The Memory Detective

by T. S. Nichols

  “Have a good trip, sir,” the doorman replied as Carter left the building. Carter stepped into the open air and felt sunshine on his face for the first time in nearly a week. But those few mere rays of sun nearly triggered something inside of him; nearly, but not quite. Even that tiny tingle gave Carter added confidence in his plan.

  Carter had always conceptually understood the idea of memory triggers. He’d tried them in the comfort of his apartment. He pulled up surfing videos on his computer and searched porn sites for videos with girls who looked like the ones from his memories. Sometimes it worked, but each time something felt lacking. Everything on his computer was two-dimensional. Everything on the screen was dead. They helped him remember things but only once or twice pushed him into immersion. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that he needed real life to guarantee a full immersion. He needed to smell things. He needed to touch things. That’s what would help him find those memories and pull him into them.

  “Mr. Green.” Carter’s driver greeted him with a nod while holding his car door open.

  “Thank you, Lou,” Carter said as he ducked into the backseat. The door closed behind him and a moment later the driver’s door opened. “How’s traffic today, Lou?” Carter asked.

  “Not too bad, Mr. Green,” the driver responded, glancing quickly at the man in the rearview mirror before averting his eyes again. “It should be a pretty smooth trip. Is this your first time, Mr. Green?”

  Carter looked up, eyeing his driver’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “My first time for what?”

  “Is this your first time in Montauk?” the driver asked quickly, hoping that he hadn’t somehow offended his boss. Lou hadn’t driven Carter anywhere in over a week. He’d heard that Carter had been sick but still had begun to get nervous about his job. “I don’t remember you visiting Montauk before.”

  “Yes,” Carter answered, “this will be the first time that I’ve gone to Montauk.” Carter was hopeful that he wouldn’t have to go in the water, that the smell of the salt from the ocean and the feel of the mist on his skin would be enough. He was more than willing to get wet if that’s what he had to do, though.

  “Well, it’s good to see you getting out, Mr. Green. I assume you’re feeling better?”

  Feeling better? It took Carter a moment to remember that he’d told people that he’d been ill. That’s why he wasn’t going to work. That’s why he wasn’t leaving his apartment. That explained the four days he’d been away, locked up wherever it was that the Company had taken him. “Look, Lou,” Carter said in a stern voice, “I’d like to get to our destination. If you would please start driving.” He motioned forward with his hand, as if he could push the car with a wave of his fingers.

  “Yes, sir,” Lou said. He put his foot on the gas and began to pull the car into the street. He didn’t say another word for the rest of the trip.

  As they drove, Carter closed his eyes again and tried desperately to remember. He hated going even a few hours without a new memory. He cursed himself every time a memory came and he recognized it as his own.

  Chapter 27

  The young receptionist at the Memory Clinic recognized Cole when he walked in. It was hard not to. People didn’t forget Cole. The receptionist greeted Cole with wary warmth and then walked him back to Dr. Tyson’s office. Dr. Tyson was on the phone when they got there. The receptionist knocked on the door, and Dr. Tyson waved them in. The doctor motioned to Cole to take a seat and held up two fingers, letting him know that she’d be only a couple more minutes. The receptionist left; Cole and Dr. Tyson were alone. Ed had gone off to find a hotel.

  Cole sat silently in the chair. Without meaning to, he began to catch bits and pieces of Dr. Tyson’s conversation. He could tell by her tone that it was a personal call. She was talking to her husband, apologizing that she wouldn’t make it home in time to help put their kids to bed. She asked her husband to give each of their children a kiss good night for her.

  After a few moments, Cole lost the ability to pretend that he wasn’t listening to her conversation. He lost himself in the caring, casual tone of Dr. Tyson’s voice. Suddenly, without warning, he began to slip into an immersion. He was sitting on a couch, a bowl of warm popcorn in his lap, two dark, warm arms draped around him. He felt safe inside those arms. A hand reached into the bowl and plucked out a few kernels of popcorn. Sam popped a kernel into her mouth and then fed one to Meg.

  A loud sound came from the television, startling Meg. She turned her attention to the TV in time to see a car crash through a giant plate-glass window, tossing glass and bodies aside as it plowed into the room. “I can’t believe you actually like these movies,” Meg said to Sam.

  “Everybody likes these movies, Meg,” Sam replied. “Explosions are fun. I’m still trying to get over the fact that you’re a science-fiction nerd.” Sam gave Meg a quick peck on the cheek. Meg wished it were longer.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Meg said. Meg’s fear echoed inside Cole. Cole wished that he could have been there with her. He would have told her not to be afraid. He would have told her she was just young and inexperienced and that’s why she was afraid. But she didn’t feel how Cole felt, and that’s part of what made the memory so precious.

  “Of course,” Sam answered.

  “Am I just a fling for you?” Cole could feel Meg’s heart pounding in her chest like only a young heart in love can pound.

  Sam pulled Meg tighter to her. She spoke quietly, whispering directly into Meg’s ear. “Don’t be silly, Meg. You know you’re not. If anything, it’s the other way around. I’ve been in this situation before. A pretty girl like you comes to New York, running away from her family because they can’t accept her for who she is. And then she meets someone like me. I know what I am. I’m a way for you to rebel. Not only did you come to New York and find a girlfriend, but you found a girlfriend who’s older and more experienced than you, and one who’s black to boot. I’m your parents’ worst nightmare.” Then Sam’s voice became even more serious, even sad. “But you’ll move on. Once the novelty wears off, you’ll move on. I’ve made myself okay with that. I’m happy to help you become who you want to be. Maybe I can steer you a little bit in the right direction.”

  Meg shook her head. “No,” she said to Sam. She pulled herself out of Sam’s arms and turned to face her. Meg moved her face close to Sam’s. Cole could feel Sam’s warm breath on Meg’s lips. “I’m not with you to rebel or to grow. I’m with you because I love you.” Meg was trembling. She was so full of hope. It was like a straight shot of the stuff right into Cole’s veins. “This isn’t going to wear off. The love I have for you is not a novelty.” Unfortunately, Cole knew all too well how right Meg was. For good or bad, her love for Sam would not wear off. It wouldn’t have a chance.

  “Okay,” Sam said to Meg, leaning forward to give Meg the lengthy kiss on the lips that she had been longing for.

  “Cole.” It was like the voice of God, echoing down from above them. “Are you okay, Cole?”

  Cole stared in front of him. Dr. Tyson sat behind her desk. “I’m sorry,” Cole said to her. He had no idea how long she’d been off the phone. “I got lost for a minute there. It’s just that you reminded me of someone.” Cole nearly forgot how many of Meg’s memories he had yet to explore.

  “Somebody new?” Dr. Tyson asked. “Somebody from a new memory?” Cole knew only two people who would know enough to ask that question. Allie was one. Dr. Tyson was the other. The difference between them was that having to ask the question didn’t make Dr. Tyson angry. It excited her. Every bit of news was something else to study.

  “Yes,” Cole answered, “but it’s not one of the memories that I want. It’s from an earlier transfer, one that I already knew worked. It’s the more recent transfer that I’m worried about.”

  “Okay,” Dr. Tyson said. She reached for a notebook and a pen and readied herself to write. “Tell me what happened.”

  “So, like I told you on the phone, I had another
transplant the other day,” Cole began.

  Dr. Tyson cut him off. She was doing the math in her head. “But I thought you’d just had one less than two weeks ago. The girl who was found in the Dumpster?”

  “I know,” Cole said, nodding.

  “You know that it’s dangerous to do two transplants so close together?”

  “I know,” Cole repeated without ever having stopped nodding.

  “Why didn’t you reach out to me first?”

  “Because you would have tried to talk me out of it.”

  “Of course I would have tried to talk you out of it, Cole. We have no idea what doing two transplants that close together could do to your brain.”

  “I know, but this was a special case.” Cole said the words with enough force to keep Dr. Tyson from asking any more questions on the subject.

  “Okay,” Dr. Tyson said with a sigh. “So what happened? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Cole said. “Nothing bad happened. That’s not why I’m here. I’m here because the second transfer didn’t take. The doctors said that the procedure went perfectly, but I woke up without any new memories.”

  “Are you sure?” Dr. Tyson asked. She knew that memories sometimes took time to emerge, but she also knew that if anybody could tell whether or not a transplant worked, it would be Cole.

  “I’m sure,” Cole responded, “and I’m scared.”

  “Okay,” Dr. Tyson said. “And what is it that you’re afraid of?”

  Cole’s leg twitched as he spoke. “I’m afraid that my brain’s had enough. I’m afraid that transfers won’t work anymore because I’ve hit some sort of physical limit. I mean, what’s the most memory transfers anyone else has done?”

  “On record? Four,” Dr. Tyson replied. “And that person went mad.”

  “So we have no idea if brains have limits. Doc, is it possible that I hit my limit?”

  Dr. Tyson paused. She put her pen down. “Would that be so bad, Cole?” Dr. Tyson asked. Cole could hear the compassion in her voice, but he wasn’t looking for that type of compassion.

  “Don’t mess with me, Doc,” Cole said. “You know what this means to me.” And she did. She knew better than anyone. Cole had opened up to her. He’d held nothing back. She knew about the addiction. All in the name of justice and science, right?

  “I do know how much this means to you, Cole. And you’re right, we have no idea if the human brain has a limit to the number of memory transplants it can take. All we can do is investigate, so let’s talk and see if we can figure something out.”

  “Should we go to the scanner?” Cole asked. “Will this be quicker if we go to the scanner now?”

  “No.” Dr. Tyson moderated her voice. She had to whenever she dealt with Cole, moving intermittently between the tone she used with colleagues and the one she used with patients. Cole was both. Then, sometimes, she tried to speak to him as a friend. That’s why Cole trusted her. He had so few friends left in the world. “It won’t do any good right now. You’re too worked up. Your brain will light the machine up no matter what I ask you. We won’t learn anything. Maybe later, if you calm down. For now, just tell me what happened.” So Cole did. He started at the place that seemed the most logical to him: with Meg, the last memory transfer that worked. He explained everything to Dr. Tyson. He described how Meg’s memories came to him. Slowly but, with the right triggers, forcefully. He told her about catching Meg’s killer and about talking to her parents. Finally, he got around to the phone call from the captain and the most recent transfer. Dr. Tyson kept scribbling in her pad. She began writing even more furiously when he began to explain the circumstances surrounding the more recent transfer, the state of the body and where they’d found it. Every detail could be important. Then he told her how he’d felt when he first woke up after the transfer. It was the same way that he felt at that very moment: empty.

  “What do you know about the last victim?” Dr. Tyson asked when Cole was finished, trying to probe that point.

  “Nothing,” Cole said. “Just what I told you. I know where they found his body. I know about how old he was. I know his physical characteristics. I know that he had been something of an athlete. That’s it. Essentially nothing.”

  “Have you ever had this little to go on before?”

  “No,” Cole admitted.

  “Then how do you know that you simply haven’t hit the proper triggers yet? Maybe the memories are there, but they’re really buried.”

  Cole shook his head. “No,” he said with a force bordering on anger. “It’s not that. I know it’s not that. There are no memories. I know what it feels like to have new memories that are simply evading me.”

  “What does it feel like?” Dr. Tyson asked, still writing at a feverish pace.

  “Like having a word caught on the tip of your tongue, only a thousand times more intense.” Cole wanted her to understand. If she understood, she’d see what he was going through. “There’s a weight to a person’s memories. Even if you can’t find them, you can feel them. Doc, I don’t feel anything.” Cole pointed to his head as he spoke the last three words.

  Dr. Tyson thought for a moment again. “Sometimes transfers just don’t work Cole,” Dr. Tyson said. “This wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “Okay,” Cole conceded. “That’s what the doctor at the hospital said so I’ll give you that. Maybe it just didn’t take, but how often does that happen?”

  Dr. Tyson looked down as she thought, as if the answers to his questions were written on the floor. “The numbers aren’t perfect, but the estimation is around three percent.”

  “Three out of a hundred?” Cole asked to confirm.

  “Yes,” Dr. Tyson said.

  “And I get one in my first fifteen?”

  “It’s not as unlikely as it sounds. If the number is right, then there’s”—Dr. Tyson thought again, staring up at the ceiling this time—“almost a forty percent chance that it would happen in the first fifteen transfers.” Dr. Tyson kept her voice as calm as possible, trying to help Cole calm down too. It worked, a little. The numbers helped.

  “Okay, but what about what I told you before? You can tell me I’m crazy, if you think I am. I would love for you to tell me I’m crazy. But don’t lie to me.”

  “You want to know if it’s possible that the last procedure didn’t work because you’ve rendered your brain incapable of any more transfers?”

  “Yeah. I’m afraid I hit my limit, that I stretched my brain too far and I won’t ever be able to inherit another memory again. Is that even remotely possible, Doc?” At the time, this idea that he’d physically hit his memory limit was still the worst possibility that Cole could conceive.

  “I can’t dismiss it,” Dr. Tyson admitted. “As far as we know, you’re a unique case. Nobody else has ever done what you’ve done. Maybe there is a limit to how many memories any one person can inherit. It is possible, but I haven’t seen any evidence for it. The brain is an amazing organ, more powerful in its own way than any computer ever built. It’s brimming with capacities that have never been tested. What I do know is that people don’t stop remembering things because their brains are full. Besides, if that were the case, you wouldn’t be able to make any new memories at all.”

  “What do you mean?” Cole asked.

  “You came up here with your partner, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you and your partner talk about on the drive up?”

  “He asked me questions about what it’s like to have other people’s memories in my head.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told him that it was like life without the bullshit.”

  “See,” Dr. Tyson said. “Your brain isn’t full. You’re making new memories even as we speak. If you are capable of making new memories, you should be capable of inheriting them too. Your brain shouldn’t treat the proteins any differently. Maybe the two procedures were simply too close together. I don’t think there’s much precedent f
or that. We don’t really know what that might do to a person, but it’s possible that your brain would set up a defense mechanism after the first transfer, like a short-term vaccination.”

  “Maybe,” Cole admitted with some relief. He hadn’t thought of that. “How would we know if that’s the case?”

  Dr. Tyson shrugged. “You won’t know until after your next transfer. If that one doesn’t take, then maybe there is something wrong.” She did some more math in her head. “There’s less than a tenth of a percent chance that you’d randomly have two transfers in a row not take.”

  “And what if there is something wrong?”

  Dr. Tyson knew the risks of cutting Cole off from new memories. She knew what they meant to him. “Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it,” she said.

  “Okay,” Cole reluctantly agreed.

  That night, before climbing into the empty bed in the hotel room, Cole sent an email to his captain. It read simply: I need another memory.

  Cole assumed that it would take some time before they found another body. He assumed that by the time they’d found one, his brain would have had a bit more time to recover. He didn’t expect to wake up the next morning having already received an email from the captain. Before he’d even gotten out of bed, Cole opened the email and read it. His captain’s reply read simply: Good—because they’ve found another body.

  Chapter 28

  The body had been fished out of the St. Lawrence River just south of Montreal. It was another white male, roughly thirty years old with no visible injuries or discernible cause of death. The body was completely shaved and completely naked. It didn’t match any local missing person reports. The coroner put the time of death at only eight hours before they found the body. That meant that the memories were fresh. Cole didn’t want to waste any time. He wanted to do the transfer right away. He wanted to know whether or not it would work. He didn’t care what else it might do to his brain.

  “Come back to New York,” Cole’s captain said on the phone. “We’ve gotten permission to transport the body here for the procedure. Everybody’s working together on this one.”