“Doing it now.” I insert the first chip into the slot on the bottom of my Lynk. A gray bar pops up on the screen. Download in Progress.
When all three chips are loaded onto my Lynk, I send the file to Chaz. I hear him shuffling to his computer, and then a beep as he hooks his Lynk up to it. His face is tilted at a weird angle now, like I’m looking up at him from down below, which makes his nose look bigger than it really is.
“This might take a minute,” he says before he starts whistling some indistinct tune. But then I realize it’s not indistinct at all—it’s the theme song for his favorite show, Return to Space. Which basically means I can remember things as insignificant as a theme song to a show I care next to nothing about, but I can’t remember being in love with Trey. It doesn’t make sense. Why would someone want to erase my memories of Trey? Make me forget him?
“I think I’ve got something,” Chaz calls out. “I accessed the data on the chips, and it looks like it houses a bunch of numbers. Zero-three, thirteen, twenty-one, twenty.” He rattles off a few more.
“Chaz, can you send the file to me?” Zane asks.
“What’s your account?”
“Zaneryder at Match360.” Zane takes a seat again at the desk and maneuvers through the intra-pages until he’s staring at the file that Chaz sent. Chaz is right; it’s sequences after sequences of numbers.
Zane stares at the computer and mutters, “No, not numbers. Dates.” Glancing up at me, he says, “These are dates. Zero three is March, thirteen is the day of the month, and twenty-one twenty is the year.”
“He’s right,” Chaz says, the excitement evident in his voice. “Hang on. Let me see if I can cross reference these dates and see if something pings.”
For a couple of minutes, we listen to the clack, clack, clack of Chaz’s computer keys before he announces triumphantly. “I got it. All of these dates have one thing in common. A recorded bombing by the Fringe that occurred either a day or two after.”
“Well, that’s strange—” I start to say.
“Sienna, you know what this means, right?” Chaz continues, his voice rising a few octaves in his excitement. “This means that these chips contain the dates that juvenile inmates were transferred from Confinement to the Chromo 120 lab.”
I turn my Lynk so I can see Chaz’s face. “What are you talking about? How did you get that information from the Fringe bombings?”
Chaz stares at me. “Sienna, are you okay?”
Zane clears his throat and speaks. “Sienna had a little… accident. Some of her memories have been altered, but we’re working on getting them back.”
“Altered?” Chaz says, his voice at the top of the scale now. “Like what they did to Trey?” A whoosh of air. “Oh, Lord have mercy, we have stepped in it now.”
“It’ll be okay,” Zane reassures him. “But, listen, I want to know more about this correlation between the Fringe bombings and the juvenile inmates. Sienna mentioned it to me before.”
Chaz goes quiet. “How do I know we can trust you? For all I know, you’re the one experimenting on those poor kids.”
“You can trust him,” I jump in. It’s Zane. Of course he can trust Zane. Plus, I’m really curious about this correlation myself.
Chaz hesitates before sighing. “When the Fringe gets word that a juvenile inmate has been taken from Confinement to one of Mr. Ryder’s labs, they plan a bombing in another part of the city. It’s a distraction. They extract the inmate while the Enforcers are occupied somewhere else. Even if they trigger an alarm, it would take the Enforcers a while to reach them.”
Zane lets out a low whistle. “That’s a pretty elaborate plan.”
I’m still trying to wrap my mind around what Chaz just said. If this is true, that would make the Fringe not a terrorist group at all, but a rescue group. And therefore, it would make Trey a hero, not a hoodlum. Can this be true? Is this why I fell for him the first time? Because of his desire to help others?
I suddenly have an image that sears into my brain. An image of flames, leaping up into the sky, the feeling of intense heat on my face, and hard pavement beneath my body. Almost like… I was there.
And strangely, even though it’s as if I’m hearing all of this for the first time, deep down, I know I’m not. I can feel the truth, climbing up from the depths of me, bursting from my skin, trying to latch on to something, anything, that makes sense.
“Why are these dates hidden behind a drawer in your dad’s office?” I ask Zane.
“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t.” Zane goes quiet for a moment. “Remember when I asked my dad about the juvenile inmates and he denied everything?”
I shake my head. Unfortunately, I don’t.
Zane groans. “Of course not. Well, maybe this is just more proof that he was lying then.”
“You think he hid these dates in the back of the drawer?” I ask. “Why would he do that?”
“Maybe to get rid of proof that he was involved?” Zane says. He rises to his feet and swears. “I can’t trust that man. Everything he says is a lie, and I’m sick of it.”
I lay a hand on his arm and feel the muscles tensing beneath. “I know, and I’m sorry. But right now, we need to focus on why we’re here. We still need to find that x-ray device.”
“Sienna,” Chaz calls out from where I left the Lynk on the desk. “If you’re done with me, I’m gonna go finish watching the tenth season of Return to Space. Just buzz me if you need anything else.” With a click, he’s gone.
Zane draws a shaky breath and gives me a wry smile. “This isn’t exactly what I expected to find when I decided to search my father’s office,” he says. “I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that he’d changed.” He shakes his head. “My mistake.”
“I know how you’re feeling,” I say. “My dad lied to me my whole life. It sucks. I know.”
Zane nods and turns away, resuming his search of the closet on the other side of the room. I carefully replace the chips back in the protective sleeve and insert it into the back slat of the desk. The drawer slides easily into place this time. I’m about to turn and begin searching the cabinet to my left when Zane calls out, “Found it.”
I hurry over to the walk-in closet that’s filled with various sports jackets, a couple of extra pairs of dress shoes, as well as a safe and a chest of drawers. Zane holds up a device with a white screen and handles on either side. “This is Genex, the latest advancement in x-ray technology.”
“You’re going to use that to see if I have something in the back of my head?”
“Exactly.” Zane waves me over to the desk. “Go ahead and have a seat, and I’ll take a look.”
I’m about to take a seat at the desk when the door to Mr. Ryder’s office springs open. Steele stands in the doorway, his arms crossed over his large chest.
“You should have told me you were coming, Zane,” Steele says, looking down his nose at us.
I notice Zane hide the Genex behind his back as he squares his shoulders.
“I have just as much right to be here as you, Steele,” Zane says evenly.
“In our father’s office?”
A muscle in Zane’s jaw twitches. “This will be my office someday.”
Steele’s eyes narrow as they swing to mine. “This is a family matter. So if you’ll excuse us—”
“Anything you have to say to me,” Zane interrupts, “you can say in front of her.”
Steele and Zane stare each other down for a full minute before Steele finally speaks. “Lock the door on your way out.” A moment later, he’s gone.
After making sure Mr. Ryder’s office is exactly as we found it, we sneak the Genex out of the building. Solan is still standing guard at the entrance, and he gives us a polite nod as we leave.
“Have a good afternoon, Mr. Ryder,” he calls.
“You too, Solan,” Zane says, and then, once we’re a few feet away, he mutters under his breath, “you traitor.”
I stifle a giggle.
&n
bsp; Zane’s chauffeur is still waiting at the curb for us. Once Zane and I are settled in the back and the driver has eased into the city traffic, Zane pulls the Genex from his waistband. His hands are gentle as he eases my neck forward. “Let’s have a look,” he says. He brushes my hair to the side, his fingers sweeping across my skin and sending a shiver through me. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “My fingers must be cold.”
I’m about to tell him that no, his fingers aren’t cold at all, but then I hear the whirring of the machine and decide to press my face into my knees instead. Just as he’s about to touch the device to my neck, I sit up.
“Is it safe?”
“The x-ray machine?”
“Yeah. Is it safe? I’m not going to end up with radiation poisoning or anything, right?”
Zane chuckles. “In small doses, it’s perfectly harmless, just like our food warmers. I wouldn’t recommend using it over and over again, but one time is fine.” He pauses. “Okay?”
I nod and resume the position of hugging my knees.
“This will only take a moment,” Zane says. “Hold perfectly still… Got it.” His body shifts beside me. “You can sit up now.”
I sit up too fast and the blood immediately rushes to my brain. “Well?” I say, peering at the device in his hands.
Zane’s face scrunches up as he studies the screen. “There’s definitely something there. Like a chip or something? See?” He points to the screen where there’s an x-ray of the back of my head. I see the bones of my spine and the base of my skull, and then a tiny, square-shaped dark spot.
“That’s the chip?” I ask.
“I think so.”
I swallow hard. I don’t like the idea of something foreign inside my body, messing with my brain and all my memories. “Can you get it out?”
“Me?” Zane shakes his head quickly. “No. I’d rather not try.” At the disappointed look on my face, he continues, “But I think I know someone who can.”
“Who?” I know Zane has lots of connections, so this doesn’t really surprise me.
“It’s the guy I told you about before. The one who helped me get into the AIG facility.”
“No way. I’m not going back to that lab.” I cross my arms over my chest. "For all I know, he’s my dad look-alike who did this to me. Hell no.”
“I promise, he’s not your dad look-alike. He’s young, about my age. We went to University together.”
I chew on my lower lip, contemplating. The thought of going willingly back into that lab scares the hell out of me. Just thinking about it brings a lump to my throat and a tightening in my chest.
“Hey,” Zane says, cupping my chin in his hand. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.” His eyes are warm and soft. “Do you think I’d take you back there if I thought they could hurt you?”
As I stare into his eyes, those genetically modified eyes that remind me of chocolate and warmth and goodness, I get swept away. I’m swirling, down this dizzying hole where every fear I’ve ever had melts. I want to curse him for making me weak, for making me care. But more so, I want to curse the person who put this thing inside of me. If I ever see my dad look-alike again, he will pay.
“Okay,” I say. “Call him. The sooner I get this thing out, the better.”
***
“Come, I want to show you something,” Zane says later that night as we’re lounging around the motel room—well, as much as one can lounge around a room where you don’t want your feet to touch the floor or your body to touch the bed or couch.
He waits for me as I slip on my shoes, and then grabs my hand, leading me to the door. His chauffeur is waiting for us outside in the parking lot. There are only a couple of other cars in the lot, indicating that there are only a few other people crazy enough to stay here.
Zane lifts open the door for me, and I slide into the back of the car. As we’re driving, I try to tease the information of where we’re going out of him, but he only smiles and squeezes my hand. We leave the rotting part of the city behind, headed toward the beaches. When Geoff stops the car near the boardwalk, I’m not incredibly surprised. I’ve only mentioned to Zane how much I love the ocean like fifty times in the past two days.
As soon as we’re out of the car, Zane slips his fingers through mine. I glance down nervously at our interlocked fingers. Arian is sleeping at a friend’s house tonight on the other side of Rubex, but still. What if someone sees us? Everyone in Pacifica knows Zane’s betrothed to the perfect girl for him.
“It’s okay,” he says, almost as if he’s reading my mind.
I smile and squeeze his hand as he leads me down the sidewalk.
The night air is cool, the sun long since gone to sleep. Now the three-quarter moon shines down in all her splendor. The streets aren’t very crowded, only a few other people are walking in the dark. Instinctively, I pull closer to Zane, so close that we’re almost walking as one.
We walk parallel to the ocean until we’ve passed the boardwalk and reached a stretch of sandy beach. Zane kicks off his shoes, stooping down to pick them up with one hand, and I follow suit. The sand is a little cool. When I squish my toes further in, I remember doing this as a child. I remember the feel of the sand beneath my toes, the salty ocean water on my skin, and begging my dad to bury me until all that was left was my head sticking out. My favorite was when Dad made me a mermaid tail, and I pretended I was princess over all the mermaids.
Zane’s thumb traces circles on the back of my hand as we walk along the water’s edge. The water is cool—that’s how the ocean is in Pacifica, even in the summer. The smell of salt and seaweed hangs thick in the air, and a slight breeze ruffles the hair off my neck.
“What did you want to show me?” I murmur once we’ve walked in silence for a while.
“Almost there.”
When we reach a spot further down the beach, Zane instructs me to sit before settling next to me on the sand, our shoulders and knees touching. “Now,” he says. “Look up.”
When I look up, there are a million stars winking and blinking above. For some reason, it reminds me of another night, another star-filled sky. The dark water of the ocean dances, the moonlight reflecting off its surface. It’s so beautiful that I pause to catch my breath.
When I glance back down, my arm is glowing. “What the hell?” I raise my arm and skim my fingers over the intricate purple design that looks like looping and twirling butterflies. Another glowing flower-shaped pattern is on my upper arm. “What is this?”
Zane touches the pattern. “This… is the Fringe tattoo.” His fingers run down my arm, causing me to shiver. “And this is something you got because you thought it was pretty.”
The words scenery tattoo pop into my mind. This is my scenery tattoo. An image of a majestic tree floats into my mind. “Trey has one too,” I say.
Zane nods. “That’s right. His is a tree; it represents leadership or something.”
“When you tell me about the Fringe, I start to remember things,” I say. “Maybe if you take me to their hideout—”
“You mean the Compound?”
“Right. The Compound. Maybe if you take me there, I’ll remember more.”
Zane hesitates before replying, “We can’t, Sienna.”
“Why not? It’s only about an hour by bullet train to Legas. That’s not long at all—”
Zane places a gentle hand on my thigh. “We can’t go there because it doesn’t exist anymore. There was an explosion… bombs. You and other Fringe members barely escaped. You thought Trey was dead.”
My stomach clenches like I’ve been kicked in the gut. Flashes of images run through my mind. The sounds of screaming, the intense heat as flames lick the back of my legs, smoke… smoke everywhere, so thick it’s hard to see, and then Trey—a rebar protruding from his chest and the feeling of loss, so much loss that it makes my heart ache. Tears threaten to fill my eyes, but I blink quickly, willing them away. These images are faded, blurry around the edges, like they didn’t reall
y happen, aren’t really memories, but more like… like dreams.
“You remember something, don’t you?” Zane asks, breaking the silence.
I nod. “But I think I liked it better when I didn’t.”
Zane takes my hands in his. “I know how awful that night was for you. I still dream about it, how close I came to losing you.”
“You were there?” I ask, trying to sort through the memories of Zane with me at the SGF, rescuing my mother, and those of the Compound with Trey.
“Not in the Compound. After you escaped, you contacted me. Wanted me to help get your mom out of the SGF. That’s when we realized Trey was still alive. We rescued him too.”
“I wish I could remember,” I say, staring out at the dark sea, almost hypnotized by the rhythmic lull of the tides washing against the shore.
“Good news,” Zane says. “I talked to Granger, the guy I know. He says he can see us tomorrow night.” His fingers trail through the sand between us.
“So by tomorrow night…” My words die away.
“By tomorrow night, you should have your memories back.”
I study his face as he says it, the way he won’t meet my eyes, the way he stays intently focused on the sand between his fingers.
“Hey,” I say, placing my hand on his arm, his biceps flexing in response. He turns to look at me. “Whatever I remember isn’t going to change how I feel. About you, I mean.”
“You don’t know that,” Zane says, his voice pained.
“All I know is that you’ve been by my side this whole time.”
“Like a friend,” Zane says, looking away.
I touch his face, forcing him to look at me. My voice is soft when I speak again. “You’re more than a friend to me, and I think you know that.”
As his eyes stare into mine, I have this insane desire to kiss him again, like we did in the rain. I can practically taste his lips and smell his skin. I’m suddenly aware of every part of us that’s touching. Our knees, our hips, our shoulders. But still, I’m not close enough.
Zane leans in, as if he’s reading my mind, and I meet him halfway. When his lips touch mine, there are sparks—okay, maybe not literal sparks—but every inch of me is tingly and warm. It’s just Zane and me, our lips touching, our hearts hammering, our hands exploring. And when he lays me back on the sand, all I can think about is how much I need him. And then, immediately, I feel guilty. Did I feel this way about Trey? This desire, this need to be close to him, to feel his hands on my hips, his breath touching my skin, his lips against mine?
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