False Memory

by Dan Krokos

  He shakes his head. Keeps pacing.

  “You’re an asshole,” I say.

  He stops pacing. “I know. Miranda, I did it because I—”

  “Stop! Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear you say it.”

  “I have to say it,” Noah says.

  “No, you don’t.” If I hear him say the word love, I don’t know what I’ll do. I still have my gun. Maybe one day I can forgive him, but all chance of that goes out the window if he claims he did it for love. If you love someone, the idea is you respect them enough to trust them. Not to take away their freedom. Their life.

  And if he says it, that opens up a whole new line of questions. Like, Why are you in a hotel room with this girl instead of me? If you really love me, why take her?

  Noah shakes his head once, not meeting my gaze. “It was wrong. I know. I was wrong. I don’t know what else to say. I could say I’m sorry a million times.”

  “So you were wrong,” I say. “Why not let me help? Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  “No, of course not! I just couldn’t risk your safety. As lame as that sounds now, that’s what it was all about. Once we learned more, after we figured out who we could trust, I was . . . I was going to come get you.”

  “So I was just some distraction you needed to hide until you had time to deal with me.”

  He doesn’t say anything because there’s nothing he can say.

  “You could’ve done anything else, anything but take away my memories.” I feel my blood beating faster, making me vibrate. Dull heat under my skin.

  The room becomes very quiet. I hear air whir in the vents, and the electronic tone the TV makes even though it’s off.

  Noah says, “I don’t expect you to understand right now. And I know sorry won’t cut it.”

  “But why Peter?” I say. “Why leave him behind?” Noah stops pacing and turns to Peter, who raises his eyebrows, as if to ask, Well? “I couldn’t be sure,” Noah says. “He was always Tycast’s favorite, not to mention our leader. If he knew, or was involved, asking him would’ve given me away.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Peter says. “I’ve been involved the whole time.” For the slightest moment, the room slides under my feet.

  It takes Noah a second longer to get it. He shakes his head slowly.

  “Bad joke,” I say, knowing Peter didn’t mean to upset us. Any irritation I feel is eclipsed by Noah and his actions.

  Peter laughs at Noah’s scowl. “I’m kidding, you dick. But yeah, I get it. What I can’t forgive is what you did to Miranda.” I meet his eyes. For the first time since the mall, I feel like I might not be alone.

  Everyone looks at me again, probably expecting some reaction. They won’t get one. I might be a shattered mess on the inside, but outside my face is placid. I give Noah nothing, because that’s what he deserves.

  “I’m sorry,” Noah says to Peter. “I should’ve trusted you. I just didn’t know what I would find. What Rhys would do if I found him. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I . . .”

  Peter holds up a hand. “Don’t worry about it.” He points at Olive. “Now, you I expected more from.” He laughs, and so does Olive. Noah cracks a careful smile, staring at the floor. It’s like I’m watching us stitch ourselves back together, but where I fit in, I’m not sure. Suddenly Olive turns me around and wraps her arms around my ribs, hugging me tight. After my initial shock fades, I hug her back. An idea flashes through me, burns me from the inside—I’m hugging a stranger.

  “I didn’t want him to do it,” she says. “I didn’t know until it was done.”

  From behind me, Noah says, “Oh please, Olive, I don’t need her to hate me more, all right?”

  Olive pulls back, and I see her tear-streaked face. “It’s true. I only followed you because...”

  “Because why?” Noah says.

  Olive shakes her head and turns away. I can’t look at Noah without putting a glare on my face. It might be physically impossible.

  Us...together? In love, even? Maybe in a different life.

  Before I can figure out what to say next, someone pounds on the door.

  “Police! Everything okay in there?”

  10

  Everything’s fine,” I say automatically. While Noah was telling us his story, I wedged the broken door back into its frame. The cop just needs to push a little harder to

  get it open. From the outside, it must not appear broken. The cop’s voice is muffled from behind the door. “Miss?

  Please open the door.”

  “I’m not dressed, can you give me a minute?”

  “We don’t hurt the cop,” Peter whispers.

  “I’ll give him a small burst?” Olive says.

  Noah moves to the window; it’s too high to jump, and there’s no balcony we can scale down.

  This is the perfect opportunity to see what it’s like when I intend to strike fear in someone. If the fear isn’t under my complete control, it needs to be. I can’t let it sneak up on me again.

  Hopefully the cop prefers a burst of fear to one of us choking him out.

  “I’ll do it,” I say. The idea brings cold sweat, but it’s the best way. I hope.

  Noah shakes his head. “Wait.”

  I don’t wait. It’s either fear from one of us, or we risk hurting the cop physically. I check the peephole and see one distorted man—blue uniform, badge, gun, baton—but his backup could be hiding to the left and right.

  Olive gives me a small nod, so I close my eyes and face the door.

  The heat is immediate, blooming to the inside of my skull.

  It narrows, pressure building behind my eyes again, and I release it. Don’t ask me how. It feels like capping a hose with your thumb, and letting just a bit of water jet out. After a calming breath, the pressure in my head seems to decrease, but not completely.

  Through the door, I hear the cop make a choked cry. The others tense behind me, something I feel instead of see. With the energy swimming in my head, my senses seem to be heightened. I swear I hear the carpet compress when Noah steps toward me. Or it’s my imagination, and the already-familiar headache is messing with my mind.

  Muffled by the door, erratic footsteps travel away from us, to the left. He sounds alone.

  “How big was the wave?” Noah says, worried.

  I chew the inside of my cheek, nervous that it might have been powerful enough to affect the other hotel guests. “Not big,” I say.

  Is this why he wanted to leave me behind? Because I’m reckless? Am I reckless?

  He shakes his head and tries to walk past but I open the door first. The cop is gone. His radio is on the ground. Peter checks up and down the hallway—we’re alone. “Time to go,” Olive says, flipping her hair over her shoulders. The four of us move down the hallway and get on the elevator.

  “Where are we going?” Noah says, somehow managing to pace inside the elevator, even with all of us crammed in it.

  “We can still find this Rhys guy. We should be looking right now. He might know the truth. He might help us.”

  Peter sighs as the doors shut. “We’re heading back to base. I’m pretty sure Tycast plans to flog you. When we get there, we can talk about what you heard. If we don’t like what he has to say, we leave together.” Peter looks at each of us. “Together.”

  “Flog?” Noah says.

  “Yeah. He’s that mad.”

  Olive snorts and covers her mouth. I smile involuntarily, and she laughs louder. She’s pretty, with almond eyes and tan skin. Peter laughs then, and Noah is left trying to frown. By the time we reach the bottom floor, we’re all laughing. I may not remember my friends, but right now I see into the past—

  The elevator changes. I’m in a white room with vents in the ceiling. Massive fans churn inside them, exchanging the air. Olive, Noah, and Peter are in the room with me. They look younger, fourteen or fifteen.

  Dr. Tycast is telling us how to control the fear. He stands off to the side with his headband on, watching.
<
br />   “When you turn inward, what do you see?”

  Noah raises his hand. “I don’t know what that means.”

  Olive crosses her eyes. “I can see my brain.”

  Tycast raises his eyebrows; it’s enough to make them fall silent. “Imagine there is a flame in the very center of your brain. Like a stove, you can turn a knob to increase or decrease its intensity. You are in control.”

  We spend a few minutes trying to focus on the heat. The room fills with the thick scent of roses.

  “That flower smell,” Tycast says, “is all in your head. Ignore it.” He’s sweating; he keeps adjusting his headband. “Ignore the pain, too. It feels like pressure, but your shots protect you. You’re not in danger. Okay, that’s enough.”

  I let the pressure fade from behind my eyes, relaxing as it drains out of me.

  Tycast frowns at us. “Remember control. Your power is dangerous. You don’t just incite fear, or panic. With enough exposure, a person can go mad. Rage comes to the forefront. Insanity. So it is not to be played with, understand? This is more than a loaded gun.”

  I raise my hand.

  Tycast nods at me. “Yes, Miranda.”

  “Why can we do this?” I say.

  Tycast licks his lips. “You just can. And that’s good enough for now, right?”

  Peter nods. “Yes, sir. Alpha team, fall in.” We line up and stand at ease.

  It feels good, snapping into formation. The four of us, we’re part of a whole. A unit. Together, we’re unstoppable. Sure, the adults are vague about our uses, but they make us feel special. Important. And they never keep us apart.

  But Tycast’s words echo in my mind—Your power is dangerous. Rage comes to the forefront. This is more than a loaded gun.

  The white room morphs back into the elevator.

  “The doctor will be madder when we confront him,” Noah is saying. “We should make Tycast come to us. He’s not going to let us leave the base, not once we tell him we know about the dry run and his intent to sell us. How could he?”

  My spirit drains out from the bottom of my boots. The memories that made it so we could laugh like this, a tense moment snapping into something fun and light—I’ll never have them again. Because even as I make these new memories, it can’t be the same as before. I’m the new girl on the team, any way you look at it. It can’t be undone.

  Now the heat in my brain is from anger, not energy. I can’t decide which is worse.

  Before I know it, I’m punching Noah in the mouth and Peter and Olive are pulling me back. So I kick. He’s not defenseless though. He cocks his fist like he’s going to punch me, but he holds it back.

  “Do it!” I say. “Hit me!”

  “What is your problem?” Noah says.

  Peter still has my right arm held back and Olive is blocking my legs with hers. “I don’t know who I am!” I scream, and it feels good. The tightness in my chest is still there, but I’ve said it out loud now. The elevator doors open, revealing a cop. He has a radio at his lips. He sees me red-faced and huffing, the others restraining my arms. He lowers the radio.

  “What’s going on here?” the cop says.

  Just a little family dysfunction. Last time I told a cop I couldn’t remember who I was, I accidentally incited mass panic and got people hurt. Killed.

  I’m thinking of what to say when Peter darts out from behind me and grabs the cop’s shoulder. The cop tries to pull away but freezes, as the rose scent returns.

  “Come on, it won’t last,” Peter says.

  Noah is still grumpy. Olive looks tired. Peter leads us to the bikes parked in the corner.

  Noah gets on his first and backs it out of the space. It hums to life.

  “I miss you guys, I really do. And I’m sorry. And maybe you’re right about all this.” He pushes his left foot down, putting the bike into gear. “But I’m not going back yet. Not until I find the rogue.” He twists the throttle, pops the clutch, and rockets toward the exit, the front tire coming off the ground slightly.

  “Son of a bitch...” Peter says as I start my bike. I put it in gear, vision turning red. If he thinks he can do what he did and keep running away, he’s wrong. I tear after him, wind filling my ears and tugging at my hair. I fly onto the street, and lean hard to my right, almost touching my knee to the blacktop. A car blows its horn but I barely hear it. Noah is up ahead. He sees me over his shoulder, and turns left down an

  alley, cutting in front of some cars heading the opposite way. The cars pass; more horns blare. I turn down his alley, twisting the throttle until the engine screams under me, deafening as it echoes off the tight alley walls. I guess I should be surprised by how natural and unafraid I am on the bike, but it feels just that—natural. My tires crush wet cardboard and newspaper. Zipping around a Dumpster, I manage to catch up to Noah, who has to slow down before the next street. A final twist of the gas and I leap forward, knocking his back tire with my front one. His bike wobbles, tires chirping as they struggle for traction, and he rams into the left wall and goes down. The bike slides past him a good ten feet, throwing up a trail of orange sparks as he skids after it.

  My back tire rises when I squeeze the brake, tilting me forward. The black, pebbled ground rushes under me. The rear tire falls with a bang. I put my kickstand down and jump off my bike and run toward Noah as he begins to stand up.

  He has one leg under him, but I send him back down with a punch to the face. He falls against the alley wall, holding his cheek, looking up at me with hurt eyes. At the other end of the alley, I hear the twin buzz of Peter and Olive catching up. “Jesus, Miranda...”

  I grab a handful of his shirt and lift him up, staring into his eyes. My words come out in a hissing whisper. “You did this to me, to us. And now you’re going to own it. You’re coming back with us, end of story. Maybe you’re right about finding the rogue, maybe you’re right about everything, I don’t know. But I do know that Tycast has the answers, and we know where he is. So let’s not waste any more time in getting them.”

  “Tycast won’t let us leave if we go back,” Noah says flatly. “Like anything could stop us, ”I reply with more verve than I feel. I might not have the confidence by myself, but I bet the four of us together is a different matter. If we want to leave, we will find a way to leave. I have to believe that, otherwise Noah would be right, and we would be the foolish ones. Peter and Olive stop behind where I left my bike. Maybe the three of us can convince Noah to cooperate, or at least not flee.

  He smiles as the bruise grows on his cheek. “Well, when you put it that way,” he says. Then he does the last thing I expect. He rises up and presses his lips against mine. I feel his kiss for a whole second before I break off and slap him across the face. He slumps against the wall again, but his grin shows through whatever pain he feels.

  I try for something biting and scathing, but there’s nothing. Just a flood of sickness coursing through me, like I don’t know what I should be feeling. Anger? Not quite. Annoyance?

  Definitely. But there is something familiar about his lips, something right.

  It disappears the second I remember everything he did. I make sure my face shows no chink in my armor, nothing that says he can break through to me again. Hopefully he didn’t notice the something right part.

  Peter and Olive are next to us now, staring down at Noah, who measures our faces in turn. A child searching for the parent who will go easiest on him.

  “What?” he says.

  Peter walks back to his bike, throwing his hands up in disgust.

  Olive sighs. “Come back with us. Searching for the rogue was an idea, but we can’t find him. Let’s go home and get the answers we should’ve had all along. Let’s be a pack again.” She has a nicer way of putting things, I’ll say that. Olive and I reach down at the same time; Noah takes our hands and we pull him up.

  At our first gas stop, Noah wants to argue pros and cons again. We’re all pulled up to the same pump, straddling our bikes.

  “I
feel a little coerced,” Noah says, as he finishes filling his scraped-up tank. “We could be leaving our best chance behind.”

  “Don’t you want to know the truth?” Peter says.

  “Of course we do,” Olive says. “What Noah is trying to say, is that he’s worried about going home like we never left.”

  “Who said we’re going to do that?” Peter says. “We’ll go home, carefully, and find out the truth from Tycast himself. Like we should’ve done in the first place.”

  Noah touches the bruise on his cheek, then quickly lowers his hand. He is very interested in the gauge cluster above his handlebars. “I’m just saying, what if we’re making a mistake?”

  “Okay,” I say. “It’s clear Tycast was upset about the situation. It’s possible he’ll help us once he realizes we know the truth. How were you going to find the rogue, anyway?”

  Olive shakes the last few drops into her tank and passes the nozzle to Peter. “We were getting to that part,” she says. “Checking out places we would hide. If he’s a Rose, he should think like us.”

  “Sounds promising,” I say. “Go in search for a guy who kills Roses, on the off chance he’d help us.” At the same time, I can’t help but worry Noah is right. Maybe Peter is a little too trusting of Tycast.

  Peter holds up his hands. “So here’s what we do. We go back and explain that you never went rogue. We explain to Tycast what you heard, and he’ll have no choice but to come clean with us. We don’t even have to go into the base, that way no one can make us stay if we don’t get answers. And the first thing we ask him is what the dry run is supposed to be. Is that fair?”

  Noah turns his bike on. We all do. The combined growl echoes off the canopy overhead.

  Noah says, “If Tycast jerks us around, I’m gone. I’ll find the rogue on my own if I have to.”

  Peter nods. “If Tycast jerks us around, we’ll go with you.” He pauses, then almost smiles. “How many memory shots did you bring, exactly?”

  Noah’s cheeks turn scarlet. Even if they brought a ton, I doubt their supply is self-replenishing.