wall. It’s already six A.M.

  “Seriously?” I say out loud.

  I don’t care what time it is, Mnemosyne says. Quickly. Bring Julian and the Warden. And Markham.

  “Which Warden?”

  The one that isn’t a corpse, you dolt.

  I groan and hurry after Julian and Haruko. “Mnemosyne wants to see us. Now.”

  “Out in the sepulcher?” Julian asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “There’s little more than an hour before sunrise,” Julian says. “It isn’t safe.”

  “Yeah, well, apparently she doesn’t care about that. And I think if we don’t listen she’s prepared to use force
.”

  Julian sighs.

  “Also,” I say, “she wants to see Markham.”

  “Very well,” Julian says. “I suppose we can take turns carrying him.”

  “I hope you don’t think that ‘we’ includes me,” Haruko says.

  I grimace. “She said she wants to see you, too.”

  “Too bad I don’t care,” Haruko says. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Come on, Haruko!” I say.

  “No,” she says, walking away.

  “Don’t you want to find out what happened to Adam?” I call after her.

  Her shoulders tense up.

  “Fuck,” she says.

  Ten minutes later all three of us are standing at the edge of the trees. Julian has Markham by the shoulders, and Haruko has his feet. Instead of the normal shifting, swirling mass of animate branches, a straight tunnel of darkness forms in front of us, leading dead ahead, presumably straight towards the sepulcher.

  “Convenient,” Haruko says sarcastically.

  “It’s an illusion,” Julian says. “Which Mnemosyne controls.”

  “Oh,” she says. “Right.”

  We trudge into the blackness beneath the trees. Nervous about tripping over something, I hold up my hand and imagine lighting it like a torch. Firelight spills out in all directions, illuminating the illusory leaves and branches. We walk for only a matter of minutes through the tunnel of trees before we reach the double doors made of stone. I grip the serrated handle of the left-hand door and pull, opening the door just enough to allow Haruko and Julian to carry Markham through.

  We walk down the shallow stairs around the edge of the pit in silence. When we reach the bottom of the staircase and set foot on the floor of the sepulcher, Mnemosyne abruptly comes into view, standing by the shallow pool of water. She reaches out her hand, palm turned skyward.

  “The amulet,” she says.

  I reach into my pocket, grab the plastic-wrapped necklace and dump it, bag and all, into her hand.

  She smiles. “I knew you would come through for me, Katherine.”

  “Yeah, well, most of the credit should go to these two,” I say, indicating Haruko and Julian. “And Jennifer.”

  “It really is a shame, what happened to her,” Mnemosyne says in a tone she probably thinks is an adequate simulation of human sympathy.