Forgotten

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by Kristin Smith


  I don’t know. And because I don’t know, I feel awful.

  I try to push the thoughts aside and just enjoy the feel of Zane’s body heavy against mine, his arms around my back, the smell of saltwater and dried seaweed, the rhythmic hum of the ocean pulling back and surging forth.

  But then an image of Trey pops into my mind, and I know it’s more than a thought. It’s a memory. A memory of the two of us, swimming in a lagoon, laughing, his hands on my waist, my arms around his neck. It feels so real that it takes my breath away.

  As soon as I stop kissing Zane, he knows something is wrong. He sits up on his elbow and stares at me.

  “You remembered something, didn’t you?” he asks hesitantly. I think I understand his hesitation now. If I have these strong feelings and memories of Trey, where does that leave him?

  I sit up and nod, pulling my knees to my chest. I’m sure he doesn’t want to know that while I was kissing him, I was thinking about Trey.

  “I keep getting bits and pieces…” I trail off, drawing circles in the sand with my finger.

  “Of Trey?” Zane’s voice comes out tight.

  I glance up in time to see a muscle in his jaw twitch. “Yeah,” I say lamely.

  “That’s to be expected.” He’s staring out at the ocean, his face impassive.

  An awkward silence follows. I want to know—no, I need to know—where the two of us stand. With or without Trey, what are we? What will we ever be? Zane is engaged to marry someone else, someone who’s pretty and perfect and everything I’m not. I clear my throat.

  “Earlier when I asked why you were marrying Arian, you said it was complicated.” My eyes find his. “Do you love her?”

  He contemplates my question a moment before answering. “I want to love her.”

  “But?”

  “But I’m in love with someone else.”

  My pulse quickens. “You are?”

  “Yes, Sienna, I am,” he says, his voice thick. “You don’t remember, but I already told you how I feel.”

  An ache builds in my throat. I’ve hurt him before—it’s clear in the way he draws in on himself, as if he’s trying to protect his heart from being crushed again.

  “I hurt you,” I whisper.

  “No, you told me the truth, which is what I needed to hear.”

  “But now?”

  He sighs. “Now what?”

  I struggle to convey what I’m thinking, how I’m feeling. “I feel like there’s this great divide between us, keeping us apart. Arian is pulling from one side, and Trey is pulling from the other.” I inch closer to him. “But what I don’t understand is why not us? Why can’t we be together?”

  Zane sits up and faces me, placing his hands on my shoulders and staring into my eyes. I can see the moon reflected in them, a silver orb rotating around his iris. “Listen, tomorrow night, we’ll go to the lab, Granger will fix your memories, and everything will be different. You will be different. What you feel for me, will be different.”

  “You don’t know that—” I start to protest, but Zane places a finger in front of my lips.

  “I do, because I know you. And I know that you love Trey. And I know that you won’t rest until you have him back. All you need to do is remember.”

  Even though I don’t want them, even though I curse them, tears fill my eyes. “But what if I don’t want to remember?” I whisper.

  Zane’s thumb strokes each cheek, wiping away the tears that slide down my face. “That wouldn’t be fair to you. Or to Trey.”

  “But tonight?”

  Zane’s mouth turns up into a half-smile, and all I can think about is kissing him. Kissing him until the sun rises and the moon sleeps. Kissing him for so long that I never have to say good-bye.

  “Tonight is ours.”

  20

  SIENNA

  The tube is an underwater, cylindrical runway made almost entirely of crystal clear Plexiglas. It reminds me of the old aquarium back home. Each year, the school took us to view the sharks, manta rays, and puffer fish, and the only thing separating us from those creatures was the thin, clear Plexiglas of the underwater walkway.

  It’s the next night, but before we can get to the tube, we have to get past the night guard. It’s too dangerous to use a boat at night. Something about underwater spikes that are positioned every few feet starting one hundred yards from the facility. They are extremely hard to see during the day, but impossible to see at night. They use them to ward off people like us who want to try to break in.

  Thankfully, we already have a plan in place, but the trick will be pulling it off. Granger warned us that in order to access the tube, we would have a retina and fingerprint scan. To bypass those safety precautions, he sent us a microchip that, if inserted into the back of the device, will override the contents. If it doesn’t work, though, Zane and I could be arrested for attempting to break into a government facility.

  The guard on duty is a young man, probably mid-twenties, with scruffy facial hair. He stands erect in front of the covered entry to the tube, one hand lightly resting on his M-16. He eyes us as we move toward him. It’s time to set the plan in motion.

  “Do you have your keycard?” Zane asks me, a bit loud so the guard can hear.

  “I’m sure I do, somewhere in this mess.” I pull the oversized purse off my shoulder and start to rummage around. As I do, I let the purse slip from my fingers, the contents of it scattering all over the ground. A strawberry-shaped lip balm rolls right to the guard’s feet.

  “I’m such a klutz,” I mutter, bending to pick up the contents and place them back in my bag. Pens, pieces of chewing gum, another lip balm, coins, and a hair clip.

  The guard takes the bait. Shouldering his gun, he kneels and starts gathering the items that are closest to him. “I found your card,” he says, holding up the rectangular white card Granger provided for us.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking it from him. I don’t bother to look at Zane, but I know what he’s doing. Now that the guard is distracted, he’s inserting the chip into the back of the scanner.

  “I think that’s everything,” the guard says, rising to his feet and holding out the contents in his hands. I take the items and thank him again before dumping everything back into my gigantic purse.

  “Sorry about that,” I murmur. I stare up at him and try to look demure. “That was so nice of you to help me.”

  He smiles at me. “It’s okay. My pleasure.” He then glances over to where Zane is waiting by the mechanized glass doors.

  I look at Zane with narrowed eyes. “Thanks for your help,” I say, my tone haughty.

  Zane shrugs. “It looked like you didn’t need my help.” His eyes flicker to the guard, making his displeasure clear.

  I prop my hand on my hip. “He was being nice, which is more than I can say about you.”

  Looking annoyed—and very convincing—Zane shakes his head. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t like it when you flirt with other guys?”

  “I wasn’t flirting,” I protest.

  The guard clears his throat, looking very uncomfortable.

  “You’re always flirting, Magda.” Magda? I didn’t realize we were changing our names too. “A touch here, a laugh there—you don’t know how to stop yourself.”

  My back goes rigid. “I wasn’t flirting,” I say, my voice low and threatening.

  The guard breaks in. “Look, buddy, I was only being nice. I wasn’t hitting on your girlfriend or anything. If you’re here to get inside the lab, then go. If not, let’s move along.”

  I smirk at Zane before giving the guard a big smile. “Of course. I have my keycard here.” I hold up the card and move toward the gray machine that sits to the left of the glass doors. Frosted swirls are etched onto the glass.

  “See, there you go flirting again,” Zane mutters. He removes his keycard from his pocket and swipes. The machine beeps, indicating that it’s ready for the retina scan. Leaning in, Zane opens his eyes wide as the thin las
er of light scans his eyes. It beeps again, and then a green check mark appears on the screen. Next is the fingerprint scan. Zane places his finger on the holder, and the base glows bright red before going dark. Another beep, another green check mark, and the glass doors whoosh open.

  My heart is thumping in my chest when it’s my turn. The keycard works, but when I bend down to scan my retinas, I accidentally bump the small machine. There’s a funny buzzer sound as a red “X” appears on the screen. Beads of sweat form on the back of my neck as I try to exhale slowly. Maybe it was a glitch. I decide to try again.

  I let the light scan my retina, but again, there’s the same buzzer sound and giant red “X.”

  “Everything okay?” The guard asks, coming to stand beside me.

  “I—I think it must be my contacts.” I pretend to move something around in my eye. “They’re new.”

  The guard nods. “This happens all the time. Allow me.”

  He punches a few numbers on the keypad, most likely to delete my entry card, and then scans his own keycard that he pulls from inside his black jacket. When he bends down to allow the retina scan, I quickly move my hand to the back of the machine, searching for the microchip. My hand passes over smooth metal surfaces until my fingers connect with the tiny adapter that the chip is plugged into. And now I know the problem. When I bumped the machine, the chip became dislodged, unable to connect with the internal system.

  I slip the chip into my bag as the guard straightens up and places his finger on the pad. “Access is granted,” a computer-generated voice speaks.

  “Thank you,” I say, flashing him a grateful smile as the glass doors whoosh open.

  “Any time,” he says. “Hope I didn’t get you in too much trouble with him.” He jerks his head in the direction of where Zane waits on the other side of the doors.

  “Don’t mind him,” I say. “He’s just the jealous type.” Shouldering my bag, I hurry through the doors before they have a chance to close on me. Once I’m through and I see Zane, my heart resumes its normal palpitation.

  “What took so long?” he hisses, watching the doors close behind me. Because of the frosted swirls on the glass, it’s fairly difficult to see anything on the other side.

  “It wouldn’t work for me. The chip became dislodged. Thankfully, the guard used his to allow me access.”

  Zane nods approvingly. “So buttering him up did work.”

  “I think so.”

  Zane glances at his Lynk. “We need to hurry. We’re already ten minutes late to meet Granger. We don’t want to miss him.” Turning to the tube, Zane says, “Why don’t you go first? That way, in case something happens, you’ll at least make it through.”

  We’re now standing in front of what looks to be a wall of elevators. Zane presses a button for the first one, and when it opens, it looks nothing like an elevator at all. Inside is a person-sized round Plexiglas ball with tiny holes for air. In the center are two seats, including seat restraints.

  “Looks like we can go together,” I say.

  Zane guides me in, takes the seat beside me, and closes the hatch over us. I feel like a hamster inside one of those hollowed-out balls. And though I would expect it to smell like sweat and feet, it actually smells very clinical. Like a doctor’s office.

  The tube is fast, and when it begins to move, I grip the seat of my chair as we descend under the ocean. There’s pressure on my ears, and as I yawn, I hear a distinct pop. We pick up speed once we’re traveling straight, and it’s the strangest feeling to see the blackness of the ocean all around. To know that there are animals and creatures only an arm’s length away and all that’s separating us from them is this ball and the tube. I’m kind of grateful for the darkness, which keeps me from seeing the deep end of the ocean, along with all those who call it their home.

  The ball begins to slow as it nears the terminal on the other side.

  “By the way, good acting back there,” Zane says suddenly.

  “You weren’t too bad yourself,” I say.

  Zane smiles at me. “All I did was follow your lead.”

  Once inside the elevator-like terminal, we hear a click as the sphere locks into place. The hatch lifts open, and Zane and I climb out. We’re immediately greeted by a guy dressed conservatively in a gray button-down shirt, slacks, and a lab coat. It’s apparent Zane knows him. Oddly, there’s something very familiar about him to me. As I stare at his nondescript features and chestnut-brown hair, I get the distinct feeling I’ve seen him before—recently.

  Then it hits me. The guy who tried to sit next to me on the train.

  He recognizes me immediately; I can see it in his eyes, the way they flit down in embarrassment. Thankfully, as Zane does the introductions, he pretends like we’ve never met, so I do the same.

  Once we’ve shaken hands, and I’ve made a mental note of how soft his are from spending so many hours in a lab, Granger leads us down a hallway, past closed doors and darkened labs. We stop outside one with the name Brian Phillips and Lead Geneticist etched on the plaque.

  “This is my mentor’s lab,” he explains. “As long as we return everything to its proper place when we leave, he should never know we were here.”

  I step into the room and look around. There are several computers on a table on the far wall, a couple more tables filled with charts and lab equipment, but the thing that really catches my eye is the examination table. Next to it is a dentist chair with one of those rotating image projector things my mother was hooked up to in the SGF.

  Striding over to it, I say, “Why do you have one of these?”

  “It’s Dr. Phillips’ latest invention.”

  I swivel to face him. “What is it?”

  Granger shifts awkwardly. “I’m really not at liberty to say.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Well, what does it do?”

  He hesitates. “I—I’m not really supposed to tell you that either.”

  I take a few steps toward him. “It alters memories, doesn’t it? It makes people believe they’re someone else, doesn’t it?”

  Granger’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. “Yes, but—how do you know that? This machine is still in the experimental stage. Only a few people know about it.”

  “Because my mother was experimented on. In a government facility in Legas.”

  “But that’s impossible,” Granger says, shaking his head. “We only use volunteers who have been through an incredibly traumatic event who may want to alter some of their memories to help them cope.”

  I think of my mother. Volunteer? She was the furthest thing from a volunteer. Granted, she had been through an incredibly traumatic event in the last year, but that didn’t qualify her for a memory wipe.

  “Well, someone is using this on people without their permission. You might want to look into that.” I examine the smooth underside of the rotating arm. “Don’t you ever feel like you’re playing God?”

  His mouth turns up in a half-smile. “God? Well, no, not really. I see it as a chance to give people a better life.”

  “Is that why your mentor changed my memories? To give me a better life?” My voice rises a few decibels at the end.

  “Look,” he says. “I’m sorry Dr. Phillips did this to you, but he was under the impression that you willingly volunteered. He would never intentionally hurt you. He’s not that kind of man.”

  I turn away and pace around the room. The three computer screens are dark, but I notice something beside one of them. I stop and pick up a picture in a frame, a picture of a man with salt-and-pepper hair and a beautiful woman with a dazzling smile. My throat closes.

  “Who’s this?” I croak.

  “That’s Dr. Phillips and his girlfriend.”

  As I stare at the picture, I’m sure I must be mistaken. I search for some indication that I’m wrong, again, but the evidence is clear as day. There are no drugs running through my system, no fuzziness, no cloudy images, only clarity and disbelief.

  B
ecause, without a doubt, the man in the picture is my father.

  21

  SIENNA

  When I was five years old, my parents took me to a fair. I remember the day clearly because, while we were there, amid the food stands and twirly rides, I got separated from them. I can still taste the fear, feel the anxiety. Everyone was so tall, and all I could see was an endless sea of legs. After a frantic, tear-filled search, I finally found who I thought was my father. From the back, he looked exactly like him—same dark hair, same pants, even the same shoes. But when I latched onto his legs, the man turned, frowning down at me. It wasn’t my father. There I was, this five-year-old girl, so confused. How could someone who looked so much like my dad not be my dad? And on the flip side, if he wasn’t my dad, then where was my dad?

  As I stare at this picture of my father, I feel like that little girl at the fair again—small, lost, confused. This man looks exactly like my dad, but it’s impossible. My father has been dead for over a year now.

  “Sienna? Are you okay?” It’s Zane. He’s now standing beside me, removing the picture from my hands.

  “Huh?” I stare at him, mind blank.

  Zane glances down at the picture. “Do you know him?”

  “I was right. He’s—” My voice cracks and I stop to look at Granger, but he’s too far away to hear me, too intent on gathering up the supplies for this chip extraction.

  “He’s my father,” I whisper.

  Zane’s eyes flit from my face to the picture in his hand. “That can’t be possible.”

  “It is. It’s him.”

  Zane shakes his head in disbelief. “So the other day…”

  “Yeah.”

 

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