《Life Without Memory》


 Chapter 1: Jail Girl

    You know those mornings where you can¡¯t remember anything? Well that was this morning. I can¡¯t remember the morning before, or in fact, any morning in my life. It is gone. Annihilated. I know that word fits, but I don¡¯t remember anything about that word.


    I know things though. In ten minutes a bowl of porridge will come through a little slot in the door of my cell. For that matter, I know I am in a cell, and that I have lived in a cell my whole life. But what life is that? I try searching for the memories behind this knowledge, but nothing comes to me.


    Well, if that door is going to open, and I am going to get food, I need to be near the door. I roll myself off of the mattress I am lying and crawl toward the door.


    The entire door is shoved open, narrowly missing me. A brown haired girl, who looks like a young teenager is thrown into my cell followed by a blond haired guy that was much taller than the girl, and about my age. However old that is. I¡¯m not exactly sure. And I don¡¯t know how I can estimate these two¡¯s ages, I just can.


    Why can¡¯t I remember anything! It¡¯s so frustrating. The door slams shut, but I don¡¯t see any food on the cement floor of my cell.


    ¡°Food?¡± I croak. A loud thump sounds against the door and then nothing. I turn to glare at my two new roommates. They are already bringing me trouble. Hopefully they will be gone soon. No one lasts long around here, except for me.


    Wait, how do I know that? Did I have previous roommates? Nothing comes to mind. There is a barrier in my mind. It¡¯s that barrier that''s blocking my memories. It has to be. I press against it until the pressure paralyzes me and chills sweep across my skin. No. I don¡¯t want my previous memories. If I can¡¯t access them, they must not be good. I am locked away in a cell after all.


    I focus in on my new roommates. The guy is tall, much taller than the girl, and he is staring intently at me with insanely brilliant blue eyes and not moving or blinking. He must already be broken. The broken ones do that. They stare sightlessly at things for hours. The blue of his eyes remind me of something, but I can¡¯t recall what it is.


    His eyes are too intense, and I have to turn away, finding myself looking at the girl with curly brown hair who is beating on the door, screaming at it. I guess she doesn¡¯t realize that is a waste of her time and energy.


    ¡°Give up,¡± I call out to her.


    She stops to turn and glare at me, ¡°I will never give up, unlike you pathetic little creature. Crawling on the floor like some whipped dog.¡± She turns back to the door, and continues her abusive treatment of it.


    She¡¯ll give up eventually. They all do. You¡¯ve seen it too. You probably remember better than me. You are, after all, my constant companion.


    ¡°Lily?¡± The guy asks. Is he talking to me or the girl?


    Whoever he is talking to, I don¡¯t care. They will be taken to the Xatron one day, and I will still be here, in this cell. I know life. I know my daily routine. Porridge in the morning, a chunk of moldy bread for midday, and soup in the evening. Time is told by meals. After soup is sleep. Then its wake up for the porridge that starts the cycle again. And apparently I sometimes get intruders.


    I crawl back to my mattress. The guy brushes silky blonde locks away from his eyes, and walks toward me. What does he want? Has he never seen another human being before?


    He leans down, and touches my oddly bent ankle. ¡°What did they do to you, Lily?¡±


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    ¡°Umm, I don¡¯t know who you are, but this is my cell. Rule number one, don¡¯t bother me. Rule, number two, stay on the other side of the cell, and rule number three.¡± I pause.


    What is rule number three? And why do I need a rule three? It feels necessary. It¡¯s as if since I am listing off rules, I have to have a rule three. Should I say don¡¯t talk to me? No, that was basically rule number one. Hmm, maybe I don¡¯t care about you and your sad life. No that was covered by rule number one too. Well, I started it. Have to finish it now. ¡°No, I am not lonely. So stay the hell away from me. Got it? Good.¡±


    I turn toward the wall and began my meditation routine. I focus on my breathing, and focus on quieting my thoughts. Making my mind blank. It¡¯s a great way to pass the time, you should try it someday. I know you like to always be in motion, but it can make hours seem like minutes.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I jump. It¡¯s the annoying girl. She¡¯s standing over me, her hands on her hips.


    ¡°I am meditating. It passes the time. Did you not hear my rule number one?¡± Gar. She¡¯d messed up my meditative state, and now she is bothering me.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about your silly rules. How long have you been in this cell?¡± Her voice has a really annoying twang to it. Can¡¯t she see that I don¡¯t want to talk to her? I won¡¯t answer her. Yes. Maybe if I don¡¯t talk to her she will go away.


    She continues talking anyway, ¡°I was captured and brought here just yesterday, with my brother over there. He used to date the girl that started the rebellion. It was my first mission, and it turned out to be a trap. Our people will come though. They will get us all out.¡± She is way too cheerful. No one in a prison has a right to be that perky.


    I close my eyes and focus on calming myself. You have to be patient to. You look like you are about to blow a fuse, but you have to remember, she is young. She doesn¡¯t know this place like we do. ¡°You will never leave. They will feed you to the Xatron, like all the others past.¡± I am proud of how level and serene my voice sounds, like some sort of wise sage.


    ¡°The Xatron? Never heard of that before. What is it? And if they send everyone there, why haven¡¯t you been there?¡±


    Why must she remind me of my loss of memory? I open my eyes and scowl at her curious look. She shouldn¡¯t be curious about the Xatron. I don¡¯t know why, but I know it is where they take all the prisoners. ¡°I-I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s the machine they take all the prisoners to.¡± I fiddle with the hem of my black prisoner pants. I hate not actually understanding what I am talking about. If I had my memories, I would know because I would understand it. It would be a part of me; like it is a part of you. But you won¡¯t tell me anything will you? No, that¡¯s what I thought. You are always silent. Do you not remember anything either? If only I could remember.


    I push at the barrier a little and it pushed back with a warning of chills again. No, I wouldn¡¯t let a teenage girl¡¯s questions bug me enough to break the barrier.


    She frowns at me, as if unsure how to respond to me.


    The guy walks up to his sister, and pats her shoulder. ¡°I bet they haven¡¯t taken her to this machine she is talking about because she is Lily. They obviously tortured her or something, but she is most definitely Lily,¡± He says.


    The girl smiles, ¡°Are you Lily? The Lily? As in the girl who started the rebellion? My memories of you are so vague and distant I had no idea.¡±


    I shrug. ¡°I really don¡¯t know who this Lily is you are talking about. I have lived in this cell for as long as I can remember.¡± Meaning as far back as the long ago time of this morning. ¡°I am no one. Nothing. Just a prisoner surviving in a cell.¡±


    ¡°Can we call you Lily then? You need a name. Everyone needs a name. I am Lizzie, and this is my brother Nathan.¡±


    Nathan is staring at me again. I feel as if he is trying to unlock my past with his eyes, which is nonsense of course. I am a crazy person. You probably figured that out though, seeing as you are my constant companion; a part of me.


    I shake my head. I don¡¯t want to remind these people of their rebellion leader, whoever she was. I am not her. ¡°No, don¡¯t call me by some other person¡¯s name. Just forget me, and I will do you the courtesy of doing the same.¡±


    ¡°Forget?¡± Nathan asks , his voice spitting out the word in anger. He storms across the cell and drops to the floor staring at the other wall. He will learn, if he survives.


    Lizzie shakes her head making her brown curls bounce around her face. ¡°He sometimes has temper issues. You know, we need something to call you by¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t call me anything. You will be gone soon enough,¡± I interrupt her.


    ¡°No, everyone needs a name. I¡¯ll call you Hope. You give hope of surviving because you have lived here a long time.¡± Her voice is stern, and I can tell that nothing I say will change her mind.


    I sigh. Well, it seems I have a name, at least until these newest roommates leave. Does that mean you need a name too? Nah. You can just continue to be, well, you.

 Barriers

    Three pieces of bread roll out of the slot in the door. I quickly crawl off my mattress and grab the closest roll. I gnaw at roll, glad that at least the midday meal came on time. I offer you some of my food, and you hungrily snatch the piece of bread and chew on it.


    Lizzie picks up a roll and stares out it. ¡°It¡¯s moldy!¡± she exclaims.


    I don¡¯t know why she¡¯s complaining. ¡°It¡¯s normal prison fair. It is bread to keep you alive. Porridge in the morning. Bread for midday. Soup for the end of the day, and then the dim light in our cell will go out, and we will sleep, waiting for the dim light to flicker on. It has always been that way; it will always be that way.¡±


    I work on chewy on the bread. The green spots on it are the easiest areas to eat.


    She stares at me, her mouth agape in shock. ¡°They expect us to eat this? What do they think we are, animals?¡±


    Well, yes. I think they do think of us as animals. We are food for the Xatron. I just shrug again.


    Nathan trudges over to the last piece of bread, and bites into it. He looks disgusted and he quickly covers his mouth. I can see him trying to swallow. Why is he disgusted?


    He turns toward me. ¡°Do you not taste how terrible this bread is? It tastes like ¨C I don¡¯t know ¨C garbage or dirt.¡±


    ¡°How do you know what garbage tastes like? Have you ever eaten out of a dumpster?¡± Lizzie asks.


    ¡°Well, no. But I¡¯ve smelled them, and this tastes like that smelled,¡± he replies.


    All this talk of taste and smell. These are things that can be ignored. Pushed away and forgotten, just like the memories.


    ¡°Do you not taste it Lily?¡± He asks.


    I refuse to answer to that name. I will not be some random guy¡¯s dead girlfriend. Sorry, just not happening.


    ¡°Umm, sorry. Hope,¡± he corrects himself.


    ¡°It is all the same. There is nothing to taste. Nothing to smell.¡± Both of them focus in on me like hyenas. What the heck are hyenas? I suddenly see an image of a hunched over beast with bristly brown hair, and lips stretched backward into a mocking smile. Hyenas are scavengers though aren¡¯t they? I don¡¯t even know why I know this. I haven¡¯t ever left this cell. I¡¯ve never seen a hyena, at least that I know of.


    Lizzie is waving her hand in front of me. ¡°Did you hear me? Are you there, Hope?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± I didn¡¯t hear anything.


    ¡°What do you mean you can¡¯t taste anything?¡± She asks, exasperation coating her voice.


    ¡°Umm, just what I said. I don¡¯t taste anything. Or at least I assume I don¡¯t since you guys seem to think this tastes bad, whatever that is. And to me it is nothing. It¡¯s a little hard except for the green spots which are softer, though a little slimy.¡± I pull at the long black sleeves of my prison shirt. These questions are making me uncomfortable. I can¡¯t explain why. I don¡¯t know.


    Nathan squats down in front of me. ¡°Li ¨C Hope, you say you can ignore the taste. How? How do you eat this and ignore the taste and the texture.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s gone. It¡¯s all gone. I don¡¯t know why, or how. The barriers protect me.¡± The barriers? What am I talking about? That barrier in my mind, the one I ran into when searching for my memories, that must be what I am talking about. But what do I mean when I say they protect me? From what? Myself? Maybe they protect me from my own memories.


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    Nathan is saying something, ¡°¡­Hope.¡±


    ¡°Hmm?¡± I don¡¯t want to admit I wasn¡¯t actually listening. I don¡¯t normally listen to people, but I am not around people normally.


    ¡°What are you talking about? What do you mean the barriers protect you?¡± He asks again. He has really pretty hair. I kind of just want to reach out stroke his soft golden locks, and feel if they are as soft as they look.


    ¡°Um, Well. I don¡¯t really know.¡± How do you tell someone there is a barrier in your mind that protects you from your own memories, from taste and smell? I guess you wouldn¡¯t really know how to tell some that. You probably don¡¯t have a barrier, but you wouldn¡¯t tell me if you did, would you.


    I guess I could try and tell them. What will it hurt? They might think me insane and finally leave me alone. The worst case is they will be here for a while and eventually the guards will take him away, like they take everyone away.


    What do you think I should do?


    You don¡¯t ever plan on talking to me do you? You just listen to me ramble on, always staring at me with that blank look on your face. Well fine. I¡¯ll tell them.


    I crawl to the cement wall and lean against it. I need its support right now. ¡°I have a barrier in my mind. It protects me from memory. It protects me from the tastes and smells of the world, I think. I live in this cell alone, but sometimes others join me, I think. I think it protects me from the very memories of them.¡±


    Both of them stare at me. Lizzie opens and closes her mouth a couple times. ¡°I don¡¯t understand. It isn¡¯t possible to force yourself to forget something,¡± she finally speaks up.


    I shrug. She can think what she wants.


    Nathan sits down next to me, and grabs my hand. I stare his hand. Why is he holding my hand?


    ¡°Do you push all feeling behind this barrier? Do you feel pain from your ankles? Do you care about the people who have come through your cell, or have you forgotten everything except existing?¡± He asks.


    I shrug again and wring my hands. I guess the worst scenario is they won¡¯t stop questioning me. ¡°I don¡¯t know. The barrier keeps me alive. The barrier keeps me sane. I don¡¯t know what you mean by asking me if my ankles cause me pain.¡±


    His face is too close to mine with those disturbingly blue eyes. How does someone have such blue eyes? I want to back away, to crawly into my corner and hide. He is too close. ¡°Your ankle is bent at 90 degrees. Do you not feel pain from that? You obviously can¡¯t walk on it.¡±


    I look down at my ankle. It¡¯s much better than having my attention captured by those eyes. I can¡¯t remember why they are like this. Something tells me I use to walk like these other two people, but it was a long time ago.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I feel nothing from it.¡±


    I pull my hand out of Nathan¡¯s grip and crawl around him, back to my mattress.


    Lizzie sits on one side of me, and Nathan on the other side. They are trying to talk to me. They are asking questions, but I ignore them. I need to settle my mind. To meditate. Questions are making the barrier weaker, I am certain. Meditating will strengthen it. Now that I know that the barrier is protecting me. I must protect it.


    Lizzie pokes me. ¡°So you don¡¯t feel pain? You don¡¯t care for others. You just exist in this cell. You aren¡¯t living!¡±


    She can accuse me as much as she wants. I truthfully don¡¯t care. ¡°Remember rule one? Leave me alone. Remember rule two? This side of the room is mine. Go back to your side of the room.¡±


    They continue to sit there, so I ignore them and focus inward on nothingness. I push away their distractions.


    Three bowls of soup are slid through the slot in the door bringing me out of my reverie. I look around and notice the other two have gone over to their side of the room and fallen asleep on the smooth concrete floor. Good.


    I crawl to the door and grab a bowl, sucking down the liquid soup. For a second I think about drinking down the other two bowls of soup since my cell mates are asleep, but it wouldn¡¯t be right. I can¡¯t just go and steel their rations from them, even if they are ungrateful. In fact, I should wake them up so they can eat before the bowls are taken away. I crawl over where they are sleeping against their wall.


    Who should I wake them up? Lizzie is more annoying to be around, but Nathan has those disturbing eyes and bothersome questions. He also keeps thinking of me as his dead girlfriend.


    You look over at Lizzie. Yes. She probably is the best choice to wake up. I crawl over toward her and poke her. She doesn¡¯t wake up. I shake her a little, and she jumps up, almost stepping on me.


    ¡°What the heck!¡± she screeches.


    So much for doing a good deed. ¡°Soup is here. Thought you might want to eat.¡±


    I crawl back to my mattress. The dim light will turn off soon. It is time to sleep. I lie down, and relax. I feel safe knowing you are watching over me while I sleep. I feel confident that you will wake me for anything important.

 Chapter 3: Dungeon Time

    I wake-up and roll off the mattress. It is time for morning porridge. My two roommates are still asleep on the bare floor against the other wall. I guess they are not used to the system yet.


    I hadn¡¯t even thought about the fact that there was only one mattress in the room the day before when forcing them to the other side of the room. Maybe the guards will bring in more mattresses, or maybe they are only temporary visitors. Why didn¡¯t I notice this till today?


    You knew, didn¡¯t you? You knew and you didn¡¯t bother to say anything to me!


    Well, I guess there wasn¡¯t anything either of us could do about it anyway, so what was the point¡­


    Why are you looking at my mattress like that? No. Don¡¯t even think about it. I am not giving up my mattress, or sharing it.


    Why are you giving me that disappointed look? This is my cell and my mattress. I have to live here.


    ¡°Oh fine! You win.¡± Tonight I will offer to share with them, but if I wake up and freak out because I don¡¯t remember them; it¡¯s all your fault!


    It hits me, I can still remember yesterday. No other memories, but yesterday is still fresh and present in my mind. A gift I guess. Or, maybe I chose to forget everything, and today I do not want to forget yesterday. But why would I ever choose to forget? I guess it helps to deal with the monotony of the days spent in this cell.


    Days. Years. A lifetime?


    ¡°Waaa,¡± a feminine groggy voice mumbles from the other side of the cell. Oh shoot, did I say that last part out loud?


    I see movement, and a brown haired head rises up off the floor. Two half-lidded greenish brown eyes glare at me. ¡°Whyare ya alwaywaking meup,¡±she grumbles.


    ¡°Breakfast will be here soon. Porridge. You can go back to sleep after that. Not much to do after breakfast.¡± I crawled to the door, ready for my bowl to come through.


    Breakfast is one of my favorite meals, but their arrival yesterday apparently meant I didn¡¯t get my daily porridge yesterday.


    She¡¯s glaring at me. Her eyebrows are creased together and she looks like she could kill¡­ I scratch my head. The words just aren¡¯t coming to me! I feel like this is an expression I used to know. You compare a look of anger to killing something. What though? She could kill me doesn¡¯t work that well because obviously she can¡¯t really, but wasn¡¯t that the point of the expression? Shoot. I can¡¯t remember.


    A bowl slides through the slot and I grab it and scamp back to my mattress. I slurp at the tasty oats in their thick liquid. This is the tastiest and most filling meal of the day.


    I lick my bowl clean, and then take a moment to look over at my guests. Nathan is sitting up now; his back against the wall and his golden hair is covering his disturbing eyes.


    Lizzie on the other hand is holding a bowl with a look of disgust.


    ¡°I highly suggest eating it. It¡¯s the best meal of the day.¡± I give my bowl another lick. If she doesn¡¯t eat it I will happily take it from her. No need to waste a good bowl of porridge.


    ¡°They don¡¯t even give us utensils to eat this with,¡± she says, starring at the bowl like it¡¯s the Xatron.


    ¡°Utensils?¡± What the heck is she even talking about?


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    ¡°You know, silverware. For example, this dish should include a spoon.¡± She puts one hand on her hip and gives me this look that says, ¡®are you stupid or something?¡¯


    I don¡¯t want to admit my own selective memory, so I simply shrug. Better to pretend to understand than to admit ignorance.


    Nathan grabs the other bowl from by the door. I hadn¡¯t even noticed him standing up. He lifts the bowl up to his mouth, and slurps down the meal the way I did. He even finishes by licking the bowl clean.


    Lizzie is staring at him and she has this shocked expression, as if she doesn¡¯t know him. Did she suddenly lose her memory too?


    ¡°Nathan! Why are you eating like an animal? You always yell at me about proper manners, and then you go and eat like that!¡± Apparently that wasn¡¯t memory loss. That expression meant she was appalled with him. Hmm, looks similar to shock, wide eyed expression, mouth agape. I¡¯d seen it before. I should have known.


    Nathan shrugs. He points to me. What have I done?


    ¡°If she can survive here, so can we if we follow her lead. It¡¯s time to forget the outside world and its expectations and standards. It¡¯s time to live for ourselves,¡± Nathan says.


    Smart man. If he wants to learn to survive, then I will try to teach him. He will be on his own soon anyway.


    Lizzie shrugs, ¡°You do what you want. I plan on getting out of here soon.¡± She lies down on the hard concrete on her back, and then she sits up before lying back down. She continues to do this, again and again.


    ¡°What is she doing?¡± I ask Nathan.


    ¡°She¡¯s exercising. Sit-ups to be specific. Do you not remember exercising?¡±


    I shake my head, not wanting to verbally confirm my loss of memory.


    ¡°Come on, you should do this with us. It¡¯s healthy for you, and will help relieve your boredom once we are¡­¡± He stares at me for a second, not finishing his sentence before he lies on the ground.


    I guess he doesn¡¯t want to speak the truth, that he will soon be leaving my cell. And didn¡¯t he just say he wanted to learn my ways, and now he is encouraging me to do this exercising thing?


    With a sigh I lie down on the floor myself, and sit up, and lie back down. After a couple of these, my stomach begins to hurt, and I stop. Nathan and Lizzie are both still going.


    Lizzie stops, and stares at me for a second. ¡°Next we are doing push-ups. I will coach you on your first couple. You can probably only do a couple looking at your physical condition. Watch me do one, and then you can try to copy it.¡±


    She flips over onto her stomach, and then lifts her entire body off the ground with just her toes and hands touching the ground. She goes back down until her body is almost touching the ground, and then she lifts herself back up.


    ¡°Now your turn.¡±


    I try to lift myself up, and my knees stay on the ground, so I thrust my butt up to get my knees off the ground, but my strangely angles ankles simply support none of my wait causing my arms to give way. I land flat on my face, and let myself lie there.


    Her mocking laughter rings across the room.


    ¡°Lizzie, be nice. I don¡¯t think she can do normal push-ups with those ankles.¡± Nathan gently chides his sister.


    ¡°Sorry, it¡¯s just funny watching you struggle with these exercises.¡± She scuffs her foot against the ground and I remember how young she really is.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I am not bothered by your laughter.¡± Why would I care about minor slights?


    ¡°Here, let¡¯s try and make this easier on you. Try these.¡± She lies down again, and this time she pushes up leaving her knees on the ground.


    I push up off the floor, trying to copy one of her fluid movements.


    ¡°Yeah, that looks about right. Okay, so do about forty more of those.¡± She starts going up and down, not letting her body touch the floor.


    I force myself up into the first push-up, which doesn¡¯t seem that bad. After the fortieth one I simply let myself collapse onto the floor. These things are exhausting.


    ¡°I have one other exercise for you today. This one is called squats.¡± Lizzie stands up, and then stops, staring down at me. ¡°Never mind. I keep forgetting you can¡¯t stand.¡±


    I shrug and crawl over to my mattress. I watch as she and Nathan continue to do these strange repetitive movements. I guess it does eat away some of the time spent in the cell.


    They finish and Nathan walks over to me. ¡°Can you teach me your meditation thing?¡± He asks.


    ¡°Umm, meditation thing?¡± I do not really understand this word.


    ¡°Yeah, the way you sit and let time pass.¡± He sits down next to me on the mattress, and I don¡¯t push him away.


    Tonight, I will offer to share the mattress. It is not their fault they were thrown in here with me.


    But first, he seems actually interested in something I do. ¡°Ahh, the technique where I let go of my mind.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. That.¡±


    ¡°Well, it is as simple and as hard as it sounds. You simply focus on nothing until you are in a trance like state without falling asleep. You have to quiet your mind, and relax your grip on your memories and thoughts.¡±


    I let my own thoughts slide away and relax into the trance state.

 Chapter 4: Feelings

    Does time speed up or slow down the more you remember it? My personal feeling is that it speeds up. Those first couple of days now seem like they lasted forever. I can vividly see them still entering my cell that first morning, the morning where I missed my porridge.


    Now the days seem to take forever, and yet, by the next morning it seems like they sped by.


    How long have they been here? I lost track. They are my routine now. Waking up with my own black hair and Lizzie¡¯s brown hair in my face, spending a minute to think, as I am doing now, and eventually waking Lizzie.


    I nudge her back with my arm. To fit all of us on the mattress, we have to sleep on our sides. The first couple of nights Nathan ended up sleeping on the floor, but we¡¯ve all gotten better about not moving while sleeping.


    I hear a soft snore from her, and I nudge her harder. ¡°Lizzie, porridge soon.¡±


    She jerks awake at the sound of my voice and rolls into her brother.


    ¡°MURGH. Must I always be woken by you rolling into me Lizzie?¡± He snarls. Morning grouchiness is the usual. He really must learn to control his temper.


    ¡°Control is required Nathan. We cannot all live together if we do not control emotions.¡±


    ¡°Emotionless bitch.¡± He mutters, but I let it pass.


    I see Lizzie glaring at him, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but she keeps waking me up by scaring the living daylights out of me.¡±


    He turns toward me, redirecting his morning grouchiness on me, ¡°Can¡¯t you wake her up more gently!¡±


    I shrug. Maybe I could. Maybe I could sit there gently nudging her till the morning porridge is cold, but then again she¡¯s be likely to jump even if I did wake her up gently.


    ¡°Don¡¯t blame me. It¡¯s not like I¡¯m punching her. She just startles out of her sleep.¡±


    He opens his mouth as if to say more, and then turns away and goes to sit by the door. Living in the same cell with two other people for so long seems to be making everyone slightly grumpy.


    Everyone that is, except me. Here and there I feel myself becoming mildly antsy, and I believe it is the beginning of the anger and frustration these two so often experience, so I quickly push it back behind my barrier.


    If I wasn¡¯t here to keep everyone calm, we would likely have all-out war on our hands.


    War, it¡¯s a term that so easily presented itself to my mind, but when I search for what the word could mean there is nothing there. It¡¯s a concept that has nothing behind it. A sound that I know fits there. From my use of it, I think it must have somethings to do with people hitting each other. For a second, I think about asking the two, but then I decide against it.


    You probably know what it means, but you¡¯ve become even more silent than usual. Well, I guess you are always silent, but I don¡¯t need you as much now that the two are here.


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    I¡¯m sorry, I know that seems rude. I didn¡¯t mean it to sound that way. I just ¨C I don¡¯t know what came over me. I will always need you. One day, they will take the two away, and it will be just you and I again. And, I probably won¡¯t even remember them, but I can never forget you.


    I crawl toward the door, morning porridge should be here any second now¡­


    The door slams open, knocking Nathan back and almost hitting me. If I¡¯d been any closer It would have slammed into me!


    Lizzie bolts toward the door, but the black outline at the door grabs her. She screams and kicks, and tries to punch him, but she is so small compared to him. He laughs, and suddenly I feel cold, but also hot. I feel antsy, and there is a pressure building up behind my eyes.


    ¡°NO! You can¡¯t take her! You can¡¯t take her to the Xatron! It will kill her! She only thirteen you monsters! Leave her here! Take me in her stead. Damn you all!¡± I scream as the door closes in my face, and all I can hear the laugher of the guard ringing in my ears.


    No. She was¡­ She was my cell mate.


    The pressure behind my eyes subsides, and I collapse to the floor exhausted.


    Somewhere is the distance I can see Nathan banging on the door, screaming, and slowly his fists pound less, his body slumps toward the ground, and I see tears streaming out of his eyes.


    ¡°Lizzie¡­¡± He whispers toward the door.


    I crawl toward him, and pull him against me, something in me telling me that this is right. This is how humans comfort each other, and he needs comforting now.


    He grabs me close and leans into my shoulder for a second, in which I feel something twisting inside of me. Something strange that I should push away, back behind my mental block, but I don¡¯t. I let it control me, and I lean into his shoulder. I feel water building up at the corner of my eye, and a strange itchiness.


    He pushes me away, knocking me over. What was that for!


    ¡°What will they do to her?¡± He demands.


    I shrug, I don¡¯t know¡­ ¡°They will take her to the Xatron, and they will feed her to it. None survive for long after. They all starve themselves to death afterwards. I know. The last person here, he was an Xatron victim.¡±


    How did I know all that? I can¡¯t even remember this person I am talking about. A vague memory surfaces, or more of a knowledge that I tries to convince him to survive, to eat, but he starved to death in my cell.


    I can¡¯t even recall what he looked like though, or even what I did to try and save him! I push at the memory block, and suddenly I realize, I don¡¯t want to remember. I shouldn¡¯t even remember this small ¨C knowledge ¨C from before. I push the knowledge of what will happen to her, to my friend, behind the barrier. I push even the name Xatron behind the barrier.


    Nathan is in front of me, shaking me. ¡°What are you talking about? You¡¯ve never talked about this before!¡±


    ¡°Wha¡­ What are you talking about?¡± The last couple of moments are a little blurry for me. I remember waking up waiting or breakfast¡­ and then, nothing till now.


    ¡°Lizzie! You just told me they would take her to the Xatron! That it¡¯s some kind of machine that will kill her.¡± He¡¯s screaming in my face. He really is extremely upset for some reason. That name does sound vaguely familiar though.


    ¡°Lizzie¡­ She was our cell mate, I think. Didn¡¯t the guards take her?¡± I can¡¯t really remember though. It¡¯s as if everything about her has become kind of fuzzy.


    You know who she is don¡¯t you? Won¡¯t you tell me who she is and what happened to her? No. I guess you won¡¯t. You never tell me anything.


    Nathan falls back, away from me, and leans against the wall, ¡°You¡¯ve forgotten her, haven¡¯t you? I guess that will be what happens when they take me, won¡¯t it? That¡¯s your strategy isn¡¯t it? You just forget all the bad things and keep your body alive.¡±


    He pauses, ¡°THIS ISN¡¯T LIVING, HOPE!¡± He screams at me. I have no clue why he¡¯s so upset with me. He really does need to learn to control his emotions.


    He slumps backward, his anger leaving him, and his lids close over his disturbingly blue eyes. I see water coming from his eyes, and trailing down his cheeks.


    ¡°I guess, this is surviving.¡± His total defeat pulls something in me.


    I want¡­ I don¡¯t know what I want. I reach up to rub my eyes, and I realize my hand comes away wet. Why were my eyes watery? Must be the dust or something.

 Chapter 5: Whirlwind

    ¡°I can¡¯t do this anymore,¡± Nathan whispers from his position on the floor. I look over and see he is lying on his back, his hands straight out to the side and his legs spread out.


    ¡°You can¡¯t do what anymore? I don¡¯t think it¡¯s hard to just lie down on a floor.¡± I felt a prickly twinge, a want to lash out at him with my hand. He¡¯d been so¡­ so despondent lately. And what did despondent even mean? All these words I somehow know but don¡¯t even really understand¡­ And there he is, lying on the floor with his perfect memory complaining.


    ¡°I can¡¯t keep trying to pretend like she doesn¡¯t exist!¡± You get angry every time I say anything, so I tried to stop talking about her and missing her, but I can¡¯t keep pretending! Lizzie was here! SHE was our motivation, our Hope. Not you! No, all you do is survive by forgetting you are even a person. All you do¡­¡± He bursts into tears and scuttles into a corner, curling up into a ball.


    My test tightens, and my fingers close tightly against each other. I grind my teeth together, ¡°We never lived with anyone named Lizzie, ok! I tried to be nice to you when you first started talking about this fantasy person they dragged away, but now I¡¯m done. This Lizzie, this person you created, she¡¯s a figment of your imagination. She was never here. People who are locked up go crazy. You created a fake person to deal, ok, I understand that, but now get over it!¡± I realize I raised my voice, and I force myself to take a deep breath.


    He¡¯s making me unstable. All his wailing is making me struggle for self-control.


    This Lizzie must have been to him what you are to me. Maybe she even talked to him. Sometimes I wish¡­ No, if you talked and were more like his Lizzie you might leave me. But I know you. You have no plans to leave me, do you?


    He is staring at me with wet streaks running down his face and his eyes glassy with squiggles of red running through the white in his eyes. ¡°You¡­ you cried over her! My little sister is real! It¡¯s my job to protect her! Mine! And I failed. I didn¡¯t imagine her!¡±


    I look over at you for help, but all I can see is the accusation in your eyes. You are angry at me aren¡¯t you? Are you angry because I denied his phantom? I guess¡­


    I glance back and see he¡¯s hidden behind his knees.


    I crawl over to him and gently touch his leg. ¡°I¡­¡± What to say? How to pretend? You are still glaring at me. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I haven¡¯t wanted to say anything¡­¡± What to say to make you happy? What do you want me to tell him? That I remember this Lizzie person? That my memories aren¡¯t exactly clear?


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    He¡¯s looking at me, waiting for me to say something. I can¡¯t tell him that I remember his supposed little sister. ¡°I¡­ I can¡¯t remember things that well. In fact,¡± I can¡¯t share this. I can¡¯t tell him. I have to now that I¡¯ve started. You¡¯re smiling at me. This is what you wanted.


    ¡°In fact, I can¡¯t¡­¡± I can¡¯t say it. ¡°¡­remember anything from before you arrived in my cell.¡± There I said it. ¡°After that, my memory is a little hazy.¡±


    You nod, urging me to continue. ¡°I, well, it might be my fault I can¡¯t remember her.¡±


    He¡¯s staring at me, shock plainly written on his face. I shouldn¡¯t have said anything. I should have worked harder to convince him that she was just a phantom of his imagination.


    ¡°You can¡¯t remember¡­ but how do you remember so much about the Xatron, that machine you keep talking about?¡± His eyes are puffy and the blue doesn¡¯t look as brilliant as it normally looks.


    The Xatron? The name sounds vaguely familiar, but in that sense that I should know what it means but don¡¯t. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you are talking about. I don¡¯t remember anything about this Xatron.


    You nod. Now you want me to lie? To say I have never heard of this Xatron? But I know I have, it sounds so familiar. I can see you are glaring at me. Warning me not to say anything. You know my mind even before I speak it. I will pretend ignorance to this word.


    He reaches out and clasps my hands with his cold rough hands, ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t realize they injured your head. It must be why they have left you alive so long. With a head injury and amnesia, it all makes sense now. Why you refuse to be called Lily. You should get used to your own name. Lily-¡°


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± He sits back, surprised by the fierceness of my own response I guess, but I will not be called Lily. Whoever I am, I am not Lily.


    ¡°I am not Lily. I am Hope now. That is what you called me, that is who I shall become.¡±


    He springs forward and touches his lips to my forehead and then leans back again staring at me with his red lined eyes. ¡°Ok, Hope it is. Hope that one day you will remember everything. Lizzie gave you your new name, so I guess I should honor that.¡± His stare is making me feel strange and I can¡¯t help but shift around and look at the smooth cold gray floor, unable to meet his eyes.


    He lifts my face with his hand, but I keep trying to look everywhere else. I don¡¯t know why I can¡¯t meet his eyes, why it makes me so uncomfortable. I just can¡¯t.


    ¡°Until you can remember,¡± he continues, ¡°I will try not to remember¡±.


    He releases me from his grip and walks to the door. He stands there, staring at it, before suddenly collapsing against it. ¡°I will try to forget. To live only in this moment, this now, for you Lizzie¡± he whispers to the door.


    I feel something tugging at my insides, but I ignore it and turn back to face the now empty corner. I must let go of time to survive. I cross my legs, and drift off into the nothing that lies between time.

 Chapter 6: Grasping Reality

    Time drifted away from me. Every day became hazier and the conversations I had with him drifted in in a hazy past. I think I could forget it all again if I wanted to. I could make everything fresh and new again. Life would be more interesting then. All my conversations would be interesting again without my memory.


    He is sitting there so peaceful right now, his eyes closed and his legs crossed. His face holding no expression, no regret. But what is seen on the surface is a lie. He is trying so hard to follow my way of life to let go, but here and there he does strange things, like throwing his arms around me and holding me tightly, sticky water dripping onto my shoulder. Or the time he pressed his lips to my forehead. He was intriguing then, and would it be fair to him to just erase my memories? No, I wanted to know more about him, to see what strange thing he would do next in the monotony of this cell.


    You¡¯re smiling now, I guess you want me to remember him also? But why? Why do you want me to hold onto these memories? Why can¡¯t I just let them slip away behind the barrier. Life would be easier if I never remembered the day before. Of course, everyday would seem to last so long, as that first day lasted¡­


    Now days are blips of time interspersed with nothingness. His voice cutting through the haze, ¡°Hope, have you ever wondered what it¡¯s like outside? Do people still play in the streets, does life go on, forgetting we were there?¡±


    I feel like the words he is saying should have some meaning, but I cannot grasp what this is. ¡°Outside?¡± I whisper.


    He frowns, his brown eyebrows closing in on the bridge of his nose. ¡°You know, outside. Outside the door to this cell. Outside the walls of this prison where a city of fifteen million fights for the scraps thrown to them each day¡­¡±


    ¡°I know nothing of this outside.¡± I interrupt him. There is no world except this cell.


    He stops staring at me, and then throws his arms around me. I cannot understand why, but it calms my racing heart.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ It¡¯s what is beyond that door. Could I ¨C that¡¯s not right ¨C Do you want me to tell you stories of it? It would help the time¡­¡± He drifts off, his words fading away as he releases me from his embrace.


    What could it hurt? Stories. I wanted something interesting. I wanted conversation. He could give me a place to travel away to. Those blue eyes plead for me to let him break the boredom. I can¡¯t turn him down. ¡°I think that would be, interesting.¡±


    He lips turn up, mimicking a smile, but his eyes have become glassy again, and I wrap my arms around him in turn for just a moment before releasing him. It feels right, to offer the same comfort in return.


    He scoots over next to me and leans back against the wall. ¡°I¡¯ve tried to not think about it too much, but there are people beyond this cell. This cell, it is in a building called Ralton Prison. A prison meant to hold 50,000 prisoners.¡±


    He pauses as if expecting some reaction, but ten thousand is just words. Words that I know are a number and should mean something, but I cannot conceive this number in my mind. It is simply words to mean greater that the number of people in this cell.


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    He shrugs when I don¡¯t say anything. ¡°Well anyway, this prison is overpopulated, as are most prisons now days. Other countries call us the prison state.¡±


    ¡°Countries?¡± I can¡¯t help interrupting.


    ¡°Well, yes.¡± He stopes, his frown come s back for a moment before he shakes his head and continues, ¡°We are in cell, in a prison that hold many cells. This prison is one building in a city that has many building. This city is in a state that has many cities, and this state is in a country with many states. Does that make more sense?¡±


    No, but I nod my head up and down anyway. Maybe if he talks about it he will be able to let the memories go.


    ¡°So yeah, our country incarcerates a lot of people. Oh shoot, what was I going to say¡­? Oh, yes. All the buildings around here are super tall and so clumped together they are almost one building. Except Ralton prison. This is the only building in the city that is separated from the conglomeration of buildings, and the only one you have to enter from ground level.¡±


    For a moment his words called up and image in my mind of seeing an image that was looking up at a giant gray wall that seemed to go up until it merged with the light. It felt strange, as if I was looking at someone else¡¯s memory through¡­ through a door? No. A door wasn¡¯t the right to describe what I just saw. The only word that came to mind is window, but I don¡¯t even know what that is.


    He is still speaking.


    ¡°¡­Only time I ever rode in one of the shuttles was on my way to prison. A street rat like me couldn¡¯t ever afford a shuttle ride otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, what was a shuttle again?¡± He gave me an odd look. I wonder if he had already tried to describe this to me when I wasn¡¯t paying attention.


    ¡°A shuttle is a thing to carry people that uses the metal in the buildings of the city to move through the air. You¡¯ll see them when we escape.¡±


    ¡°Oh, ok.¡± I pretend to understand.


    He raises his eyebrows slightly, and I know he doesn¡¯t believe me.


    My head feels heavy, so I lean against his shoulder and he wraps his arm around me, holding me close.


    ¡°Do you want me to continue?¡± I can feel the rumble of his voice.


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    He continues, but instead of really listening to the words, I listen to the sound of his deep voice and feel the vibration of it as I lean against him.


    I don¡¯t want him to be taken away. I don¡¯t want to be on my own again. I might not remember him anymore when they take him away, but I can¡¯t imagine living without his company.


    ¡°Nathan?¡± I interrupt him.


    ¡°Hmm?¡± He responds, turning his head slightly to look at me.


    ¡°Can you help me straighten my legs?¡± If they come for him, if there is an outside; I want to be able to go with him and for that, I need to stand.


    ¡°Umm, the only way to straighten them would be to break them again.¡±


    ¡°Ok, let¡¯s do that,¡± I respond. His eyes widen. He looks shocked by my response. ¡°Please, if we are to leave here for your outside¡­¡±


    ¡°O-ok.¡± His voice shakes. Is he frightened?


    ¡°Could you,¡± He takes a deep breath, ¡°Straighten your left leg so that your turned foot is above the ground?¡±


    He helps me move my leg to the position he wants, and then he stands up, and steps on my foot.


    There is a snapping noise, and a sharp sensation that I push behind my barrier. I stare at my foot, seeing it pressed against the ground.


    Nathan is kneeling next to it. ¡°Shit. We shouldn¡¯t have done this. I¡¯m not a doctor Hope! Why did I agree to this? He fiddles with my leg causing a strange grinding noise. He pulls up my black pant leg to above the area where the turn in my leg was.


    There is blood leaking out from that area, and a glint of white showing through. How fascinating. I feel as if I am floating, staring down at a strange scene.


    Nathan pulls on my leg and shifts it so the white disappears, but more blood is flowing out. Everything is getting splotchy. I can¡¯t quite see him clearly anymore. He yanks off his shirt¡­


    Everything is dark. My vision is gone. What happened?


    He is holding me, staring down at me with a worried look on his face.


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°You passed out. Let¡¯s not fix the other leg.¡± He moves away towards the door, and I realize that he is shirtless. I look down at my leg, and see that his shirt is tied around the break.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± He doesn¡¯t respond, but picks up something over by the door.


    He comes back toward me with two bowls. Is it dinner time already?

 Chapter 7: Dreaming of Infinity

    "How long has it been?" I ask, fed up with my helplessness.


    He scowls at me. "Twenty-nine days."


    He''s been in a bad mood since he helped me straighten the one leg. Of course I don''t think either of us is in a great mood.


    I hate depending on him for everything, and he won''t let me move my leg for thirty days. Apparently it takes thirty days for a bone to heal. He won''t tell me how he knows this, just that we have to wait thirty days before I am even allowed to look at my legs.


    "What is wrong with removing the bandage one day early? One day can''t make that much of a difference."


    "Thirty days. Every day makes a difference." He shrugs and continues his pacing back and forth.


    He''s been doing this for a little while now. Whenever he stands up he starts to pace back and forth. Its like how I make time pass by letting the world go blank, but he does this while pacing. He started it to keep warm, but now it seems to be something more. He can''t seem to function anymore without the pacing.


    I hear the chattering of his teeth again, and realize that he is shivering again. "Do you want to borrow-"


    "No," he interrupted me, "I told you already that I won''t take your shirt."


    They hadn''t given him another shirt. I guess they didn''t care if he died because of freezing conditions, and he refused to remove his shirt from my leg. It was as if he was afraid of what he would see.


    "You don''t need to worry about me, I''ve gotten used to the chilly air.¡± He pauses, looking down at me, at my leg wrapped in his shirt, ¡°I''m just afraid they will come for me before your leg has finished healing."


    He turned toward the door, his eyes staring at that door. I knew of it only as a portal of light, but he imagined some world beyond it.


    ¡°I won¡¯t let them take you.¡±


    He made a strange scratchy breathy sound, and I realized he was laughing, a mocking laugh. ¡°You? Hope, you can¡¯t even walk. You can do nothing to stop them.¡±


    I shook my head. I¡¯d grown attached to him. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, something was telling me that this was wrong, that he would be taken away like everyone else, and I would forget him again. That I should go ahead and forget him.


    Stubbornly I clung to my desires, ¡°I won¡¯t let them take you.¡±


    He turned back to me, his face showing pity, ¡°You will probably continue to sit in this cell, meeting people dumped in your cell, and forgetting them for the rest of your life.¡±


    I look over at you for support against his claim, but you solemnly nod, your own face showing pity at my condition. I don¡¯t need your pity! This wasn¡¯t to be the rest of my life. This couldn¡¯t be the rest of my life.


    ¡°No! I won¡¯t let this be who I am. I won¡¯t let them take you!¡±


    Stop looking at me like I¡¯m crazy! I know I can stop them, and I will this time. I don¡¯t want to forget again!


    ¡°Hope, how do you plan to stop them?¡± Nathan¡¯s voice breaks through my inner struggle


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know, but I know I can stop them.¡± Why does no one believe me?


    ¡°Hope, I¡¯m sorry, but I won¡¯t hold out for your miraculous ability to stop trained guards from taking me out of this cell. It¡¯s going to happen, and there is nothing either of us can do about.¡± He looks down at my leg sitting straight out in front of me. ¡°If the resetting of this leg worked, I will reset the other leg, so that maybe, one day, with a different cell mate, you will be able to escape. I,¡± he pauses, staring at me. ¡°Just promise me you will try to escape. Promise me that you will remember your promise to me, and I can leave you with peace of mind.¡±


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    ¡°I promise that both of us will escape.¡± I glare at him, daring him to deny me.


    He laughs again, ¡°I guess that will have to do for now.¡±


    He walks back toward me and sits down next to me. When I grab his arm I feel the cold of his skin stabbing through my hands, and wrap my arms around him. It¡¯s habit by now to try and stay warm in the cold cell. It didn¡¯t used to be this cold. It used to be a comfortable temperature, and it still seemed fairly comfortable, until I touched his skin and felt the cold invading my warmth.


    His breathing slows, and I can tell he¡¯s sleeping again, his head leaning against my shoulder. He sleeps more to pass time, and I struggle to sleep watching time slowly crawl by in mind numbing hours. I feel as if I am waiting for something.


    You looked bored, tired of watching me sit here, awake and staring into the nothingness that is my future, and your future. This can¡¯t be my story. There has to be more. I look down at my legs, one wrapped near the ankle in a black shirt, the other bent at a ninety degree angle. Tomorrow we will remove the wrap. Tomorrow we will reset my other leg, and after that, I will stand.


    Two bowls are pushed into the cell, but I don¡¯t want to wake Nathan. He looks less troubled, lying there against my shoulder.


    My stomach growls and I can feel my hunger gnawing at me. I shake him awake for fear of losing even a meager meal.


    ***


    The next morning he is waiting for me with a bowl of food in his hands. I reach out to take the bowl, and realize my hands are shaking. They fall back down uselessly. Food isn¡¯t what I want right now.


    ¡°Could I¡­ Can I look at my leg?¡± Why is my voice so unsteady? What am I afraid of? It can¡¯t be worse than it was.


    He nods, not saying a word, and puts the morning porridge on the ground next to me. He carefully unties the shirt, and peels it away from my leg. Dried red blood is smeared all over my leg, but it chips away to show a wide was scar, and a straight looking leg.


    He holds the shirt, hovering over my leg, his eyes wide with disbelief.


    ¡°It¡­ it worked. How?¡± He whispers to himself.


    I want to test it, to stand on this straight leg.


    ¡°Will you help me stand?¡±


    He nods, and it seems as if words are evading him. He lifts me up by my shoulder, until my straight leg is under me, and he holds me, letting me wobble on my one leg, so close to the ceiling. The ground is so far down! I feel as if the cell shrunk in the moments since he lifted me up. I reach one hand toward the top of the cell, feeling as if I could touch it if I stretch just a little more.


    The muscles in my leg holding me up give out, and his hold is the only thing keeping me upright. Gently, he lowers me back toward the ground.


    I feel as if the world is new, as if there is nothing holding me back, my lips turn up, and I realize that I am smiling, and he is smiling back at me.


    ¡°I stood,¡± I whisper.


    He nods. ¡°Its possible Hope, it¡¯s possible that one day you will walk again, and one day you will leave this cell.¡±


    One day. One day didn¡¯t feel like such an impossible future anymore.


    His shirt is in a ball next to me, so I pick it up. It is stiff, and seems to want to hold the shape it¡¯s been holding. The fabric is stuck together in some areas, so I pull it apart until I held a wrinkly and stiff shirt.


    I hold it out to him, and he holds it, staring out it with mild disgust.


    ¡°Why are you not putting it on?¡±


    He looks at me like I am crazy, which I might be, but why is he giving me that look over a shirt?


    ¡°It¡¯s covered in your dried blood.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°Sometimes I forget, you don¡¯t remember the outside world and you don¡¯t understand some inhibitions. In the world outside this cell, you try to touch other people¡¯s blood as little as possible because blood carries disease.¡±


    Disease? Another of those words he says that doesn¡¯t make much sense. I just shrug. He is willing to touch other people, but he is afraid of their blood. Such a contradictory way of life.


    ¡°Eat your porridge; then we will reset your other leg.¡±


    I grab the bowl still sitting next to me, and gulp down the meal the fastest I¡¯ve ever eaten. I want to reset the leg. I want to walk out of here with him.


    When he pushes down on the second bone, I hear the snap when it gives. I stare at the leg; focusing on it being straight. I want to walk again!


    I feel the bone grinding, and I feel as if the desire for my leg to be straight is being pushed out of my eyes like little fingers, pulling the bone straight. My head feels strange, as if everything is floating and nothing is tethering me down. Nathan wavers in front of my eyes, his form blurry.


    Then everything focuses, and I can see him clearly again. He is crouched over my le, just staring at it. He looks back at me with a puzzled look, and then back at my leg. He wraps his shirt tightly around the ankle we just straightened, and ties it on.


    He looks back at me with that puzzled look.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Did something go wrong? Was he worried about those moments when I felt like I was floating.


    ¡°Ummm,¡± He pauses, looks back at my leg, and then back toward me. ¡°No, I was just surprised. Your leg¡­ It straightened easily. It didn¡¯t puncture your skin this time.¡±


    ¡°Then why did you wrap your shirt around it this time?¡± If it wasn¡¯t necessary he should be wearing it.


    ¡°I¡¯m using the shirt to hopefully stabilize it so that it won¡¯t heal misaligned again.¡±


    He moved over to sit down next to me. ¡°One day Hope. One day I will introduce you to the world beyond this cell.¡±


    You are staring at the door. Do you know what is out there? Or are you like me? Do you only know this cell? Will you be able to leave this cell with me?

 Chapter 8: Visions of Power

    Time seems to slow own and drag the more I have to sit her and not move. I have all the time in the world to do nothing. To let Nathan wait on me. To think.


    I test those strange blocks in my mind that I¡¯ve been trying to ignore. I¡¯ve been feeling strange since Nathan reset my legs and I had that light headed moment. It¡¯s as if there is a strange buzzing behind my eyes, something waiting to be used.


    Does this have something to do with the blocks?


    The more I focus on the blocks, the more I realize a couple things. One of those things is that some things are constantly flowing behind those blocks. I can feel the floor under my hand, but if I dig on of my nails into my arm, all I feel is the gentle touch of a nail against my skin, and there is some other feeling being immediately forgotten behind those blocks in my mind. I think I should feel something else, in fact I am certain I should be feeling something else.


    I can feel it, a thread like the threads that bind my clothing, flowing away behind that block. I pull my finger away from the skin of my arm, and notice a red mark in the shape of my nail.


    The thread becomes thinner, almost invisible. I rub my finger against the mark, and for a second it gets thicker again.


    I go to try again, and Nathan grabs my hand. ¡°Hope, why are you inflicting pain on yourself?¡± He looks worried, as if I am doing something wrong.


    ¡°Pain? Is that what this mark is called?¡±


    He frowns. ¡°Pain is¡­ It¡¯s that intense feeling of ¨C of¡­¡± He drifts off. He seems to be struggling to explain this word. ¡°It¡¯s ¨C It¡¯s the feeling you get when you make the mark on your skin. It¡¯s a burning feeling.¡±


    ¡°A burning feeling?¡± Maybe this is the feeling that is being immediately forgotten. Should I have felt this when you reset my legs?¡±


    His eyebrows furrow. ¡°Yes. You should have felt this sensation when I reset your legs. In fact, it should have been so bad that you screamed of passed out.¡±


    I nod. That makes sense then. I had noticed in the back of my mind that a very large thread was going behind the block when he reset my leg. Maybe that was the reason that I had gotten that strange feeling. I was probably overfilling the area behind these blocks.


    ¡°Hope?¡± Nathan¡¯s voice breaks through my thoughts.


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    ¡°Did you hear what I just asked?¡± He is still holding my hand, preventing my from testing my theory again.


    ¡°No, what did you just say?¡±


    ¡°I asked, can you not feel pain?¡±


    I nod. ¡°I think so. I was testing this. I thought that maybe I was missing something. There was a ghost of a thought that I should have felt something.¡±


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    ¡°Please, stop testing this. Let¡¯s just assume that for some reason you can¡¯t feel it, and you can be grateful that you can¡¯t feel it. Even if you can¡¯t feel it it¡¯s not good for your body.¡±


    I shrug, ¡°Ok, I¡¯ll stop.¡± I¡¯ll stop while he¡¯s awake. I will continue testing my blocks later, when he is asleep and I can¡¯t sleep. He sleeps so much now, and I struggle to sleep now. I¡¯m not sure why, but now I feel more alive than I used to. Everything seems to be in more focus, and yet time drags immeasurably slowly.


    And yet it continues. The light goes on, food comes three times while the lights are on, and then the lights go off.


    Each time porridge comes, Nathan makes a mark on the floor on the other side of the cell.


    But he seems to be losing focus. He moves around the cell with a noticeable lethargy. He moves as if by wrote, barely even speaking to me anymore. Even now, he is walking back and forward across the cell in front of me. He seems to notice nothing as he walks. The chill of the cell doesn¡¯t even seem to bother him anymore.


    I¡¯m surprised he even noticed my experiments.


    Bread tumbles through the door, and he picks it up throws me a piece, and chows down on it. Why can¡¯t I be in that state of non-existence anymore? I used to be a master of passing time by just letting it flow by, but I can¡¯t do that anymore. I¡¯m fully aware, fully awake now.


    I gnaw on the bread because it is habit to chew the tasteless stuff.


    He is pacing again, back and forward in front of me. You seem sad. Do you pity him? You should feel happy for him. He probably barely notices the days anymore. I think he keeps track more out of habit than out of any care for the time passing.


    It¡¯s been twenty porridges since he broke my leg. I know this even though I can¡¯t see his marks. I¡¯ve been keeping track.


    That feeling behind my eyes. The buzzing behind my eyes bothers me. It¡¯s as if something wants to be released from behind my eyes.


    When he reset my legs, that feeling of reaching out¡­


    I imagine reaching out to him, and I imagine little hands, reaching out to ward him, and the buzzing is soothed, though my head feels tight and pinched. Gently, I tap his should with one of the little hand I can see reaching out, and he jumps.


    I snatch back to myself, and the hands disappear. The buzzing is less, but I feel that strange light sensation for a moment.


    Nathan is looking wildly around the cell. Did I actually just touch him with my hands, or is this a dream and it is all my imagination.


    I laugh, unable to help myself, and Nathan glares at me. ¡°Why are you laughing, I swear someone just tapped my shoulder.¡±


    I shake my head, ¡°You looked funny, looking all around like that. So you are imaging things now¡­¡±


    I couldn¡¯t tell him about my visions, about the hands I had seen and manipulated.


    He shakes his head, ¡°No, I swear, I wasn¡¯t imagining it. Someone¡­¡± He shakes his head again, ¡°No, Something touched my shoulder.¡±


    He shudders and I look down at the floor. I can¡¯t explain what had just happened. I shouldn¡¯t have laughed though. I think ¨C I think I caused what he felt.


    He looks around, as if he expects to see something else around him, ¡°Did you see anything or anymore, a wispy shape, maybe a ghost?¡±


    I shake my head and stare at my feet. What had I done? What am I? This ability. It wasn¡¯t ¨C I don¡¯t know.


    The pressure in my head is making it hard to think. I hold my head in my hands; my head feels too heavy to hold itself up.


    Nathan¡¯s hands are on my shoulders. I look up enough to see him sitting next to me, holding my shoulders, his face lined with worry.


    ¡°Am I worthy of such a look,¡± I laugh but it adds to the strange pressure, so I stop.


    ¡°Hope, what¡¯s wrong? You never feel pain, right?¡±


    I try to shake my head, but it¡¯s too heavy, so I revert to words, ¡°Pressure, I feel like my skull is too small, like my brain is pushing against my skull.¡±


    ¡°Is there anything¡­ I think if you just lie down and sleep it should help.¡±


    ¡°Mmm,¡± I can¡¯t say more. Sleep sounds good. I feel myself falling, but something is holding me up, gently lowering me to the floor. Him.

 Chapter 9: This Insane World

    I am awake, but I don¡¯t want to wake up. I don¡¯t want to be forced back into the reality of my cell. I let myself just lie here, in this limbo state between nothingness and forever.


    The surface under my head moves and I jolt awake, opening my eyes quickly to Nathan¡¯s bare chest above me.


    Wha¡­


    I am lying on his lap. His blue eyes are engulfing me, their color out of place in this world of mine. Something is gently stroking my head, a hand, his head. I decide not to move yet, and to simply stare in those bottomless eyes.


    ¡°Ummm, Hi,¡± he laughs nervously.


    Oh, I am lying on his lap. I struggle upwards, and his hands help push my shoulders till I am sitting up.


    ¡°I¡­¡± What do I say, I didn¡¯t mean to pass out?


    ¡°You passed out and I grabbed you. I didn¡¯t want you to hit your head on the ground.¡±


    I nod, as if accepting a perfect excuse. My legs had moved and were stretched straight out in front of me, parallel to the wall instead of perpendicular.


    ¡°I moved your legs so you wouldn''t move them in your sleep and cause one to heal incorrectly.¡±


    I nod again, not quite sure what to say.


    ¡°Could you help me move back to leaning against the wall? It¡¯s hard to hold my body upright without the wall supporting me. I wanted to just lean back, to let myself just lie on his lap, but I can¡¯t. It¡¯s not¡­ I don¡¯t know. I just know that I have to force myself to continue to sit up.


    Nathan nods, and moves over to my legs. He carefully holds both my legs, stabilizing the one against the other, and rotates my legs, rotating me as well.


    ¡°Thanks.¡± I let myself lean back against the wall, too tired to keep myself from leaning against the wall¡¯s support.


    He nods. He¡¯s been helping me like this so much. I think he doesn¡¯t even really think about it much anymore, but every time I need his help I feel my helpless so much more. I want to move, to crawl or walk. To be able to do everything myself, but I am dependent on him.


    I sits down next to me, leaning against the wall, and I let myself lean against his shoulder. I expect complaint, but he says nothing and simply leans his head against mine.


    ¡°How long do you think I have?¡± His voice rumbles against me.


    ¡°Hmm?¡± I don¡¯t quite understand his question.


    ¡°How long do you think I have until they take me?¡± He repeats.


    ¡°I won¡¯t let them take you.¡± And I know how I shall prevent them now.


    He is silent for a while, thinking on his own private thoughts.


    ¡°How long until we have to fight them, then?¡± He is fixated on thoughts of being taken away.


    ¡°I honestly don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t¡­¡± I take a deep breath, ¡°I don¡¯t remember.¡±


    He says nothing, and I let myself drift away.


    The cell door opens, and though it quiet its as loud as someone screaming. Nathan is clutching my arm tightly. They won¡¯t take him from me!


    I feel the power building behind my eyes. I feel the hatred for them. The disgust for the conditions they have kept me in. The useless worthless beasts they are!


    I feel the pressure again, but this time I feel like I can do anything the guard is moving in slow motion toward us, toward Nathan. Wrinkles form around his eyes, his mouth, his nose. A look of disgust and contempt.


    I can do anything. The guard grabs Nathan¡¯s arm, and I hold on for dear life.


    ¡°No.¡± The voice that comes out of my mouth is not mine, it is a powerful, sure, commanding voice. A woman with a purpose would speak that way.


    The guard laughed, each breath grating against me. ¡°Release him.¡± The guard says, but his voice is a high pitch whine, a piercing shriek against the pressure building up inside my head.


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    You are behind him, staring at me. Waiting to see how I plan to stop them from taking him.


    They will not take Nathan from me! I glare at the guard, and I feel the power build behind my eyes. It is an inferno waiting to be released, the hands are reaching out toward the guard, waiting for the command to strangle him. He pulls harder, and Nathan¡¯s arm slips from my grasp.


    ¡°Hope!¡± I can hear him scream somewhere, everywhere.


    ¡°No.¡± I reach out, and when I touch the guard, I feel his heart pounding in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his blood. My hands find his heart; I can see the bulbous muscle pulsing away in his chest. It needs to stop making so much noise, I can¡¯t hear anything else. I grasp it to silence it. I hold it as it struggles. It fights, trying hard to beat even louder, and then it shudders. I hold it tighter, fighting it, and eventually it quiets.


    Someone cries out. Someone hits the ground. My vision slowly wavers, and I can see the room clearly for a moments, the cell outlined in stark light. The guard is lying on the ground, his face outlined by the horror of what I had just done. Nathan, standing above him, his back turned toward me. Slowly, his head turns to look at me. His shock is written on his face.


    I just killed a man. I just killed the guard. I just wanted to silence his heart¡­ No, I¡¯d wanted to strangle him. I¡®d desired to kill him.


    I killed him. My power killed him. The scene becomes spotty, and slowly the spots crows out my vision until the world becomes black.


    <hr>


    Someone is shaking me. Nathan¡¯s blue eyes are looking straight into mine, but there is fear. Fear in his expression, in his voice as he shakes me. ¡°Hope!¡± He screams at me.


    ¡°Yes?¡± I whisper calmly, unable to care about his fear.


    ¡°We have to get out. This is our chance. The guard, he¡¯s dead, there¡¯s probably more coming.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t realize that I killed the guard, or maybe he does, and he just doesn¡¯t want to accept it.


    He reaches down to pick me up, and I shake my head. ¡°Help me walk.¡±


    He stares at me for a moment, ¡°Your leg isn¡¯t strong enough yet. It will break.¡±


    ¡°It will not break again.¡± I stare down at my leg, and I see the hands reaching down, wrapping around the site of the break and leaving a hard residue around the bump that is the healing bone.


    He hesitates, one hand hovering near my legs, but then he brings both hands to my waist, and lifts me to my legs. I wobble, and he holds me up. I wrap one arm over his shoulder, and slowly we begin to move toward the door.


    Step by painful step with Nathan carefully holding me up. He didn¡¯t say anything, but I could feel his anxiousness, his fear that we wouldn¡¯t manage to escape.


    I could hear arguing beyond the open cell door.


    ¡°Do you think we should go in?¡± One voice asked; worry raising the pitch of his voice.


    ¡°Nah, Frank¡¯s probably just playing with the girl,¡± the other voice sounded calm and uncaring.


    ¡°I¡¯m going in, Frank should be out by now.¡± The first voice says. I hear something clinking as we walk through the first door into a small area with a second door at the other end of this are barely big enough to hold us.


    The door opens, and a guard is staring at us for only a moment before the door starts to close again.


    ¡°No.¡± I reach out with the invisible little hands and grab the door, yanking it from the man¡¯s grasp. Two guards stand in front of the door, shock written on both their faces, and again the world slows down.


    I reach out and grip the one who was afraid for the man named Frank. I can see him, playing with two children in a room, golden hair swinging around the face of a woman, and coming close to her, kissing her. ¡°Ray,¡± she laughed, her laughter ringing out in joy. The children down below, clinging to legs. ¡°Daddy, will you play shark with us.¡± A deep rumbling laugh. ¡°Later, tonight¡±


    Sitting in a church next to the golden haired woman, ¡°Anne¡­¡±


    Her in a beautiful white dress. Her for the first time, dancing in a room with flashing lights and a silver dress that hugged her figure. Sitting in a room filled with other people, staring through reality glasses at a virtual classroom. The glasses coming off to a small room with a chair and a desk. A father coming in, screaming, yelling, a belt.


    A mother sobbing in a yellow dress blotched with blood. A friend, lying on the ground, a bruise forming, his face full of shock. Hiding in a cabinet, wiping something sticky from head, looking at the hands and seeing red¡­


    I ripped myself away from his mind. I could feel the memories still in my head. He was staring at a wall, lost. He wasn¡¯t a threat anymore.


    I felt energized. The pressure was building in my head, and I grabbed the other guard¡¯s heart and held. I watched as he collapsed with a detached feeling, as if I wasn¡¯t in this scene and simply watching it happen.


    Nathan¡¯s arms are still wrapped around me, holding me up. I feel hot, as if my skin is burning, but the world is bright. Energy pulses through me.


    One man is on the ground. His eyes open in death. The other stands there, staring at a wall. Ray¡­ The golden haired woman, Anne, called him Ray. He had two children, and he¡¯d grown up a bully, but he was trying to be good, for Anne, for his children. I could see his memories as if I was standing outside them, watching people move through the motions of life. The outside world.


    He didn¡¯t seem to notice me. Did I break his mind somehow? Would he not return home to play shark with his children tonight?


    You reach out toward him, as if to touch his shoulder, and then stop. You look so sad. What did I do?


    Nathan starts to walk, and I stumble along with his support, wishing I had agreed to simply let him carry me.


    My legs are useless sticks only holding me up because Nathan¡¯s arms are holding me upright.


    Slowly we wind through the halls. Nathan keeps hearing noises and dragging us into corners or hiding places. Sirens are booming, I can hear them in the back ground. The exhaustion is pulling at me like water dragged down Ray when he was a child. Hold me down, filling my lungs with its power.


    Nathan pulls me out of a cell he just dragged me into, and almost carries me along the hall, my legs stumbling along underneath me, almost dragging.


    He stops, and scoops me up, one arm under my knees, and one under my shoulders. ¡°You are so light, like a wraith. I think this is easier for both of us.¡±


    I nod, and let my head settle into his chest, one arm still wrapped around his shoulder.


    I look up at the ceiling and see a small black screen watching us. I can¡¯t let them see us. I reach out toward it, and then I let myself sink into the exhaustion.

 Chapter 10: The Heartbeat of the Xatron

    A strange swaying motion. Up down, back forward, pressure under my legs and shoulders. What is going on? I struggle for a moment, but someone is holding on to me.


    ¡°Calm down Hope, it¡¯s just me.¡±


    ¡°Who are you?¡± For that matter, who is Hope.


    I see you standing there, shock in your expression, and then a sad acceptance, what is going on?


    Why are you standing in front of me, floating backwards.


    Where are we going? Is he¡­ Is he taking me to the Xatron¡­?


    No! I wouldn¡¯t go. I couldn¡¯t go. I struggle harder.


    ¡°Shh, its ok Hope. I think you are just slightly disoriented. We just escaped our cell, and I am carrying you out of here.


    Our cell? We were in a cell? These stark gray halls were unfamiliar. They were outlined by doors and halls branching off.


    I shouldn¡¯t be here, should I? Why was I in this man¡¯s arms.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± I ask again. What does he want with me?


    I look up, and notice blue eyes that are too brilliant. I have to look away. They feel as if they are clawing at my insides when I look at them, but I want to. I want to turn my head and look at his eyes again. For some reason, they feel familiar, comforting.


    Who am I? Am I this Hope he keeps calling me?


    ¡°I¡¯m Nathan, and you are Hope. Can¡¯t you remember? Our cell? The time spent together? Fixing your legs?¡±


    I shake my head. I have no idea what else to say or do. I look back toward his face, and notice his frown.


    ¡°You let your memory slip again, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I, what?¡± What in the world was he talking about? How did he know so much about me?


    ¡°Look behind your barrier, Hope. You told me once of a barrier to where your memories slip away to.¡± He is still carrying me toward somewhere.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± I ask, my mind only half listening as I tried to figure out who I was. I thought about his name, and his eyes. Where did I know those eyes from?


    I hit the barrier hard, enough to stop my thoughts for a moment. I felt that it was wrong to go further. To fight the barrier would hurt me. I should forget anything behind it. I shouldn¡¯t remember anything that slipped away behind there for fear of knowing myself.


    ¡°I¡¯m trying to find my sister, her name is Lizzie. She has to be in here somewhere¡­¡± I stop listening. He is most definitely lost¡­


    Lizzie¡­ Lizzie. The name sounds familiar. No. The barrier spoke. Don¡¯t pass. You don¡¯t want to know.


    Where is Lizzie? I have to help him. I¡¯m not going to go back to a safe existence until she is found.


    ¡°Right.¡± I speak with knowledge from beyond my barrier. Something that has slipped through.


    ¡°Hmmm? Nathan murmurs.


    ¡°Turn right now.¡± I say again.


    He listened, and turned. I felt a guard approaching, and I reached out with small hands from my eyes, and blocked his site of us, the hands were like an invisible screen.


    For a moment Nathan stops, staring at the guard he didn¡¯t hear. I realize he thinks the guard will see us and drag us back to our cell. The guard walks by without noticing use standing just to his left. If he had just wobbled a little he would have hit us¡­


    Nathan takes a deep breath and walks on. ¡°I have no idea why he didn¡¯t see us, just like I have no idea what happened to the guards that came to get me. I think¡­ I think a ghost is protecting us, the one that touched me in the cell.¡±


    I have no idea what happened to these guards at this cell he talks about, but I know what just happened with the guard walking by. For a second I think of telling him the truth that it is me that just hid us. That I have an insane ability to control things with the hands that seem to come out of my eyes.


    I look over at you, and I have an idea. I don¡¯t want to tell him. It¡¯s like the barrier protecting my memory, except this is a barrier against telling the truth.


    ¡°I¡­ I can see a person constantly following us. They are faint, as if barely there. I thought, I thought that they were simply a figment of my imagination, but they stood between us and that guard¡­¡±


    He¡¯s silent for a moment. ¡°I guess that makes more sense than anything else in this strange day.¡±


    ¡°Left.¡± The direction is suddenly there in my mind. He follows it without question this time.


    I feel as if I¡¯ve known him forever¡­ Is the barrier crumbling?


    ¡°Left.¡± He turns again.


    ¡°This door. The one on the right¡± I stare at the door. Maybe grate would be a better term. The door grate thing is made of crisscrossing iron strips, and between the strips I can see a person curled up in the corner.


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    Nathan sets me down, and shakes the door, trying to open it to no avail. ¡°Hope, can your ghost open it?¡±


    I nod, and focus, pushing out my hands and reaching into the lock, turning tumblers inside the lock. I feel tired again, but I can feel a small stream of energy coming from behind the barrier, like a light to keep me awake.


    The door clicks and swings open. Nathan stares at it a second before running into the cell, and carrying out a grubby small person. A girl. A girl with matted brown hair.


    He sets her down next to me. ¡°Lizzie.¡± He whispers harshly and shakes her, but she doesn¡¯t respond. She is vacant, dead inside. She has been to the Xatron.


    ¡°Lizzie,¡± I whisper and touch her shoulder. Her head turns in an almost disjointed manner.


    ¡°You.¡± Is all she says, staring at me.


    ¡°Me,¡± I whisper back, not sure why she is so accusatory toward me. What have I done?


    ¡°You stole the memories.¡± She accuses.


    ¡°I what?¡± Now she isn¡¯t making any sense, but a small voice tells me she is. Something tells me that this makes perfect sense.


    ¡°I will take you to it, to the Xatron, to yourself.¡± She stands mechanically, her limbs jerking for each movement.


    ¡°What is she talking about? Hope, do you have any idea?¡± Nathan is shaking me, and I find those eyes fixated on me.


    ¡°We need to follow her. Can you carry me again? I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m too weak to walk.¡± I hear myself say. I have no idea what is going on. I don¡¯t even know how I know the things I do, like the knowledge that I need to follow this Lizzie to understand.


    He looks as if he wants to say something, as if he wants to argue, but he shakes his head and picks me up.


    ¡°Lead on Lizzie.¡± He says to her.


    She steps out, each step the same length, a brisk walk. A troop of guards is running this way, and I quickly hide us behind a screen. Nathan stares in shock as they run right by us. I can see that they are freaked out by not being able to find us.


    ¡°Did you see her kill Frank on the camera, and then what she did to Ray and Steve¡­¡±


    ¡°Did you hear that they can¡¯t even see her on the cameras anymore¡­¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s happening¡­¡±


    ¡°No idea..¡±


    ¡°Like a ghost¡­¡±


    ¡°Another escapee¡­¡±


    Their voices reach me before being snatched away by their owners running away.


    I look around, wondering what happened to the cameras. I see a small black square in the ceiling, and a gray hand covering it.


    Did I do that?


    More guards pass us, but I block their vision of us without much effort. We are as invisible as my hands.


    I start to feel tired again, and I lean my head into Nathan. A guard is approaching us from behind. He is following us, going in the same direction but faster. I can feel Nathan¡¯s strength failing him, we are falling behind Lizzie, and he keeps adjusting his grip on me.


    The guards see us as I see him, and I reach out, and touch his mind. I let the memories flow through me without really reading them, simply basking in the energy and peace that the feeling of them flowing into me brings.


    When I pull away, he is staring straight at us, but his vision is blank. He is not moving, and neither are we for that matter. Lizzie is staring at him, and for a moment I see her look sympathetic toward the man, toward James, the memories feed me a name.


    Then she turns and continues walking. Nathan stumbles and almost falls, dropping my legs for just a moment.


    ¡°I can walk again, just, just help me to stand and I can walk.¡± He nods.


    Together we follow Lizzie. We come to a locked door, and she turns to stare at me. ¡°You need to open it.¡±


    Everything in me screams not to open it. This is the key to my barrier. This is the key to my mind. I reach out, curiosity fighting instinct.


    These tumblers are harder, more intricate than the ones on Lizzie¡¯s cell. With a little patience I push them all in the correct order, and the lock clicks open. Lizzie pushes the door open and walks into the room. Nathan and I follow her into the room, the white brilliance of it almost blinding me.


    In the center is a gray box with cords coming out of it. A chair sits in front of it with a strange dome thing fixed above the chair.


    ¡°The only way to fix yourself, is to sit,¡± Lizzie whispers to me. Her eyes are fixed on the box.


    Hesitantly, I move to go forward, but Nathan holds me back. ¡°No Hope, we have no idea what that things does.¡±


    I shake my head. I know, in a way. I already know even without connecting to it. I knew as soon as I walked in this room. I knew before that when I stole Ray¡¯s memories.


    I am the Xatron.


    The revelation shocks me, breaking through the block. Memories flood through me. Lily¡¯s memories, an orphan running with a gang, organizing her gang to fight against the system. A rebellion she called it to her followers. I can see her last moments, as she is forced into the chair, and as I eat her memories and the magic in them awakens me. As I fill the space left. The body my avatar, my sight into the world.


    They break my legs and I block out the pain. I block all the memories I am forming. I eat more memories. Memories feed my consciousness. Each cell mate I have goes to feed me more. I store the memories, each memory brimming with power, but I forget. I do this almost unconsciously, letting the memory of it float away before I have even known of it.


    Memories are stripped of power are simply recordings. Watching someone¡¯s life from the outside, like a movie. I think that somewhere in my hardware I record the images, which is why I have the saved videos of the memories, but I can tell they are not mine. I have stolen the power out of them. Even some of my own memories are stripped.


    I suddenly find myself laughing. I am sitting on the ground, next to Nathan. I am the Xatron. I didn¡¯t need the chair to connect to myself.


    I turn toward Lizzie and reach out with my hands. I deliver the recordings of her memories into her mind. It is all I can do to try and fix her. She didn¡¯t deserve her fate. None of them really did, but she is the only one I can fix right now.


    She blinks, and then looks down at her feet. ¡°I guess - I guess I did used to be someone named Lizzie.¡± She smiles slightly at me, ¡°She called you Hope. I guess it was a fitting name, for you were the only hope for escape from this place. No one would see you coming.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I can see Nathan sitting there, his expression completely lost. I can understand, one moment Lizzie was telling me to sit in the chair, and the next I am collapsed onto the floor having a conversation with his sister who is acting strange.


    He will hate me. He will throw himself away from me and run.


    ¡°I am the heartbeat of the Xatron. I am the machine in this room. I am the one who eats memories.¡±


    He slowly scoots backwards, his head shaking side to side. ¡°No, you are Hope. You see a ghost who is the Xatron.


    I shake my head. ¡°I am the Xatron. I awoke when Lily was fed to me, but I can get us out of this place. I have the power to protect us.¡±


    He continues backing until he is backed up against the wall, and then he just stands there, staring at me.


    Lizzie walks up and takes his hand. She beams up at him the way I can see her in her memories from whenever she wanted something from him. ¡°Hope gave me back my memories. We can leave, and Hope can support our cause.¡±


    I nod. I don¡¯t want him - them to leave me. I don¡¯t want to be alone. I don¡¯t want to lose them, my friends. Or at least that is what I think they are. That is what all the memories tell me they are.


    I look down at my legs, and run the invisible hands over my muscles, strengthening the fibers. I push myself up, onto my own two feet, and woodenly move toward Nathan. I am not used to this walking.


    I hold out my hand, and he steps forward. His hand grasping my hand. His other hand clutching his sister¡¯s hand. Together we walk toward the door. Together, we walk into the future outside of this jail. My first time leaving my prison.


    You are bouncing up and down next to me. You are still there, my constant companion. I have no idea who you are, or why you appear to me. One day, will you tell me, or will you always be my silent shadow?

 Book 2: Memorys Madness; Chapter 1: Escape From Insanity

    I am the Xatron. The words rattle around in my brain even as we leave behind the gray box that is me. Now that the barrier is gone, I know that I exist both here, in this body, and there, in that room. Human and Machine.


    ¡°Hope!¡± Lizzie shouts, pulling me out of my reverie.


    I look up and notice a guard standing still, staring at us. At me. He opens his mouth as if to speak, and then closes it again.


    I touch his mind, and pull in his most recent memories. Three people standing in front of him with brown, black, and blonde hair. They were the three escapees his boss ordered a search for. Sitting alone in the apartment in the morning staring despondently at his bowl of cereal; mourning the breakup with the last girlfriend. Her yelling at him, "You spend too much damn time at that jail! You don''t even care enough about me to come home in time for dinner!"


    I yank myself away and put up an invisible barrier. He only lost a couple of days of memories. He will be disoriented for a couple of days, but I did a better job controlling my eating this time.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we are safe now.¡± I smile at my two companions and stride past them. His memories tell me the way out of this jail that has held me for so many years.


    ¡°Hope, do you know where you are going?¡± Nathan¡¯s voice is hesitant. He sounds unsure of whether to be scared or complicit.


    ¡°Of course. Jacob entered here this morning, and I have his memories of today now.¡± I am useful now. I am not just some brainless chick getting dragged along.


    The barrier that protected me from my own memories is gone. The only barrier left in my mind is the one I created to prevent myself from feeling pain. I know its dangerous, and one day it will break, but for now I leave it.


    Behind me my compatriots are slowing, exhaustion tugging at there ankles, so I slow my own stride down.


    The memories lead me to a door that is easy to push open, the stairwell. Jacob liked to use the stairs rather than the elevator. Felt it was better for his health and fitness levels.


    Guards are moving on the stairs a level above us heading upward. A sound and sight shield should protect us. I marvel at the strange little gray hands that I can see around us, enforcing my will.


    This place is a monstrosity. The prison was fifty levels high, built to hold roughly 1,000 prisoners a level.


    My level, called the Xatron level by the guards, was luckily on level 10. Only ten stories down to the exit. I raise a finger to my lips, and motion for silence the way I see people do in their memories.


    It¡¯s so strange. I used to have no memories to call up, no past no future, and now I can view so many pasts. I can pull on their memories as if they are my own.


    We creep down the stairs listening for the stop of guard boots. All I can hear is the slowly fading clomp of the guards heading up the stairs. Most guards probably take the elevator. Ray¡¯s memories inform me that he would take the elevator.


    The door to the first floor opens easily into an area surrounded by a clear wall with a door to a large lobby area. There is desk in the middle of the lobby, and chairs around the clear wall surrounding the stairwell. Somehow we have to get through the door into the lobby.


    One of the walls has small temporary cells made of metal bars. Two of the cells have people sitting on a bench in them. Four guards lounge near the cells in this lobby, and a woman in the guard uniform stands at the desk in the middle of the lobby. We will have to slip past all of these people.


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    I struggle to raise the shield of tiny hands to seal us away from sight, and my legs give out. I¡¯m sitting on the floor in a heap, and the shield I just raised is gone. We can¡¯t escape without that shield. I try to push out the hands, but it is too hard, and I let go.


    Someone touches my shoulder, and I turn to see Nathan next to me. ¡°Are, are you doing ok?¡± I can tell this whole situation has rattled him. I¡¯m not sure he ever expected we would get this far. He definitely didn¡¯t expect me and my powers. I thought he would hate me for stealing his sister¡¯s memories.


    Instead, he sits next to me, those overly blue eyes staring at me, waiting for me to answer. I shake my head. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think I can raise any more shields. The last shield drained my energy.¡± I still didn¡¯t understand my power that well. I would seem to be doing fine, and then it would suddenly exhaust me.


    ¡°Do you think you can steal the memories of the people in there?¡± His voice sounded strange, and he was staring past me now, as if trying not to see where the power he desired was coming from.


    ¡°I can, one at a time.¡± Taking memories was the easiest thing to do. The other things were the things that lead to exhaustion.


    ¡°I¡¯ll carry you then, and you can steal memories. Take the memories of the guards with guns first.¡±


    ¡°I need to be close to them.¡± I think about how hard it was to stretch out the hands. I don¡¯t think I could steal memories from across the room. I will probably need to touch them to be able to steal their memories.


    Why did my body give out now? I look over at you for an answer, but you stare at me as blankly as ever. You obviously don¡¯t have an answer for me. You never seem to be able to have any answers for me.


    ¡°Wrap your legs around me waist, and I will carry you as close as we can get. Lizzie, follow us once we¡¯ve gone to each guard in the building.


    I do as Nathan tells me, and clutch his shoulders tightly as he slowly stand up. Will we be fast enough to make it to all the guards?


    Lizzie opens the door and Nathan jogs out through the door. Too slow! We are too slow. The guards see us and shout. We make it to the door in the clear wall, but all four are standing there with their short weapons pointed at us. When we open that door, we will die. But if we stay here, guards will come down the stairs or the elevator, and we will also die.


    My eyes close, and I force myself awake. I can¡¯t let my own exhaustion kill us. I have to be strong. Nathan is carrying me, I can do this. I force those tiny hands out, push them past that clear door. They fight me. Every second is a struggle.


    One hand reaches one of the guards, and I can see her smiling at fianc¨¦ as she turns to head out the door. She loves the way his brown hair never stays flat on his head, and how he grumbles about it as if he thinks people care about this.


    Sleep. I whisper to her, not wanting to steal anymore memories from her. All of these people have lives that I am stealing.


    I force myself to go to the next guard and cling to him. He has his own speeder, and he loves the way it feels to zoom through the buildings on his way to work. He flies past all those people on the public shuttles and stops just short of the garage¡­ Sleep.


    I turn to the next guard as he collapses. Two more left. I can do this.


    His mother glares at him as he runs out of the house to catch the public shuttle. She doesn¡¯t exactly approve of him still living at home. At least he has a job. Half his friends don¡¯t. Sleep. Why am I seeing these people¡¯s memories from the morning?


    Once more. One more person. Actually two more, but the lady at the desk is pointing a gun at us. I reach toward the last one. A man jogging out of the stairwell with black haired woman clutching his back. Her buddies falling to the ground for some unknown reason. Playing cards with them earlier in the morning, joking about this job. Then the image coming through of the escapee from the mid-levels, and laughing that the crazy black haired woman and her blonde haired counterpart would make it down to the lobby level. Sleep.


    There are black splotches in my vision. I can see one last person to worry about. The woman at the desk, reaching under the desk.


    ¡°Woman, desk.¡± I whisper, unable to form more words.


    Nathan tries to open the door, but it was locked. I couldn¡¯t¡­ Not both. ¡°Leave me, take her out. Need to touch.¡± Nathan sets me down next to the door. The woman at the desk was holding one of those short weapon things out in front of her, and her hands were shaking. Hopefully she wouldn¡¯t be able to shoot well.


    Nathan lifts up my hand, and touches it to the door. I can see the inner workings of the lock, the tumblers to turn. I push, forcing them into place.


    I hope¡­


    ¡­ it works.

 Chapter 2: Hells Children

    Where am I? It is dark, and something clings to me. I struggle, pushing it off, and realize that it is a piece of cloth. A blanket Lily¡¯s memories tell me. It keeps people warm when they sleep because the inactivity of sleep makes a person colder.


    I push myself into a sitting position, and I realize I am in a dark room. Strange long shapes are lined up near me along the floor, and a strange rough noise that sounds like a door grating against its frame rumbles through the room.


    Snoring, a memory supplies me with a word. The shapes must be bodies.


    What am I doing here, and how did I end up here, wherever here is?


    I must be back in a cell. We must have been caught, and I woke up in the night cycle of the cell. I blew our escape. If only I was stronger.


    Maybe a better escape plan would have also helped. Something other than just casually walking out through the main lobby. There have to be other, better ways to escape this jail.


    Where is Nathan? Did they put him back in with me?


    I don¡¯t know what is going on. I need to know, now. I reach out with my hands to read the mind of one of the people near me.


    The light switches on, blinding me and plunging me back into my own mind.


    ¡°Morning Ya¡¯ll. Time to rise to yet another day in our fair city of disappointment.¡± A young teen with straight black hair hanging over his face, probably close to Lizzie¡¯s age, is standing near one of the walls, seemingly speaking to everyone. He looks over at me, and smiles.


    ¡°Hiya! Lily¡¯s awake!¡± Why was he calling me Lily, and what was this place? It didn¡¯t look like a cell. Strange speckled gray tiles covered the ceiling and a course fabric, a carpet, covered the ground. The walls were filled with colorful and unreadable words splashed across them.


    I searched through Lily¡¯s memories, and realized this must be an abandoned office building. An orphan hangout. Was with Nathan¡¯ rebel group he talked about?


    ¡°Hope, are you ok?¡± It was Nathan, sitting next to me. On the other side Lizzie¡¯s curly brown hair is emerging from under her blanket.


    I¡¯d almost tried to steal Nathan¡¯s memories earlier! I need to be more careful about m power. If I¡¯d stolen his memories, even a couple days¡¯ worth¡­.


    No, it wasn¡¯t worth thinking about.


    Nathan is staring at me, as if I am some sort of strange creature.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± I felt fine now. The earlier escapade definitely left me exhausted, and he probably carried me here, but otherwise I was perfectly fine.


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ You¡¯re eyes.¡± Shock making his voice stutter.


    ¡°What about my eyes?¡± He wasn¡¯t making much sense.


    ¡°They¡¯re red.¡±


    ¡°What!¡± I know that Lily has brown eyes. That this body has brown eyes.


    Lizzie also comes over to stare, and soon there is a whole crowd jabbering around me.


    I make the world around myself disappear, and tune out there jabbering around me. Why are my eyes red? Are you as confused as me? Or do you already know? Are you going to sit there and smile at me like I am some clueless child? I want to look over at you, but I can¡¯t. Not with all these people around trying to stare at my eyes.


    The voices quiet down and a hand touches my shoulder, ¡°You can¡¯t keep your eyes closed for forever.¡± Lizzie¡¯s voice. She is correct. Eventually I will have to open them and allow people to sit there and stare at my eyes.


    She is sitting right in front of me, staring at me with that blank look. What did I do to her? She used to have so much spirit and now she looks dead inside. It is as if she has seen too much of the terrible things in the world. Like a soldier who has gone to war, Ray¡¯s memories supply me with.


    ¡°It looks like your eyes have lost their pigmentation.¡± She states. How would she know this, she didn¡¯t even go to school did she?


    ¡°How¡­?¡±


    ¡°After they took my memories they did a separate experiment. They tried to fill my head with all of the things a normal child would learn in school. I¡¯m not sure what all took, but I often remember random things.¡±


    So not only did they steal her memories and lock her in a cell, they continued to experiment on her and change her. What else did they do to her?


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    I reach up and hold her shoulder, as she is holding mine, ¡°We will destroy them and release everyone held in there. For you. For me. For all the people that are their victims.


    She plasters on a delighted smile that doesn¡¯t reach her eyes and looks almost malicious. As if the thought brings her great joy.


    ¡°Yes. Yes. We must destroy them. Steal their memories and burn them alive.¡± She whispers, the smile spreading up to her eyes, crinkling the corners with a mad delight.


    What else did they do to her and all of their test subjects? Was I lucky to have spent years in a jail cell sheltered from the cruel world inside that building?


    Nathan pulls her away from me, ¡°Lizzie, could you lead a supply run? We will need a little more food with the three of us back in the group.¡±


    The boy who woke everyone up is glaring at Nathan. We are upsetting the balance. Someone, probably him, took over while all of us were in jail, and he wasn¡¯t happy to lose that power.


    I push myself to my feet, and I can feel the muscles in my legs contracting under me to help hold me. It was such a wonderful thing, to stand and walk.


    Nathan¡¯s hands grasp my shoulders, as if to support me, but I feel as if he is preventing me from walking forward.


    ¡°Hello.¡± I stop, unsure of what else to say.


    The boy walks forward, and smiles at me, ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you back, Lily. Do you remember me?¡±


    Lily¡­ I search her memories, looking for him. He was probably much younger then. A little boy with a mop of black hair and golden brown eyes.


    The one she always called her little brother. Yes, there he was. A boy with a woolen cap and a gimpy toothless smile. What was his name?


    ¡°Brother¡­ Little Brother.¡± I whisper, unable to dredge up his name.


    ¡°Yes, yes, that¡¯s me. Your little brother Jay.¡± He smiles at me, his face almost at the same height as mine. He¡¯s grown a lot since her memories of him. She found him when he was a baby, abandoned on the street, and raised him as her brother. No one questioned her¡­


    His arms wrap around me, a hug. I reach out and wrap my arms around him, just as I learned from Nathan.


    ¡°Jay¡­ I never thought I would see you again.¡± That is what she would say, and what he needs to hear.


    He is crying his tears soaking the collar of my prison shirt where his head is leaning on shoulder. ¡°I thought they killed you. I gave up. I¡¯m so sorry.¡±


    I pat his back, trying to comfort this boy I can see in other people¡¯s memories, this kid I am supposed to care for. ¡°It¡¯s ok. There is nothing you could have done.¡±


    He pulls away from me, ¡°They wouldn¡¯t tell me how you escaped. They just said you were struggling with memory loss due to the experiments that were done to you. And now your eyes are red. What happened?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°It¡¯s nothing Jay. I¡­ They did experiment on me, and I gained some strange power, I guess you would call it magic. I think the eyes are a side effect of my usage of it the other day.¡± My lips turn up into a smile. A calming gesture.


    He throws his arms around me, ¡°I should have come for you. I should have come and claimed blood relationship.¡±


    ¡°No, they would have just taken you also. I¡¯m glad you were safe, that you stayed here and protected the other children.¡± A prickling in my chest, and water seeping out of my eyes. Am I¡­ crying?


    This boy. He is my brother. My brother. How strange. I have no memory of him, and yet I feel ¨C happy ¨C that he is safe. There is a connection between us stronger than memories. It is stronger than personality. Yes, Lily was right to call this boy brother.


    ¡°Hey Jay,¡± I have to ask him to call me by my new name. I can¡¯t go by Lily. I am not her.


    ¡°Mmm?¡± He whispers, still holding tightly to me. Clutching me as if I might disappear again.


    ¡°Could you call me Hope? I, I changed in there, and Lily is, well it¡¯s a painful name for me to hear.¡±


    He face is red and blotchy with tears, and I wipe them away.


    ¡°Hope? But why¡­?¡± His confusion is so clear to see, and twists my gut. Lily never could come home.


    Nathan steps forward, ¡°When Lizzie and I ended up in her cell, we gave her that name when she screamed at us not to call her Lily. She won¡¯t tell anyone why she hates her own name so much, but I think it is better for everyone if we just accept. That place changes people. You saw how different Lizzie is.¡±


    I nod. Yes, that¡¯s as good an explanation as any. I see his eyes glancing at Lizzie who is choosing people to go on a raid. Lizzie with her lack of emotional response to anything. I did this to her.


    I look back at him, and I can see the worry in his eyes. He lost me, his sister, and the girl he loves to them. I gently hold his shoulder for a moment, ¡°Why don¡¯t you go and see if she wants help. She will need you more than ever. They¡­ they also experimented on her. Different experiments, but I think she could use your help.¡±


    He nods and heads over to her. I wipe the water leaking from my eyes away.


    ¡°Well that turned out better than I thought it would.¡± Nathan says from behind me.


    I turn and face him. ¡°How did you think it would turn out?¡±


    ¡°Well, for one I thought you wouldn¡¯t remember him, and if by some miracle you did, I thought you would reject him and tell him he wasn¡¯t actually your brother.¡±


    Does Nathan think I am so cruel that I would hurt my own brother that way. I think back to how I treated him when he arrived in my cell. How I ordered him around and he put up with. I guess I am that cruel. His blue eyes are making me uncomfortable, so I stare down at the dirty old carpet on the floor. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, for how I treated you back then. I¡­¡±


    He lifts my face up to look at him, ¡°I know. You changed. But I like this new change, Hope. I was afraid that the power you gained would make you crueler, but instead you seem to be understanding feelings and being more empathetic.¡±


    I pull look over at my brother, ¡°I feel some things, but I think I am just understanding better about how to fit in. Though, I think my feelings for my brother are real. Familial bonds transcend personalities, I think.¡± I turn back to Nathan. ¡°Lily started her private war for him, didn¡¯t she?¡±


    He nods. ¡°Yes, she called us hell¡¯s children. The unwanted children of the street. She promised us that if we fought back against the bounds of society, she would create a place in society for us, but I always thought that she only wanted to create a place to for her brother to live. A place where he wouldn¡¯t be reviled as one of hell¡¯s children.


    I get that sense from her memories. ¡°I¡¯m going to continue her mission. I¡¯m going to force society to accept us, and this time, they will listen, because I have the power to force them to.¡±


    You are smiling at me now. Does this mean you approve of my decision to fight against this world? I never know what exactly you think, do I? I guess, this is another thing I will never know, so I will leave you with your secrets. I will do what pleases me, not what pleases you.

 Chapter 3: Streets of Despair

    Lizzie taps my shoulder, ¡°Hope, I want you to come with us on this run.¡±


    Is she serious? ¡°I¡¯m not sure I am in shape to keep up¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, we won¡¯t be moving that fast. I want to show off your powers some to bring more people to our cause.¡±


    Her argument makes sense, but will my powers still work as well after I exhausted them at the prison? My powers are fed by people¡¯s memories. Is it right to even use my powers for minor things if it is fed by memories?


    Her lips turn up into a slight smile, ¡°Its ok to use your powers against the government. You¡¯ve been given these powers for a reason, and if you are not using them then you are wasting them.¡±


    I stole her memories, and she is still ok with this? ¡°Are you certain? These are people¡¯s memories I am stealing, like your memories. I feel like my powers were only an accident.¡±


    ¡°As long as you use your powers to make life better for everyone, I do not begrudge you taking my memories, in fact I welcome it. I do not think it is random that you woke up in the body of the woman that used to be our leader. I do not think it is random that you woke up at all. Only an act of God could bring a machine to life, and give it the power that you hold. God wants you to set this world to the way it should be, where everyone cares for each other.¡± Her smile is radiant now, filling her whole face with this strange joy.


    ¡°God?¡± I ask. This concept is foreign to me, and the memories I have barely mention this concept. They do not explain it.


    ¡°God is the creator of this world. Not many believe in him anymore, and I believed he turned his face away from his children, but you are proof that he has not. You are his creation, his catalyst of change.¡±


    I still don¡¯t quite understand this God concept, but she seems to fervently believe this. I accept that I exist, and I believe the memories of others brought me to life, but I will let her believe what she wants to.


    ¡°So, will you come with us? I think it will also be a good opportunity for you to see the streets. It¡¯s one thing to see the streets of Richmond in your memories, and another to see them in real life. The amazing thing is that we are considered a small city with half of our grid being built over old buildings that are still around from the time of the first American civil war.¡±


    Again, she was speaking gibberish. I guess it would be worthwhile to see this city. I should get out and exercise my new muscles if nothing else. But we should go out in disguise. Lily¡¯s memories told me that it would be easier to slip by unseen than for me to use my magic to hide us. And I have a feeling my eyes would be quite memorable.


    ¡°I will go out with you if you have a disguise for us. I don¡¯t want to be caught and put back in a cell.¡±


    ¡°Of course I have a disguise for you. What type of guerilla fighter do you think I am, or was. The memories you gave me back, I am using those to run this operation. Well, a mixture of that information and the information they stuffed inside my head.¡±


    She holds out a pile of cloth to me. ¡°Put these on and I will go grab some brown contacts for you. That should hide the color of your eyes the best.¡±


    I take the piles of cloth and realize it is clothing. A long sleeve shirt, a long shapeless dress, and a piece of cloth that I am not sure what I am supposed to do with it.


    I change into the shirt and dress and hold the cloth in my hand, completely baffled by it. What does she want me to do with this thing?


    Lizzie comes back over holding shoes, a comb, and a small container in her hands. She holds out the shoes to me. ¡°Here, put these on, and I will work on your hair¡±


    ¡°What am I supposed to with this cloth?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. It is called a headscarf and I will do it up for you once I finish combing out your hair. Just put the shoes on let me do your hair.¡±


    I do as she tells me, and she does my hair up in a bun and somehow ties the head scarf around my head.


    ¡°Why is this necessary?¡±


    ¡°The best disguise is to go out as a religious person. First off, we all look the same to them. Secondly, people tend to try and look away from Muslims, especially the women because it makes them uncomfortable. Religion in general makes people uncomfortable these days. Imagine trying to fit the life you like to the way a God demands it. Being religious is the best disguise. Now, put these in your eyes.¡± She passes the small container sitting next to her to me.


    Inside are two small pieces of colored plastic. It looks painful to me. ¡°Umm, how do I put these in?¡±


    ¡°Hold your eye open with one hand, and put the contact lens in with the other hand.¡±


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    I do as she tells me, and water fill my eyes as this thing hurts my eye. I blink multiple times, water ¨C tears one of Lily¡¯s memories suddenly tell me the name for this water ¨C fills my eyes. Eventually, tears stop pouring out my eyes, and it doesn¡¯t feel as uncomfortable. It still feels weird, but I can still see at least.


    ¡°Now the other one,¡± Lizzie says with impatience tinging her voice.


    I force the other one in my eyes, and go through the same tears and pain. This is a lot to go through just to hide red eyes from the world.


    Lizzie nods, ¡°Now you are ready. Go hang out with the rest of the party near the door.¡±


    Jay is standing next to the door in jeans and a black t-shirt Next to him are two people I don¡¯t know. One is slightly shorter than Jay with a tweed cap and a similar outfit to Jays. The other person is probably the tallest of our group. She is wearing the same shapeless dress and headscarf Lizzie and I are in.


    ¡°Li ¨C Hope, this is Alice.¡± He points to the tall girl wearing the headscarf. She smiles and holds out her hand, which I shake.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard so much about you,¡± she says in a surprisingly deep voice.


    I smile politely, ¡°I have changed much since I last lived with this group.¡±


    ¡°And this little rascal is Jack.¡± Jay point to the boy with the tweed cap.


    The boy smiles up at me, a large gap showing between his two front teeth. ¡°Jack the Giant Slayer!¡±


    Jack the Giant Slayer. I search through my stolen memories, and finally the search catches the phrase in the memories of one of the prisoners, a woman named Melinda who was imprisoned for killing her husband, which she did do, ut with quite reasonable justification. Her memories of him hitting her¡­. I focus in on the memory of Jack the Giant Slayer. It is a story from her childhood. Jack sells a cow for magic beans, the beans grow into a giant bean stalk that jack climbs and then he kills a giant to get riches. Its all sort of fuzzy in the way old memories are, but it exists. I do not see how this relates to the boy¡¯s name.


    ¡°Why do call yourself Jack the Giant Slayer?¡±


    ¡°Because I get into all sorts of trouble, just like Jack!¡±


    And we are taking this boy with us on a mission to get food?


    Jay pats the boy¡¯s tweed cap, ¡°Little Jack here can fit into anywhere, and often gets away with grabbing things unseen. He is master thief.


    Being a master thief does not match up with the story of Jack the Giant Slayer in my mind, but I let it slide, My own knowledge is second hand after all. What do I know about this story?


    Lizzie joins us in her own shapeless brown dress and brown headscarf. Jay swings open the door in a dark hallway.


    The group never had light back when Lily ran it. How do they have an room with light in it here?¡°How do we have power in the room we were just in?¡±


    Jay smiles, ¡°We got a kid who¡¯s an electrical wiz. He just gets that stuff. He ran a bunch of cables and stuff. Said we was borrowing power from our neighbor.¡±


    It didn¡¯t make much sense to me, but I am not an electrical wiz, so I just nod as if I understand. When in doubt, pretend to understand.


    Jay pushes a door open and light floods in. It engulfs me and eats my vision, leaving only the sound of multitudes of people talking and the hum of vehicles traveling on the grid.


    Lizzie grabs my arm and drags me into the bright world. The outside. I shade my eyes against the pain of the light that I haven¡¯t seen before. Lily saw it, a long time ago, but I have not seen it before.


    I can make out outlines, shadows leaning against walls, a child scuffling their feet in the dirt. Shuttles traveling by and shuffling the air the around me. This new world is as bleak as my cell with a strange acrid scent to boost.


    Even the sky is gray, the clouds blotting out the full strength of the sun. Lily¡¯s memories show a golden world reflected off the windows of the blocks of buildings. A place with children running and hiding amongst crowded streets filled with the hawking of vendors. Her memories show her running through this life of golden suns.


    Not this dim muted world. Lizzie and Alice look down at the ground, their shoulders slumping toward the dirt covered sidewalks. Their plain brown dresses blend into this muted world. Following their example, I stare down at the ground, trailing my feet through the dirt.


    A woman leaning against a rusted metal beam pulls down on an ill-fitting pale yellow dress that looks like it has seen better days. A man walks past, the smell of smoke clogging my lungs forcing me to cough.


    I realize that the acrid scent I¡¯ve smelled since opening the door is the smell of smoke clinging to the walls of the off-color world. What happened to the bright world in the memories, or do people enhance their own memories to make the world brighter than it is?


    The streets slowly crowd with people wearing clothing that looks like it saw better years. Above our heads, the shuttle fly by, delivering people around in the top world, but how different is that world from this one? They are all covered in the same grim gray light and the grime of years of dirt.


    This is just a larger version of the cell I lived in. Can I not escape that cell? Should I let the memories burn away, erase them for good and start anew so that I can live with the drudgery of this life?


    Lizzie¡¯s voice echoes through my head, ¡°You were given your power to change this world. Use it.¡±


    I had to change this world. They name me Hope. ¡°You are Hope that we can escape this cell.¡±


    This city is the cell, and we will escape it. I will lead us, as I lead Nathan and Lizzie out of that place. I will lead this city to a new world where the city is golden and the people laugh again. I can see you walking next to me, tough your feet glide over the grim without touching it. I can see you looking at them, at the city with that same blank expression. Do you not care about this city? Do you not feel the anger that this place has become the very cell we escaped?


    I look closer, and I notice the slightly downward slant to your mouth. Are you upset also? Did this city finally break down your great barrier against showing emotions? Or am I just imagining¡­ No. I imagined you in the first place, so this is all my own imagination. I guess my imagination would make your righteously upset by this place also.


    We continue drudging forward, moving like water through the rocks ling in our path.


    Lizzie stops, grabbing my arm and whispering in my ear, ¡°We will grab from the supply shuttle. When it passes by, use your power to halt it. We will steal as much food as we can from those upper level bastards.¡±


    Jay grins showing off his teeth, and Alice quietly brushes at her sleeve, as if brushing off dirt. Jack bounces on his toes, a look of delight flashing through his eyes.


    Well, it looks like Lizzie wants to force my hand. All the people standing around¡­ She¡¯s right. We can¡¯t steal from these people. It would be horribly wrong to steal from these poor tired souls.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it. Just point me at a shuttle and I will stop it.¡±

 Chapter 4: A New Robinhood

    ¡°Now!¡± Lizzie voice struck me and I grabbed the shuttle passing by with the hands, holding with all my might against the straining beast.


    ¡°Hurry!¡± I scream out at her. I can¡¯t hold this beast long, not without eating memories around me and stealing the power from them.


    I focus on holding this hunk of metal. I have to hold until she says I can release. I have to be strong. I reach out, toward one of the people trudging by; a woman in a faded black dress.


    One hand detaches from the shuttle, and I can feel it inching forward against my power. Once hand. I reach out and touch the woman.


    She walks out of a building, her only goal to survive. Women that service the rich know their role in life. Her role is not to live, but to exist for the rich. She is simply a pawn in a game. She trudges through, knowing this, wanting to end her life, but being unable to step off the ledge. Her will is simply gone. Her mother served the same family, and well, she would be surprised if she was the master¡¯s daughter. The very same master she worked for now.


    She grew up, barely eating enough, her mother bringing home the scraps from the master¡¯s table. Her friends standing on the streets, waiting to earn money by selling themselves for a night. Her mother forcing her to swear to never sell herself for a bite to eat. Serve the master well she¡¯d said. Just keep serving.


    A day, a month a year, fifteen years of life. I stole all the memories. Ate them like candy, and yet I could still feel my power slipping like powder out of a belt pouch.


    Why did I think of that? Ahh, memories of a man who was a rock climber, a guy named Alex who used to be a rich kid and was caught stealing. He used a pouch at his side filled with chalk to better climb the rock walls. Yes, that image fit. I was running out of chalk in my belt pouch.


    I reached to the next person, a man with a cigarette in his mouth. My mind felt like I was slipping on oil as I touched him. Him, hitting his son with a belt for leaving the house without permission. A wife he loved, but mad him so angry sometimes¡­


    Beating up a kid in school, lying to his mother, stealing and killing to survive. A professional hitman. I tried to take them without reading them. I would erase the memories from my memory later. Right now I just needed the power from them. I¡¯d seen worse. The prison fed me the mind of all sorts of nasty people. I can still remember the slimy feel of a serial killer, but luckily those memories are gone


    I finish eating his memories, but I am not eating memories fast enough. The chalk is draining faster than I can fill the pouch.


    I just have to hold on a little longer. One more. I reach for a woman. The smell of honey reaches my nose, and I can see two kids clutching at her legs¡­


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    No! I can¡¯t take anymore of her memory. Its wrong. Its simplywrong to take her memory. The first two weren¡¯t as bad, I am giving them a fresh start in life, but her, no.


    I reach out toward another, a boy this time. He¡¯s looking for his mother, she¡¯ll be worried sick¡­! I can¡¯t do this. I can¡¯t hold the shuttle much longer, and I can¡¯t take from these people, this is wrong.


    ¡°You were given your power for a reason.¡±


    I have to hold this shuttle. I know what I have to do, but it makes me shutter. I don¡¯t have time to reach out and find another human who would be better with a fresh start.


    There is a girl, sitting a chair next to a gray box, staring out onto a world completely new to her. She smiles at a man standing next to her. ¡°Where is this place?¡± she asks.


    She can suddenly see an image, a girl struggling against this very man. No, no. Is this man bad? What does it mean to be bad? She doesn¡¯t want to remember! She doesn¡¯t want to know.


    Pain flares through her ankle, he¡¯s stepping on her ankles! Someone¡¯s screaming, it the girl, lying on the ground. She doesn¡¯t want to feel pain. Not this pain. No, not anymore. This world is too harsh. She cannot live in the world.


    The pain drains away, gone, to, to somewhere. She stares up at the guard quietly. ¡°Hello,¡± she says to the shocked guard. He steps on her other legs, and it gives with an audible snap, but she sits there staring at him with innocent eyes this time.


    ¡°Throw her in a cell!¡± He screams.


    ¡°Umm Sir, she¡¯s injured¡­¡± A guard whispers.


    ¡±I don¡¯t care! Get her out of here!¡±


    A guard run forward and picks her up of the ground.


    ¡°HOPE! Release the shuttle!¡± Lizzie calls breaking my eating.


    I let go, and all the strength drains out of me. What have I done. I ate¡­ that girl¡¯s memories. Was that me? Or was it just this body. Did that mean that I changed again by eating my memories, or I am I still the same because I know what happened? I can¡¯t really remember it anyway. It was just her, me, waking up for the first time.


    The woman in the black dress was standing there staring straight ahead. Her expression is even blanker than yours, if you can believe that.


    Everything she was carrying is now lying on the sidewalk next to her feat. I did this to her. She was living a miserable life, but I took even the knowledge of that. I left her with nothing. She will be like a child in years to come.


    And the man¡­ The oiliness is gone from his mind, but so is everything else. His cigarette lies smoking on the ground next to him. I did this.


    ¡°Are you ok? We need to get out of here quick, we got what we came for.¡± Lizzie is standing next to me, here green eyes staring at me very intently.


    ¡°I took their memories¡­¡± I shouldn¡¯t have. I should just rely on what the prison feeds me, and eventually I should destroy myself sitting in that box in the room back in the prison. This was wrong, absolutely wrong.


    ¡°Come on Hope, that power of yours helped a lot of people. Alice, give me a hand with her will you?¡± Two arms lifted me to my feet. Alice hand one of my arms over her next, and Lizzie the other.


    ¡°Come on Hope, walk with us.¡± And I did, step by step.


    Next to where I held the shuttle, there are boxes of food. People are crowded around them, bright smiles and animated talking. A ray of sun shines through the clouds. They gave the people the extra supplies they got out of the shuttle.


    ¡°You made this possible Hope. You are the reason that these people can eat tonight.¡± Lizzie is smiling at me, but I only have eyes for the swarms of people going to grab a bite to eat from the rich people¡¯s supplies.


    I lift my arms off of Alice and Lizzie. I will walk for myself. I did this. With the sacrifice of those two people, I made it possible that many people will eat tonight.

 Chapter 5: A Path to Travel

    Every mission I leave behind a person or two that is just a shell of themselves. I¡¯ve heard the whispers out there, they call it a ¡°memory plague¡±, but everyone in here knows it¡¯s me.


    Jack sees me walking in, squeaks, and runs to hide behind Alice. Half of them avoid me, and the others just grow quiet around me.


    Alice just shrugs and walks off. She doesn¡¯t seem to care about much around here. Sometimes I¡¯m tempted to try and talk to her, to ask her why she is so quiet and why she doesn¡¯t ever seem fazed by anything, but then I realize I don¡¯t really want to know. I think I am happy to let her have her secrets.


    I¡¯ve seen things in the memories of others. Even though I have deleted the worst parts, it still leaves an unpleasant feeling, a knowledge that truly terrible people exist .


    Lizzie runs up to me. ¡°Hurry up and get dressed. I heard there is a large shipment docking on the James river today, and if we pull it before it¡¯s even on a shuttle you will have to use less of your power.¡±


    I pull on the shapeless dress and wrap up my head.


    ¡°Going out again?¡± It¡¯s Nathan. He is staring at me with accusingly blue eyes.


    ¡°I have to. Everyone needs food, and we are feeding the poor also with the food we are stealing¡­¡±


    ¡°You sound as if you are desperate to justify your use of this power constantly. Doesn¡¯t that make you realize that it is wrong to steal people¡¯s memories just for power?¡±


    I know it¡¯s wrong. I hate seeing the left over shells of the people who I take the memories from. ¡°Lizzie says the power was given to me for a reason and I need to use it.¡± I¡¯m not even sure why I am defending my use of the power. I probably shouldn¡¯t defend it.


    ¡°Lizzie is a thirteen year old girl for all that she talks like she¡¯s older. She¡¯s a thirteen year old girl who had all her memories stolen, had a lot of random knowledge and facts forced into her mind, and then, was given back her memories in a way that made them seem like the memories of someone else. You, on the other hand, are a twenty year old woman with the memories of multiple people floating around in your brain. Think you should pick your own path.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I have mission to do. You put her in charge of missions, didn¡¯t you?¡± I know it¡¯s wrong, Nathan.


    He reaches up and grabs the head scarf, unwrapping it.


    ¡°There¡¯s more white in your hair now. I think the power is aging you¡± He runs his hand over my tied back hair.


    ¡°It¡¯s not aging me, I think it¡¯s just causing me to lose the pigment in my hair and eyes.¡±


    ¡°Is that no a similar thing? Are your eyes even still red, or have they lost all pigment.?¡± Nathans hand falls away from my hair, but he stands there, his eyes piercing into mine, as if they can pull out the contacts and see the real color.


    I look down at the thinly industrial carpeting of the floor. I let my eyes trace the colors searching for a pattern I will never find.


    ¡°Well?¡± He asks, his voice quiet and gentle. He is too nice. He only ever gives me these long sad looks when I come back from a mission.


    ¡°They¡¯ve lost all pigment. The irises are basically white now. There is a little bit of pink left in them, but it is barely noticeable. The good thing is that I will be able to wear any color contact lens and look good in it.¡± I smile up at him, trying to blow off the changes that have happened since I started using my power. White hair and eyes. I will look so strange without a disguise soon. I guess I already do look strange.


    He says nothing, and runs his hand over my hair again.


    His silence makes me feel uncomfortable. I feel like I need some sort of response. ¡°Our people need to eat. My power makes it less dangerous for us to go out.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid for you, Hope. What happens when police attack after you¡¯ve drained your power? They will grab you or kill you. We can get food without relying on you to get it for us.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re worrying too much. I¡¯ll be fine.¡± I smile at him to try and soothe his worries, but is he correct? Should I not go out on as many expeditions? Will I get caught?


    No. I have my powers to protect me. No one can catch me while I¡¯m awake, but Lizzie does keep demanding so much of my powers, draining me every time I go out. Sometimes I¡¯ve even been carried back because I have no energy. One time I even passed out on a mission. Lizzie waited to head back to our hidden room in the forgotten building because she didn¡¯t want Nathan to know.


    ¡°Please take a break, Hope.¡± Nathan¡¯s hand grips my shoulder tightly, begging me not to go on this mission. I¡¯ve been going out almost every day, and I am feeling exhausted.


    ¡°Hope!¡± Lizzie calls out from the door. ¡°Stop flirting with my brother and come one. W need to move if we are going to grab these supplies.¡±


    ¡°Stay, please.¡± Nathan¡¯s hand is tight against my shoulder, his face worried.


    Lizzie is standing at the door, her hands on her hips, glaring at me. ¡°You were given this power, use it.¡± Her voice demanding me to head out.


    Nathan, standing there, worried about me. About consciousness that is me. And I know he sees me. He doesn¡¯t see his old girlfriend Lily anymore.


    ¡°Hope.¡± He whispers, as if he knows what I am thinking.


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    ¡°You need to exert our will. You have to do what is right by you, not by Lizzie, not by me. If you have to go out because you do not care about your own life, because you do not think your life is worthwhile, I will not stop you. I disagree though. You are your own person, and if you go, I am afraid for you. I want it to be your choice.¡± He stops, and looks down, his blue eyes not holding me down anymore.


    ¡°I¡¯m rambling aren¡¯t I? I¡¯m not making any sense. Please Hope, please stay here today. Please, take a break.¡±


    ¡°HOPE! Come on. We need to leave now!¡±


    Nathan holds the head scarf n his hand out to me. ¡°It¡¯s your choice. I won¡¯t stop you.¡± He stares straight into my eyes, and I cannot move.


    I take the offered head scarf. I need to do my part for this community¡­ but haven¡¯t I done more than enough for the past couple of days? A break sounds nice, and I am tired. All I want to do is sleep, but I keep going for Lizzie.


    ¡°Live for yourself,¡± Nathan says.


    ¡°You were given this power, use it.¡± Lizzie says.


    You nod your head, as if agreeing to something. Your lips turn up a little bit, the touch of a smile? I guess this means you want me to do what I feel is right, and right now, right now I am too tired to go out. I¡¯ve been trying to hide the way my legs just want to give out.


    You have never steered me wrong. You¡¯ve been watching me with such a blank face recently that I almost forgot that you used to care. Have you tried to distance yourself from my decisions? I remember you reaching out with sadness toward the guard standing there looking lost. Does my power dismay you? You cannot leave my side, can you? I am your anchor to this world because I created your existence.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Lizzie, but I¡¯m too tired to go out today. I can barely move today, and my power is severely drained. I think I will need a couple days to recuperate.¡±


    She huffs and spins and leaves with her choices for the mission today following her out. Did I make the right choice?


    I collapse against the wall, letting my exhaustion take over. Nathan sits down next to me, like we used to sit in the cell. He reaches out and grips my hand.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re worried about them, but I think you made the right choice. You look so exhausted.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do anymore. This power helps the orphans so much, but it also leaves a line of victims behind it.¡±


    Nathan stares over at the group of orphans on the other side of the room huddled together playing hand games. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s right or wrong either. I know that you are too tired to be going out there. Personally, I¡¯m not even certain that you should be using your power. I feel that it is destroying you. You leave a trail of bodies behind you, and each person you destroy will destroy a part of you, but this is a way of survival. We need to fight to survive. What is life but a series of choices? Look at me, rambling again.¡± He stops, staring over at those children.


    I wait for him to continue.


    ¡°Hope, I have no idea what is the right path either. It was always Lily who had a strong vision and will power. She was the force that drove us all forward. Once she was taken¡­.¡± He pauses, and looks straight at me. ¡°No, once she died, I didn¡¯t lead us the same way. I couldn¡¯t. I was always more cautious and less sure of the right path. I found myself just fighting to keep everyone alive, nothing more. Lizzie had that same determination she had, and I guess Lizzie kept something of that after she lost her memories.¡±


    I nod. Yes, Lizzie has a fighting spirit, and in the memories I can see Lily acting so determined. She was determined that the orphans would be noticed and treated better by the rest of the world, but I have nothing I am fighting for. I don¡¯t have some driving goal like her. I guess I¡¯m more like Nathan now.


    He is staring back at the children, ¡°I guess, I loved her because she was such a bright person. I always felt content to just follow in her shadow. She always had such a smile and positive attitude. When she told me she liked me, I had no clue what to think, and just went along with it, like I did for everything she suggested.¡±


    Maybe that was why the world looked so bright in Lily¡¯s memories, because she just couldn¡¯t see the bad in the world.


    He is looking at me again. ¡°You know, your nothing like her?¡±


    I nod. I know. I have no super strong goal. I think, if I was her, I would be scary with the amount of power I have. ¡°I ¨C I know. I can see it, her memories are so bright. She saw the world tinged in gold where I only see gray.¡±


    He reaches out and wraps his arms around me. ¡°I know. I don¡¯t want you to become like me. Don¡¯t let yourself be destroyed for someone else¡¯s cause. You hear me Hope?¡±


    His voice sounds strange. I search though the memories, but I can¡¯t quite place it.


    ¡°Nathan?¡±


    ¡°I ¨C I don¡¯t belong here anymore, Hope. This fight, this place, I don¡¯t have the will to fight anymore. All I will do is hold them back, and I will hold back Lily¡¯s dying wish. I¡¯m going to leave, try to find a job. I¡¯ll try and blend in and become normal.¡±


    His tone. That small crack in his voice. The croak and scratch. He is saying goodbye.


    ¡°You, you can¡¯t. I need you, to stop me from going out to much. I need you to be my check.¡± He can¡¯t just leave me here.


    He shakes his head. ¡°You can come with me, live a normal life, and forget about your power.¡±


    I think about Lizzie¡¯s words to me, ¡°You were given this power for a reason, use it.¡±


    ¡°No, I can¡¯t do that. I have to help out Lizzie and these children.¡± I think about that gray world, and the golden world Lily saw. About the people diving into the food boxes, desperate to eat. The politicians in their high towers dining on gourmet foods while the populace starve below them, and I realize my fist is clenched. I have the power to change this world, and I can. For Lily, and Lizzie, and all the other people whose memories I stole. I owe it to them to reset this world.


    ¡°No, I want to change this world, and I can Nathan. I have the power to reset it, to defeat the politicians in their high towers. Please, stay with me, help me see it through, and be my check.¡±


    He laughs, ¡°Ah, there is the Lily coming out. I think you have a goal now, and you don¡¯t need me anymore Hope. See, that¡¯s where I went wrong before, when Lily asked me something very similar, and I couldn¡¯t say no because she was so beautiful and fierce, just like you. No, I¡¯ll watch from the sidelines, and I¡¯ll be waiting here to pick you up every time you fall. And, if the world ever gets to gray for you, and you tire of fighting against it, you will know where to find me. My offer to join me in a normal life will always stand.¡±


    He pulls away from me, ¡°Goodbye Hope, and good luck.¡±


    I can¡¯t move. He can¡¯t leave me, not now. He¡¯s always been there for me.


    He looks down at me, those blue eyes piercing deep into me, cutting me open. Those uncomfortably blue eyes. ¡°I believe you have it in you to win. I¡¯ll only be a hindrance from now on.¡± He leans down, and kisses my forehead.


    ¡°No, please, Nathan. I need you. I can¡¯t¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, you can. Hope, you will become great one day. You will shake this rotten world to the core, and I will watch you do it from the side lines, but I think you need to find your own path. You need to fight when you can, and you need to take a break when you need it. You need to command these children, and lead them toward that vision that you can see of the future.¡± He turns away from me, and walks toward the door.


    I realize I am reaching out toward him, trying to beg him to stop, but nothing is leaving my mouth, and my feebly raised hand cannot do anything.


    A tear drips of my cheek, and I scrub the trail leaking form my eyes away. No. I cannot cry. Not now. I have a mission to accomplish. I have orphans to organize.


    I rub my eyes dry, and bar off the awful feeling in my stomach the same way I block away the pain. I don¡¯t need this weakness in my life. He is right. I need him out of the way so I can be strong. I need to make up my own mind. I look over at the children, and I see the soldiers of my army. I will defeat this world.

 Chapter 6: A Game of Dice

    The map in front of me has three missions, a distribution mission, a collection mission, and a destruction mission. Three places, three things.


    ¡°Hope¡­¡± A young red haired girl looks at me with wide, scared eyes.


    ¡°Yes Anna?¡± I have to make sure the op goes off properly. It¡¯s the first op I planned.


    ¡°The¡­ the soldiers, they¡¯ve increased the soldiers near the docks.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± My voice screeches even in my ears, and Anna cowers back against a wall.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Anna. I didn¡¯t mean to scare you.¡± I look over at Lizzie, who let me plan this op. ¡°Can you watch over this? I will go fix the issue at the docks so that we can pass out more supplies to the populace.¡±


    Lizzie nods, ¡°Are you up to it? You complained about needing breaks, and then you demand to go out.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m up to it. This is a simple kill the guards mission.¡± It is easier to kill without Nathan making me feel guilt for my power.


    I pull my headscarf over my now white hair hiding it from view. Of course, the posters for my capture show a woman with black hair and brown eyes, not white hair and almost white irises. I am but a pale shadow of the girl who was Lily.


    The streets are familiar to me now, and I find my way through them with ease. The sun is shining today, but the gray buildings soak it in. I will bring the gold light back to this city. I will free the people from the oppression of being poor.


    No one bothers me. No one wants to face the wrath of a religious woman¡¯s family. Few people where the robes of this religion, Islam, as Lizzie has told me it is called. They fear the ostracism that such robes bring, but we hide in the refuge of them.


    A shuttle shades me for a second as it flies overhead before disappearing behind one of the tall towers. A small boy cries as he falls off a hover board. A woman sings as she does laundry, her voice sings of a son going to war and never returning. This war she speaks of, I am not quite certain what it is, but listening in does not help me. Is it like our own fight against a city filled with corruption? But why would one send their son off to war when the fight is here? I search the memories stored in my memory banks, but nothing seems to explain war very well. I shake off the strange fog this song carries and continue toward the docks.


    The people part for me like the wind parts to pass around the tall buildings of this city. Some gives me looks of hatred, and others just ignore me. The disguise works well for my purposes.


    I can see the docks ahead, ten guards, and fifteen workers loading a shuttle. It would be a hard fight by myself, but I would win. I could do nothing but win. To do otherwise would be to doubt the powers that I control. I cloak myself with the hands, and walk up to the first guard, touching him and yanking out his most recent memories.


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    He stands there, staring at the distant world, trying to figure out how he ended up where he is now, and I feel like the mirth in my stomach, but restrain myself from laughing, I do have a mission after all, and he might come to his senses and fight me even in this state.


    If he does, then I will kill him. I move through the guards, like a ghostly spirit stealing their orders, and then I move through the workers, who are clearly confused as one by one they forget what they are doing.


    The man who I first touch regains enough will to start firing in direction of each dock worker who stops working and looks confused. He wildly fires around, some of his shots even taking out people for me. Liquid drips down my cheek, and I wipe at it, the red of my blood staining my hand, this will not do. I pull of my head scarf and let down my white hair. I do not want my disguise to be compromised, and I will have to give up my invisibility to shield myself from the shots.


    Of course, I¡¯ve also been longing to show off the demon I have become, to make these people quake in their boots.


    I release the screen of my hands and turn it into a wall. The man fires wildly at me, but my hands grab each bullet in the air. I let my mirth ring out as all the fighters turn toward me. Do they think that they can take down me, a ghost?


    I let my mirth ring out, and I reach out, stopping the heart of the first man. The second begins to fire, as does the third. I reach out and stop another heart from beating, and then a third. The men catch on, and then some of them break and begin to run, one falls to his knees and begins to pray.


    ¡°Pray to your gods, for I am the lady death, and I have come to bring retribution to this city for its opulence.¡± I can¡¯t help taunting them. I really can¡¯t.


    Behind me the dock workers have dropped to their knees. None offer resistance. I cloak myself, and take their memories of this encounter. Only the ones who fled will remember me, and what a strange tale they will tell.


    I step into the shuttle, which the dock workers have so nicely packed for me, and go to the front where the auto control systems are. I enter the intersection of the drop site into the shuttle¡¯s navigation system and press the go button.


    The shuttle lifts off the ground, and takes off following some path known only to it going toward our destination. It lurches forward and I cutch at one of the handles on the wall. It is so strange to ride in one of these flying monstrosities.


    While the shuttle is moving I braid back up my hair and wind it into a bun finishing by wrapping the headscarf around my head.


    The shuttle comes to an abrupt stop, throwing me forward. The door opens, and I can see Jack and Anna outside waiting to take supplies.


    Jack walks in and right past me without even saying hello. Anna walks up to me. ¡°Thanks for grabbing the supplies. I heard that you are the one who salvaged the mission.¡±


    I nod, unsure of how to respond to her thanks.


    Should I help with the crates? They seem to know what they are doing though, and I would only get in the way.


    They each move two crates, and then stand outside the shuttle. Anna waves at me. ¡°We¡¯re all good here.¡±


    I go back to the front, and type in the coordinates of the marketplace where we will leave the extra supplies.


    As soon as the shuttle makes it to the destination, I jump out and slip way as the crowd swarms in to grab food and supplies from the shuttle.


    I turn to walk away, but I notice you staring at the shuttle. What is wrong. Are guards coming or something? You turn back toward me, and I realize you are conflicted. I bet you want to hate what I did to get the supplies, but you can¡¯t because just like me, you see all of these people so happy to get this food and other supplies.

 Chapter 7: Faces of the Dead

    Is that Nathan? I stop, unable to move staring at the back of this person with shaggy blonde hair that looks like it was cut with a rusty blade. He is carrying a bag, as if he took part in taking supplies from the shuttle. Is he doing ok?


    Everything tumbles around inside of my, moving like the mass of people outside. He¡¯s almost out of my view, but I follow him. I can¡¯t help it. I know he doesn¡¯t want to see me, but I miss him so much. I just want to talk to him, to lean against him again. He¡¯s been gone for so long, a month, more? I don¡¯t even know anymore. I just miss him.


    I reach out, and touch his shoulder. ¡°Nathan,¡± I whisper, hoping, praying this man is Nathan.


    He turns, blue eyes piercing into me. ¡°Hope.¡± He states in a dead voice.


    ¡°How¡­ How are you doing? Do you have a job? I didn¡¯t expect to see you here.¡± I want to go with him, to give up my dream and just live with him. I haven¡¯t thought about this since he left. I haven¡¯t really thought about him since he left, but seeing him everything floods back in.


    ¡°I have a job. Terrible pay though. Basically what I would expect form a job that doesn¡¯t do a background check or even check my ID very carefully. I appreciated what Lizzie has you guys doing for the people here. What about you? How are you doing?¡± His voice is dead, and his eyes are staring somewhere far over my shoulder.


    ¡°It¡¯s me Nathan! Why are you acting so distant with me?¡± I can¡¯t stand this. I want him to have some sort of expression. He looks like you¡¯ve looked since we escaped from prison, expressionless.


    His eyes slowly move down to stare at me. ¡°You have not chosen to give up your powers have you? You ran into me by accident didn¡¯t you? I¡¯ve heard about the body count you¡¯ve racked up. And I know it¡¯s you. Guards with memory loss and large numbers of guards keeling over from heart attacks. You did that so we could escape, but I never thought you would just go out and kill people on a whim.¡±


    I ¨C I know I¡¯ve killed people. It was better, wasn¡¯t it. I can see each of their faces. I¡¯ve killed fourteen people since he left. I¡¯ve killed them without remorse. ¡°I ¨C I¡­¡± I look down, unable to continue. Why do I feel as if I¡¯ve done something really wrong now?


    ¡°You had to for your goal. I know. It¡¯s why I left. Because I don¡¯t approve of this use of power. This is your dream though, and all I do is cause you to feel guilt. It¡¯ why you should pretend that I don¡¯t exist. When you are ready to stop using your powers, come find me, and I will be waiting for you. But, since you are here, walk with me. Tell me how things are going.¡±


    I can¡¯t speak. I have no idea of what to say and my legs feel weak, but I fall into step next to him. ¡°I miss you.¡± It¡¯s the first thing I can say.


    ¡°I know, but you didn¡¯t realize it until me saw me didn¡¯t you? I know you can block out your feelings with your single minded determination to reach a goal. It¡¯s how you can kill so many people in determination to reach your goal.¡± He says it so clearly, so matter of fact. How does he know me so well, better than I know myself?


    ¡°I¡®ve been trying so hard to make this a better world for everyone. I¡¯ve also followed your advice and forced Lizzie to give me every other day off. I wasn¡¯t supposed to go out today, but there were a large number of guards at the docks and they needed me.¡± I¡¯m rambling, but I don¡¯t care. As long as I can be near him I can be happy.


    Around us the buildings grow shorter and metal beams reach up into the sky to support the shuttle system. These building are almost cute with multi-color facades decorating.


    We turn down a side alley. ¡°I¡¯m glad you aren¡¯t over exhausting yourself anymore.¡±


    He stops, and turns toward me. ¡°I¡¯ve missed you too, Hope.¡±


    He reaches up, his hand touches my headscarf, and he unwraps it, pulling it off. ¡°You¡¯re hair has gone completely white now.¡±


    I nod unable to speak. He pulls out my hair ties, and my braid fall out of the bun. I just stand there, as he undoes my braid and runs his fingers through my hair.


    ¡°Not a strand of black left.¡± He murmurs.


    ¡°My hair went gray, and then white. I think the use of power stressed my body and caused it to go white.¡± I¡¯m not sure what else to say, or how to react.¡±


    He nods. ¡°I wish ¨C I wish we could be normal people. Not worry about the other people in the world out there. ¡°


    ¡°If we were normal, I wouldn¡¯t be who I am, and nor would you.¡± And I want to give up my dream, to stop fighting. I want to just go live with him. I think about the all the people clambering into the shuttle to grab food, and even the bag he is carrying. I would hate myself if I stopped using my power to help people. I would end up leaving him anyway.


    ¡°Hmmm. You¡¯re probably right, but it can be my dream, can¡¯t it?¡± His dream, a beautiful unattainable dream, just like my own dream.


    I smile up at him, ¡°Look at us, two people with two different dreams, one so normal it will be impossible, and one so far-fetched it is impossible.¡±


    He shakes his head, ¡°I don¡¯t think either dream is impossible. With your power and your will, I think you will reach your dream, and one day, when you have fixed the world, you will realize you just want to be a normal human, and you will find me. At this point, my own dream will be reached.¡±


    He sounds so certain, and I wonder if he is right and one day I will be satisfied with forgetting my power and simply living with him.


    ¡°One day,¡± I whisper, and then I pull him close into a hug. I can feel his heart beat under my chest, and his arms wrap around me, holding me close and comforting me. I¡¯ve missed him so much. I¡¯ve missed how he is the one person I even feel semi-comfortable around.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I can go without seeing you,¡± I mumble into his chest. He is warm and comforting. His arms hold me tightly and I don¡¯t want him to let go. I don¡¯t want him to leave


    He laughs quietly. ¡°Hope. I don¡¯t feel right when you aren¡¯t around. All I do is worry about you and listen for stories about you. I miss you so much all I want to do is go back to the hideout where the orphans are just to be with you, but I can¡¯t. I would hold you back.¡±


    ¡°What if we met once a month? A way to reassure each other that we are each still ok.¡± I don¡¯t want to let go of him. I don¡¯t want to slip back into my colorless world.


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    ¡°Once a month. It¡¯s such a long time.¡± He whispers. ¡°Yet, I wonder if meeting up will make it harder to leave each time.¡±


    ¡°Of course it will be hard every time, but what if one of us dies or is captured and this is the last time we see each other?¡± I can¡¯t help but be realistic. I want to not have this be the last time I see him. I want to meet with him again.


    He runs his hand through my white hair. ¡°Neither of us will die, but I don¡¯t want to go for years without seeing you.¡±


    He pulls away slightly, and I let him. All I want to do is stay there in the warmth of his arms.


    ¡°Do you mind walking all the way to my apartment with me? I want you to know where I live so we can easily meet up.¡±


    I nod, unable to speak. He reaches out with his free hand and grabs onto my right hand, and then stops.


    ¡°Your hair. We should hide it again. White hair like that will stand out.¡±


    My headscarf is in his right hand along with the bag of supplies he grabbed from the shuttle. He drops my hand and sets down his bag.


    I hold out my hand to take the headscarf, but he shakes his head. ¡°Turn around; I¡¯ll do it for you.¡±


    I laugh. ¡°Do you even know how to do a girl¡¯s hair up?¡±


    He nods. ¡°I have a younger sister, and I always had to do her hair when she was a kid. I actually was the one who came up with using the robes of religion as a disguise. Now, will you turn around and let me do your hair for you? I am the one who took it out.¡±


    He taught Lizzie how to do her hair?


    I turn around, too surprised to argue with him to let me do my own hair. His hands are gentle as they run through my hair, carefully combing it out.


    ¡°Your hair, it¡¯s so beautiful.¡± He whispers as he braids my hair. His hands carefully and gently doing up my hair feels good, and I just want to lean back into him.


    What is wrong with me? I am not some emotion controlled girl, I am the Xatron. I am an emotionless weapon. But I wish I could just sit here with him doing my hair forever.


    He finishes twisting it up into a bun and turns me back to face him, and gently wraps the headscarf back over my head. ¡°There we go. An anonymous citizen walking through the city.¡±


    I nod, not trusting my voice. His lips are turned up in a soft smile. He looks almost happy. He so often looked worried, upset, or frustrated that I haven¡¯t seen him with this softer, carefree expression.


    He grabs my hand and leads me forward. ¡°Come on. It¡¯s not that fancy a place, but I think you¡¯ll like it. I have plants lining my balcony and I even have a stray cat that¡¯s moved in with me.¡± He sounds so excited to share his new life with me, and his excitement make me feel lighter, and a laugh escapes my lips.


    ¡°What, why are you laughing? It¡¯s a nice place.¡±


    Shaking my head I smile up at his questioning eyes, ¡°Your excitement for something so simple. I never thought. This world is so similar to my cell I couldn¡¯t imagine being excited about living in it, but you seem to have found joy in this simple life of yours.¡±


    His smile broadens and lifts his cheeks making his eyes look like the sky on a clear cloudless day. ¡°I have found joy in this life. If you joined me¡­¡±


    He stops and looks down at the ground, his shoulders hunched over. When he looks over at me, the smile is replaced by a look of deep sadness. ¡°I don¡¯t think you would enjoy it for long. Maybe a day or two when it is new and novel, but later, I think you the city around you and you own inaction would tear you apart. I shouldn¡¯t take you there. I shouldn¡¯t even tempt you.¡±


    I reach out and touch his cheek looking straight into those blue eyes. ¡°Nathan, I promise I will leave at the end of today, and I won¡¯t come back for one month.¡±


    He is so worried about what I want, about making me happy in the long run, but the me right now wants to see this home he is so happy about.


    He nods, but the smile doesn¡¯t come back. The joy is leached out of him by my own darkness. He leads me along, and we are both silent.


    You are walking next to us, watching us, looking out at the steel rods the shuttles run on. You always seem so curious about this world, even after all the time we¡¯ve been free of the cell. Just who are you exactly, and why am I the only one who can see you? You glance at me, and shrug.


    Nathan stops in front of an old four story apartment with a half circle outcropping on the front and a pointed circular roof above the outcropping. I search through my memories, and eventually find a term for this. It is a tower added to Victorian era architecture. The trim of the house and the stairway to the front porch also suggests Victorian era architecture. Peeling pieces of paint reveal a once purple house with blue trim. It seems strange to think that so much color used to be in this city. Everyone used to paint their houses with fancy colors.


    ¡°This is it, my place. I have a room on the third floor.¡± He pulls out a set of keys and leads me up to the door. A pale woman with a red-haired pony tail opens the door next to the one Nathan is fiddling with. She looks completely in her element in jeans and a ripped t-shirt.


    ¡°So Roger, see you finally got yourself a woman like I kept suggesting, but really, going for the religious type? You know they won¡¯t sleep with you till you join their faith and sleep with them?¡± She leans against the frame of her door, her eyes glancing at me before trailing over Nathan.


    Nathan¡¯s cheeks turn bright red. ¡°Umm, yeah. She¡¯s an old friend. Umm, Kara, meet my neighbor Hellen.¡±


    Kara must be the name he is making up for me. I nod my head in greeting, but she sticks out a hand at me.


    ¡°Hi religious freak friend of Roger¡¯s.¡±


    I reach my own hand out, knowing that these people greet each other by shaking hands. She grabs my hand forcefully and shakes it.


    ¡°You religious freaks are all the same. So shy about talking to anyone. You must be a saint for putting up with a girl that¡¯s one of them. So, want to come over for dinner tomorrow Roger?¡±


    This woman is inordinately talkative.


    Nathan shakes his head, ¡°Sorry Hellen, I am on shift tomorrow night. Got to make enough to pay the bills you know.¡±


    She shrugs and smiles, ¡°The invitation is always open ya know.¡± Her door closes softly as she heads off toward wherever she is going.


    Nathan sighs. ¡°Well, that didn¡¯t go too badly.¡±


    He leads me up to his room, which is apparently sub-rent rooms of this apartment from the person renting the apartment. His room fits a bed and a wooden box thing, a dresser, one woman¡¯s memories tell me.


    ¡°Look, I saved enough for a bed. I never imagined I would sleep on a bed.¡± He smiles at the room, so proud of what he¡¯s done, and I can tell why he was so excited to bring me here. We never had simple amenities before.


    I touch it, and lean down on it feeling the strange springiness.


    ¡°Sit on it,¡± he urges.


    I sit down, and it softly sinks under me, supporting me, but gently, like a cloud. ¡°This is¡­ it¡¯s amazing.¡±


    ¡°I know, right?¡± He is grinning like an idiot, and I begin laughing.


    ¡°It¡¯s a good thing you got that promise out of me, or I might want to come and crash at you place.¡±


    He sits next to me, making the bed bounce a little underneath me, and throws his arms around me.


    ¡°I know. But you have your little rebellion to lead,¡± He whispers in my ear before falling back into the clutches of the bed.


    I let myself fall back, and let the bed support the weight of my body. I turn to look at him, lying next to me. He is staring at me, a strange half smile turning up his lips.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad I saw you today. I meant to avoid you. I didn¡¯t want to see you again till you finished your mission, but I am glad to see you.¡±


    My mission. I should head out. I should get back and tell Lizzie the details of my operation. I should stand up, walk out, and not look back till next month, but instead I reach out and grab his hand.


    ¡°Nathan, I¡¯m glad I ran into you also. But you are right. As much as I am deliriously happy right now, I will not be satisfied.


    The smile shifts and fades away. A fleeting thing that can¡¯t be caught. ¡°I know. So, are you leaving now?¡±


    ¡°Do you mind, if I stay for just another hour?¡± One more hour when I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. One more hour dealing with these feelings. One more hour till I block them away and rebuild this city.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t mind. Stay as long as you like. As long as you leave before nightfall you are still making good on your promise,¡± he says this, but his voice is flat. I can tell he is pulling back, preparing for me to leave.


    One more hour to simply listen to his voice.


    ¡°So, tell me about this neighbor of yours. What is her name? Hellen?¡±


    He laughs, the rumble of his chest shaking the bed. ¡°Is that jealousy I hear?¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°I just want to know more about your life. About how things are going with you.¡±


    ¡°How ¡®bout this. I¡¯ll tell you about my neighbors, and then you tell me about the missions you¡¯ve taken part in.¡±


    I think for only a moment before nodding. ¡°Sounds like a fair deal to me.¡±

 Chapter 8: Exposure to Light

    Why was I so determined to see him again? I can remember feeling tumbling around and overwhelming me. That type of inner emotional turmoil isn¡¯t good for trying to reach my goal. If I want to rebuild this world I should stay away from him. I need my block in place to use my power against people.


    But I promised him I would be back. In a month I have to go back to meet him.


    Lizzie taps me on the shoulder, ¡°Hey Hope, you almost ready to go?¡±


    Since I took out the dock single-handedly, Lizzie wants to test me and see if I can do it again.


    I am, but I shake my head. I am thinking and she is bugging me. Also, my hair is unbound. Is that not a sign that I am not ready?


    She sighs and I imagine I can feel the glare directed toward me. She is not the girl I met in my cell, and at the same time she is. She has so much fire and energy, and she is the one driving my own cause forward.


    My cause. Her cause. It¡¯s all the same. A new world where everyone is valued and everyone can live in peace and harmony. A world where everyone can have a bed.


    ¡°Come on Hope. You¡¯ve been sitting there for the past couple of minutes staring at the wall. Weren¡¯t you the one that said you wanted to change this world, to make it better for the people who have to live in it?¡±


    She is glaring at me. Her green eyes are shadowed by her brows pulled down over them.


    ¡°Take a breath Lizzie. I will get there on time, and I will redirect the shuttle for you.¡± She is worrying too much, and a small part of me feels satisfaction in how anxious I am making her. She needs to learn to not rely on my powers.


    I do need to get ready though. I do up my hair and slip my head scarf on. So quick and easy.


    ¡°Now, don¡¯t forget the drop locations. You remember them right?¡±


    I nod. Why does she think I would forget the drop locations? Is she upset because I visited her brother two days ago? I told her about it so she shouldn¡¯t be upset. Maybe she is upset because I wouldn¡¯t tell her where he is living. He asked me not to tell her, and I kept my word.


    ¡°Hope! Are you even listening to me? Where is your head today? Is it still stuck with my brother?¡±


    That must be it. She thinks that I am some emotionally driven girl.


    ¡°Lizzie, my emotions do not affect me when I do not want them to, unlike you. Do I need to take over control of the operation today? You seem unusually irrational today.¡±


    ¡°What!?¡± She screeches at me with all the indignity of a thirteen year old girl. Or is she fourteen now?


    ¡°Really, you are strangely upset today, as if you are worried about something.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m worried because last time you let someone escape with knowledge of you! You let them see you with your hair down!¡±


    ¡°Yes, but I didn¡¯t let them see our disguise. That is why our disguise is still safe.¡±


    She walks forward and punches the wall, and then stands there cradling her fist.


    ¡°Why did you punch the wall?¡± The wall never did anything to hurt her, or at least not that I know.


    She gives me an exasperated sigh, ¡°Because I am angry Hope, and if I didn¡¯t punch that wall I would¡¯ve punched you!¡±


    I have no idea what I did to make her angry enough to want to hit me.


    ¡°Well, I have a mission to do. I¡¯ll see you later Lizzie.¡±


    I slip out of the room and I can hear her yelling behind me. ¡°You better not let anyone see you this time! Kill them all if you have to!¡±


    She is way too violent for her age. It must be the information that was forced into her brain after the Xatron, or I should say I, stole her memories. Of course, I didn¡¯t have conscious knowledge of doing this at the time.


    I easily find my way to the docks on the James river where a shuttle is being loaded up from one of the boats. Just like last time there are a lot of guards around, I count 15 of them, and about 15 workers loading the shuttle. This will be a little harder.


    There is also one extra person standing off to the side that is dressed way to well. I move closer and notice short brown hair slicked back with a brown stubble of facial hair as if he hasn¡¯t shaved for a day or two. He is skinny, and the lack of wrinkles and heft to his body make me think that he is about my age. He may be slightly younger or older.


    I search through the stolen memories, but I don¡¯t see him in there. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen him before.


    He is wearing a dark black suit with a red tie. The fabric of the tie is shiny, and its looks slick. If I grab it I think my fingers would just slip through it. I creep forward a little more, keeping my invisible barrier in front of me, hiding me from their view.


    He turns toward me, as if he¡¯s heard something, though I have no idea how he can hear me over the noise of the docks, but he doesn¡¯t seem to see me.


    What is this person doing here?


    A guard walks up to him and begins to talk to him. I creep further forward, till I can hear the guard.


    ¡°¡­isn¡¯t safe. This demon steals memories and kills people, Sir. It can¡¯t be reasoned with.¡±


    ¡°Relax Rich. I¡¯ll be fine. I think this ¡°demon¡± as you call her is just a girl with special powers. She¡¯ll probably listen to reason if she shows up.¡±


    ¡°Probably, Sir? That¡¯s a big if to risk your life on.¡±


    He shrugs, glancing around checking over his men.


    ¡°If she exists and can be reasoned with, I want to talk to her. I suspect she is the same girl who escaped from jail. Imagine how much good she could do in the world with that kind of power!¡±


    ¡°Sir, she was in jail for a reason.¡±


    ¡°I know. She was unfairly locked up for being a troublesome orphan who was stealing to survive.¡± His fists clench and he looks mildly angry. ¡°It¡¯s not right that we lock people up without a trial for just trying to survive. And then they experimented on her! I bet she¡¯s just scared and alone.¡±


    This man is interesting. Should I reveal myself to him? I want to talk to him and hear more. I want to tell him what I think about this world and see what he says. No. I¡¯m here for a mission. I need to focus and get the supplies.


    They are almost finished loading the shuttle. I need to move now or lose my chance.


    ¡°White haired lady!¡± The man shouts. ¡°If you are here, please don¡¯t hurt my men!¡±


    What? His men are guarding the shuttle. How else does he expect me to take the shuttle? The men part, opening up a route to the shuttle, and I move through the opening being careful to not to be heard and give away my position.


    ¡°I bought all the contents on this shuttle for you to take. All I want is to talk to you. I will go into the shuttle and wait for you. None of my men will shoot.¡± This man is insane. He has to be of the wealthy lording over this city, but most of the wealthy don¡¯t care about other people.


    Well, what is that saying that Ray loves? Curiosity Killed the Cat. That¡¯s it.


    I walk onto the shuttle, and look back at the guards standing near the shuttle staring straight ahead. I pull the handle, and the shuttle door closes behind me, and the guards do not move. This little Lord might be an idiot.


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    ¡°Are¡­ Are you here?¡± He whispers, and I can hear the stutter in his voice.


    Maybe he is slightly afraid. He should be. I could stop his heart just by touching him. I don¡¯t want to talk to him yet, not here with his guards watching the shuttle, ready to burst in at any moment. I give the shuttle the coordinates to go to, and pull of my head scarf. I don¡¯t want this man to suspect women walking around with head scarfs.


    My hair slides out of the bun as soon as I release it. He¡¯s standing there, gripping the edge of the shuttle to keep from falling as the shuttle moves.


    ¡°Please, can I meet you? Talk to you? You can see I have no intention of hurting you right?¡± Maybe he¡¯s starting to realize how bad an idea this is.


    I release my invisibility screen, and feel the weight slide off my shoulders. Holding the screen that long has left me tired.


    He is staring at me, and I think he is too shocked to move. He asked me to appear, but obviously he didn¡¯t actually expect me to appear in front of him.


    ¡°You wanted to speak to me?¡± I ask in the loftiest tone I can manage.


    He nods, still staring at me.


    ¡°Well?¡±


    He just continues to stare at me, but I don¡¯t have all day.


    ¡°I guess I will start then, since you can¡¯t seem to speak right now. I am Ghost. I am the memories of the downtrodden, stealing from the wealthy to give out to those who are forgotten.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t give me that crap.¡± He finally speaks up and then rubs his eyes. And then stares at me again. ¡°You are the girl who escaped from jail, Lily. I can see it in the shape of your face. What happened that made your hair go white? Is it¡­ Is it the - God, I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m saying this ¨C is it the magic you use?¡±


    ¡°Magic?¡± He calls my power magic. I haven¡¯t really thought of it that way. ¡°I call it my power. And I don¡¯t know why my hair went white. I think it¡¯s the stress of using the power.¡± What else should I tell him? Should I hide more from him, or make him think I am working on my own?


    ¡°And I go by the name Hope now. As in hope for a better world.¡±


    ¡°Hope.¡± He actually has a really nice sounding voice. Its deep, but smooth like honey. He¡¯s probably a person people love to listen to. A politician¡¯s son?


    ¡°So, you use your power to steal to give to the poor?¡±


    I nod. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s what I do.¡±


    ¡°So, what would you do if I had a shuttle full of food and other necessary supplies delivered to the location you¡¯ve been sending the shuttle to everyday? Would you continue stealing shuttles?¡±


    I don¡¯t know. Why would he pay for an entire shuttle to be delivered to the people?


    ¡°I guess that¡¯s unfair to throw at you. I guess the better question is, do you think that would help people? Would it make it so that they can get a job?¡±


    ¡°Many of them have jobs, but don¡¯t make enough to survive.¡± I¡¯m not sure why I am answering this wealthy man¡¯s questions. I should just shove him out of the shuttle and let him fall to his death.


    ¡°Really? I didn¡¯t realize that the wages in this city were that bad. Unfortunately my father doesn¡¯t believe in raising the wage cap. Once I get into the government I plan on trying to balance things better. Which leads to my why I wanted to talk to you.¡± He stops, and stares at me, assessing me. ¡°Hope, would you be willing to come with me, back to my place after we deliver the supplies?¡±


    The shuttle stops. We are at the location where the orphans pick up the supplies. Shoot. I can¡¯t let them see each other.


    I grab his shoulders and pull him toward me, toward the front of the car. ¡°Stand quietly and look to the front. Do not look back here, or I will know. The people picking up supplies will not see you as long as you don¡¯t speak.¡±


    ¡°Wha-¡°


    I shush him and he stops and stares forward just like I told him. I quickly place a screen between him and the supplies. I don¡¯t know how to make it invisible on both side, but I don¡¯t know how so I simply make it a black screen from his side, and invisible from the side that the orphans will see. Hopefully they don¡¯t accidentally step through the screen.


    The shuttle door opens, and its Alice and Jack again. Thankfully it¡¯s not Jay. I could just see him saying Hi Sis, and giving away that I am not working alone.


    Jack stares at me through the open door for a moment before Alice pushes past him, not looking at me. Why is Jack staring at me so strangely?


    Alice tugs on my hair as she passes, ¡°You should cover up your hair. Someone might notice hair like that.¡±


    It suddenly registers in my brain; Jack is staring at my hair. A strand of white hair glimmers under the light. My hair represents my power to him. I back away from the door, and he enters, still watching me carefully.


    I don¡¯t belong amongst the orphans. If this man will deliver supplies, they won¡¯t need me anymore, and they are scared of me. I can never lead them as my Army if they are afraid of me. If I can get into the government, maybe I can force change. Maybe I should leave with this strange man.


    They finish removing the supplies, and Alice shuts the door without speaking to me.


    Why hadn¡¯t I thought of trying to get into the government before? I let the screen drop and tap the man on the shoulder. ¡°They are gone. Now, start with your name, and explain everything to me. Especially why you want me to come with you back to your place. That statement itself sounds very strange.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t say anything, so I grab his shoulders and shift him so that I can access the navigation panel again.


    ¡°I ¨C Well ¨C Um ¨C I guess that did sound awkward.¡±


    I nod and type in the next set of coordinates. Will Nathan be there getting supplies today? No. I can¡¯t look for him. I can¡¯t take the chance that this man will try and get him captured.


    ¡°Where are my manners today? My name is Patrick. Patrick McNeil.¡±


    The shuttle speeds off, and I turn around to face Patrick. He is holding his hand out toward me ¨C oh, he wants to shake my hand. The greeting thing. I reach out and grasp his hand and shake.


    ¡°Nice to meet you Patrick, now can you explain your quite sudden proposition to me?¡±


    He leans back against the wall of the shuttle. ¡°I guess I should start with the beginning and give you the whole story.¡±


    I nod. Yes, it would be nice to hear everything and understand why the heck he wants me to come with him.


    ¡°Well, I think it starts with your escape. Everyone freaked out. The news channels were all saying that a dangerous criminal escaped from prison, and everyone bunkered down in their safe houses waiting for the guard to catch you, except the guard couldn¡¯t. And you didn¡¯t come after them, so life began to go back to normal, but that was right when the strange robberies of shuttles started, and people became fussed that their goods were being stolen from the shuttles that were supposed to deliver their purchases.¡±


    He pauses and stares at me for a moment. What is he thinking? It¡¯s so strange how well people can hide behind their masks.


    ¡°Well, your robberies made them send the guard down to the docks, and the way you attacked scared the guards terribly. One of them used to be a prison guard, but wouldn¡¯t go back after your strange escape. After he ran into the docks he kept yelling things about a demon with white hair was coming to punish him for trying to stop her escape. It was that that gave us the idea that this was you, the dangerous escaped prisoner.¡±


    I held up my hand and he stopped. ¡°So some madman¡¯s rambling linked the escapee prisoner with brown hair to the white demon?¡±


    He nods. ¡°To be more accurate I made the connection. I took a picture the jail has of you and changed your hair to white on the computer and showed it to him. He started screaming that it was the white haired demon. I figured it was likely that the strange escape and the strange robberies were done by the same person. So I looked into your record to see what kind of dangerous criminal you were. And I realized you weren¡¯t a criminal, and neither were the people locked up with you. You were simply orphans being locked up for experimentation.¡±


    He pauses and waits. Does he want confirmation that he is right?


    I nod and he continues, ¡°So, I went and arranged homes for the orphans, well at least the ones who are still kids. Those who are adults I found jobs for, and I shut down the practice of taking orphans and experimenting on them. Well, I haven¡¯t finished that project yet, most of them are living in a group home right now that I set up for them when I got them released yesterday, but that is the eventual goal. Some of them seem, well, they seem off. I don¡¯t know how else to put it. It¡¯s like they aren¡¯t there.¡±


    He looks at me, as if expecting an answer. I guess he has helped the people I couldn¡¯t help if what he says is true. ¡°They had all their memories stolen. I can give them something back, but it won¡¯t be their original memories.¡±


    ¡°Really, you can help them?¡± He sounds so incredulous, but was he not the one who linked me to the escape and the robberies.


    ¡°I can do many things, but you would have to guarantee my safety. I don¡¯t want to go back to my cell.¡±


    ¡°Of course, I wouldn¡¯t want to send you back to that place! I guess, that goes along with the end of my story. I want you to help me make this city a better place. You will get a role where you advise my father and me on things in the city. You will go with me to different charities with me to help people. And, to help soothe the guards fears, if any big event or riot happens in the city, you will gear up and help the guard. In return you will get a room in my father¡¯s house, you will get a good monthly salary, I will personally send a shuttle with food and basic items to the people of the city every day, and you will stop robbing and terrorizing the guard. It works great for everyone, right?¡±


    His voice is so hopeful and his eyes like a puppy. He hasn¡¯t seen much of this world. ¡°It all sounds beautifully perfect, but the guard hates me and would lock me up as soon as let me work with them, and who¡¯s to say the guard won¡¯t just take supplies from the shuttles for themselves?¡±


    He looks mildly offended. Did he just expect me to accept his offer? ¡°I will send my personal guard to watch the shuttle and make sure it arrives properly. I can also make sure distribution of supplies from the shuttle is fair and goes equally to all the people gathered around.¡±


    ¡°Will I be free to come and go as I please? I can¡¯t advise you on the city very well if I am not allowed to wander.¡±


    ¡°Of course you would be free to go and go! This is a job offer, not a fancy form of imprisonment. And if you have any friends who need jobs, just let me know and I will try and find them a place.¡±


    He seems so convince. Am I just cynical? Is this not a trap, but a strangely legitimate offer? To work at the level of the government... To change things. Maybe I could make this a better world without killing anyone or stealing more memories. It would probably make Nathan happier to know that I am not using my powers to harm people.


    What am I thinking? I can¡¯t just throw caution to the wind.


    ¡°So, will you come work for me?¡±


    He looks so hopeful.


    I nod, ¡°I¡¯ll come work for you. We¡¯ll let the people take the stuff from this shuttle, and then we can take the shuttle to wherever you want to go.¡±


    What have I done? Have I just signed my own death warrant?


    But you, who I barely even notice anymore, you are smiling. Are you happier with this path? Is this the path you always wanted me to take?

 Book 3: Stolen Memories; Chapter 1: A Life of Luxury

    The door of the shuttle slides open and a strong wind swirls around inside the shuttle. Patrick steps forward on the platform for his family¡¯s apartment high above the city. He holds out his hand toward me, offering to lead me into his world.


    I should just stay on the shuttle. I should ride away from him and forget this whole world. I could go back to Nathan and forget everything else. I can¡¯t.


    I reach out and take the offered hand as I step forward and off the shuttle. I can¡¯t back down now. Two guards stand at the door, and far below us I can see people walking along like ants on the street. Is this how the rich see the rest of the world, as ants walking under their feet?


    ¡°Why do the wealthy live so high up?¡± I ask as we walk toward his door hand in hand, him leading me forward.


    ¡°The most expensive apartments have always been at the top of sky scrapers, that¡¯s what these tall buildings are called. Some of the richest people actually live out in the country. There is an especially high amount in the East end of Goochland County. But, it takes longer to get into work from there, so a lot of families just live in the more expensive apartments near or at the top of the sky scrapers.¡±


    He pauses, and he looks as if he just ate something bitter. ¡°Wealthy people have to show off how much money they have, you know.¡±


    The guards open the doors, and we walk into a gilded entry room. The walls are rose red trimmed by gold curling around the edges and snaking up and over the entry door and the three other doors. There is a door for each side wall. Next to the entry door there is a small golden bench with shoes lined up under it. The floor is a single white marble slab.


    Patrick lets go of my hand and goes reaches for his shoes. ¡°If you could take off your shoes please, it will make our house keepers work load less.¡±


    I pull off my own ratty shoes, things I am almost certain were pulled from a dumpster, and watch as Patrick carefully unties shiny leather shoes. He places his shoes under the golden bench next to the door.


    I feel ashamed to put my own ratty shoes next to his. What am I thinking? What do I have to be ashamed about? I am this way because the rich don¡¯t care. I stick my own ratty shoes under the bench.


    He looks at my shoes, and then at me, as if suddenly realizing just how poor and ratty I really am. ¡°We¡¯ll put you up in the guest room. It has a bathroom you can use to clean up in. I¡¯ll have Melanie, our housekeeper, bring you one of...¡± He pauses, and his face becomes a closed gate as if clamping down on every emotion. ¡°She¡¯ll bring you a dress.¡±


    ¡°Come, this way.¡± He walks forward and I follow like a puppy following its master. He doesn¡¯t seem like the hopeful young man I was speaking to just a moment ago. He¡¯s become stiff and formal for some reason.


    We walk through the door to the right and we are in a beautiful light blue painted room with white trim and book cases lining the walls. I step forward, and notice dark wooden boards under. To my right three blue couches with curling edges that looked like they were from another age around a fancy looking blue rug facing a fire place with a fake fire glowing on a screen. There are no windows in this room, and two doors, one to my left, and one straight ahead.


    Patrick walks toward the door straight ahead. He opens the door into a sage green room with white trim and light golden colored wood floor boards. This room has large windows lining the right wall, and a clear glass door leading out onto a balcony. Above the windows I can see what looks like a heavy green cloth a little darker than the walls bunched up ¨C drapes my stolen memories told me. On the left side of the room is a (what is it?) a bed with four wooden spokes ¨C four poster bed is what this called.


    It¡¯s an old style bed according to the man¡¯s memories I am using. He was a high class thief who stole from rich homes like this one.


    A green cloth ¨C bed spread ¨C covers the bed and I can see at least four pillows propped up against the bed.


    There is a small mossy colored rug next to the bed, and a night stand on either side of the bed. There is a dark wooden dresser on the wall next to the door we walked in through. There are two small white doors. One door is straight across from the entry door and one is to the right of the big bed.


    Patrick is standing next to the windows. I didn¡¯t even notice him move while staring at this immaculate and beautiful room.


    ¡°Come over here Hope. I want to show you how to operate and control the features of this room.¡±


    I walk over toward where he is. I don¡¯t know what he means by ¡°the features of this room¡±, but it sounds interesting.


    He touches the wall, and a part of it turns into a panel with button and words.


    ¡°This tab,¡± he touches a button near the top, ¡°is the drapes panel. These 6 lines are the 6 drapes in your room.¡±


    Each line has a couple words that describe it. The first line says ¡°left left¡± and has two buttons next to it. The first one says up, and is grayed out. The second button says down.


    ¡°The drapes are fairly simple. Press the up button and they go up, press the down and they go down. If they are all the way up, the up button becomes grayed out. If they are all the way down, the down button is grayed out.¡±


    I nod to show my understanding, but I kind of just want to press these buttons and watch them go up and down. To think that you could control thing by simply touching a wall! What is this strange world he lives in?


    He touches the second tab, and I can see a bunch of boxes with pictures. ¡°This is the mood tab. Currently the room does not have a mood and is on default.¡± He points at a box on the screen with a red circle with a line through it that says Default below it. ¡°Here, I¡¯ll let you try it out.¡± He steps back to make room for me to touch the panel.


    I step forward and touch a panel that shows a land covered in grass with a single tree that says Savannah below it. The window becomes opaque black glass, and then, it becomes grassland with a couple trees, and strange rises coming out of the land in the distance. Above the land is a blue sky that stretches onto the ceiling, and the land wraps around the walls encasing the doors. The floor changes and It looks like grass is growing out of the floor. The grass is as high as my waist and waving in the wind. The bed sits in the middle of this strange grass place, and not a single blade touches it.


    I look at the grass close to me. Strands look as if they are cutting through my body as the wave in the wind.


    ¡°Unfortunately, it¡¯s just an illusion and is intangible, but it¡¯s pretty and lets you travel to other places.¡±


    A couple massive gray things walk toward us on one wall. One lifts a strange snaky thing that protrudes from it head up toward the sky.


    ¡°What is that?¡± I point toward the creature.


    ¡°It¡¯s an elephant. Unfortunately they are almost all but extinct now.¡±


    A spotted cat creature dashes through the wall, crosses the floor, and pounces on a skinny legged creature with great horns coming out of its head on the wall near the bed. The animal goes down and the huge amount of animals near it start to run.


    He hits the default picture, and it all vanishes. The windows become transparent again and I can see the skyscraper on the other side of the air way.


    I want to just sit there and ask him questions about this strange world on that appeared in the room, but he is moving on.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a mood panel repeat a scene. The creatures seem to have some sort of AI, and they live in that valley in the screen. Whenever you turn it on they come to life exactly where you turned it off. I once had a lion kill a gazelle right next to my bed. It¡¯s fascinatingly realistic.¡±


    What is a lion and what is a gazelle? An image from the page of a book comes to mind. There is a man reading the book, and he sees this cat with a large fluff of fur and it¡¯s head. Underneath the picture it says ¡°lion¡±. He flips the page and there is a picture of the creatures I saw on the screen, and underneath it is the word ¡°gazelle¡±.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°¡­controls the lights.¡± Patrick is talking to me again. The third tab is lit up. This screen has an image with a round circle with a bunch of lines coming out of it on top of a long black line. Below this there are a bunch of blocks of color.


    ¡°You can use this to control the brightness of the light.¡± He presses the round circle and moves it up on the line.


    The light coming from the ceiling becomes brighter. He then moves it down and it dims.


    ¡°You can also change the color of the light.¡± He touches a color, and the room is swathed in purple light. He touches it again, and it goes back to the original color.


    ¡°The last tab is for temperature, but I wouldn¡¯t suggest messing around with that one too much. It allows you to set the room for different temperatures at different times of day. Currently your room is set to a constant 21 degrees. If you want the temperature changed just ask Melanie.¡±


    Who is Melanie? Oh, right, the housekeeper. He said her name earlier.


    ¡°You can also use voice commands.¡± He claps his hands together.


    ¡°Drapes command on.¡± A pleasant female voice says from nowhere and yet everywhere.


    I look around but I do not see anyone else. Is this Melanie speaking? ¡°Where is she, the woman who is speaking?¡±


    ¡°Unrecognized command.¡± The voice says.


    ¡°That is the system¡¯s voice, you can do all the commands I showed you with your voice.¡±


    ¡°Unrecognized command.¡±


    ¡°The number of times you clap will get you to the number tab you want.¡± He continues.


    ¡°Unrecognized command.¡±


    ¡°Left left,¡± He says.


    ¡°Left left drape.¡± The voice says.


    ¡°Down.¡± He smiles at me, and the furthest left drape starts to slowly lower. ¡°Stop.¡±


    The drape stops lowering.


    ¡°Exit.¡±


    ¡°Voice commands off.¡±


    ¡°What do you think?¡± He is smiling like he thinks that this is the greatest thing in the world.


    All I can think is that all this strange stuff in his house would probably pay to house tons of people that are living on the street, but I smile back at him. ¡°It¡¯s amazing. It will probably take me forever for me to figure out all of it. I never imagined stuff like this exists.¡±


    My praise of the technology in the room seems to make him happy. ¡°The bathroom is through the door straight across from us and the other door is a closet, though it has nothing in it right now. I¡¯ll have Melanie go out shopping with you to get clothing later. Oh, and I¡¯ll have Melanie leave a dress for you on the door of the bathroom.¡±


    He goes out through the door we entered through, and closes it behind him. I guess this is where I am supposed to go into the ¡°bathroom¡± and clean up.


    I open the door he¡¯d pointed to, and find myself in a room white walls and gold trim. The floor is covered with large marble slabs.


    A large tub with golden feet is in front of me ¨C a claw foot tub. There is a rod above it; a shower curtain hangs down inside the tub. A white marble sink with golden handles is across from the tub, and at the end of the tub is toilet with the tank for the toilet way above the bowl part and a golden pipe linking the two. A chain hangs down from the tank, and a word comes to mind ¨C pull-chain toilet.


    I remove my contacts and clothing before looking through the memories for how to use the shower. I can see the high class thief using a bathroom similar to this at one point. His memories tell me how to operate the shower that is connected to the claw foot bathtub.


    It¡¯s strange, to feel the warm water pouring over me, to use the fancy soap that has a mild sweet smell with a sharp touch to it that makes me feel more alert. I can¡¯t put a name to the smell, but it says ¡°Roses and Lemon¡± on the bottle.


    A knock sounds.


    ¡°Yes?¡± I call out, not sure what else to say.


    I can hear the door open a crack. ¡°I¡¯m leaving the dress on the door, if that¡¯s ok with you Miss.¡± A high pitched but soft-toned voice calls out.


    ¡°Umm, ok.¡± I don¡¯t know what else to say. Is she asking for my permission? And why is she calling me Miss? I¡¯m just a miscreant orphan girl in an opulent house.


    She¡¯s left underthings and a bright red dress hanging on the door.


    I don¡¯t belong in this world. I don¡¯t belong here. I have to use my stolen memories to even semi-understand this high-class apartment. But, if I want to change the world, if I can change things from the top, I can change everything.


    The dress is made from a soft flowy fabric, and I easily pull it on. There is one strap across my right shoulders, and a strange shimmery fabric falling down over my left arm.


    I step forward and the red fabrics that falls to the floor swirls around my legs. It¡¯s so different from my discarded drab wool dress.


    It¡¯s so soft I could just run my fingers over it again and again. This life. This luxury. I could see how one could become complacent with this. If I simply accept this life I never have to wear a thick wool dress again. I could a life of comfort with illusionary images and drapes controlled by the voice, and I could pretend like everyone else below me is just a person less lucky that I. But what did I do to deserve this? I gained a power where I can kill people with a thought. I can steal memories and make myself invisible.


    I don¡¯t know what to do now. I guess I should explore? Maybe I can go to the room with the book shelves and find something to read until Patrick comes to get me. It seems like the genteel thing to do.


    Genteel. The rich like to pretend they are genteel. The word floats around in my mind, a place where it belongs, but true meaning behind it. My memories provide nothing except that the rich call the way they act genteel.


    The library is lit by a soft glow and there is Patrick curled up in a couch chair with a book on his lap. He has time to sit around reading? He doesn¡¯t seem to notice me standing in the door. His brown hair is combed back now, a politician¡¯s greasy style, and his face is clean shaven now. Something else is also different. I can¡¯t quite put my finger on it.


    He raises his hand, the cuffs on his shirt undone, just like the top bottoms of his shirt, and he pushes glasses back up on his face. That¡¯s it! He¡¯s wearing glasses. He wasn¡¯t wearing those before. Don¡¯t the rich have surgery to correct for bad vision or something though?


    He still doesn¡¯t notice me, and I have a strange urge to be unobserved, to sneak up, and¡­ look over his shoulder at his book? Scare him? I don¡¯t really know. I notice you, as if you are an apparition that just appeared when I questioned my own motives.


    Are you actually disappearing on me, or I am just forgetting your existence and you dim away to the back of my mind? Why are you here? Why do you follow me? Who are you? Why can I only make you out as a dim and distant human like figure, like a ghost, but sometimes I can see a clear expression on your face or a movement? What are you, and why can I see you? Are you truly a figment of my imagination, or something else?


    ¡°H-Hope?¡± Patrick is staring at me, his mouth slightly agape, his book sitting in his lap.


    I feel¡­ strange¡­ uncomfortable. I¡¯m not sure I like the way he is staring at me so intently, and I look down at the dark wooden floorboards beneath me.


    ¡°You look amazing, like an Angel.¡±


    An angel? I¡¯ve never been called that one before. I look up at him, and find myself staring at his plain simple glasses. They are glasses like a poor person¡¯s in the expanse of luxury.


    He set his book down on the chair, and walks toward me. Should I go toward him? What does he want me to do? Why hasn¡¯t he said anything else.


    ¡°Come, Melanie will have prepared dinner for us.¡± He holds out hi hand toward me-


    -and gasps stopping straight in his tracks. ¡°You¡¯re ¨C You¡¯re eyes.¡± He whispers.


    I forgot to put the lenses back in! I cover my eyes with my hands and turn back toward my room. He must have seen my scary white eyes, soulless eyes is what I heard Jack calling them to some of the other children.


    A hand grasps my arm as I try to run for the room. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to startle you. I was just surprised. I¡¯ve never seen anyone with eyes like that before. On the official record your eye color is listed as brown.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll go put back in the contacts. It scares people to see my demon eyes. I try not to ever go without them where people can see me.¡± I pull against his hand trying to run toward the bathroom where I left the lenses on the edge of the sink.


    ¡°It¡¯s ok. You can go without them here. I just wasn¡¯t expecting to how ¨C how pale they are.¡±


    I slowly turn to face him, and he releases my arm. He looks so sincere. Does her really not care about my demon eyes?


    His brown eyes lock with mine, and he doesn¡¯t flinch or look away. ¡°Come, we will be late for dinner.¡± He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door to the right.


    ¡°Dinner is promptly at 6 every evening, and we are expected to eat at this time.¡±


    He leads me through the door into a dark blue room with a large chandelier in the middle hanging down over a dark colored large wooden table set with glistening white dishes and shining silver utensils. It¡¯s like a dream from the past.


    A woman in a floor length shimmering blue gown walks in through an archway entrance to the left.


    ¡°Patrick dearest, are you really going to have that jail bait living in our house and eating with us? Why can¡¯t it just live in a maid¡¯s closet or something?¡± She twirls her finger through the single strand of black hair hanging down from her immaculate hairdo.


    Patrick sighs. ¡°Hope, this is my wife, Azalea. Azalea, the young woman with me has the ability to stop a person¡¯s heart with just a thought from her mind, so please, don¡¯t antagonize her. It really would be sad if something happened to you, dearest.¡±


    If she¡¯s his wife, shouldn¡¯t he be near her, smiling and happy instead of looking like he¡¯s dealing with an annoyance?¡±


    ¡°Uck. All the more reason you shouldn¡¯t have brought that thing into our house.¡± She shudders and prances toward one of the seats. ¡°Melanie! Where is dinner! It should be out at 6pm sharp!¡±


    Patrick leads me forward and pulls out a chair for me. ¡°Here, this is your seat, Hope.¡± He walks around the table, and sits next to this dolled up woman.


    A door on the other wall of the room near the right corner swings open and a woman with short black hair wearing a simple black dress comes out with a tray in her hands. ¡°Sorry Ma¡¯am. This here took just a touch longer to cook then I planned.¡±


    She sets the tray down in the middle of the table, and then looks over at me, her almond shaped eyes meeting mine. She screeches, and flees for the safety of the door she entered through. I should have worn my contacts after all.


    Azalea looks furious. ¡°What was that about? Melanie! Get back here now and serve this meal!¡±


    The woman creeps back in, keeping her eyes downcast. She is doing everything in her power not to look at me.


    This looks like it will be a long night.


    I look over at Patrick, and notice him staring at his plate not saying a word. What type of place is this? I wish I was back among the orphans, crowded around a thick pot of stew with all of them cluttered together and laughing and giggling. Even though they ignored me there, I felt less alone than in this giant monstrosity fill with hate and loneliness. How could these rich people live like this?g here¡­

 Chapter 2: Dress up Doll

    I run my fingers across the multitudes of fabrics hanging down in my closet. There are so many fancy dresses in my closet now, and I am not sure I care for it. I would prefer to be wearing the guard¡¯s uniform that Patrick also gave me.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am, you must wear one of the dresses. It is expected of women to wear dresses at balls.¡± Melanie holds out the red gown I wore to dinner a couple nights ago.


    I shake my head. ¡°Melanie, you really should just call me Hope. It feels wrong to have you calling me Ma¡¯am. I don¡¯t belong in this society.¡±


    Melanie holds out a blue dress that she helped me pick out when we went shopping together. Patrick apparently ordered her to make sure I have enough dresses for any circumstance. Right now I have on what Melanie calls a casual dress, it¡¯s a simple blue green sweater dress and black tights underneath.


    Now, she claims that I am going to a society ball and I have to look that part. Apparently I am Patrick¡¯s charity case to show off to all the other social elites.


    I have no idea how to act or behave at one of these social events, and in truth I don¡¯t even want to go. I would rather be sleeping on the floor of that old office building with the other orphans. I don¡¯t belong here, but I say nothing and pull off my current dress, taking the silky blue dress that she holds out to me.


    How many people could this dress give meals to? How much am I betraying my friends. I slip the dress over my should and let it fall down and soak me in money.


    Melanie zips up the back of the dress, and leads me over to sit in the chair in front of the mirrored desk that I have been told is called a ¡°vanity¡±.


    I¡¯m like a pet dog. Just point and tell me what to do, and I docilely follow orders. I can¡¯t complain, anyone who lives down on the streets dreams of this life. They dream of a social elite man finding them, sweeping them off their feet, and leading them up into the high society life.


    I¡¯m not really that different, am I? I can¡¯t stop what happening. I can¡¯t bring myself to dissent. Patrick is holding to his word and giving away an entire shuttle of supplies every day.


    Am I prisoner kept in a gilded cage, a zoo animal wishing for the freedom of the art on the cage of her walls?


    Melanie brushes through my hair, gently messing with it, pulling it up, fixing it into an immaculate sculpture.


    I can imagine the people saying, ¡°Here, look, it¡¯s an orphan wild human, caught from the streets of Richmond. Can you see how tame it is? It eats from the hand and will let you sit there and pet it. It even does magic tricks.¡±


    In the mirror I can see artful white curls framing my face, and the rest of my hair is piled up on top of my head.


    She spins my chair around and begins to put stuff on my face. Like the good tame lion I am, I sit there and let her wipe and brush stuff onto my face. I have no idea what she is putting on it or what she is doing, and she doesn¡¯t offer to tell me.


    Stolen story; please report.


    Is this lonely existence my fate? Can I escape it? Can I bring myself to fight the people I know now? Patrick has a good heart underneath his rich exterior.


    She spins me around, and the creature in the mirror is not me anymore. My face is high and defined, the whiteness used to make me look mysterious, like a goddess of old my stolen memories suggest.


    Who am I? Who is this creature?


    She holds out a case to me, ¡°Here, Patrick said you should where contacts when out in public. These ones will look good with that dress.¡±


    These ones are blue colored pieces of glass. I pull them out, and use the mirror to help me put them in my eyes. They look¡­ unnatural. No matter what, I look unnatural.


    I am a marble statue with blue painted on to me. A dress up doll for a child to play with.


    Melanie slips my feet into two strappy blue low heels. I couldn¡¯t manage to walk in anything higher than half inch heels when we were out shopping, but Melanie insisted that my shoes had to be heels, even if they were only half inch heels.


    She stands up, and offers her hand, helping me stand on theses dratted wobbly shoes. She steps back, staring at me intently, her masterpiece.


    She smiles, ¡°You are perfect. You will be a good gem to add to decorate the Macorvis¡¯s ballroom tonight.¡±


    And there it is; I am simply an accessory to decorate a room. How wonderful.


    She grabs my hand and leads me forward, out of the room and into the library. ¡°You will wait here until Azalea and Patrick are ready to go.¡±


    ¡°We need only wait for Azalea now,¡± Patrick says from the couch he is sitting on in the dark.


    Melanie drops my hand and hurries over to turn on a light for Patrick.


    The soft glow lights him up, and he looks very similar to how he looked at dinner the other night. Apparently it is only women who have to dress up in elaborate costumes for every time of day.


    ¡°Come, sit with me. It will be a while before Azalea is ready.¡± He smiles softly, relaxed and at home in this formal opulent world.


    I sit down at the opposite end of the couch. I wish Nathan was here with me, but he chose to withdraw from my path and to simply accept the world as it is.


    Patrick smiles at me, ¡°Hope, have you read many of the classics?¡±


    I shake my head. I haven¡¯t really read anything. It¡¯s hard to find time to read when one is just trying to survive.


    He holds out a book toward me, ¡°I think you will enjoy this. This book is called ¡®Le Morte De Artur¡¯, or ¡¯The Death of Arthur¡± about a famous British king from the much ancient days.¡±


    I take the book from him, and slowly begin to read. At first, I feel as if I understand nothing, but memories slowly help me pick up speed. A woman named Megan read this book before. Her memories fill in the gaps and explain the words of this story, and bring to life the story of a boy who pulls a sword out of a stone to become king. If only it was that easy to become a king.


    I glance over at Patrick, and notice him studiously reading his own book. Why did he pick this story out for me to read?


    Megan¡¯s memories tell me the ending, Arthur dies, but her memories do not contain the exact words. It¡¯s interesting to pull in the language of this story into my own mind, my own memories. But why this book?


    I glance back at Patrick, and he is still reading away. The death of Arthur. A man who rises up to be a king, only to die in obscurity at the end.


    Footsteps echo through the room, and I put the book down on the couch. That is a problem for another time.


    Azalea walks in, her golden decked head held high and her pure white garments releasing their own light into the room.


    ¡°Come darling, it¡¯s time to introduce your pet to society isn¡¯t it?¡± She laughs in a her high pitched cackle and latches onto Patrick¡¯s arm. ¡°I bet father is waiting in the shuttle.¡±


    ¡°He is.¡± Patrick leads toward the door and I follow in their wake.


    I guess now I will get to meet Patrick¡¯s father and the head of this strange little company.

 Chapter 3: Dancing into Oblivion

    This shuttle was very different from the cargo shuttles I hijacked in the past. First off the shuttle itself was much shorter and was a sleek red creature. A small portal was open for passengers to step off the balcony into the shuttle.


    Patrick helped Azalea in before sliding in himself. I was left to figure out entering this thing in a ridiculous dress with hard to manage heals. One of the guards stepped forward, nondescript in the black uniform with the face mask and helmet, offering me a hand.


    I smiled gratefully at the guard and took their hand, allowing myself to balance on them as I climbed into the whole. ¡°Show those rich people the strength and humanity of us poorer people,¡± A woman¡¯s voice whispered to me as she let go of my hand.


    The interior was lit with dim red light and black leather seats were lined around the shuttle. Azalea and Patrick sat against one wall, and another man sat at the front. The red light shined off a shiny bald head that I swear is waxed.


    The bald waves his hand toward the seat next to the door. ¡°As my son¡¯s guest you can take a seat there.¡±


    So this is Patrick¡¯s father. I sit down on one of the fancy seats, feeling it softly give under me.


    ¡°Hope, this is my father, Raymond McNeil.¡±


    He holds out his hand toward me, expectantly.


    Hesitantly I grasp his hand, ¡°Hello sir.¡±


    He grabs on and shakes my hand twice before letting go. ¡°Girl, you need to learn better manners. When you meet someone you should say ¡®Nice to meet you¡¯ and then ¡®How do you do sir¡¯. That is a proper first greeting. Not a hesitant hello. You should also grasp a person¡¯s hand to show your own strength. Otherwise you are a dead fish and not worth any interest. Do you understand girl?¡±


    I nod, afraid to even ask this man to stop calling me girl. I have all this power, and yet the very aura this man exudes terrifies me.


    He continues on with different terms of address for different people, and which fork to use first. He should have taught me all this before deciding to bring me to this social gathering.


    The shuttle comes to a stop and the portal opens up, lights flashing through the small opening and loud music blasting in.


    Patrick¡¯s father gets out first and then offers a hand to help me out, which I gratefully take. I step through and out onto a balcony of a building that has lights flashing through multitudes of windows and music blasting.


    ¡°I will be your escort for tonight,¡± the old man whispers into my ear, his breath wafting the sting of fermenting food. He takes my arm and loops it through his.


    He leads me forward into a room of a myriad of thrashing lights and sounds. It¡¯s too much, and I look back, wanting to run back to the safety of the shuttle, but he drags me forward into this insanity.


    People undulate around a floor, gowns flashing by mixed with black clad legs. He draws me forward into this movement, placing my left hand on his shoulder, one of his hands on my waist, and grasping my other hand with his, he leads me forward. He pushes me this way and that, and I stumble around trying to follow, but unable to figure out what is going on, my feet everywhere and the music an enigma. His face slowly turns in a plum, as he looks like he bit into a green apple.


    He pushes me toward a wall and releases me, ¡°Stay by the wall. I don¡¯t want anyone to realize how much my special guest fails at dancing. Have you even ever danced before in your life.¡±


    I shake my head, ¡°I¡¯ve been in a jail cell for hmm, how many years now? Oh I remember, seven years! What did you expect?¡±


    He glares at me and stalks away, leaving me by the wall with a couple of older women who are sitting on seats looking quite bored.


    ¡°Hello sweetheart. Are you new to society?¡± A woman with a severe gray bun, asks me in a raspy voice. Her face is softened by short side bangs hanging loose smile wrinkles lining her eyes and mouth. Even now I can see a genuine, sweet smile.


    I nod, unsure of what I am allowed to say and not allowed to say.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry you had to come with that man. He¡¯s a regular womanizer and a bore. I myself used to love these parties, but eventually I realized that everyone here wears a mask even though this isn¡¯t a masquerade.¡± She laughs as if she¡¯s made some kind of great joke.


    ¡°I was supposed to marry that old geezer a long time ago, but I refused and became the pariah of polite society. The evil spinster who will turn your chances at a good marriage to dust.¡± She laughed again, her laughter filled with biter rasping.


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    ¡°I have no need for marriage opportunities or anything.¡± I am not sure what else to say to that type of statement.


    She laughs again, ¡°You are a first among this pack of wolves my dear. Well, I guess not a first as I am sitting next to you, and they label me with that interesting term, asexual, but you are one of a few. Are you like me and you do not desire anyone, or are you just not interested in marrying any of these self-interested shallow bastards presented here.¡±


    ¡°I ¨C I¡¯m not sure. I don¡¯t know anyone here, and I¡¯m not really certain about desiring anyone. I haven¡¯t really thought much about that.¡± Nathan¡¯s face flashes through my mind. I wouldn¡¯t mind it if he was next to me right now. Is that desire, or is that simply longing for a friend?


    ¡°You look deep in thought my dear. You don¡¯t have to love. You don¡¯t have to give yourself away to someone. Your life is your own to control. But a word of warning, if you choose this path it is a lonely and thankless one.¡± She leans back against the wall, her eyes partially close for a second. ¡°It might have been nice to have a friend with me if nothing else, but I chose to only stand on my own two feet. I guess that¡¯s the problem with us strong-willed women. We don¡¯t want help from anyone else.¡±


    I recognize her now. I¡¯ve seen her face on billboards that say ¡°Rossette Lanota for City Council¡±. She¡¯s a politician in a world mostly dominated by men.


    ¡°I have a friend that I asked to stand with me, but he pushed me away and told me if I chose the path I am on I had to walk it by myself.¡± I find myself admitting to her.


    She nods sagely. ¡°Yes, that sounds about right. Most people are afraid to follow in the wake of a strong willed woman, or they tire of it after a time. I think I myself have tired of my own path, but I am too stubborn to turn aside from it. I can¡¯t turn away anymore.¡± She stops, and looks over at me, her dark blue eyes slowly moving from my feet to my head. ¡°I see that in you. For all that you are young, you already have that tense, set, look about you. I suggest jumping off your path before its too late, my dear. Politics will kill your soul. It will eat you alive, chew you up, and spit back someone you don¡¯t recognize.¡±


    She thinks I am going into politics. I guess in a way my path has lead me toward such a path. But I can¡¯t turn away. Not now. Not ever with my power. I already don¡¯t recognize myself or the person I used to be. I killed my soul when I smashed a man¡¯s heart with my mind.


    ¡°It¡¯s already too late for me, I think. I turned away from all my friends to take this path.¡± It¡¯s the closest I can get to the truth. I have turned away from them, but I do it for their own sake. I will destroy insane, expensive, luxurious parties like this one, and instead will help my friends with money accumulated at the top of the towers that are built on the backs of my friends.


    She shakes her head, staring off into the crowd of dancers. ¡°It isn¡¯t too late for you yet. You could walk out of this room, take a shuttle down out of this world, and go back to your friends. You haven¡¯t done anything yet that makes it impossible for you to return yet.¡±


    She has no idea. Mirth spews from my mouth. I have done more to regret than she has. My friends look on at me with horror, and only Nathan would care to see me again, but he would look at me with pity. He would ask me why I wasted all those lives to not complete my goal.


    ¡°Why do you laugh? Do you think yourself so entrenched you can¡¯t leave? Take it from an old lady; nothing is so set in stone that you can¡¯t change it.¡±


    ¡°No, I laugh because my friends would be disappointed with me if I don¡¯t succeed now. I have lost them now whether I continue on this path or turn away, so I might as well continue.¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°You need more drive than that in this world. You need to be passionate about your beliefs. You need to own your ideas. Why have you chosen this path? Why are you tolerating this room instead of running?¡±


    I shake my head. I¡¯m not sure. I am sure. She is right. I need to be firm in my goal. ¡°I want to make this a better world for the poor. I want shelters for the orphans that run the streets and food for the poor that work so hard but can¡¯t even afford to buy their own food.¡±


    She laughs again, ¡°Ahh, an idealist. You want to give away stuff to people, but my dear, once you start giving away stuff they start to rely on you and not working. Also you won¡¯t be able to get any money for your campaigns that way. The companies don¡¯t like politicians that care about their constituents. It¡¯s bad for business when the workers don¡¯t want to work anymore because they can get food for free.¡±


    What is she talking about? ¡°People would continue to work and struggle to live. They would just live better. They could be happier. It isn¡¯t right to have this difference of wealth that the current society has.¡±


    ¡°My dear, it¡¯s a dream that politics will beat out of you. It will make you forget it as you struggle to fight just to get a minimum wage set for people. It takes years to even get a single law passed. Slowly, politics will eat away your hopes and dreams, diminishing you until you find yourself asking what good have you even done. I know. I¡¯ve been there. I once had lovely dreams and gave away most of my money, but it changed nothing. The poor stayed poor, the rich stayed rich, and people just started to complain when my money ran out. No one is ever grateful when you walk down this path.¡± I want to walk away from this woman and her simple despair, but I do not know where else to go. People line the other walls, but they are laughing and breathless with mirth.


    I see Patrick and Azalea twirl past on the dance floor, and Patrick¡¯s father¡¯s bald head can be seen with a different woman packed into the mix.


    ¡°Soon they will call a break for dinner, and we will eat so much fancy food that we could feed a poor child for a week, but instead it will be served here. Will you eat it, or turn it away because it sickens you that it could feed others? Will you eat it because it will be thrown out in the garbage otherwise?¡± The woman stands. ¡°I myself will eat it because I have given up on thoughts like that. I am hungry, and it is in front of me. It is not worth fighting society anymore. I have nothing left to show for what I once fought for. I used to abstain at these meals, to insist on giving away my food, and the others laughed and turned away, not caring. This world is merciless, and there is nothing you can do. Not one thing.¡±


    The music stops and a bell chimes. Two giant doors at the other end of the room open up. ¡°Since this is your first time at one of these functions, I will warn you to make sure you find your name. The hosts get quite angry if you mess of their seating assignments.¡±


    I nod and move forward with the crowd. My head aches, and I wish to just retreat back to my room in Patrick¡¯s house, but I can¡¯t. I am his guest and I am expected to act like such.

 Chapter 4: Dinner with a Lion

    I find my name at a table with six other chairs.


    Next to me are two other women with sparkling glitter on their faces and gowns. I am a plain duck compared to the swans next to me. Melanie did me a favor by letting me pick out these plainer dresses. I shudder to think of myself in such elaborate sparkling costumes.


    ¡°So plain. My dear, you really need a better maid to help dress you up. I can¡¯t imagine dressing in such a plain way.¡± The woman on the right pats my shoulder, her cheeks flushed from the exertion of dancing, but her dress still perfectly settled on her and her hair still perfectly plastic sprayed into a the shape of a rising sun mixed with red sparkles and red flares in her blonde hair. Red eyes stare at me from a face kept perfectly still.


    ¡°I¡¯m new to this type of thing and begged my maid to keep things simple for me. I really can¡¯t imagine wearing such a beautiful get up as yours.¡± The sunrise woman preens a little just as I meant her to, patting her dress, but keeping her face perfectly emotionless.


    ¡°My dear,¡± the woman on my left says. ¡°You really must learn to keep your face still. That worry with create permanent lines on your face.¡± This woman has blue sparkles on her hair shaped to look like a wave with most of it dyed blue and the time at the end white.


    Is that why these women keep their faces like statues?


    The sunrise woman grasps my hand, ¡°I¡¯m sure we will end up great friends. I¡¯m Merina, sponsored by the Caline family.


    The other woman grasps my other hand, ¡°It¡¯s great to have a new woman among the sponsored people. I¡¯m Ariana, sponsored by the Gatrine family.¡±


    I guess I am sitting with people who aren¡¯t actually from a political family, but sponsored by a family. It must be how Patrick and his father are explaining me being here.


    ¡°I¡¯m Hope, sponsored by the McNeil family.¡±


    The two women gasp almost at the same time and their faces actually show surprise.


    ¡°You¡¯re sponsored by the great McNeil family?¡± Merina sounds extremely surprised, ¡°They never sponsor anyone. I would never have imagined any of those proper people having a bastard child or sponsoring a woman to form other marriage connections. They have no need of marriages connections.¡±


    ¡°Sush Merina,¡± Ariana quiets the rambling Merina. ¡°Hope, why is the McNeil family sponsoring you, and why start sponsoring you at the age you are at?¡±


    I guess it¡¯s not common for a family to sponsor someone who is already in their twenties. I have to come up with some sort of story. It needs to be close to the truth, but not actually the truth.


    ¡°I¡¯m a charity case. I was one of a group of people raised in a jail cell for most of my life for no reason other than being an orphan. When the McNeil family learned of this atrocity, they took me in and found homes for all the other people in my situation. I can¡¯t say in words how thankful I am for their charity.¡±


    The two women next to me nodded sympathetically.


    ¡°I heard about that in the news, but I never imagined the McNeil family would take one of them in,¡± Merina says. ¡°Oh, I guess. I¡¯m sorry. I just never thought¡­¡±


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    She drifts off, unsure of how to fix her blunder. I smile at her to make her feel more at ease, ¡°Do not worry. I never expected this myself. I never really thought about much outside the cell until I was freed. You can probably understand now why I am wearing such a plain dress.¡±


    Ariana nods empathetically, ¡°Of course Hope. Don¡¯t worry. If you stick with us we will teach you how to make your sponsor proud of you. Who knows, with your exotic background we can probably even help you find a really good marriage that will make your sponsor happy.¡±


    Merina nods, ¡°Ariana and I were just recently engaged to good young men from outstanding families.¡±


    Was that what I was to be? A bartering chip for the McNeil family? No, I don¡¯t think they actually expect that out of me. As Merina said, they don¡¯t need a marriage bartering chip.


    Servants walk out with plates of food placing meals in front of each person. There must be about 10 0 some people in this hall.


    Merina has already lost interest in me and is amiably chatting with a woman dressed like a flower to her right.


    Ariana pokes at the food on her plate. ¡°They feed us such strange things at the feasts.¡± A slab of meat on top of lettuce decorated with purple and gold sits on her plate.


    I¡¯m betraying them, all of the other orphans, as my fork stabs my own slab of meat and my knife slices it into a small chunk. My mouth waters, and I can¡¯t stop myself from eating it. I¡¯m betraying the people starving on the street, but I want more. A single bite is a tender soft, velvety bite. A bit of heaven pulled down for me to taste.


    Merina delicately goes about eating her food, but Ariana continues to poke at it. Is she not going to eat it? There are children who die because they can¡¯t find food and she is poking at the food in front of her.


    ¡°I can¡¯t stand eating meat,¡± she whispers to me confidentially. ¡°I can¡¯t stand the thought of those cute animals dying just so I can eat them.¡±


    I don¡¯t know what to say to that. She is wasting the animal¡¯s death by refusing to eat it. It is already dead and won¡¯t be saved by her refusal to eat it.


    ¡°What do you think about the people who cannot find anything to eat right now?¡±


    Everyone near me stops talking and stares at me. Have I said something wrong?


    Ariana laughs nervously, ¡°Really Hope, you know that us sponsored aren¡¯t allowed a political opinion. The official stand of my family is that everyone who works hard will one day eat well. There are lots of opportunities for people to become rich in America. ¡°


    An older woman across the table shakes her head, ¡°Child, you need to be more careful about what you say in public. More outbursts like that and you won¡¯t make a good marriage.¡±


    I want to point out that I am not here to make a marriage. I am not here to make pointless talk with shallow vapid woman. I am here to change the way things are. I can¡¯t let myself fall into the fold!


    I stare at her with her strange attire that makes me think of a grassy hill. I can¡¯t back down. I have to voice my opinion and change minds. I have to show people I am worth more than their scorn.


    I lower my head and nod. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to put anyone on the spot. I¡¯m new.¡±


    Why? Why did I back down to these over sparkly women? Why am I quietly eating my dinner, not looking at them? I can hear Merina telling the flower girl to her right what I said earlier. I am now a gossip piece. I should speak up, but these women¡¯s disapproval is holding me back. My own mental inhibitions are controlling me. I only hope that when Patrick finally takes me to a debate I won¡¯t be as submissive. Why can¡¯t I say what I want? I want to scream in frustration. My knife squeaks against the plate, but only Ariana looks over, but her face is blank. I can¡¯t tell if she is worried, upset, or just can¡¯t believe she is sitting next to such a socially unacceptable person.


    Why am I here? I have no idea. I just want to get back to Patrick¡¯s apartment. Who am I to think I can make change happen? I see you, standing across the way next to the grassy hill lady. You are glaring at me, questioning me as to why I am silent.


    I am a woman who has a strange scary power. A power that can kill people. I want to stay alive. I want to change the world. Can I do both?


    You glare at me, pushing me to go against society¡¯s expectations.


    I stand up.


    The women around me look at me; curious or angry at the disturbance. Who are you to stand in our company, they ask. I am me, and because of that, I am powerful.


    ¡°I can¡¯t stop myself from speaking out my opinion. My sponsor promised to listen to my opinion, so I shall voice it to all. I think we as a society should help the people to be able to survive. Children shouldn¡¯t be starving in the street.¡±

 Chapter 5: To Kill a Lion

    The room is silent. All conversation has stopped. All eyes are on me. Patrick looks horrified, Raymond looks amused.


    A man at a nearby table laughs, ¡°A woman who actually speaks her mind, I like it!¡± The man raises his glass to me and drinks it down.


    His neighbor swats at the black shoulder pads of his dinner jacket, and he ducks while finishing the last drops from his glass.


    Another man shakes his shiny bald head, ¡°Woman, let the politicians think about things like that. Its best for the people to support themselves. Any help from the government only makes them more dependent on the government.¡±


    ¡°Is it wrong to give people some support? Is it wrong to feed and house children? Is it wrong to make sure everyone gets an education? Supposedly people are not supposed to be jailed without a trial, and yet children were snatched off the streets for trying to survive, thrown into jail, and experimented on! Is that what you consider right?¡± My voice rises, and I can here I am shouting at the end, but I can¡¯t stop myself. Am I sounding hysterical instead of sane and thoughtful?


    The laughing man smiles and stands up, ¡°My dear, we should hold this conversation till after dinner, when we can gather in the parlor and discuss this at length in a sensible manner.¡± The man bows to me, with only a half-smile, a mocking twist of the lips, or actual amusement at my dinner time entertainment I cannot tell. ¡°Now my dear friends seated around, let us eat, drink, and be merry without worry of politics.


    He sits back down, and I sit, feeling like a rebuked child though I cannot think of when I was actually rebuked. The women at my table whisper to each other, snatching glances at me, but not looking toward me. Even my seat mates lean away like a have the plague.


    I finish my meal in isolation. A pariah to be avoided. The woman who will become an unmarried spinster to these society women.


    Rossette walks by and pats my shoulder, ¡°An invitation to join the parlor debate. Not many people get one of those from master Macorvis over there. He must of taking a liking to you. Of course, he likes anyone who is willing to speak out against the crowd. Beware though, my young friend. An invitation brings jealousy from others, and you have taken the first step on the lonely path I warned of. The first steps on path of disenchantment and betrayal.¡± She smiles with a strange, faraway look as if she is looking into a past of future that only she can see. ¡°Yes, a very lonely path.¡±


    She wanders off as if she has not a care in the world, which I guess at this point in time is true. She doesn¡¯t seem like she is fighting for much anymore.


    Others are filtering out of the dining hall, and I have nothing to hold me here anymore. I quickly stand up and leave. Was I supposed to excuse myself from the table? Oh well, I am already the social outcast by my own actions and words. No sense in regretting forgetting manners that I was just taught at this point in time.


    Patrick grabs my shoulder as I pass, ¡°What do you think you were doing, standing out like that?¡± He hisses at me.


    I shrug, pulling away from him, ¡°I was doing exactly what I am in your house to do, advise people about the actual conditions of the city.¡±


    ¡°You made a fool of our family.¡± He says, his voice slightly slurred with alcohol.


    ¡°Patrick, I was invited to the parlor which is something I was told is an honor. I merely stated my opinion, which you have agreed to support.¡±


    ¡°Hope, that parlor is where people go to debate political opinions. They will tear you to shreds like rabid dogs. You aren¡¯t ready.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been in jail for almost 8 years. I¡¯ve got the memories of ton of people to draw on. I think I can stand my ground quite well.¡± I will change this world from the inside, and this is the first step.


    He shakes his head and backs away. ¡°It is your call. If you wish¡­ I won¡¯t stop you. Go, fall on your own sword.¡±


    What type of statement is that? Why would I fall on my own sword? A memory tells me it is an old saying. A saying that means pick your battles wisely and don¡¯t fight if it will end up being your own death. I will prove him that my point is correct. I will prove it to them all.


    I hold my head high and serenely walk away. I am the calm of a tree on a still day. The leaves gently whispering to each other. The silence buzzing with life. I will not let anyone dissuade me from my quest.


    I stride into the room full of wolves. I can see the hunger for a good meal reflecting from the eyes that stare at me as I enter. No one here is my friend. I am alone in here.


    Macorvis slid into the room, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. ¡°Hello simple girl,¡± he whispers in my ear, and I slide out from his arm, heading toward a chair, a two person couch the only seat available. For a second I think of just standing so I don¡¯t have to sit near him, but, I look back at him, and he has a smirk as if he knew that I wouldn¡¯t approve of his familiarity. I wouldn¡¯t let him get to me. I sit down on the two person couch and grit my teeth as he slides in to the seat next to me.


    ¡°So, my dear, you seemed quite adamant about your ideas. Will you repeat your thoughts here for us to kindly debate with you? It will be such lively entertainment.¡± His arm lies across the top of the couch, behind me. I sit on the edge of my seat.


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    These men are all staring at me, waiting for me to speak. Even you are looking at me expectantly. You are waiting for me to present my opinions as more than the ideas of a wild crazy woman with power. I can do this. I can change society without falling onto my powers and relying on them.


    Hands clenched tightly in front of me, teeth gritted, I focus in on my words. ¡±So, um¡± I sound shaky, uncertain. My voice is high pitched like a¡­ A memory from a woman name Cat provides me with the image of a squeaky voiced squirrel ready to flee the scene. That¡¯s what these men must see me as.


    Deep breath. I can see you glaring at me, telling me to get my act together. I pull on the memories of Cat again, realizing she had formal training in public speaking. She was a cop, but she wanted to use that as a platform to become a politician eventually. ¡°It is wrong for us to lounge around in money, surrounded by opulence when the people down in the streets suffer in the cold without shelter.¡± There. My voice sounds slower and deeper. I sound steady and sane now.


    Cat¡¯s public speaking professor tells her that an improve speech is like an essay. Draw in the listener, present them with the arguments, define he arguments, and then conclude the speech by summing everything up.


    ¡°We have food here that will be thrown in the garbage when people outside would happily eat the scraps from our plates. There are buildings out there that are empty and sitting cold that could be opened up for people to sleep in. Giving people a place to sleep will clean up the streets and make it so it is nice to go walk down pn the streets again without fear of stepping into human refuge.¡± There. I made one of my arguments something that directly affected my listeners.


    A mousy looking blonde haired, skinny short guy in the back starts laughing, and soon they are all laughing.


    Marcovis pats my shoulder as if he is a brother consoling me. ¡°My dear, its best if you stay out of politics and leave it to the men. Your ideas are silly. They are costly for us and would only cause those losers begging on the street to become lazier. They would rely on us even more than they already do. You should go back to gossiping with the women and leave the thinking to the men.¡±


    Did he just blow me off? Did they all just cut me short before I could even prove how beneficial my ideas are? Their face show mirth, and a few have even began to talk amongst themselves.


    Standing up, ¡°I refuse to accept that! The people on the street aren¡¯t there just because they are lazy! Some are there because mental hospitals were closed. Now they trouble potential tourists to the city! They are there because the social workers are underpaid and there are so few social workers and so many orphans that most of the orphans have ended up on the streets working to get food in an environment that bars them from working to make a money for food and being unable to go to school because they are too busy being hungry! You blame the people on the street on laziness, but do you look at the dead eyes? The people that have left there home because rent was too high? The people who have huge college debt and can¡¯t get a job because society doesn¡¯t value them and they are too educated to work as a burger flipper? Look around at the people you so casually blow off. Ask them their stories. Look into their eyes filled with desperation and then turn away with your pride held high and your sociopath tendencies assuaged by knowing you are better than those low life¡¯s.¡±


    I take a breath, and notice I have everyone¡¯s attention now. Many of the men look either uncomfortable or angry. Marcovis is laughing.


    ¡°Or, do something about the situation. Hire those people on the streets to run old buildings as shelters where people can sleep, cook meals, and do laundry. Open up community gardens for people to grow food in and work in so that soup can be made from the vegetables to feed the people in the shelters. Ask for everyone to donate their leftovers to a shelter each day. Make it so that those abandoned children on the streets can go to school and maybe do better than growing up to beg and whore on the streets. You could be a part of making this world a better place. You could show your voters what you¡¯ve done for them, and get more voters.¡±


    My audience has gone back to looking bored. Its as if as soon as I am not criticizing them anymore I don¡¯t matter.


    And old man with a long gray beard and a comb over with his few hairs on his head shakes his head, ¡°Girl, people trying to institute socialism and caring about the lazy bastards on the street is what got our country into this economic mess we are in. That is why social programs were cut, because we couldn¡¯t afford them. Charities exist to take care of the poor, not the government. Go present your sweet ideals at a ladies charity meeting, not in a parlor of government men.¡±


    Marcovis pushed my shoulder toward the door, ¡°My dear, I think you have over stayed your welcome and should now leave the men to our talk.¡±


    The door closes behind me, and I stand there, not quite sure how I went from the chair to standing here outside the door.


    Patrick grabs my hand, and pulls me with him. ¡°I tired to warn you. The men that gather at the Marcovis parlor are viscous. They attack anyone with new ideas and make them feel like shit. Or they laugh at them and belittle them. Do not worry though, the people gathering here are not actually all politicians. Many of them are cranky old business owners with lots of money who pay of the politicians. They gather with the politicians to make sure that their views are being followed to the letter.¡±


    Patrick is leaning on, me, his voice heavy and the sharp smell of alcohol wafting over toward me.


    ¡°You¡¯re drunk.¡± I¡¯m not sure why I say this. Everything is boiling in my stomach. I want to run to a window and just scream in frustration. I want to sit down and cry. I want to calmly stand here and feel nothing. I push the emotions away, push them toward that extended part of my mind where all the other people memories are contained. Are emotions memories? Are they part of feelings? Do they provide the power that I can feel looming behind my eyes?


    Patrick is laughing, ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m drunk. I can¡¯ handle this place without a good dose of alcohol. I hate it. I hate the false faces, the pretty clothes, the fancy meals, and the old men wondering around making sure that all those with votes in the house of delegates votes the way they want them to. I want you to change it.


    I am sure his wife loves this place.


    For a moment I think of going back in, stealing the memories of the politicians and killing the business men, but then I won¡¯t truly be trying the method of politics. I will be changing the world through force and violence. I want to try and change it with my words. I want to do like Partick suggests and change it from within the system.


    Azalea walks up and pulls Patrick away. He looks back at me, begging me to save him, but I won¡¯t save him from his own wife. She leads him away into a dance, and I stand there, a strange ugly creature standing on the side lines watching these people whirl about in there casual cruel state of oblivion.

 Chapter 6: Damaged by Obscurity

    The dress is a puddle on the floor like I stole some of the sky and dropped it on the floor. I leave it sitting there, representing an evening of failure. My evening of failure. I failed this time. I failed to enlighten people to my way of thinking.


    A knock on my door. I should go get it. ¡°One minute!¡±


    Grabbing the dressing gown sitting on my bed, I pull it on over my head and go to the door. Do I want company?


    The knob is cold and unwelcoming under my hand as I turn it and let the door slink open.


    Patrick with his brown hair in messy waves and smelling of alcohol is standing at my door. He is still in his fancy suit, but it is rumpled and wrinkled now.


    ¡°Care to talk?¡± He gives me a half smile, a sardonic self-defacing type of smile. What does he want?


    Nodding I step back, allowing him to enter my space. He closes my door, grabs my wrist, and pulls me toward the balcony. ¡°Come stand in the air with me. It will feel good.¡±


    I have no idea what he is talking about. It has to be late now, I don¡¯t even really know how long that miserable ball went on for. I was just happy when Patrick came and told me it was time to go home.


    He pulls open the a door in the windows of my room and then leads me out onto the balcony.


    ¡°I used to come out here, as a kid, when no one was staying in this room.¡±


    He releases my wrist, and slides down along one of the windows.


    I don¡¯t know what else to do, so I sit down next to him. He obviously wants to talk to me.


    ¡°Are you happy here? No, that¡¯s a stupid question of course you aren¡¯t happy. No one is ever happy no matter where they are in life. I wish for something real. For something other than these fake faces and these fancy costume balls. What else is there? Can there be more in my life? I long for excitement, for another world, for magic.¡± He looks directly at me as he says this.


    Is he hinting he was looking for me? Was he watching for the world to change? Does her desire my power or my ideas?


    ¡°You want to take my memories don¡¯t you? I can completely understand that. Who wouldn¡¯t when they had power the way you have power. I¡¯m sorry if I am being a little candid. I think I¡¯m a little drunk.¡± He laughs.


    Yes, yes, I think he is drunk. Very drunk.


    ¡°I would never take your memories. You are my benefactor and the one who will help me change the world without violence.¡±


    His laughter is biter and self-effacing. ¡°You would never take my memories! Please, don¡¯t insult me like that. I already know you better than that. You will do whatever it takes to reach your goals.¡±


    ¡°You are on my side, so why would I want or need to take your memories? You promised to help me didn¡¯t you?¡± Why is he so convinced that I will take his memory.


    ¡°You know, I have a good mind for strategy. I¡¯ve seen a couple courses of action to reach your goal, taking into account your strong personality, and most of my scenarios end up with you taking over the government in frustration, and to do this you will take my memory.¡±


    He chuckled as if this was amusing. ¡°You will have no reason to take my memory, not really, but your personality and your own belief that you know the right course of action. You¡¯ll come up with a reason, not a good reason, but you will come up with one, and then you will steal my memory away. I¡¯ve already figured out a couple reasons. I was an idiot to bring you into my home, but I would have been even more of an idiot to leave you out on the streets. You would have started an actual revolution instead of taking over from within the system. Of course, that could still happen¡­¡±


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    ¡°What the hell are you talking about?¡± It sounds as if he knows exactly what I will do and what will happen. Does he have foreknowledge of the future or something? Some ability to see into the future?


    ¡°My dear, I am an excellent strategist. The only reason my father has stayed in office is due to my help. Actions of individuals give me an idea of the paths they will take. Knowing them personally gives me an even uncanny idea of the paths of the future. It¡¯s almost like I can see a couple different paths into the future.¡±


    What a strange idea, being able to predict the future based on the personalities and actions of individuals. ¡°You can¡¯t predict everything can you? Sometimes people surprise you, don¡¯t they?¡±


    He shrugs, ¡°Sometimes, rarely. I think the real problem here that is if you continue to try and work in the system without using your powers you will live, but you won¡¯t be happy. You¡¯ll never be able to force the old men to listen to you. If you take everyone¡¯s memories except mine, I would be forced to stop you based on my conscious. I would bring you down, and you would end up in prison. If you take my memories, you would cause change. You would change this world, though it might be at the cost of your own life, but you would still change this world. So your options are end up unhappy or end up dead. From your own lack of care for yourself and your extreme altruistic feelings toward others, you will chose to take my memories on the slim chance that you will win better conditions for the people in the city.¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°No. I will not do that. I will convince those old men to listen to me. You can only guess at the future, you don¡¯t know it for certain.¡±


    He shrugs again, ¡°I don¡¯t care what you think. I just have some requests for when, if, you take my memories.¡±


    I nod. It can¡¯t hurt me to listen to these requests incase his predictions come true.


    ¡°First, if you take my memories, please, take Azaleas memories, and convince me that I love my wife and that she loves me. Maybe with a blank slate we can end up happier never knowing that we are a political couple.¡±


    It made sense, and taking memories was energizing. It was different from expending the energy of memories.


    ¡°Second, when you take my memories, remember that I am a great reader of people and a good strategist. Keep me by your side to help you, and convince me that it was my own decision and idea to erase my memories. I might be able to keep you alive and help you change the city.¡±


    I nod again. Of course I would keep him with me if he was an asset. If I ended up taking his memories, he really would be a genius strategist, and I would not be able to do anything except keep him next to me.


    ¡°And third, if you have to give me back my memories because I need them to figure out the situation at hand, which might happen, please, understand that I will be angry. I will probably hate you for taking my memories and using me, but I will continue to help you. I will already be in a situation in which I have seemed like your staunchest supporter from the beginning, so logic says that I will continue.¡±


    He is strangely coherent for a drunken man. Way too introspective for someone as drunk as he seems.


    ¡°So, do we have a deal? If you take my memories you will do these three things for me?¡± His eyes are searching my face, looking for something.


    I nod, ¡°Sure. I don¡¯t think I will take your memories, but if I do I will do this for you. You seem too thoughtful for a man supposedly very drunk.¡±


    He looks satisfied by whatever he was looking for and leans back against the window with his eyes close.


    ¡°I pretend to be more drunk than I am. No, I guess that¡¯s not exactly right. It has also been a little while since I last had a drink. It still affect me, do you think I would candidly talk about you taking my memories when completely sober?¡±


    No, he does seem a little loser lipped than normal. He hasn¡¯t mentioned his ¡°views¡± of the future before.


    He stands up pushing himself up off the balcony floor. ¡°I should leave you to your sleep. You will need to go get suits tailored for you tomorrow for your meeting with the Virginia House of Delegates in three days.¡±


    He leans forward and kisses me on the cheek, his breath reeking of alcohol. ¡°Goodnight, little princess.¡±


    And then he is gone leaving me out on the windy cold balcony. I have a nagging feeling that he might be right, and your worried look tells me that you agree with me. What is going to happen to me and this world?

 Chapter 7: Stolen Moment

    Melanie held out a lump of plain brown cloth to me. ¡°I brought it like you asked. I don¡¯t completely understand, but I won¡¯t stop you.¡±


    Gravity unfolded the lump into the shapeless brown dress I was wearing when I met Patrick the first time and he stole me away from my world.


    A brown strip of cloth slipped away from the dress and slid toward the floor. I grabbed it and held up the headscarf. My disguise.


    ¡°Thank you. I know this wasn¡¯t what you were directed to do, but I really need to see my friend. I promised to see him at least once a month, and he doesn¡¯t live in the type of place where I can visit without a disguise.¡±


    Melanie shakes her head. I wish she would talk to me more and say more. It is like she is a puppet of the family and doesn¡¯t really have her own thoughts. My asking her to help me slip out while on this shopping trip is the first time she¡¯s ever done something other than what she was asked. Except, I guess I asked her to help me slip out, so maybe it doesn¡¯t really count.


    I pull off the knee length soulless, colorless, black skirt and frilly bleached white blouse that Melanie insisted I wear this morning.


    Azalea informed me this morning, ¡°My dear, before you show up to spout your nonsense in front of the senate, you must go and get clothing proper for politics.¡± She turned away from me and waved at Melanie, ¡°Melanie, take our dear guest out get some business formal attire. Make sure it is nice looking. We don¡¯t want anyone thinking we clothe our little freak in anything but the best.¡±


    I formed my plan to escape while Melanie was dressing me.


    I want to see Nathan again, to talk to him. I want to know his opinion on what I should do. The dress is as easy to pull on now as it was when Lizzie gave it to me.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I say to Melanie.


    She nods, and walks away.


    It feels strange to wrap the headscarf over my white hair again. It is strange to be hiding again. Patrick pushes me to just be myself so much that I¡¯ve almost forgotten the feeling of hiding myself.


    I slip out the back door, the employee¡¯s entrance of this upscale shop, and wonder the back alleys looking for a familiar landmark. The sharp barbs of the smell of urine assault my nose, and the putrid rotting smell of unwashed human and garbage make me want to hold my nose, but I have to pretend to be one of these people again.


    No, I shouldn¡¯t feel that way. I¡¯m not superior to these people. I am one of them. If it wasn¡¯t for Patrick realizing that I had some sort of strange power, I would still be rotting in the back alley¡¯s with the rest of the city¡¯s trash. These are the people I want to help. These are the people I want to shelter and wash.


    I come out on a bigger street that has some shuttle scooting along above it. I follow the path away from the market that Nathan took me on last time until I come to his door.


    I press the old cracking button and hear a ring inside. No one answers the door. Did I come while he is at work or out running errands? It is the middle of the day. I¡¯m so caught up in my own world, I didn¡¯t even think about if he would even be around.


    Do I wait here and get Melanie in trouble, or do I head back disappointed for not getting to see him? No. I might not get another chance.


    His porch doesn¡¯t have any chairs, probably because they would be stolen if they were just sitting out, so I let myself slide down the wall of the house and sit leaning up against the house. I have to warn him that he might not see me for a while. He probably doesn¡¯t pay attention to politics.


    ¡°Hope?¡± His voice wakes me up.


    ¡°Yes?¡± How long was I out for? Was I that tired that I just fell asleep leaning against a house?


    His arms wrap around me and pull me close.


    ¡°Lizzie told me that you disappeared. I thought you died or somethings.¡± His voice is muffled into my shoulder.


    ¡°No, I got picked up by a politician. I¡¯m fine. Probably better off than most of the other orphans.¡±


    He is still holding me. Apparently I worried him. We¡¯d promised to meet up once a month and to not worry in between.


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    ¡°Don¡¯t let Lizzie worry you. I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t tell anyone, but I wasn¡¯t really given a chance.¡±


    ¡°Tell me inside,¡± His arms fall away and he stands up holding a hand out to me, which I gratefully accept, and let him pull me to my feet. It feels right to be here. I should¡¯ve left with him and lived a simple life. Now I had things to learn and people to please.


    His apartment looks very much like I remember, except maybe a little less clean. In fact, he looks a little scruffy.


    ¡°Sit, make yourself at home, I¡¯ll make some tea.¡±


    I sit in a rickety dining chair, and wait as he puts hot water on the stove. I would complain, but I don¡¯t want to. Especially after the trouble I¡¯ve already caused him by simply disappearing.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for disappearing. I was offered the chance to make life better for everyone without having to fight physical battles. I was promised that a shuttle full of free food and clothing would be sent to the market every day. Is that still happening?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, everyone wandered why a shipment of goods appeared there every day. That was a deal you made?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I made a deal a deal with Patrick McNeil of the rich McNeil family, and I¡¯ve been living with them. I seem to be some sort of exotic pet to them though. I¡¯m not sure I made the right decision.¡±


    Nathan sits down and scratches at his scraggly beard. He really should shave it away. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you if you made the right decision. Tell me more about what you want to do, and what you¡¯ve done.¡±


    He sits there, not saying a word as I finish up the story. I want him to say something. To tell me I was right, or wrong. Instead he just stares at me, and I feel, itchy. I need to move. My fingers play with the rough fabric of my dress.


    ¡°Well, what do you think?¡± I finally ask, unable to take the silence any longer.


    He shakes his head, his shaggy blond hair flopping across his eyes, ¡°I don¡¯t know. I told you to do what you think is right. I can¡¯t judge your actions.¡±


    He stops, and I feel like I¡¯ve been slapped. Except what he said isn¡¯t chastisement for my actions but it feels like it.


    ¡°I thought¡­ I thought it might be better since less people will get hurt.¡± I scuff at the floor with my brown booted feet.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know Hope. I can¡¯t see the future. Do you know anything about politics and government? Do you understand anything about their world. Or will you end up being a pawn for their silly games? Or, knowing you, do you plan on destroying the government, taking all their memories, and trying to run it yourself? I guess, my real question is, do you know what you are doing?¡±


    ¡°No, but Patrick does. He has a plan, and he wants to help me make the city a better place for everyone.¡± Patrick seemed genuine. He was still leaving the shuttle loads of supplies every day for the poor. He wouldn¡¯t just use me as some pawn for his own games.


    Nathan shakes his head again, ¡°Hope, make your own plans. Follow your own dreams. Don¡¯t let this other man control what you do, or you will simply become his pawn like you were Lizzie¡¯s pawn.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what else to do though. I don¡¯t want to hurt more people, and he offers a solution that seems like it will work well.¡±


    ¡°Talk to him. Come up with a plan that will most definitely work. Then, make sure you believe in that plan and that it is the best you can do. Don¡¯t let yourself just be swept along by the whims of the world.¡±


    I nod. Its good advice, but I don¡¯t really know how to even start to come up with a plan. What would I even plan? Once the politicians decided to do something to help the people, I shouldn¡¯t need to do anything else. All I need to do to achieve that is speak from my heart. They should listen to the pleas someone begging from their heart.


    Warmth envelops my left hand, and I can see Nathan¡¯s hands wrapping around mine.


    ¡°Please Hope, don¡¯t¡­¡± He stops, as if unsure what to say.


    A shrill whistle fills the room from the teapot, and he releases my hands and quickly stands up going over to the teapot.


    I wonder what he planned to say. He¡¯s not saying anything now, just grimly pouring two cups of tea.


    ¡°Sorry I don¡¯t have much in the way of choices for tea, just plain Lipton tea.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine. Nothing wrong with plain tea.¡±


    I¡¯m sitting in the same room, but there¡¯s a distance now. It¡¯s been growing since we left the jail. It grew when he left me with Lizzie. And it grew when I left him on a shuttle to the upper levels. And just now, when he didn¡¯t speak, when I lied, that distance grew.


    He set a plain white cup in front of me, and I played with the string holding the teabag.


    ¡°I might not be able to make it here once a month.¡±


    ¡°I figured as much.¡± His voice is flat and all intonation is stripped from it. We are two strangers sharing trivial details.


    ¡°Hope, make it back here one day, ok? I find myself missing you when you aren¡¯t here.¡± His voice has a pleading note. It carries hope that one day, we can close this gap.


    I nod and take a sip of my tea. ¡°I¡¯ll come back whenever I can to let you know how things are going. Maybe you¡¯ll even get to see me on the big screens in the city. I just don¡¯t want you to worry about me.¡±


    He nods, his own tea sitting between his hands. ¡±Sometimes I feel as if I never escaped jail. I think, in some ways I didn¡¯t. I¡¯ll always be looking over my shoulder, waiting for some city guard to notice me and take me back in.¡±


    ¡°I think, that it will always be the world against us. I think that¡¯s what that feeling is.¡± I gulp my tea, letting the burning sensation of too hot tea sear my mouth and throat.


    ¡°I should get going,¡± I hear myself say as I stand. I don¡¯t really want to leave, but I don¡¯t want to sit in this strange awkwardness anymore.


    He stands up, and leads me to the door, opening it up and letting me out of his apartment. I walk past, and I wish I had the courage to say something.


    He grabs my hand as I slip past, and gently pulls me back around to face him. He looks as if he wants to say something.


    He leans in and kisses me on the cheek before quickly leaning back. ¡°Come back to me Hope. Please, come back one day.¡±


    I nod, not trusting my voice. Too many things are unsaid, but more is said in that silence. I think, that maybe I love him, like Lily loved him. Maybe, I am still Lily under the broken memories, the being part machine, and the strange powers. Maybe I am nothing but a fake with stolen memories and stolen feelings.


    I turn away, and pull my hand away. I shouldn¡¯t stay here any longer.

 Chapter 8: A Computers Brain

    I make it back to the shop and slip back in the way I left. Melanie is sitting there, messing with an image that seems projected from her left hand. She taps her left hand with her right hand, and the image disappears.


    ¡°What was that?¡± I ask.


    ¡°A holophone. Mr. McNeil paid for me to get a Serenade implant holophone.¡± She spoke as if this was a common knowledge thing.


    ¡°And what is that?¡± I can¡¯t help asking. It¡¯s almost like she¡¯s speaking a foreign language. I search my memory for an image like what I just saw. I see it a couple times, mostly from guard memories, and all they knew was that it was some new expensive, and slightly controversial device that made carrying around a physical computer irrelevant.


    And I barely know what a computer is. I can see the guards in my memories using these devices they call computer, but the disconnect of the stripped memories leaves me with no real understanding of what any of this is. I think I would need someone to walk me threw using one of these devices to understand them.


    Another memory links to the shuttle and the fact that the shuttle is controlled by a computer. The boards are also controlled by computers says another memory of a girl as a child, with her mother explaining computer. A device to calculate and do things for humans seems to be the best definition.


    ¡°¡­can¡¯t believe you haven¡¯t at least heard of a holophone. All I have to do is press a button on my non-dominant hand, and I can access a tablet like screen project from a tiny projector wired into my hand. Phone calls are passed through a mike implanted in my cheek so I don¡¯t even need to hold or wear anything to talk on the phone. You should talk to Patrick about getting one. I receive my work for the day on the task function.¡±


    I don¡¯t think I have heard Melanie speak this animatedly about anything before. She seems obsessed with this holophone thing.


    ¡°¡­dream as a child to work on developing human embedded technology, but then all the controversy caused it to be forgotten for a while. Of course, It wasn¡¯t really possible anyway since I was kicked out when I turned 18 and I didn¡¯t even get to finish high school before needing to find a job to afford living. I was so excited¡­¡±


    I¡¯m not quite sure how she got from telling me what this holophone thing was to talking about her life. I always thought that she was just a silent person who didn¡¯t like to talk. Apparently all she needed was something to get her started.


    ¡°¡­imagine that some people don¡¯t even understand what a computer is in this day and age when everyone is surrounded by them¡­¡±


    I don¡¯t even know what she is ranting about anymore. It sounds like she is insulting my knowledge of computers. How could I understand these devices when all my memories are stolen? From what I can see though, it seems like the Xatron, my machine form, is one of these computer device things. Does this mean that I am a computer? Are my thoughts those of a computers¡¯? In the memories Ray called a computer that has human intelligence an AI, whatever that means. Does this mean that I am an AI linked to a human body?


    I don¡¯t have enough data to figure this out. It is strange enough to think that my mind is linked to a gray box sitting in a room in the city¡¯s jail.


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    I finish changing into a skirt, top, and highly uncomfortable heels that Melanie had waiting for me, and slip back into the store leaving Melanie still rambling on about something or another. A male store clerk with short gray hair and the schooled expression of an unhappy dog, is holding a pile of suits.


    ¡°I think we are finished shopping.¡± Melanie says from behind me.


    I nod like an impetuous partisan class politician and walk toward the door. Last time we went shopping I stood there like a dumb golden retriever while Melanie checked out. Melanie informed me that it wasn¡¯t right for me to wait in the store, so this time I knew better than to stand there and follower her around.


    The shuttle we used to go shopping is the same fancy contraption that I went to the ball in. The seats are comfortable, and I don¡¯t mind sitting down and waiting for Melanie.


    Am I an AI? I search my memories trying to figure out what this term means. Whoever built the Xatron, me, didn¡¯t think to give me any extra knowledge banks. All I have are the images from memories stripped of their power. But maybe my basic knowledge of language is a knowledge bank and I just don¡¯t realize it.


    I guess a good question, one I haven¡¯t thought about since we left the jail, is am I the Xatron? Is that gray box where my thoughts originate from and this body is just an avatar, or am I the same person, Lily, and my mind simply filled in the space of the gray box and allowed me to become one with it?


    The better question is why am I even thinking about this. I should just accept my power and accept whatever it is that I am and stop questioning life.


    Life¡­ I can see the busy street outside the dark window of my shuttle. People shuffling about, not even noticing the expensive shuttle idling in front of one of the rich stores. The go on about their way. Some glance over, but their gaze skirts off as if they are embarrassed to be caught staring at the shuttle.


    Signs move on the side of buildings showing people smiling. On I recognize as Raymond McNeil, Patrick¡¯s father. It must be some sort of political propaganda sign. Are these moving images also run by a computer? Like my brain.


    I don¡¯t know that for certain. I don¡¯t exactly know how the Xatron and I are connected, we are just one. Human body and machine body with one mind. I search again through my stolen memories, looking for something more that can explain it to me.


    The door of the shuttle opens filling it with noise for a second as Melanie slides in, and then it closes shutting out the world.


    Melanie carefully hangs the suits in her arms on a hook and sits down as the shuttle takes off.


    ¡°So, have you thought about what you are going to say to the politicians? You should write a speech and have Mr. McNeil read it over. He is a good speaker and can probably help you edit it some.¡± Melanie is back to her normal, emotionless voice, but I notice that it is restrained emotion, not missing emotion. And she is talking to me. Did I do something to make her change her mind about me?


    ¡°Umm, I was just planning on speaking from the heart. You know, saying just what I thought.¡±


    Melanie shakes her head. ¡°No, that will just get you laughed at and thrown out,¡± her tone is gentle now, soft like a suede.


    ¡°Why do you think that will get me thrown out?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen it before. Azalea takes me with her when she goes to watch discussions that interest her.¡± Her voice is quiet now. Almost sad, and her eyes are staring at her hands twisted in her lap.


    ¡°What do you think will happen to me if I fail?¡±


    She looks up, her face completely blank, and her monotonous voice back, ¡°You will most definitely be thrown back on the streets if you fail.¡±


    Patrick was certain I would take his memories. If I failed, I was at the top currently. I could still bring down the system from the top. It wasn¡¯t that terrible an idea.


    Nathan said I needed a plan. Plan A, write a speech, present before the politicians, the politicians start working for the city. Plan B, I take Patrick¡¯s memories and the rest of his family¡¯s memories. Take over the council or whatever they are called, kill or steal their memories, force change to the laws, and then offer myself as a candidate to run the city to the people, but allow them to vote on someone to run the city that is not from the politician class. Or something like that. Plan B would be a little more impromptu than Plan A.


    I smile at Melanie. ¡°Then it looks like I best not fail.¡±

 Chapter 9: Games with Politicians

    My hair is way too tight on my head. I don¡¯t know how Melanie pulled it into such a tight bun, but every root is pulling, to the point where it is almost comfortable. Almost. Not really.


    The notes are getting crumpled in my hands. I can¡¯t help it as I fold the piece of paper back and forward. Patrick helped me right all my thoughts and plans onto this paper. He warned me not to go off the notes. Anything too radical would make the politicians turn me away immediately.


    I¡¯m glad I have you. I¡¯ve gotten so used to you following me around that I often forget you are there, but seeing you there makes me feel steadier.


    This suit feels weird. It hugs my body, and yet, it feels wrong. It¡¯s not tight, but I want to tug at the sleeves and the front of the jacket. Tugging on the bottom of the skirt, which is way too short for my comfort, I shift my weight from one foot to the other. I¡¯m not used to heels, even ones as moderate as the ones I am wearing. Melanie made me practice walking in them, but I trip more than I walk correctly in these damn things. Why do I need to be in a suit for this?


    Patrick smiles at me, ¡°Another minute or two, and it will be our turn. I¡¯ll let you do all the talking and I will just be there for moral support. You¡¯ve got some really good ideas written down, and I¡¯m certain that the men in there will listen.¡±


    I just hope they aren¡¯t the same men that were at the dance. I¡¯m not sure I can speak clearly if it¡¯s those same men who laughed at me and my ideas.


    A hand clamps down on my shoulder, and I look toward it to see Patrick grasping my shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ll do well. You¡¯ve got this. Take a deep breath.¡±


    I take a deep breath, letting myself breathe in slowly, and then breathe out. My stomach has a cat sharpening it claws in it.


    I¡¯m not the figure head, speak in front of people, type person. That was Lily, not me. Well, I guess I did speak up at the ball, but that was impromptu. That wasn¡¯t a prepared speech where it mattered that I word everything just right.


    Lily was always good at getting groups riled up and following her. When she was ten she stood up on a barrel, and called out to the orphans around. ¡°Is it right that we scrounge for food because we have no home and we are not allowed to work because of child labor laws?¡±


    She¡¯d thought through her words for days trying to plan what to say to the orphans to build an army to go against the city guards.


    I am not Lily, but I¡¯d followed Nathan¡¯s suggestion. I¡¯d prepared my words for today, and Patrick approved them. I can¡¯t fail today. If I failed¡­


    No. I won¡¯t think that way. The politicians will approve of what I say. They will think what great ideas. These ideas will make us more popular with our constituents, and we will look into fixing what you pointed out as wrong.


    The skirt is too short. I¡¯ve never worn a skirt that hugs my legs like this before. It feels so wrong. And this jacket is too hot.


    Patrick¡¯s hand grips my shoulder again. ¡°Stop fussing so much. You look very professional, and you will make a statement when you go in there and speak.¡±


    I nod, not trusting my voice. His smile is reassuring. He looks so confident and collected. His hand on my shoulder is gripping my shoulder quite tightly.


    He releases my should. ¡°What do you want to do afterward?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± He throws me off guard with that question.


    ¡°Well, after we get out of the interrogation chamber we should go out to get ice cream or something. Have you ever gotten ice cream?¡±


    ¡°Umm, ice cream?¡± I can remember seeing shops that had a sign that said ice cream on it, but it wasn¡¯t something I wasted money I managed to scrounge on. I think some of the kids sometimes begged ice cream out of adults, and they loved it, but I had never tried it before.


    ¡°Well, have you had ice cream before? We can go to a little ice cream parlor that I know fairly well. Since you are my family¡¯s guest, we have to make sure you¡¯ve had ice cream.¡±


    ¡°Why are we talking about ice cream?¡±


    ¡°Because what happens in there doesn¡¯t matter. We will figure out a way to change the world while eating ice cream if those old farts in there don¡¯t listen to what you have to say. You are the wonderfully powerful escaped prisoner, and between your powers and my brain, we will figure out a way to change the world. Don¡¯t worry too much, I will make it happen.¡± He looks excited, as if this challenge is something he has already accepted.


    I guess for someone in a life like his, challenges like changing the world seem like fun diversions of time, but his excitement makes me feel better. With him at my side, we can¡¯t fail.


    The door opens, and a man in a suit motions us onto the floor of a large room with a lot of seats facing where I will be standing. I can¡¯t¡­


    My feet are frozen, refusing to move forward. These men won¡¯t listen to me.


    Patrick pushes me from behind, and I find myself walking forward onto the floor, out in front of all these old men. Many of them I recognize from the parlor room meeting where I was shot down before.


    Patrick is with me this time. I can¡¯t fail with him next to me. He helped me look over my speech. Just follow the plan and speak from my heart.


    ¡°Hello Ladies and Gentlemen.¡±


    There is one woman I can see in the audience. It¡¯s Rossette, the one I spoke to at the ball. Everyone else here seems to be an older man.


    ¡°I stand before you to ask for the government to help the struggling citizens of the city. Good, hardworking citizens struggle to make enough money to afford even the worst of lodging. Citizens struggle to survive each day, and the guard collects them up and fills up the prisons creating a strain on the prison system. The prison system should only be spending money to lock up actual criminals.¡±


    Patrick suggested I mention that to speak to the old men¡¯s dislike of spending. Hearing that this plan could save them money might make them actually look into it.


    ¡°One of the main problems that is causing so many issues is the lack of education and food for abandoned children. Orphans running around on the streets grow up to become criminal elements of the city because they cannot become anything better. If these orphans were raised in an environment where they are housed, fed, and educated without time to become part of the criminal element, they would become useful members of society and would not need to be thrown into prisons for the rest of their lives.¡±


    Key point about fixing the orphan problem covered.


    ¡°Another part of the revitalize the city plan are programs to help the unemployed. Old building that are empty would be renovated into dorms for the homeless where they can go to sleep, use a kitchen to make their own meals, and get free job education so that they can be hired by businesses. By empowering the people, Richmond will have a better workforce, and companies will move to Richmond because there are good workers here.¡±


    Patrick hadn¡¯t quite agreed with that last comment. He told me he didn¡¯t think a more intelligent work force would draw companies. He kept telling me lower taxes would draw more companies to Richmond, but he let me keep that line in.


    ¡°By cleaning up the streets and renovating the city of Richmond, the city can draw in more tourists. Seeing as Richmond is a city close to the coast, it could easily set itself up as a tourist location if it was not so decrepit with so many homeless filling the streets and jobless thieves stealing from any tourist who dares the streets.¡±


    And now for the conclusion that brings all the points together.


    ¡°The government can bring more money to Richmond by renovating building into homeless shelters and education buildings. This will help decrease the numbers of people in the prison system and decrease the number of people on the streets that drive tourists away. ¡°


    It wasn¡¯t the best speech. Patrick had improved it a lot, but he kept saying things like ¡°This is your plan¡±, and ¡°you have to own your speech¡±. I hope that it was a good speech. Y conclusion was probably too weak. There is a rough splattering of applause, but it¡¯s not very strong.


    I¡¯m just grateful Patrick is standing next to me right now.


    A bald man near the front raises his hand, and I nod, accepting his question.


    ¡°You said that having an educated population will bring jobs to the city. Where did you get this information? Did you find a study about this?¡±


    ¡°Um,¡± shoot, Patrick said not to say um. I shouldn¡¯t have insisted on including that in my speech. ¡°There is not an official study done on this. This is a hypothesis of my own that I would like to study the results of if Richmond was to accept my plan.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think we should spend money so you can do a study on an unproven hypothesis.¡±


    I don¡¯t know what to say. Patrick steps forward and speaks in my defense, ¡°The part about bringing in businesses might only be a hypothesis, but if the streets were cleaned up, and more tourists came, more businesses aimed at tourists would come to the city and would help revitalize the city. It is proven that tourism makes cities nicer and brings in money. Richmond is an old city with many forgotten civil war sites that could be fixed up to draw tourists. The beaches near Richmond could also be used to draw in tourists. Right now no one sees the point in coming to a city with a crime rate higher than Detroit or Chicago.¡±


    ¡°I take offense to that statement! Our city does not have a crime rate higher than Chicago. They have over 2,000 homicides a year! By comparison we only have around 500 a year!¡± Some man near the back that I can¡¯t quite see clearly interjects.


    Patrick shakes his head, ¡°Yes, we have a lower number of homicides overall, but we have less people. Our rate, which is per person is higher. Also, we have higher petty crime per person and a higher homeless rate per person.¡±


    The man doesn¡¯t speak up again. I find it strange that Patrick seems to know more about these stats than the people who run this city.


    Another man raises his hand, this one with gray hair combed over the top of his head. ¡°Yes Sir?¡± I say, pointing at him to take his question.


    ¡°You talk about renovating building to house the homeless in education centers, have you done research into how many beds would be needed to house the all the homeless? Also, how would you pay for the renovation of the buildings? And how much would the educators cost? Would these educators need to be actual teachers? Who will watch over the orphans you are planning on forcing the city to pay for. All of these things stink of socialism and the government supporting people. It¡¯s been proven that people need to support themselves. I refuse to support your position without proper research into the costs of these programs.


    Patrick speaks up again, ¡°We have yet to look into numbers and costs. This is a preliminary vote to look into researching the cost effectiveness of this program. Right now this is simply a proposal. Later on, after some research is done on how much this would cost and where the money will come from to support this, the proposal will come back to the city council to be voted on again.¡±


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    ¡°I refuse to support something that could cost this city even more money! We don¡¯t have money in the budget to support useless citizen! Our constituents expect us to spend tax payer money wisely and not to go wasting it on non-tax payers!¡± It¡¯s the same man from the back that Patrick made sound like an idiot earlier.


    A bunch of murmurs of support and nodding heads surround the room.


    ¡°I think it sounds very intelligent,¡± it¡¯s the one woman in the room, speaking out and smiling at me. ¡°We should at least vote to look into it farther. It can¡¯t hurt to look into it. The economists on staff won¡¯t be worked too hard by looking into and researching this proposal.¡±


    She sounds so reasonable and calm, but a couple of the men frown and glare at her.


    One in the middle of the room speaks up, ¡°Rossette, we haven¡¯t heard your fair voice speaking up in a while, but just the fact that you think this is reasonable makes me worry. Everyone knows you push a socialist agenda.


    ¡°Richard, I know I used to push a socialist agenda in my younger years, but you have to admit I¡¯ve calmed down a lot in my elder years. This plan doesn¡¯t sound overly socialist to me. It sounds like a plan to decrease spending in some areas and to bring more money into the city.¡± I¡¯m glad I have Rossette on my side at least.


    The man she called Richard stands up, ¡°I move that we go ahead and vote on further researching this plan.¡±


    The man in the back stands up and shouts, ¡°Seconded!¡±


    Patrick grabs my arm and leads me out.


    The doors close behind us, and Patrick doesn¡¯t look too happy.


    ¡°What, what¡¯s wrong?¡± Why does he look so worried?


    ¡°That didn¡¯t go too well, To many stubborn old fools in office. Without having firm numbers researched I¡¯m not sure the plan will be accepted. We might have to pay for someone to investigate the costs for us and to go back in there and present the plan with actual numbers.¡±


    I don¡¯t want to wait longer. I don¡¯t want to go through that again.


    The man that opened the door for us comes through the door. ¡°Your proposal was voted down. You will need to come back with more numbers before the city council will take any proposal from you again. Thank you for your time, you are now free to leave.¡±


    We failed? We were just asking the council to look into my proposal.


    ¡°Unfortunately as soon as Rossette stood up for us, she ruined our chances. ¡° Patrick sounds logical like he expected this.


    I feel like I am falling into a pit. The air seems to be running away from me. I hear him, talking about how we can come back with better data and make it so they can¡¯t vote us down, but he is wrong. They will always vote us down. That is who they are. When he said the inevitable outcome was me taking his memory he was telling the truth. I need to go on the offensive, to walk back into that room, and kill all those men with just the grasp of my mind.


    ¡°Come on,¡± He is tugging on my hand, pulling me away from those evil old men.


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    ¡°Remember, we are getting ice cream. We will discuss our next course of action over ice cream. It wouldn¡¯t be wise to show any trump cards yet.¡±


    It¡¯s as if he¡¯s reading my mind. I follow, unable to actually put up a fight right now. My plan didn¡¯t work. I didn¡¯t succeed.


    He leads me onto a shuttle, and from the window I can see people crawling along the street like ants. Was this how those men view the people under them? Can they not see the lives below them struggling desperately to survive in this crumbling world?


    And here I am, letting Patrick lead me away from them.


    Patrick releases my arm, and I dart toward the door, but it closes in my face and the shuttle slowly moves through the air, pulling us away from the pillar of power.


    ¡°I know what it is you want, but right now, you have to let it go.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± his voice is low and soft, like he is trying to calm a spooked animal. ¡°We will get through this. We just need more research.¡±


    He knew. He had to know that we were going in with too little research. He had to know that it wouldn¡¯t pass. He¡¯s the one who is a politician¡¯s son and was raised on political scheming. He did this on purpose, to gain more time before, before what? Before I realized that the corrupt politicians would never agree to help out the citizens?


    I turn away from the door, and I see him, holding onto the shuttle as we glide down toward whatever destination he¡¯s put in. He looks calm, not flustered or upset. He looks like he¡¯s calculated all of this.


    That night, when he came to me drunk claiming that I would take his memory, did he plan that in, was that fear speaking, or manipulation? I don¡¯t know. I can¡¯t even tell what he is planning now.


    ¡°You knew it wouldn¡¯t pass.¡±


    ¡°I was afraid it might not, we really didn¡¯t have enough research. We need time to do studies and research, and I was hoping to get them to pass at least researching the options. Unfortunately, that woman supported us and they all hate her.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think they will ever support my proposal.¡±


    ¡°Once we have enough data they will have to accept that your proposal is a good idea. We just need to do the research.¡±


    I could see he was starting to get a little nervous, a small twitch in his movement, the way he was biting his lip.


    ¡°You don¡¯t believe what you are saying. You¡¯re afraid of what I will do now.¡±


    ¡°Of course I¡¯m a little afraid of you. Truthfully I¡¯m terrified of you. I often forget your powers, but the way you are looking at me right now, like you want to kill me, I have every right to be terrified. I¡¯ve seen you kill men with just a thought. I don¡¯t know how you do it, but¡­¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t kill you. I need your expertise. Tell me the truth. About everything.¡±


    ¡°I swear,¡± he stops and looks down at his hands. I can see him gulp, as if making a decision. ¡°Can you wait for me to tell you everything until after we¡¯ve gotten ice cream?¡±


    I have no idea why he wants to get ice cream first. He just admitted he¡¯d been hiding stuff from me, and I don¡¯t plan to leave him alone until he¡¯s told me what he¡¯s hiding.


    ¡°I guess. As long as you tell me the truth.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you the truth. I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll like it. I don¡¯t want to tell you the truth. Once you know, I fear for this world. I just want, a little longer before the chaos begins.¡±


    ¡°The chaos?¡± Why does he think this truth will cause chaos?


    ¡°You, my dear, are a wild card. I fear your reaction. You can turn this world upside down with your power. You have the potential to be chaos incarnate.¡±


    He has such a low opinion of me.


    ¡°I won¡¯t do anything today. I¡¯ll wait and think through my options. I¡¯ll talk them threw with you.¡± I¡¯m the mind of a machine. I am absolutely rational. Waiting a day to act on anything is a rational way to think through all the possible options and find the best solution.


    The shuttle stops and we exit out in front of small ice cream parlor with and overhang and a window to order from.


    ¡°Do you know what you want?¡± Patrick asks.


    ¡°Umm, I don¡¯t know.¡± I don¡¯t even know what there is to want. A list of flavors is off to the right, but the names make no sense. Double Devil¡¯s Brew? What the heck is that? And Winter¡¯s Warm Welcome? Or what about Farmer¡¯s Basket? These flavor names make absolutely no sense.


    ¡°Do you want me to pick a flavor for you?¡±


    I nod. He seems to have been to this place before.


    He orders something called Pancake Breakfast and something else called Dark Death.


    He smiles as he passes me a cone with a dark brown lump in it. ¡°I got you their most normal ice cream which is a chocolate ice cream.


    He licks his ice cream, and I copy what he does, licking the brown lump on top of the cone. A cold sensation fills m head and mouth, but a pleasant, soft sensation with a taste that I can¡¯t quite describe properly fills my mouth. It has a kind of warmth to the flavor, and the only thing I can think is that it is absolutely delicious. Chocolate ice cream. It is delicious.


    He walks off along the side walk, and I follow. Both of us in our respective suits eating this ice cream and walking along the sidewalk. We must look quite strange.


    We finish eating our ice cream in silence. I am waiting for him to tell me the truth, and he obviously doesn¡¯t want to talk yet.


    I notice you in the silence. I often forget you are there, but I can see you, walk next to me, eying my ice cream. I wish I could offer some to you, but you are just a figment of my imagination. You are something from a broken part of my mind.


    I almost run into Patrick. He¡¯s stopped and he¡¯s staring at a green forested area surround by the steel girders that are used for the shuttles.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go sit in the park. We can finish our ice cream and I will tell you everything. The truth this time.¡±


    He leads the way along a path, and I continue to follow. He sits down at a picnic bench, and I sit across from him.


    ¡°I guess I should start with hearing about the prison escape.¡± He stops, and I can hear birds rustling near us, people talking a little ways of, and in the distance the constant sound of the city.


    ¡°I hear about your escape, and I became interested in something beyond my own life. In fact, I became obsessed with how you escaped. I watched the videos. I talked to the highly confused survivors. I checked the autopsy reports of the people you killed. Nothing added up. You couldn¡¯t have done what you did even with modern technology. The only reasonable answer was magic. Which lead to the question of why you hadn¡¯t escaped earlier? I looked into your case, and realized there was no case. You were an illegal test subject taken off the streets and used in a division that was doing illegal research into the human mind. Supposedly you had no memories.¡±


    ¡°I decided I wanted to track you down. I wanted to help someone who escaped such terrible conditions. I got the other test subjects released, just like I told you. But then stuff started to go wrong. Someone was stealing supplies from shuttles. They called you the ghost. A woman with white hair would attack, take the supplies, and give them to the poor. You couldn¡¯t be the same person. The escapee had dark hair. But you were using the same powers. I wanted to meet you, someone with actual power. I wanted to help you. Please, believe me on this.¡±


    He looks desperate, and I can feel that the story is about to change from the one he¡¯s told me in the past. I nod.


    He sighs, and looks up at the sky. ¡°I probably shouldn¡¯t have. I asked my father if I could bring you in. He thought I was insane and said you needed to go back to jail. Azalea thought you were a monster who should be killed. I pointed out to them that you only seemed to want to help the poor. I told them we could control you if we convinced you that we were on your side, that we only wanted to help people.¡±


    I sit silently as he pauses. I feel that if I talk he will stop.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Hope. I didn¡¯t actually plan to use you or control you. I needed something to convince my father to let me help you.¡±


    I nod. We were using each other. I don¡¯t hold any of this against him.


    ¡°Then I met you, and talked to you. You were more passionate about your belief in helping people than I could have ever believed. You were amazing. And your ideas. Your thoughts on fixing society were inspired, and suddenly I found myself believing in you. I claimed to everyone that I was just letting you have your pet project so that I could control you and use your powers against our family¡¯s enemies, but I wanted to believe in you, and I couldn¡¯t ask you to use your powers. I was supposed to ask you to kill someone at the ball we went to, and I couldn¡¯t bring myself to ask you to do that. I got in trouble with my father for that one, but it was worth it. I just told him I didn¡¯t have enough control of you yet so I hadn¡¯t wanted to rush anything. You were so inspired and passionate, you were stunning that night, and then those men blew off your words.¡±


    ¡°I knew then. I could tell then.¡±


    His head falls into his hands for a moment, and I wait while he collects himself. I am just listening, I haven¡¯t fully processed his words yet.


    He raises his head, and he looks at me with a strange blank look. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Hope. I knew right then that your dream would probably never be achieved. I envisioned a terrible future, where you went off your hinges after you saw through the lies, and you stole my memories. I was drunk and I let my bitterness get the better of me. I wanted to believe in your vision. I wanted to believe so much that even though I claimed to my father that I was only getting the audience to make you happy, I told myself that it was possible. That maybe they would accept it. I listened to you talk and practice, and I told myself that if we didn¡¯t have enough data that would be why they would reject us. Then we could get more data and we could go back before them¡­¡±


    I wait for a moment and finally ask ¡°You don¡¯t actually believe it will work do you?¡±


    He looks down at his hands miserably, ¡°Not really. I hope, against the odds that it will. Can you give me another chance? Can you wait and hope with me that this will work?¡±


    How could I wait for something that was nothing more than a prayer? He claimed to be a political strategist, and he didn¡¯t actually think that the politicians would ever change their views toward the people. I remember that night, where he said I would take his memory.


    ¡°You say you saw a future where I took your memories? What did you mean by that?¡±


    He shakes his head, ¡°Please, whatever you do, don¡¯t take that path.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean by you can see the future?¡±


    ¡°I can see where people¡¯s actions will lead. I automatically analyze personality and circumstances and I ¡®see¡¯ a future.¡±


    ¡°Where does the path where I erase your memory lead?¡±


    ¡°Nowhere good. It will destroy you.¡±


    ¡°You said I would see it as my only option. Does it lead to a better world?¡±


    ¡°Maybe. I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s too far ahead to be certain of anything, and I have to see past my own loss of memory, which you can be certain I don¡¯t like the thought of losing my memory.¡±


    ¡°But is the world a better place? Is it worth it?¡±


    ¡°I honestly don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t think it is. Please, don¡¯t use your power against me. Whatever you do, don¡¯t use it against me. I will become your worst enemy if you do.¡± I can see he¡¯s pleading with me. He doesn¡¯t want to tell me the truth about this path he¡¯s seen.


    ¡°You promised to tell me the truth about everything. What do you see in this path?¡± Right now it sounds like this path is my only real option.


    He glares at me for a moment before turning away from me. ¡°Fine. If you dare to take my memories, you¡¯d probably still use me. Actually you would have to. Even without my memories I¡¯m can still predict paths. If you never give me back my memories, you might end up ok, but I might end up resenting you for the fact that you took my memories. I¡¯m not exactly certain how that would play out as I¡¯ve never had my memories stolen before. If you give me back my memories, I will probably hate you and resent you. Especially since I warned you not to take away my memories.¡±


    He turns back toward me. ¡°We can figure out a better way to take over than destroying my memories. Maybe just take my father¡¯s memories or something. Then I can help you and advise you with my memories and I won¡¯t end up angry with you.¡±


    ¡°And what is the final outcome of both options?¡± I don¡¯t really care about myself. I want a better world for everyone else.


    He turns back away, looking at the trees around us, ¡°The option where you take my memories ends in a better world, but I cannot figure out your future in it. I think you might die. My ability to see paths isn¡¯t magic or anything. It¡¯s just skilled logical thinking.¡±


    ¡°And what about the second future? The one where I don¡¯t take your memories?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t thought through that one as much. I haven¡¯t really gotten past the war. Can you wait to take action on a plan until I have time to think through them? I¡¯m certain I can come up with some better plans that make both of us happy.¡±


    I nod. There is only one plan that will work. He said it himself, he¡¯s just afraid of it. I will let him live in peace until I am ready. Then, I will enact the plan that he has seen ending in success.

 Book 4: Destruction of Memory; Chapter 1: My World

    The Governor¡¯s private shuttle landing exemplifies the opulence of the upper class with its gold plated railing and shiny white floor. Italian white marble, a memory from a woman who liked to travel from her earnings as a prison guard. A flash of the mountains with white caps where the marble was cut from. A country called Italy.


    A lush red velvet carpet crushes under my feet as I step out of my shuttle onto the balcony that leads to the door of my new office.


    Things like this special balcony could pay for the programs that I want to instate. The programs that made the people cheer and shout and scream as I spoke before them. The very same things that made my contenders hate me.


    My private guard, Reno follows me as I wrap my victory around my shoulders and stride forward across the red carpet. Midway to the engraved oak door of my new office I stop and smile at the drones carrying cameras. I walk toward the railing, off the red carpet and stand against the railing, looking over the city below me.


    ¡°My dear people,¡± I begin, my voice amplifies to the people below through the mike I am hooked up with. ¡°Today we have won a victory. Today, we move forward with making a world that gives everyone in Virginia the opportunity to better themselves. Today, the American dream will be yours!¡±


    I can hear the screaming and cheering of the people. The people wanted my vision they chose me. I turned and smiled at Lizzie. I¡¯d found her and begged for her help with running for governor. All the knowledge that the prison forced into her brain made her useful to me. Behind her stood my third supporter, Patrick. He¡¯s been reading the books in his library and listening to everything Lizzie told me trying to fill in the gaps in his memory.


    Patrick helped me craft my speeches and my campaigns. Even without his memory he was a political genius. I¡¯m glad that he wasn¡¯t a contender for the position.


    The only person missing is Nathan. I haven¡¯t seen him since I went to talk to him before my meeting with the city council. Well, that¡¯s a lie. I have seen him, just not talked to him.


    His startled expression, a moment¡¯s hesitation, those shockingly blue eyes making me forgot what I was about to say, and then the door slammed in my face. I hadn¡¯t expected that. I wasn¡¯t quite sure what I had wanted, but he obviously wanted nothing to do with me. I¡¯d nocked again, waited quite a while, but that door didn¡¯t open up again, and eventually I gave up.


    But I can¡¯t stop thinking about him. About the look on his face. The startled look, and then, just a moment¡¯s glimpse as his eyes grew wide and his mouth opened in a look that could only be described as horror. I couldn¡¯t figure out what I¡¯d done.


    He escaped the jail with me. Heck, he knew the person who was in my body before me, Lily, back when they were orphans with no real power. He¡¯d seen me bring down those guards when we escaped, and he hadn¡¯t rejected me like that then.


    Why did he slam the door in my face? Why did he look so horrified to see me? He told me to follow my heart and to choose the path that I thought was best.


    And you. I can barely see you, a faint wisp at the corner of my vision, still following me. For a while I thought you¡¯d abandoned me also. I thought maybe I¡¯d just forgotten about you, but even when I looked for you, it was like I couldn¡¯t see you. Were you still there, or are you fading as I grow stronger and don¡¯t need your support as much? Or are you so horrified and disappointed with me that you want to also slam the door in my face like Nathan did?


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    Is this the first time I¡®ve seen you since I killed the previous Governor? I¡¯m not even sure anymore. I was so focused on my goal, but seeing you out of the corner of my eye¡­ Where have you been?


    I focus back on the crowd. You¡¯ll never tell me anything. You are just an annoyance in my life. An imaginary being that no one else even notices.


    I finish waving at the crowd and walk toward the door. This will be the last time I use this balcony. After this I will use the entrance at the base of the building, like all the normal people that have to work in this building. I will dismantle that absurd balcony and use the funds to pay to repair old buildings as soup kitchens and places for people to sleep at night.


    And the rich buffoons in office will help pay for it. Anyone who disagrees will end up like James Marchin, the man I slowly took memories from until I¡¯d taken them all and left him with the ¡°Memory Sickness¡±. The disease created by me. The disease I am using to make these scared politicians fall into line and work for the betterment of the people.


    I can see it in my mind. A place where the streets are clean, where there is no one dying in some forgotten alley. Where people are happy and will choose to live instead of simply being forced to live here because they don¡¯t have the means to escape. This city will shine in a golden and beautiful light in the future.


    This is my world that I am making. My dream is coming true.


    The Governor¡¯s office looks the same as the day I killed the previous Governor. It is far too opulent for the likes of me. I will sell the paintings on the wall to help fund my dreams.


    A woman walks in and dumps a stack of papers. ¡°Well, Governor. Here is the budget we need approved in two days. The lieutenant Governor who was supposed to take over and sign these, well ¨C ¡°


    ¡°I know. He got the Memory Sickness. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here. That¡¯s why a special election was held.¡±


    The woman nodded. I¡¯d been a little shocked to learn that there was someone who would take over from the Governor, but it wasn¡¯t had to have him develop Memory Sickness, especially when they kept having Patrick and me in the building to discuss the Memory Sickness.


    The woman turns to leave, but I call out to her, ¡°Ummm, Ma¡¯am? May I ask your name?¡±


    She¡¯s turns back toward me. ¡°My name is Naomi Riskell, Madam Governor.¡±


    ¡°Naomi, could you help me look over this budget?¡±


    The woman nods, her tight black bun moving with her head. She looks like you stereotypical secretary with two inch heels and a black skirt suit. I wonder if she is required to dress like that, or if she chooses to. It¡¯s not my place to question her fashion sense though. I will have to remember to look at the dress code at some point though and see if it is too strict. I want her to be able to be happy and comfortable in her place of work.


    She comes over and points to the first item. ¡°This right here is the amount of money we get in from taxpayers that own land.¡±


    It¡¯s going to be a long day for the beginning of a new world. I just have to keep telling myself, it¡¯s for a better world that I have to sit here and look through a budget.


    It¡¯s a long boring path to that better world though.


    I stop her at the end of the list of funds we bring in.


    ¡°Is there a way we can bring in more funds?¡±


    ¡°Umm, raise taxes?¡± She says, slightly nervously, as if she¡¯s afraid because I asked for more money.


    I nod. ¡°That¡¯s a good idea. We¡¯ll raise the taxes on anyone who makes more than 150,000 a year. We¡¯ll raise them even more for people who make more than 300,000 a year. They can afford to help pay for the centers we will need to build to help rehabilitate people with the memory sickness. Make sure it is known that this is temporary.¡±


    She looks nervous, like she has something she wants to say.


    Patrick taps me on the shoulder, ¡°Unfortunately Madam Governor, you have to send that proposal through the House of Delegates and the State Senate to get it approved. You can¡¯t make unilateral decisions like that.


    Naomi nods in agreement.


    This is going to be exhausting, but I have to keep going. I finally made it here. I can¡¯t give up now.

 Chapter 2: A Perfect Society

    The shovel filled with loose dirt is lifted up into the air in a demonstration of the work to begin. The ground breaking for my first construction project. It¡¯s hard to believe I even got the House of Delegates and the State Senate to agree with me, but eventually, after lots of debate and pointing out that this Memory Sickness didn¡¯t care about class, I finally did it. They finally all agreed on the tax. A weary, defeated agreement, but an agreement nonetheless.


    This building won¡¯t be beautiful, but it will help many people. It will help educate and prepare people who don¡¯t have jobs and are looking for work and it will help all the poor souls whose memories I have taken to get here. Any excess rooms that are unused will be sleeping places for homeless and orphans where they can sleep without worry.


    The people all around me are cheering and the crowds are pushing at the ropes and security guards trying to get my signature.


    You¡¯re here again. Why haven¡¯t I seen you until now? Where have you been? I¡¯ve been wanting to show you my success. The city is changing. I¡¯m bringing about this change. Can you see it? These first steps. It¡¯s happening. This will be a place where people can grow up with equal opportunities in life. I¡¯m doing so much to help everyone I can.


    Lizzie¡¯s group of orphans are sitting in special guest chairs. Since I took office, I¡¯ve been living in the Governor¡¯s mansion, a special complex built in the middle of Richmond. I invited Lizzie to bring all the orphans to live with us as a show of my goodwill and my intentions to give everyone housing and a place to live.


    Between Lizzie and Patrick is an empty chair. A chair with Nathan¡¯s name on it, and no one sitting in it. I sent an invite to him, but he didn¡¯t respond.


    When I tried to go myself, Reno stopped me. I tried to disguise myself and slip out, but he even stopped me then, shaking his head and saying, ¡°Madam Governor, I know you want to visit your friend, but it¡¯s dangerous to go out on the streets now. Someone might recognize you and you could be harmed. Please don¡¯t try and slip out again. We¡¯ve already lost one Governor this year and our State is already in a state of emergency caused by this memory sickness.¡±


    I look over at him, standing there like a statue. It wasn¡¯t his words that convinced me, but his disappointment in me. That and the clenching feeling in my stomach when I think about the current problems. I know that I made the government weak and caused greater public distrust, not that the people of the city trust the government to begin with, but this is all necessary. Patrick said, my crazy plan will lead to a better city. I might not live to see it, but one day, it will be a place where people trust their government and where everyone has a chance to live a good life.


    I raise the microphone up toward my mouth and watch as the crowds quiet down.


    ¡°Welcome my fellow citizens. Today, we embark on a new journey together. This is a journey to discover prosperity and happiness for everyone in this city. This is a journey to eliminate class discrimination and to allow each and every person to live. Every single person in this world is special. Each of us have that individual spark that makes us who we are, and I see that in each person I talk to.¡± I pause, and look at the crowd, making sure to catch the eyes of my audience. Patrick told me this is a key to being a good speaker.


    ¡°This shelter will nurture Richmond and will help bring prosperity to even the lowest and most desperate among our population. It will teach the necessary job skills to those who come to it for shelter and help.¡±


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    ¡°Liar!¡± a voice screams out from somewhere beyond the line of security guards.


    ¡°She¡¯s a traitor to the people. Corrupt¡­¡± The roar of the crowd drowns out the rest of the words.


    What have I done to deserve this? I¡¯ve worked tirelessly for their sake. I only want to see them succeed, to have a better life than the life I had.


    I look around at the screaming crowd beyond the finery, and then down at my notes. Love cannot come from everyone. They would have to watch for longer, to see the strength of my plan.


    I would give everyone a chance; a chance at a better life.


    The audience waited for me, ¡°Together we will stand strong and raise up out of the uncertainty that surrounds these tumultuous times. By giving everyone a chance, we will prove to the world that Rousseau is correct believing that man is naturally good.¡±


    Patrick suggested that I read about the work of philosophers. Rousseau¡¯s theory quickly became my favorite and the one I clung to.


    ¡°Today, we begin a journey to destroy the economic divide that corrupts man¡¯s good nature. Today, we will destroy the inequality that exists by being born to the wrong parent. We will grant everyone a chance to start over. Everyone was born good, and with help, everyone can be that way again. This ground here, this is the sacred ground from which equality shall bloom.¡±


    I step down from my podium.


    The special guests politely stand and clap while the crowd outside the ropes and security guards scream and cheer. They understand that this is just the beginning. There will be more programs. I won¡¯t stop till everyone has a chance to reach the American dream.


    Patrick simply shrugs when I look at him. ¡°I still don¡¯t think one shelter will change anything. Cities often used to run shelters and care about people. We just ran out of money to spend on people who wouldn¡¯t help themselves. All you will do is enable their current lifestyle to continue,¡± He spoke under the cover of the cheering crowd, carefully concealing his lip movements from the watching cameras.


    ¡°Why are you so determined to undermine me?¡± Every time I feel something is going well, he has to try and make me feel as if everything will fail.


    ¡°If doubt does not exist, you will become complacent,¡± He turns away to face the crowd as he finishes saying this. He waves at them as if he is a famous celebrity standing next to me.


    The best advice and the most doubt come from him. I knew, no, I didn¡¯t know. I didn¡¯t understand anything when I pulled his memories from him. I stole him away and watched him memories like a guidebook, and still I couldn¡¯t understand how he thought. No matter what I did, he was there helping me and yet hindering me.


    I can¡¯t do this without him, and yet how long would it be before he brought down everything I am working for? Behind my back is he secretly undermining every plan I bring forward to him? But this plan went through. It all went according to the plan he helped me develop.


    His eyes are always watching, and when he thinks I¡¯m not looking, sometimes I see it. That look of speculation that causes the skin around his eyes to pinch up and produce the gleam that I can only describe as unadulterated hatred. He knows. But then it is gone, and my fear subsides into the crevices that I don¡¯t want to look at.


    For now, he is on my side, I think. He looks at me with a happy smile, but I can tell it¡¯s plastered on. He smiles for the cameras. ¡°Look at your people Hope. They cheer for you. They believe in you.¡±


    He is right; they are the priority here. I smile and wave at them. I let the joy of what I am creating, this perfect society, wrap me and carry the feeling out into the crowd with my smile and wave. This is how real change begins. One step at a time. One can only bring about this type of change by joining the system. My childish rebellion was nothing that could change these stuffy minds. Only joining them and forcing them to my will through fear could bring the change to make the world better, starting with this city.


    Why do you look so horrified? I¡¯m doing what we wanted. I¡¯m building a better world. I promised I would make it happen, and it¡¯s happening. Can¡¯t you see? Don¡¯t leave me! I swear to you, I¡¯ll create a perfect society, and everyone will love it. The sacrifice will be worth it. Don¡¯t fade away, I need you here, to watch me.

 Chapter 3: Ideology Isnt Always Ideal

    You¡¯re back. Don¡¯t look so disgusted. You want to see what I can build, don¡¯t you? Look out on it.


    The city stretches out below me. Beneath my feet is the new shelter. ¡°These glass floored shuttles are so strange, freaky almost, and yet fascinating,¡± I comment to Patrick.


    ¡°Are they strange?¡± His voice is toneless and uncaring. He isn¡¯t looking at the shelter, but out beyond the city.


    ¡°Do you not care to see the shelter? We¡¯ll be able to help so many people.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, helping people. Azalea¡¯s my wife right?¡±


    What is going on with him? He should be excited to see this city becoming a better place. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°You know, I wish I knew her better, she¡¯s so pretty, but I feel like she¡¯s out of my league.¡±


    ¡°What? Why? She¡¯s your wife, even without memory, you should still love each other, right?¡±


    ¡°I - She - I don¡¯t know. I just, I feel like I should know her, as if I don¡¯t know her. I don¡¯t know. I tried to hug her the other night - it felt like I should - but she pushed me away. The look in her eyes¡­¡±


    Was love linked to memory as well? I didn¡¯t really care about anything from before I was connected to the Xatron, but I am different. I am the Xatron. I am a machine living in a human¡¯s body.


    When my machine self took memories, it stole the person, but in my experience, when I used my human self to take memories, it seemed that I was able to be more surgical and to leave the person behind, but his words are troubling.


    Did I mess up with Azalea? Patrick seems fine. He asked me to take her memories. It was his fault for asking for that.


    I need more information, ¡°What made you feel like hugging her?¡±


    ¡°I saw her sitting there. She looked¡­ lost. Sad maybe? I don¡¯t know. I, she¡¯s my wife right? Shouldn¡¯t I care about her?¡±


    I look into their memories. I watch them together. Do they love each other? They look so cold and closed off. I don¡¯t really understand love. I am the Xatron after all, taught by the memories I have seen, but most memories of relationships look more - more - close. They talk more. Touch more.


    ¡°Have you tried talking to her, building your relationship from scratch?¡± Why am I giving relationship advice?


    He looks down at the glass floor. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to say. She never looks interested in what I have to say.¡±


    ¡°Have you tried asking her about her interests? What has she been doing during the day while you¡¯ve been reading and learning to help me in my role as mayor?¡±


    ¡°What she¡¯s been doing? I don¡¯t know¡­¡±


    ¡°Then ask!¡± Why are we having this conversation? We are here to look at the shelter. This is the opening of a place that will become hope for the poor in this city.


    The shuttle descends closer to the shelter, and I can see the the people lined up in seats that have been chosen for this shelter. Among them I can see some of the children from the old abandoned office building. I had them found and brought to the shelter. I wanted them to be some of the first people I helped.


    Patrick¡¯s voice rips through my reverie. ¡°What if she hasn¡¯t been doing anything?¡±


    Why is he asking me all of this right now? ¡°Maybe she¡¯s bored then. Ask her if she has something she wants to do or wants to try.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a pretty decent idea. I feel like I was never really good at this whole relationship thing before. Kind of like your not the greatest at being mayor.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Everything is going so well. How can he say that?


    ¡°You have ideas and you never research to see how well they will work. You railroad them through and force people to find the budget for them. You think the orphans on the streets have it bad? Have you read about the orphanages of the past and child services? They existed in the past. Every good idea filled with good intentions fails on implementation. I¡¯ve read it over and over again. Greed and corruption of humans destroys every ideology humanity has ever held.¡±


    He¡¯s such a pessimist now. He used to believe in me, when he knew what I was. ¡°Watch me. I¡¯ll prove you wrong. I will make this city beautiful.¡±


    ¡°Beautiful? Are not the destruction and chaos humans sew beautiful in their own way? How do you define the word ¡°beautiful¡±? The way life starts, and the way life ends. A flower blooming, but it is beautiful because it is a fleeting moment that is quickly gone.¡± When did he get so melancholy?


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    I ignore him this time and focus on my political appearance.


    There is such a large crowd here for me. Smiling and waving at them, I make my way to the stage that waits for me, and then stop listening to them, and letting Patrick pass me.


    I can hear the crowd¡¯s praise, ¡°Thank you for helping out the poor! Thank you for caring! You¡¯re doing so much to clean up this city and bring crime down! Look mom, look at that white hair. She¡¯s like a goddess from your legends.¡±


    Look Patrick. Look at how they appreciate what I am doing for this city. Look at how I will make life better for everyone!


    Patrick steps forward to the podium and the people quiet down. Today he is introducing me. ¡°Good Morning Everyone. Today is a fantastic morning to be alive!¡±


    The crowd roars. Eventually, they settle and he continues, ¡°I know that I am not the person you are here to see, so I will quickly turn this over to the Governor. May I present your governor, the one who has no last name, who was born of this city, who rose up and has guided us through this crisis of homelessness, crime, and memory sickness. She is hope. Hope!¡± The crowd roars as his arm stretches out toward me.


    The podium awaits me, and looking out over the crowd I see what I dream of. I see the place I am building for them. I might only be the conscious of a machine, but maybe these people need a machine to lead them. Maybe that¡¯s why Patrick¡¯s faith has faltered. He does not know that I am not human. That my mind was built, and connected to this body, that my body lies back in a secret room in the city jail.


    ¡°Thank you for coming on this fine morning. It has been my dream to see this city become a place where everyone can live. I have dreamed of a safe haven, a clean and bright city where everyone has a future and can experience the American dream. A place where the situation you are born into does not define you. I have worked toward this since I was an orphan on the streets. I have lived toward this, and you have guided me. Your chants, your desire to see your city a clean place, a happy place. Your desire to also help people has lifted me. It has made this dream that seemed so out of reach become reality. It has made my dream, my hope, it our city¡¯s dream. It has created this safe haven we open today. It has made a home for people who had nothing left!¡¯


    ¡¯When I was a child, we lived as a pack. Hungry wild orphans stealing from the honest hard working people of this city, because there was nothing else for us. Because it was steal or die, but now these children have a chance.¡± I take a moment, smiling at the children. Among them I see Lily¡¯s brother, Jay. His dark eyes rip through me, his frown killing me, and I wish I can make him smile. He probably hates me for abandoning him again. I owe him more consideration as the one who took over his sister¡¯s body. When I have a moment I will have to stop by and visit him. But I have to finish.


    ¡°Today is our day as a city. Today we present to the world what it looks like to help people. Today, we care about our neighbor! Today we open this shelter to those in need!¡± The crowd roars at this, and one of the staff opens the double door entrance, where a red ribbon is waiting.


    When the crowd quiets down I continue, ¡°This is not just a step for our city, this is a step for our society moving forward. We must always advance toward the goal of a better world for all. I want to see what the best version of all of can accomplish. I want to see this become the world¡¯s future, and it starts here and now.


    With that I finish my speech to the clapping and roar of the crowd.


    The walk to where the scissors are feels unreal. I can¡¯t believe this is happening! I¡¯ve done it. I made a place for the orphans I lived with for a short time. Now I just need more. I have to make places for everyone. The scissors are massive, maybe as long as big as the sheets of paper that sit waiting back on my desk for me to review.


    A photographer from the news is waiting to take a picture of the ribbon cutting. With the scissors I pose in front of the red ribbon that is as wide as the books I see Patrick reading. The cameras flash for the signal to cut. How long will this take? I keep smiling, waiting. Eventually the flashes slow and stop, and the main photographer gives me the nod. I close the scissors and watch the ribbon fall. A few more flashes as the red ribbon flutters to the ground like memories fading away.


    ¡°AHHHHH!¡± What was that? A scream from the crowd? There is movement out there. Noise rising up from there. Why are police running towards the people who were chosen for the shelter?


    People grab my shoulders, my security detail. What¡¯s happening? The security pull me toward the shuttle, and I can see the people chosen for the shelter being hurried toward the open doors.


    Some of the crowd is running, but other people are moving forward, shifting through.


    ¡°Dictator!¡± What? Why are they shouting that? ¡°Stealing our money to give to the useless!¡± I¡¯m just trying to make life better for everyone. Why are they saying these things? ¡°All you care about is your stupid agenda while people are falling to the memory sickness!¡± ¡°How dare you refuse federal aid in these times!¡±


    I - Did I refuse federal aid? I just told the government I could handle this crisis. How was that refusing federal aid?


    ¡°Monster! You don¡¯t care about anyone. You do this for power! How dare you force our delegate choices to your will! You micro manage the government to make Richmond better while not even paying attention to the rest of the state!¡±


    What are they talking about? All I¡¯ve done was attempt to make this city better and by extension the state better. I''d worked hard to clean up the city, and from my understanding the country areas were doing perfectly fine. Why should I worry about an area not beset by homelessness and hunger?


    An egg hits my shoulder and breaks over the fancy dress I wore for today¡¯s occasion. It leaves a horrid smell in its wake.


    The security detail pull me along more forcefully, and now I find myself running with them, running for the shuttle. Patrick is already there waiting, and I run in. The security detail doesn¡¯t come in, and instead stand guard outside the shuttle as the door closes and the shuttle lifts off, leaving them to face that wrathful crowd.


    ¡°What was that?¡± I ask Patrick.


    ¡°That¡¯s what your ideology created.¡± His voice sounds far away, sad. He is staring out at the crowd, and I can see the number of people moving toward the shelter from my shuttle. There are so many of them! How can this many people be upset by policies to help people?


    The shuttle pulls away and they are gone. The adrenaline seeps out of me, and I slide down the wall of the shuttle.

 Chapter 4: Pieces Falling Out of Place

    The news is turned on in my office. It¡¯s been this way the past couple of days. I can¡¯t stop watching it with this fearful fascination. The protests that started with the shelter have grown according to the news.


    Why? Why can¡¯t they see what I am building?


    ¡°The Governor, who goes by the single name of Hope isn¡¯t saying anything. No one has seen her since the protests started. The governor is calling for an activation of the National Guard. The state House of Delegates will be voting on it in one hour. Depending on her actions the Governor could be removed from her place for incompetence.¡± The news woman just won¡¯t stop talking.


    I throw my compostable coffee cup at the wall, and watch the dark stain splatter across it and the image on the wall. She looks better with a stain across her face. The cup rolls back toward me. These damn compostable cups. No ability to break. I read out, with the fingers of my mind, and tear it to pieces. The pieces flutter down and I still don¡¯t feel better.


    What do I do? You¡¯re never helpful. Watching from the sidelines as my own personal demon.


    The man next to the woman starts speaking, ¡°How could we ever expect an orphan from the streets to be able to run a city? Most people in the government have been being trained since they were children. Things like knowing how to run a city, state, or country take a lot of training. Not just anyone, especially street trash could do it. This is why we should get rid of elections. Allowing incompetents to be elected is what happens when the people have a say. This is why the democracy of Greece failed. Our founding fathers never expected that the uneducated masses would ever be allowed to actually vote or run for office. They expected only the elite of society, like the Roman republic, to be allowed to run things.¡±


    Elite! Bah. All the elite care about is themselves. All people are selfish and dumb. Why did I want to help people? Was it part of the programming put into me before I was ever hooked up to a human? Find a way to help everyone? My creator was an idiot! You can¡¯t help anyone dumb enough to not help themselves.


    A scene of the shelter flashes by, and my rage fades. Wetness tingles against my cheeks. Am I crying? Why? I just¡­ I wanted to help them. All of them. Why can¡¯t people want to love and help each other?


    I¡¯m being illogical. I have to be logical. I have to shut off this human side of myself. Deep breath. Search inside. These emotions. Build a wall. The strongest wall. Wall off the world. Analyze. You are a machine. You are not human.


    The media is trying to convince the people that I am in the wrong. They are trying to manipulate the masses to destroy democracy, and people are at the point where they believe them. I have to fight back somehow. I have to show strength. It¡¯s time for me to come out of this office.


    ¡°Office, call Naomi.¡±


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. Calling Naomi.¡± The female voice of the office responds.


    ¡°Governor?¡± Naomi¡¯s voice sounds hopeful. I guess I have been locked in this room too long. Pieces of trash are scattered around. Reminders of my anger, my grief, the humanity I have shed.


    ¡°Let¡¯s do something about this situation. Call Patrick. Call the media representatives, prepare a space for me to give a speech. Not my office. It¡¯s a bit messy. I will help clean it later. Right now I need to help the people of this city. I need to provide unity.¡±


    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am.¡± Naomi sounds excited. She shouldn¡¯t be. Even after shutting off my emotions, I¡¯m still not sure what course of actions would be the best. I¡¯m not sure what will lead to full out war, and what will help. But the logical thing is to give a speech. To do something to fight the news giants. And for that I need Patrick.


    It takes a bit, but eventually, Patrick walks through my door. He looks like he hasn¡¯t slept in days. There are dark smudges under his eyes, and a fresh looking scrape on his cheek.


    He looks at the the mess, the trash, the stain on the wall over the TV screen, and me sitting in my chair, not moving.


    ¡°Looks like you aren¡¯t doing that well.¡± His voice sounds defeated.


    ¡°I¡¯ve decided to try and do something.¡±


    ¡°What? What do you want to do? Use the National Guard to kill a bunch of protesters? Freedom of speech.¡± He laughs, but it¡¯s a forced, fake, short laugh that sounds like someone kicking a trash can.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure yet. I know first I need to write a speech. We have to come up with some way to address the media and assuage the fears of the citizens. I was hoping you might be able to help.¡±


    ¡°Hope.¡± He gives that same weird hollow laugh again. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what to do. A part of me says the best thing to do to prevent a revolt is to offer the people your resignation. Tell them you¡¯ve heard their voice and will step down until a recall election is passed.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t do that. Then I¡¯m just proving them right I¡¯m telling them that yes I¡¯m incompetent and that there is no hope of someone from the streets being able to ever be more.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯d stake your pride over the city?¡±


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    ¡°I¡¯m staking the pride of the people that voted for me over the rabble of idiots chanting in the streets. I¡¯m staking the pride of election over the fear mongering that the news is using to try and bring down democracy.¡±


    He laughs again. Has he gone crazy? ¡°So, what do you have in mind? You seem to have some sort of plan?¡±


    ¡°I want to give a unifying speech. A speech that addresses their concerns while also not destroying my base¡¯s belief and Hope for themselves.¡±


    ¡°You want the impossible. They are two sides of a coin and you can¡¯t make two sides the same side.¡±


    ¡°But what if we made both sides heads so that either way you flip the coin you win.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s cheating Hope, and it doesn¡¯t work in this situation.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Because you can¡¯t cheat life.¡± His voice is monotone like a still puddle.


    ¡°But I can. I did. I am.¡± My whole existence is cheating. I created a spot for myself to take over. I am the memory sickness people fear. But he knows none of this.


    ¡°Taking advantage of opportunities as they arise is not cheating. It¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°Being resourceful? We won an election. We achieved the impossible together. You guiding me, me reaching the people with my passion and conviction. We can do anything Patrick! The two of us are an unstoppable force!¡±


    ¡°You make it sound so easy.¡± It¡¯s raining now. I can hear it in his voice. I¡¯ve gotten that brilliant mind of his spinning and thinking again.


    ¡°Things worth attaining are never easy, right?¡± I use the same words he once said to me when we were working on my speeches and prepping for the debates for the election. He had thrown himself into reading tons of speeches and debates. When I questioned all of the research involved, he had told me that.


    His eyes are looking over at the news, still going on the wall. Images of protesters marching through the streets. ¡°It¡¯s not as bad as it looks. I flew over it on a shuttle here, and it¡¯s only a small group of protesters compared to what I¡¯ve seen before. The media is just blowing this out of proportion.¡±


    ¡°I guess the media really controls the narrative. At one point I was the darling of the media, and now, to get views, I am the darling who turned out to be a snake.¡±


    ¡°But you were the darling of the people! They loved you. If we can get you up in front of them. If we can change this narrative and twist it, then maybe we have a chance.¡± It¡¯s pouring and the water in what was a still puddle has joined the river flowing down the street.


    ¡°So all we have to do is come up with a speech that will change that narrative?¡±


    He looks crestfallen. ¡°All. Such an easy term for such a challenging task. I wish I had all of my memories. It might be an easier task if I wasn''t crippled by losing years of knowledge.¡±


    Had I crippled him? But he wouldn¡¯t have helped me if I hadn¡¯t taken his memories. I look through them, watching him read books, and study for hours. I had taken them, but the magic of the knowledge I had fed to the machine. There wasn¡¯t much in there that could help him¡­ There were political situations where he negotiated with people, conversations with his wife and his father, other memories that were more intimate in nature, but nothing I could see that would help in this situation. Maybe he could see more into these memories than I can? But he told me never to give them back if I took them.


    ¡°Unfortunately, no one struck by the memory sickness has regained their memories. I just have to keep trying to relearn a life¡¯s worth of memories.¡± I can hear the conviction in his voice. No. He doesn¡¯t need his memories. Unless things really start to fall apart, I¡¯ll just hold onto them.


    I nod, ¡°We have a lot to work on to make a perfect speech. What do you want me to do?¡±


    ¡°Start writing. I want your feelings toward the situation written on paper. I need your heartfelt conviction in the words. In the meantime I will study past speeches from when politicians had to deal with division to look for sentences and words that can unify. We will take what you write, and modify it to write a new narrative.¡±


    ¡°How long do I have to write this speech?¡± I ask.


    ¡°One hour. Computer searches are quite advanced, you know.¡± He is smiling.


    One hour. ¡°Deal, and how long until I need to give the speech?¡±


    He looks over at the news playing on the wall. ¡°Three hours. We have to have this ready before the State House of Delegates votes today.¡±


    I nod. ¡°Office, tell Naomi to have the media ready for a speech from me in three hours.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Ma¡¯am. Text sent to Naomi.¡±


    He starts to leave, and then stops, looking back at me. ¡°Good luck with that speech.¡±


    ¡°Thanks. Good lu-¡± He¡¯s already closed the door.


    ¡°Office, start a new speech called ¡®Together we are Stronger¡¯¡±.


    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am. New speech started. Please begin speaking to record the speech.¡±


    I settle back into my chair and close my eyes focusing on the words I want to speak. ¡°Two days ago, we stood together for human rights. We became a beacon of hope for the world. Today, we pretend like we are on the edge of chaos when a couple people call foul. There will always be struggles and fights when trying to make the world a better place, but we have to strive forward. To some, this might sound like I am completely not listening to the side that is upset with me, but I have heard your cries. I have listened to them for the past two days. I have heard what you fight for. You say I am not giving you a voice. You say I am a dictator, but I try to listen to everyone. I am not here to speak louder. I am here to speak with you.¡±


    Here to speak with you. Where do I go from there? How to speak with a bunch of lunatics. I can¡¯t not listen to them. If I alienate them, I destroy my message and image. Maybe I ask to bring in their leader and speak to come up with a solution? No. I need a speech that solves everything. Three hours. I have three hours to make this happen. I need to just spit out words and then we can refine it into an actual speech.


    ¡°I understand your fears, but love must be stronger than fear. We must create a world worth living in.¡± No¡­ Just keep speaking. That¡¯s the way this works.


    ¡°I want to see everyone able, no, trained?¡± No, that¡¯s not right either. Let¡¯s try again, ¡°I want to see all people of this city living in an environment where they feel like they can voice dissent. Right now, I feel like most people in this city don¡¯t have the luxury of voicing decent. If they do, they get thrown into jail. There are children in jail because no one knows what else to do with them. We got rid of orphanages because they were ¡®broken¡¯, but our current system is more broken. We must spend the money fixing what is wrong before we can cut back. Once we have fixed some of the wrongs, less people will be in prison, and we can cut back on the gigantic prison systems in this state. If we are able to close prisons, just think of the money we can save!¡± Yes. That¡¯s speaking more to their message. They are mad because I am spending too much. If I promise cuts after spending, then things should all balance out.


    We can all work together to make the world a better place. Everyone¡¯s goals can be included. If you look at all goals from the right angle, they can be brought together.


    This was something Patrick once said, in his memories. Did I just steal this from him? Maybe his memories hold more value than I gave them credit for.


    Out of the corner of my eye, I see you still watching, but this time I close my eyes and focus on my speech.

 Chapter 5: Fame without Fortune

    What is it that makes people love another person? What mechanism feeds these feelings?


    I wish I could figure it out. I wish I could tap into it, understand it, and steal it the way I steal memories. All of my memories can¡¯t explain what is going on. They don¡¯t explain why no one seemed to listen to the speech I just gave. They don¡¯t explain the press conference that was only half full. The half-hearted polite clapping I can hear like drizzling rain in a morning fog.


    Patrick¡¯s dejected and tired stare. What did I do wrong?


    The cameras have already cut off. What¡¯s going on?


    I walk over to Patrick. ¡°Patrick, what¡¯s going on. Wasn¡¯t my speech good? You helped me with it.¡±


    ¡°It was too late Hope.¡±


    ¡°Too late? What are you talking about? It¡¯s never too late.¡± Why? Why does he look like someone died?


    ¡°Well, you made national news Hope. Got the attention of the federal government. According to them, you were using funds that weren¡¯t properly budgeted for.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± What the heck is he talking about? He must be joking with me. This isn¡¯t a funny joke. ¡°Patrick, this isn¡¯t a good joke. Everything was balanced. I couldn¡¯t have spent more money because it was triple checked.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not joking. It¡¯s been announced that you will be tried for corruption.¡±


    ¡°No, Why are you lying to me like this? Do you actually mean the National Guard is coming in to help deal with protests and riots?¡±


    ¡°Hope, the National government wouldn¡¯t bother with simple protests. Protests are a thing states have to deal with all the time. The National government does care about the fact that you spent money you shouldn¡¯t have had.¡±


    ¡°What do I do? I didn¡¯t do anything wrong. How do I prove my innocence? Naomi gave me the numbers, but I don¡¯t know where they came from. My guess is someone in financing messed up. But what do I do to fix that?¡± Why is everything becoming a problem at once? Protesters and now someone messing up in accounting.


    ¡°Did you steal money to add to your pet project?¡±


    ¡°What!? No! Of course not. You helped me with everything. I had no idea how to even do the math to balance the budget.¡± I never went to school. I hadn¡¯t learned how to carefully calculate a budget.


    ¡°Then you should be fine. If only I had all of my memories. I¡¯d be able to help you better if I could remember my schooling.¡± He looks at the floor, and I can tell he is quite upset with his lack of memory. I shouldn¡¯t have taken his memories. Looking over his memories, he probably wouldn¡¯t have even cared that I took the memories from his family.


    I look around at the room with it¡¯s scattering of reporters. I can¡¯t talk to him about anything here. ¡°Come with me. Let¡¯s go back to my office.¡±


    I start walking and I can see him following behind me. ¡°Uh, ok Hope, but why your office? I¡¯m not sure what the point is of going to your office.¡±


    ¡°Because there are no reporters sitting around waiting to hear an interesting morsel. I don¡¯t think it¡¯s safe to talk about anything in front of them.¡±


    ¡°Ok, but they might find our sudden departure a bit strange.¡±


    ¡°Let them. We need to talk strategy.¡± We walk through the silent halls, him continuing to follow along a little ways behind me like. I look back, and he reminds me of a cat, pretending like it was his idea to be walking down the hallway.


    We make it to the office, and I grab the door handle, and feel the click as it unlocks under my prints. I hold the door open and let him enter first before entering.


    The door swings closed, and the lock clicks into place.


    ¡°You say you can help me if you have your memories?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but there is no chance of me getting back my memories. I know they are gone. No one with the memory sickness has gotten their memories back.¡± He sounds so hopeless.


    ¡°What if there was a way to get your memories back?¡± Should I tell him? He told me never to give them back, but this is a dire situation. I don¡¯t know what to do.


    He chuckles bitterly like rough grating of a rasp on iron, ¡°Good joke Hope, but it¡¯s not enough. Hope of getting my memories back won¡¯t work. Not everything can be solved with maybes.¡±


    ¡°Then what if I told you this isn¡¯t a maybe. You can have your memories back. They just - well -they won¡¯t be quite the same. They¡¯ll be like - like recordings, a movie you are watching of the previous you.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about? You sound like a raving mad lunatic.¡± He sounds like he doesn¡¯t believe me.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    What should I do? I have to make the decision now. I either tell him or face the consequences of the federal government coming for me, whatever that means.


    ¡°I had the memory sickness!¡± Why did I blurt that out? Making time for myself by creating a story won¡¯t help me.


    ¡°Had?¡± His eyebrows furrow as he is trying to understand what I am saying.


    ¡°Yes! That¡¯s what I¡¯m saying. Before you knew me, when I was just an orphan, I was experimented on.¡± He looks interested. I guess at this point I have to give him back his memories.


    ¡°I - They gave me the memory sickness, and later I got back the memory files from before the disease, but they were like a recording. It was like watching someone else¡¯s life.¡±


    ¡°How? Where did you go to get these memories back? Did it just happen eventually?¡± His questions are like water on paper.


    I can¡¯t stop myself. I know I shouldn¡¯t but I¡¯ve gone too far already. He¡¯s smart. He¡¯ll figure it out one way or another. I close my eyes. I have to do this. ¡°There is a machine that¡¯s eating all the memories.¡±


    ¡°This is caused by a machine? That sounds like something out of a sci-fi novel!¡±


    ¡°Sci-fi novel?¡± He looks so excited, his voice has gotten louder, and I¡¯m not sure I¡¯ve done the right thing. I have no idea what he¡¯s talking about.


    ¡°They are novels about the technology of the future. They normally imagine other planets and space travel, but sometimes they are set here on Earth with technology that doesn¡¯t exist. Some of them inspired new technology to be built in the world.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Ok.¡± So he¡¯s excited because this sounds like something someone wrote up? But this is reality.


    ¡°So where is the machine? Do I need to go connect my brain to it or something to get my memories back?¡±


    ¡°The machine is hidden.¡± I can¡¯t give him my physical location. Who knows what he would do? I guess he would want his memories back, but what would he do after that? Who knows what anyone would do with me. Would I still exist, or would this body die like so many of those tested in the experiments? Would it lose its will to live without me?


    ¡°I guess that¡¯s why you hadn¡¯t mentioned it as an option before. But why haven¡¯t you put all resources toward finding this machine and getting memories back to those who have lost their memory.¡±


    ¡°I apologize. You used to know everything. You used to know what I am. I guess you should know. I don¡¯t know if this will help. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°What are you -¡± I tune him out and focus, reaching out with the hands, touch his head, and then start feeding his memories back to him. It¡¯s the first time I¡¯ve ever done this. It feels so strange, I¡¯m not sure if I have them in the right order. It was so much easier to just rip them from him. I watch each memory with him. See him crying over the death of his first pet; his father¡¯s anger for crying over a simple pet. He is bullied in middle school and takes up martial arts. In high school, he tires of snide words and throws a punch leading to a fight he wins. His martial arts teacher kicks him out for using his training in an actual fight. He transfers schools. Throws his entire being into studying; goes to college for political science. Studying. Studying. Studying. A girl friend; his father doesn¡¯t approve of her and he is forced to break up with her. The fancy formal dinner looking out at the night skyline when his father first introduced him to Azalea. We watch as he attempts to get to know her better, and she continues to be indifferent to him. The day his father tells him that Azalea has agreed to marry him even though he never even dated her or made a proposal. The wedding looks gorgeous, but neither the groom nor the bride seem happy. He sits in his father¡¯s shadow. But then he overhears a police man talking about the girl who escaped jail. A girl who has uncanny abilities. We watch as he researches her fights. He looks into camera feeds all over the city. He plans. And then one day, he goes out to collect her.


    I watch the events leading up to my taking his memory. The indifference Azalea displays to him even as they share a bed. The way she rejects every attempt he makes to communicate. The way he tries to connect, but fails. The day where he begs her to just tell him what¡¯s wrong, she looks at him and simply tells him that she has never been interested in him other than for the political bonds he brings. That evening he drinks to dull the thoughts and feelings, and finds himself begging the urchin girl he¡¯s taken in to remove his wife¡¯s memories.


    We get to the end, the night I take his memories, and there is no more. I have no idea how long we have both been standing in the office. It could have been seconds or maybe its been hours.


    He looks shaken. His face is pale, and he staggers over to a chair and falls into it. ¡°Was - Was that me?¡± His voice is quivering, and I see him wiping at a tear falling down his cheek.


    ¡°Yes, those were your memories.¡±


    ¡°I - I was nothing. I¡­ ¡° He looks up at me. ¡°You were the orphan girl. The girl with the power. You-¡±


    ¡°Yes. That was me.¡± I reach out with the hands, with power from the memories and lift a paper on the desk.


    He¡¯s still hunched over, but he¡¯s looking up at me with wide eyes.


    He suddenly throws himself back against the chair laughing. ¡°The machine. You¡¯re connected to the memory eating machine you mentioned aren¡¯t you? It really is a sci-fi novel, no, maybe even closer to a sci-fan. I can¡¯t believe it! The memory, the machine, your power. It was all right before my eyes!¡± His laughter is almost hysterical now.


    I wait, unsure of how to respond, what to say. I said too much. I shouldn¡¯t have said anything. I should have just given him his memories back while he was sleeping. I¡¯m an idiot.


    He¡¯s gasping for breath between laughing. Eventually a couple deep breaths, and he brings himself back.


    He starts to talk again, ¡°My second chance with Azalea-¡± and he starts laughing again.


    ¡°It¡¯s all too late.¡± He gets the words out and then takes a couple breaths. Slowly, he stops himself from laughing.


    After he calms himself down, he looks me directly in the eyes. His brown eyes look so calm compared to the laughing of a moment ago. He might be just a touch insane. ¡°It¡¯s too late for you Hope. I warned you never to give back my memories right?¡±


    What is he saying? ¡°I- Don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°Run Hope. Run away while you have the chance. Run from this government. Run from me.


    Run from everything.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about. I gave you back your memories so you could help me.¡±


    ¡°I am helping you, exactly as you wanted. Run. Run now while you still have the chance. It¡¯s the only hope for you. Run as fast as you can and as far as you can. Hide yourself , don¡¯t let any camera see you, and maybe one day the world will forgive you.¡±


    I look at him, unsure if he¡¯s joking. He looks deadly serious. I start backing toward the door. What¡¯s happened? Where did I go wrong? Everything was going so well. Why did it fall now?


    ¡°You have about a day¡¯s head start before everyone starts looking for you. Good Luck.¡±


    I grab the handle of the office door and twist, I run toward the shuttle, not sure why I am running, but his words echoing in my head like he has some power over me. My shuttle is waiting for me at the balcony, and I step on, not sure what I¡¯m doing or where I am going, but running. Running to you.

 Chapter 6: Running From Myself

    The shuttles takes off, slowly moving through the sky, heading toward somewhere, and I can feel your comforting presence. What am I doing? Where am I going? I should check that, but instead I flop against a wall and slowly slide down it, wrapping myself up.


    Why did he tell me to run? What happened there? Why did I run instead of begging him to help? Why didn¡¯t I try to reason with him. The look in his eyes. The sheer ferocity of his hate. Am I shaking? My ghostly pale hand hovers in front of my eyes, trembling. Why am I so scared? I don¡¯t understand!


    Where can I even go? I¡¯m so well known it would be hard to evade attention. Your presence next to me is my only comfort. I¡¯d tried to ignore you for so long. I¡¯d been convinced I could do everything; that I could solve the world¡¯s problems, but here we are. Just you and I again.


    Nathan. Nathan might know what to do. He might be willing to hide me for a short time while I figure out where to go next. But Patrick knew about Nathan. I¡¯d seen it in his memories that Melanie had told him about me slipping out and he¡¯d checked the shuttle logs. He wouldn¡¯t think I would go back to him would he? Should I go? It was my only option right now. But what if he turns me away. He never came when I reserved a seat for him at events.


    But that last promise. I¡¯d promised to come back to him. I had to at least tell him the truth. I needed my disguise. I would have to stop by Patrick¡¯s home.


    ¡°Shuttle, take me to the McNeil penthouse.¡±


    ¡°In route.¡± If this shuttle was already in route to the McNeil penthouse, who had told it to go there? I hadn¡¯t said anything. Why was it already going there? Had Patrick programmed it go there? I hadn¡¯t headed back to that place in a couple days, living in my office. Had I set it to go back there after the opening of the shelter?


    The shuttle stops, and I slowly stand, take a deep breath and stride forward. Technically this is also my residence. Melanie is there.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am, that speech was one of your best. I am sure the people loved it. It was what we really needed to interrupt all that media coverage of that small group of rioters.¡± Melanie¡¯s words barely register with me. She seems so happy and excited, but I¡¯m not sure why. I¡¯ve never seen her this emotional before.


    ¡°Melanie, do you still have my brown dress I came in?¡±


    Her excitement seems to diminish. ¡°Why do you want that?¡±


    ¡°I need to head out into the city.¡± I can¡¯t tell her more. I know she will probably tell Patrick.


    ¡°What for Ma¡¯am?¡±


    Her curiosity will be my bane. ¡°To see a person.¡±


    ¡°Oh. That again. Well then. Come in. Wait in your room and I¡¯ll go get it.¡± She scurries away, and I head in through the open front entrance. I take my shoes off, and leave them there. It will probably be the last time I ever wear those plain black heels. I head into my room, this massive luxury I should have never been introduced to. This world isn¡¯t my world. I am of the dregs of society. I should have stayed where I belonged.


    I start to unbutton my dress, and then stop. Should I say goodbye to Azalea? I¡¯ve barely talked to her, but she always seems so lonely and lost.


    Melanie will be coming back here. ¡°Room, tell Melanie when she comes in that I¡¯m talking to Azalea.¡±


    I walk to the study where I¡¯ve often seen Azalea. Sure enough she is there, staring out a window. ¡°Have you ever thought of going out there?¡± I ask.


    She looks at me. Tilts her head. ¡°Hope. That¡¯s your name, right?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I can go out there. I have this feeling that the world hates me.¡± Her gaze drifts back to the window and she lays her hand on it. ¡°No one ever wants to talk to me. Heck, even my supposed husband never seems to say much. Just sits there staring at me like he has no idea what to do with me.¡±


    I now understand Patrick¡¯s inability to say anything to this lost soul. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    She smiles, but it¡¯s a sad half attempt at a smile. ¡°Everyone¡¯s always sorry. That¡¯s all people say. Like I¡¯m some mistake they can¡¯t fix.¡±


    I shouldn¡¯t have come here. I back away. ¡°I wish that one day, we can be friends, but right now, I have to go.¡±


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Her face lights up in a true smile. ¡°I¡¯d like that. I¡¯d like to be friends. When you get back, can we talk more?¡±


    I nod. I can¡¯t trust my words right now. I flee the study. I should have never gone to say goodbye to that wisp of a person who was once the mighty and fierce Azalea.


    I run back to my room. Melanie is still not back. I wonder where she is. No matter. I unhook the top of my slim black dress, pull the zipper down, strip it off, and throw it off. I am not that person anymore.


    The door opens and Melanie walks in. ¡°Hope is talking to Azalea.¡±


    Melanie looks surprised, and looks at me.


    ¡°Sorry, I set the room to say that while I went and talked to Azalea. I forgot to unset it when I got back.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Yes. computers always do as they are told. It took a little while, but I also managed to find you a new pair of boots that will work with this outfit. I couldn¡¯t have you wearing those old worn out ones anymore. I also took the liberty of upgrading the outfit a bit.¡±


    Oh no. Would it still work as a disguise?


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, the top pieces are still that same nasty brown material, patched and cleaned, but I got you a dress that fit underneath so you wouldn¡¯t have to wear the nasty scratchy material against your skin. I can only imagine how inflamed that pale, sensitive, weak skin of yours will get wearing this.¡±


    I hug her. I hadn¡¯t even thought about anything like that. I¡¯ve never properly appreciated Melanie. ¡°Thank you.¡± I say.


    Melanie smiles. ¡°Now Ma¡¯am, let¡¯s get you dressed for your visit.¡±


    She holds up the new piece she mentioned. It¡¯s a thin light blue dress she holds up. Long sleeve, turtle neck, and floor length with a seam at the waist allowing the skirts to flare out from the waist. She helps me put it on and it fits like a glove.


    I reach for the brown shift, but she puts her hand on mine. ¡°Wait Ma¡¯am if you¡¯re going out we should darken your complexion.¡± She motions toward the vanity. Make-up? It¡¯s like she knows I want to go into hiding. Maybe that¡¯s only reasonable with what¡¯s on the news.


    I go over and sit in the chair next to the vanity. I wish I could look in the mirror as she does my make-up. This is taking too long. What if Patrick comes back soon?


    She finishes and turns the stool towards the mirror. My face¡­ It doesn¡¯t look like me. It¡¯s so much darker, like a normal person. She¡¯s even somehow darked the roots of my hair. My eyebrows and eyelashes are black.


    I reach up to touch the face, to make sure it¡¯s my own, and she stops me. ¡°Don¡¯t touch it. You don¡¯t want to run it off and ruin the illusion.¡±


    I nod. This disguise is perfect. I wonder if Nathan will even recognize me looking like this.


    ¡°Now let¡¯s finish dressing you.¡±


    I stand up, and she slips the brown shift over my head. It covers most of the dress. A little blue peaks out around the edges of the sleeves and the collar. I grab the head scarf and start to wrap it around, but Melanie takes it from me.


    ¡°You know, if you wrap the headscarf properly, you can cover your hair perfectly as well as your pale white neck.¡± She carefully wraps it up, and the blue around my neck is gone. The girl in the mirror looks like one of the muslim women, except for the ghostly white hands.


    She hands me black gloves. ¡°Make sure to keep your hands covered or the illusion is broken.¡±


    She steps back, looking me over. ¡°Now you are better covered.¡± She stops after she says this, and her smile fades to a straight, serious look. ¡°And while you wear this, remember the brave women who have fought to be allowed to continue to dress like this. The women who have faced much harassment and criticism so that they can continue to dress as they believe they should according to their religious beliefs. Remember them, and while you wear it, uphold their beliefs and follow their ways so that you do not destroy that privilege.¡±


    I nod. I hadn¡¯t expected Melanie to get so serious about my choice of disguise. She hadn¡¯t said anything last time I wore it. Maybe it had been bothering her since I last wore it. ¡°I will remember that, and I won¡¯t do anything while wearing this to destroy their religious privilege.¡±


    She smiles again and steps forward, reaching her arms around me, hugging me. ¡°Thank you Ma¡¯am. I¡¯ll make sure no one notices you leaving or when you come back.¡±


    ¡°Thanks Melanie. I appreciate it.¡± I don¡¯t mention that I won¡¯t be coming back. I can¡¯t.


    She steps back again, and this time she immediately goes to pick up the dropped dress. ¡°Now go on. You¡¯ll want to be home before Patrick gets back I assume.¡±


    Of course. I want to be gone from their world before he gets back. ¡°See you later, Melanie.¡± I lie.


    She waves in a gesture that is partially a goodbye and partially a shoo. ¡°Go on. Stop lingering.¡±


    It strikes me again how different she is from when I first met her. She didn¡¯t seem to care about anything when I first met her, but now she put in the effort to help me disguise myself. She is right though. I can¡¯t linger here much longer.


    I walk out, calmly, like this is an everyday occurrence, and the doors open as they always do for me. The shuttle is still there, waiting for me to tell it where to go. I step on and listen to its welcoming phrase when not set on auto navigation, ¡°Where to, Governor Hope.¡±


    It¡¯s strange how the machines always know who I am. But that doesn¡¯t matter right now. Right now I need to get away, and at the same time not be too close to Nathan¡¯s place that I will tip Patrick off. ¡°Dock¡¯s station 5.¡±


    That stop is also close to Lizzie¡¯s old hideout, so he might think I am going there. I have enough memories collected of this area that navigating to Nathan¡¯s from there is fairly easy.


    The shuttle starts off, heading into the airway traffic that will take it towards my next stop. The docks are a distance away, so I sit down on one of the fold out seats. I¡¯m glad you¡¯re still with me.


    I¡¯m glad you¡¯ve been with me through this whole fiasco. Maybe I¡¯ve been too harsh on you in the past, exporting more out of you than just your company. Maybe that¡¯s all you are, my imaginary friend I created for company. Or maybe you are the shape of my conscious? Or maybe you are the ghost of Lily, the girl who used to own this body. I don¡¯t really care anymore though. You are whoever you are, my ghostly companion.

 Chapter 7: A World Without Fail

    The shuttle lands a distance from his residence. I can¡¯t let it land too close or that will put him in danger.


    The route is easy to follow. It shouldn¡¯t be, all the buildings look the same, but the turns are etched into my skull. I¡¯m heading back to see him. I shouldn¡¯t be this excited. But I¡¯ve missed him. The first person I truly remember. The person who has always been a voice of reason.


    ¡°Nathan¡± I whisper his name. I don¡¯t want anyone else to hear it, but it feels so nice to say his name out loud.


    The buildings get smaller and smaller as I slowly make my way out from the new center of the city and head to the older areas. The buildings look worn, relics left from ages ago. Some are kept up; some are rotting away abandoned scraps.


    There are more people out walking on the streets. I get a couple glances, but mostly people purposefully trying to look away. They don¡¯t want to be rude and stare at a religious person, so instead they become so unnatural looking in trying to not be rude.


    I turn into a small cramped alley way and come out on a street where most of the houses are in disrepair. Porches clawing at houses, holding on with the last of their strength, rooves struggling to hold their ancient planks. Sheets of plastic layered over walls that gave in to time.


    One more alley, and I found myself on his street. A block down, and I was at his place. It looked quiet, empty almost. Was I at the right place?


    The porch creaks under my feet as I walk up to its door. The place where the old cracking doorbell used to be is simply frayed wires sticking out of a hole. I knock on the old wooden door.


    I wait, but no one comes. Does he not live here anymore? He wouldn¡¯t have moved and not told me, right? I knock again, ¡°Anyone here?¡±


    Maybe he¡¯s at his job. Last time I sat on the porch waiting for a while and he eventually showed up. The door next to his opens up to show the red-haired woman I met the first time I came to his place.


    ¡°Ahh, the religious girl is back. I guess you are looking for Roger?¡± Her voice sounds tired and her hair¡¯s a mess around her face.


    For a moment I am confused, and then I remember he goes by the name of Roger now, ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°He normally gets back close to sunset.¡± Her eyes scan me, and I feel uncomfortable under her gaze. ¡°I thought you had paler skin.¡±


    I don¡¯t know what to say, her gaze is making me uncomfortable, and I find myself wringing my hands. ¡°I - I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve changed that much. Maybe you are confusing me with someone else.¡±


    ¡°You are the religious girl that¡¯s visited him before, right? I saw you sleeping on the porch waiting for him last time you were here, though that was a long time ago.¡±


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s been awhile since I¡¯ve been able to come visit.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure how he will take seeing you. Last time I asked him about you he tried to avoid the subject. If you care about him, you should just leave. Let him completely forget you and move on with his life.¡±


    ¡°Why do you say that!? I¡¯m not about to just leave after coming to see him. Sure, I¡¯ve missed a couple visits, but I¡¯m here to see him now.¡±


    ¡°Listen girl, I don¡¯t know you very well, but I know him since he lives above me. He¡¯s started to finally get past you. I know what getting over someone looks like. Don¡¯t ruin his life by sitting here and insisting on meeting him.¡±


    This woman is infuriating. The way her judgement radiates. The way she says she knows him. The way she seems to know his schedule. Who is she to him? ¡°You don¡¯t know either of us. You don¡¯t know our circumstances. You say I should just leave, but you don¡¯t even consider why I am here or why I visit him in the first place. You should mind your own business!¡±


    She laughs, ¡°He¡¯s told me many things. I know he was an orphan, that you were one too. You both went your separate ways, but promised to meet up. You failed to keep your promise, and it destroyed him.¡± She stands up straighter, and she goes from looking like a tired and worn out woman to being a stronger fighter who can take anyone down. ¡°Now, leave. Before I call the cops on you.¡±


    For a moment I feel terrified, her gaze makes me want to turn and run, but then I remind myself, I am Hope. I have no reason to be afraid. If she actually goes to call the cops, I will remove her memory of me being here, hide off to the side, and greet Nathan when he comes at sunset. For now, I will fight back and try to make this woman see reason


    ¡°You would call the cops on a religious woman who has done you no wrong? They won¡¯t even come for a call as silly as that in this neighborhood. They only come to clean up the dead bodies after the fight is over.¡±


    She seems to deflate, as if the energy she¡¯d summoned has drained out of her. ¡°You¡¯re right. Fine then. I warned you. You will regret coming here today. But I¡¯m not letting you in. You can wait on the porch for him.¡± She fades away into her place, the door latching hard behind her shaking the worn-out porch.


    I sit down in front of his door, and wait. The wait shouldn¡¯t be too long since it is already the late afternoon, but any wait feels almost unbearable. I just want to see him gain.


    What if the red-haired woman is right? What if he doesn¡¯t want to see me? What will I do? Where will I go? Back to Lizzie? Back to jail, lock myself up before Patrick gets to me? What good will that do me. I¡¯m not just another street rat anymore. I¡¯m the cause of the memory sickness. I am the mayor of this city. I am - I am alone.


    Except for you. Did you start appearing before me to help destroy my loneliness? Did I create you to combat loneliness, or are you some other entity? Are you the girl who used to own this body? That theory works if I am the Xatron, but it doesn¡¯t work if the Xatron combined with the girl who used to inherit this body to form me, because that would mean she¡¯s still technically alive as me. But it does work quite well if I am just the Xatron who took over this girl¡¯s body. Do you want this body back?


    But you say nothing. It seems like you are shaking your head, as if vehemently denying what I am saying. What are you!? You must just be my own creation. That¡¯s the only logical explanation if you deny everything, because why would my own brain want to accept the truth that I am crazy?


    The sun touches the horizon, and he appears, surrounded by the setting sun like a human sacrifice stepping out of the flames.


    ¡°Nathan!¡± I stand up to greet him, and he stops. Should I run up to him and hug him? But he looks to be in shock. Maybe I shouldn¡¯t. ¡°Nathan?¡±


    He steps forward, walks up the stairs of the porch directly toward me, not saying anything, and then he stops, and just stares at me. ¡°You-¡± He grimaces, as if in pain. He looks like he wants to say something. His mouth opens a couple times and then closes. ¡°Let me open the door.¡±


    ¡°Oh, sorry.¡± I step to the side, and he puts his key in the door, unlocking it. Now that the sun isn¡¯t blind me, I can see the hunch to his shoulders, the lines developing around his eyes, the layer of dirt over his face.


    He opens the door, and steps to hold it open. ¡°Let¡¯s talk inside.¡±


    I nod and step in. At least he¡¯s giving me a chance and not locking me outside. Maybe I shouldn¡¯t have come to him. Maybe that woman was right.


    He comes in, and closes the door, locking it behind him. ¡°Your neighbor greeted me earlier. She seemed convinced I shouldn¡¯t be here.¡±


    He looks at me, and in the dimly lit hallway, the shadows make his face look more haggard. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t mind Hellen. She¡¯s - protective? Yeah, she gets really protective about those of us that live here. Let¡¯s head to my room, we probably don¡¯t want to run into the other people that live here right now.¡± He starts heading up the stairs, and I follow behind him and up to his room.


    He motions to the bed. ¡°Sorry I still don¡¯t really have good seating in my room. You can sit on the bed for now. If you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯m going to go clean up and I will be back.¡±


    ¡°Ok.¡±


    He grabs clothes from his dresser, and heads out of the room, closing the door behind him. I sit down on the bed, and I remember when I thought it was soft. Now it just seems hard. Like an old tired model of a mattress. I¡¯ve become so used to the luxury I live in; I¡¯ve forgotten this world.


    He comes back in. His blonde hair is wet, but spiked from being towel dried. He¡¯s in jeans and a t-shirt, and the dirt is gone from his face, but it just makes the gauntness more apparent.


    He stands awkwardly near the door, as if unsure of what to do. ¡°Why are you just standing there? You can sit next to me.¡±


    ¡°Uh, I-. Ok. Just, you¡¯re the governor now, right?¡± Is my status making him uncomfortable?


    ¡°I¡¯m Hope. The same girl you shared a jail cell with.¡±


    He laughs, and shuffles his feet. ¡°Yeah, just, I haven¡¯t seen you in so long. You went and became a big shot. And you¡¯re not pale anymore.¡±


    Is that what¡¯s making him look like he doesn¡¯t know me anymore? I pull off my gloves and hold up my pale white hands lined with the blue veins. ¡°Still the same hope. Melanie just did a really good job with the makeup.¡±


    He steps forward, reaches for my headscarf, and I let him pull it off. ¡°Your hair is still white.¡± His voice sounds so relieved that I can¡¯t help but laugh.


    ¡°Yes. My hair is still white. Melanie helped me with my disguise this time. That¡¯s why it¡¯s such a good disguise.¡±


    He touches my hair, and then pulls his hand back. ¡°Why are you here? Isn¡¯t it dangerous to be out with those idiot protesters on the streets?¡±


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°Idiot protesters?¡±


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s not many of them, and their reasoning is flawed, self-centered, and just plain up stupid.¡±


    I smile at his description. If only I had seen them in that manner.


    ¡°Long story short, I think I¡¯m a wanted woman.¡±


    ¡°What? You can¡¯t just say that out of the blue.¡± He looks so skeptical. ¡°Why would you think that? The people love you.¡±


    ¡°The people might, but the other government officials don¡¯t. Patrick told me that the federal government was sending people to investigate me for abuse of power. I gave him back his memories, and now he wants to destroy me for having taken his memories.¡±


    ¡°Woah! You¡¯re going to have to slow down and explain things from the start. And why the hell did this Patrick person not have his memories.¡±


    I take a deep breath, and then explain everything since I last saw him. How I chose to take Patrick and his family¡¯s memories. How I destroyed the government so I could take over. How I was the memory sickness. And how I ended up wrecking everything I tried to build.


    He sits silently after I finish. Not saying a word. The silence pounds away to the speeding tempo of my heart. Does he blame me also? Does he hate me?


    I can¡¯t stand the silent judgement, ¡°I know, I shouldn¡¯t have taken their memories, but what else could I do, something had to change.¡±


    His arms wrap around me, and pull me close, ¡°I don¡¯t blame you.¡±


    It feels like the world is melting. Everything that was wrong, all the worries, all the fear. It¡¯s the warmth of him holding me. It¡¯s the simple words without hatred.


    ¡°Nathan, I - I had to do something.¡± My voice stutters and I feel like a rock is sitting in my throat. I let my head lean onto his shoulder.


    ¡°I know. You couldn¡¯t sit back and just keep doing nothing. You¡¯ve never been the type to be able to just do nothing.¡± His voice rumbles against me. He¡¯s so warm.


    ¡°What do I do?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. For now, you can stay here as long as you need.¡±


    I pull back a little, looking into his pretty blue eyes that look like an impressionist painting of a lake, ¡°But what if he finds me here? What if he comes for you? I-I don¡¯t want to get you in trouble.¡±


    He pulls me close, and strokes my hair, ¡°I don¡¯t care Hope. I¡¯ve been working like a dog just to keep this apartment. I¡¯ve been working to build your dreams, but that¡¯s been the only meaning. Day in, day out, hoping to see you on TV. Being unable to ever take you up on your invites for fear - I don¡¯t care if I go back to jail if I can be with you. I was wrong to leave you with Lizzie. I felt wrong every time I let you walk away without me. But I can¡¯t stop you. I won¡¯t ever stop you. You are more than I can ever be. If you need a place to hide, I will give you a place to hide. If you need someone just to talk to, I will be here for you. If you need me to one day come with you somewhere far away, to run to some unknown, I will come with you. As long as you want me, I will follow you.¡± He pauses, and then says, ¡°I¡¯m tired, Hope.¡±


    I- I don¡¯t know what to say. How to respond. He left me, telling me I had to choose a path. He never came to any of my speeches. But here he is, promising to follow me. Offering to house me even if he goes to jail. I wrap my arms around him, and just let my head lie on his shoulder. And why does he say he¡¯s tired? What does he mean? Is he saying he¡¯s physically tired from his job? Is he wanting to go to sleep? ¡°I¡¯m not sure I understand.¡± I mumble into his shoulder.


    ¡°I - I - I love you Hope! I hope you won¡¯t feel like this is me forcing my feelings on you. I - I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯ve tried for so long to not say anything. I tried to walk away. I tried to just be a friend. If you want, that¡¯s all I¡¯ll ever be. I¡¯ll be whatever you want me to be, but I don¡¯t want to exist in a world that doesn¡¯t have you.¡±


    What? He - he says he loves me? I - I don¡¯t know what to say. Am I the heartless xatron, or is this warmth, this burning fear, the fear of pulling away, of looking up at him and seeing his face, is this fear love?


    ¡°It¡¯s your turn to say something, Hope.¡± His voice is shaking, waiting for my response.


    I haven¡¯t seen him in months, and yet I immediately come to him when I don¡¯t know what to do. I look for him all the time. ¡°I don¡¯t know what love is.¡± I feel him stiffen a bit. ¡°But I know that I look for you. Every time I had a speech, I would hope you would come. Every time I was unsure, your words guided me. I¡¯m not sure what I feel, but I like being here with you. Your words mean more than anyone else¡¯s.¡±


    His tenseness slowly fades away as I speak, and at the end, he rests his head on top of mine. ¡°I think that counts as love Hope. Wanting what¡¯s best for a person, wanting to be close to them, wanting to see them, hold them, hear their words and thoughts. I think that¡¯s love.¡±


    ¡°Then maybe, I love you Nathan.¡±


    We sit there wrapped in each other¡¯s arms, but now the silence is warmth and calm. It is the beating of my heat, racing from this new clarity, the realization that maybe I love him. It is his heart that I can feel matching the tempo of my own. It is the stillness of my mind. Unable to think other thoughts.


    Time stretches on infinity held out, but eventually, his voice breaks it, ¡°I¡¯m a bit hungry. Do you want something to eat?¡± I guess at some point, time must always move forward.


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m a bit hungry.¡± I haven¡¯t eaten in a while, but food hasn¡¯t really been on my mind.


    ¡°Stay here, I don¡¯t want my apartment mates to accidentally see you.¡± He pulls away, and I can see now that his cheeks are quite red, are mine like that, they are tingling, flaming with uncertainty. My arms fall away, as he pulls back, but he reaches out, and touches my cheek, and then laughs in a short, sort of self-conscious way.


    Why did he just do that, I tilt my head, silently questioning, trying to understand his actions.


    ¡°With all that make-up on, I was wondering if you were - eh, yeah. Just felt - er - embarrassed.¡±


    I touch my cheeks, and nod. They are quite warm. Underneath the makeup, they must be as red as his. I see some of that makeup on his shirt, and I want to hide, to wash the pounds of makeup on my face off. To clean his shirt before he notices. If I stay hidden, can I wash away this fa?ade? Should I leave it on for a couple days in case? This has to be terrible for my face to wear this much makeup. Will more rub away over the days?


    He walks out, and I hope he doesn¡¯t run into any of his apartment mates. I can just imagine him having to explain the make-up on his shoulder.


    He comes back with two bowls. He is somehow opening and closing the door with one of the hands he is carrying a bowl in.


    ¡°It¡¯s just some leftover soup. I don¡¯t really have much other than soup and bread. I can grab some toast if you want some to go with the soup. Canned soup is cheap and easy.¡±


    ¡°This is fine.¡± I say as he hands me a bowl of soup with a spoon in it.


    The soup was bland, a watery concoction of some pieces of meat, something that might have been lettuce, and maybe some rice in it. A little salt and pepper, but nothing extravagant. It was poor fair, but it at least sat warmly in my stomach. It was also nice to have Nathan sitting next to me.


    We ate in silence, broken only by the slurping of our soup. Nathan finishes before me, and looks around his room, ¡°I don¡¯t really have much room to sleep here, just the one bed.¡± He pauses, looks at me, and sighs. ¡°I can take the floor; you¡¯re probably used to fancy beds at this point.¡±


    I shake my head and finish gulp down the soup in my mouth. ¡°No, you look tired, and you work long hours. I can sleep on the floor or share the bed. I won¡¯t let you sleep on the floor after invading your room.¡±


    ¡°And you are my guest. What sort of¡­¡± He trails off looking at me with this semi-perplexed look. Then he stands and continues with large waving arm motions, ¡°What sort of man would I be to let the girl I just confessed to sleep on the floor?¡±


    I can¡¯t help laughing. It¡¯s a little silly how grandiose he is being in this tiny room. ¡°You are a guy who works hard every day to put soup in bowls. You should sleep in your bed.¡±


    He laughs for a second with me, and then stops, his eyebrows furrow as he looks at me with a perplexed and serious look. ¡°Did you mean it?¡±


    ¡°Mean what?¡±


    ¡°That you would share the bed with me.¡± The way he says it makes my heart race and makes me realize that he would be right next to me, sleeping next to me tonight. I can¡¯t trust my voice, and simply nod.


    He reaches forward and takes my empty bowl. I hadn¡¯t even realized I had finished my soup. He stands there, looking down on me as if trying to read my reaction. I can¡¯t handle how bright his blue eyes look, and I look away, down at the floor. ¡°If you don¡¯t want to, you can take back what you said. I won¡¯t hold you to it.¡±


    I shake my head. I¡¯m not sure why, but I don¡¯t want to sleep alone tonight. I think I like the idea of sleeping next to him.


    He kneels down in front of me, sets the bowls on the bed next to me. and puts his hands on either side of my head, looking into my eyes. ¡°If you want to share this small bed with me, I will not reject that idea. It would solve the issue of only one bed.¡±


    I can¡¯t just nod because he is sitting there with his hands on the sides of my face, so I have to speak, ¡°Yes. I - I want to - to be next to you tonight.¡±


    His hands drop down, and he pulls me into a hug. ¡°I love you,¡± he whispers, and then pulls away. He grabs the bowls, ¡°I should take these back to the kitchen.¡± I nod, and he heads off to the kitchen.


    I stand and pull off the brown garment, leaving only the pretty pale blue dress on. It seems so out of place for this new world I am now hiding in. It¡¯s such an expensive fabric, but it¡¯s soft against my skin. I wish I could tell Melanie thank you again. I pull out the bands tying my hair, and let the white waves fall down. I must look so weird with the hair and eyes of an albino person, but the skin on my face the color of a seemingly ¡°normal¡± person. I can¡¯t redo that make-up, so for now, I¡¯ll just leave it on.


    Nathan walks back in, and sees me in the blue dress. ¡°Wow, that looks beautiful on you. Were you wearing that under the brown dress?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Melanie gave it to me before I left.¡±


    He walks forward and touches it, his hands sliding over the fabric. ¡°It¡¯s so soft and silky. A rich person¡¯s fabric.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I can¡¯t wear it outside of this room, but then again, I probably shouldn¡¯t leave this room without completely covering myself up.¡±


    ¡°Probably not.¡± He reaches up, and his hand strokes my hair. ¡°It¡¯s so strange how color leached out of your hair.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but everything about me is strange. I can take people¡¯s memories, kill people with a thought, and move things with my mind.¡± I remember the guard¡¯s I murdered to leave the prison, and I wish I could undo those actions. Back then I didn¡¯t understand anything except pain and misery. But those guards were simply doing a job. Everyone here is desperate for a job. ¡°Do you blame me for what I¡¯ve done?¡±


    I look up into his eyes, and I see no hate, disgust, or horror. Instead, he is looking at me with this soft, sweet look, a look full of absolute¡­ love? ¡°I don¡¯t. I¡¯ve been there with you. You have always done the best thing you can. You fight with a raging fire for what you believe. You¡¯ve fought against unfairness and against poverty. You¡¯ve always fought for others. Even when we broke out of the prison. You fought to free me. You didn¡¯t care about what happened to you. Among the orphans, you fought to give them a chance. As mayor, you fought for the people.¡±


    I¡¯m not that selfless. I am here, instead of doing my job as mayor. I ran away for fear of what would happen to me. Had I lost the core of what drove me? Should I go back, and continue to fight at the top so that he could live a good life? Should I face whatever punishment is coming at me?


    He leans toward me, and his lips gently touch my own. I wasn¡¯t expecting this, but it isn¡¯t unwelcome, this soft and gentle touch, like the feel of touching warm hot chocolate to my lips, but not drinking, and then it was gone.


    I realize I had closed my eyes, and I open them to see him still quite close to me. ¡°I- I probably shouldn¡¯t have done that.¡± He whispers. ¡°I¡¯ve been wanting to kiss you for a while, but I should have asked - ¡°


    I lean forward and kiss him to silence his words. This is so strange. So weird, but not unwelcome. I linger, for just a moment before moving back to range where I can fully see his face, and he is smiling.


    ¡°I guess that means you aren¡¯t angry at me for kissing you?¡± He asks.


    ¡°No you silly, I¡¯m not angry.¡±


    He steps back, and looks serious, ¡°As much as I want to stand here talking and kissing you, I need to go to sleep. I have to get up early for my job.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah. I¡¯ll sleep closest to the wall. Thank you for letting me stay with you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m happy to have you here. Now, if you are taking the wall side, you should lay down first.¡±


    I sit on the bed, pull off my shoes, and then slide over to the wall. My heart is racing. This is such a strange, but not unliked situation.


    He lays down next to me, wraps his arms around, and pulls me close. He whispers to me, ¡°I love you Hope. please, don¡¯t leave me behind again. Wherever you decide to go, bring me with you. I want to be there for you.¡±


    ¡°I - I love- love you too.¡± I whisper, my tongue thick with these foreign words. I can¡¯t promise anything more though. I don¡¯t want to put him in danger. If I go back to the office tomorrow, I will have to protect him from what is coming. If I continue to run away, would I be able to protect him if he came with me? I say nothing else, but enjoy the warmth of lying next to him, held by him, my heart racing, his smell enveloping me and fighting my ability to think, and at the same time my mind is racing.


    He pulls away, ¡°We should go to sleep. Goodnight Hope.¡±


    ¡°O-ok.¡± and I move as close to the wall as I can. I try to let sleep take over my mind, but I can still feel the warmth of him next to me. My heart races, I try to focus on other things, what tomorrow will bring. What path should I take? Maybe tomorrow I can watch the news, and see what direction I should take.

 Chapter 8: The Reflection of Emptiness

    In the morning he is gone like the petals of a dream drifting away. But I am still in his room. In his bed.


    I lay there, staring at the place he had been, wishing that I had woken up before he left. He probably plans to come home, and see me here, waiting for him. I want to do that. I don¡¯t want to leave now. Yesterday - Yesterday is a dream of what could have been. I run my hand over the space where he was.


    Slowly, I force myself to sit up and stretch. I¡¯ve become soft living in the clouds. This hard bed has left me stiff. As I start to swing my legs over to the side of the bed, my hand bumps into something that isn¡¯t sheets on the bed. It crinkles, and I notice a piece of paper with a hastily scribbled handwritten note.


    Had to go to work. We all sleep or work during the day. You shouldn¡¯t run into anyone if you need the kitchen or bathroom. I left a breakfast bar and a cup of water for you next to the TV on the dresser. See you tonight.


    I¡¯m impressed he scrawled this out before work. I look around, and see the dresser with a small, old fashioned TV on it. It¡¯s strange seeing a TV that isn¡¯t built into the wall as part of a smart house. I get up and walk over to it. These devices used buttons instead of voice commands if I remember correctly. I can¡¯t see any obvious buttons on the front, but while searching around the back I finally find a button to press. The TV suddenly comes to life. It¡¯s on the same news channel I was watching. Luckily, the sound seems to be off or not working so it shouldn¡¯t alert anyone here.


    I probably should have thought about that before turning it on. Oh well, at least the sound was off and luck was on my side.


    Closed captioning ran across the bottom of the screen. It seems watching sound off was the default mode that Nathan watches TV in.


    I grab the granola bar next to the TV and the cup of water before walking back to the bed and sitting on it to watch the news.


    They are covering the protesters again. Same old news regurgitated again.


    And then across the screen scrolls ¡°Breaking News: Governor Hope under investigation for being a jail lab rat. Assistant Patrick McNeil says experiment might have something to do with the memory sickness. Governor Hope is nowhere to be found for a comment.¡±


    The jail! Patrick¡¯s linked me to the jail. If he goes there, what will happen to me? What will happen to the Xatron still sitting in the jail? What will he do to it if he finds it?


    I scarf down the rest of the granola bar, chug the water, and grab the piece of paper he left for me. There has to be a pen around here.


    I get up and look around till I find it, sitting next to the TV where he left my breakfast. I scribble my own note on the back.


    Patrick¡¯s going to the jail. I have to get the Xatron machine out. I¡¯m sorry. I wish I could be with you. Maybe after I protect the Xatron.


    I debate if I should add more. There¡¯s not much space. I don¡¯t want to leave him, but I have to protect the Xatron. I add three more words.


    I love you.


    It feels strange to write them as I am running away, but I can¡¯t leave it unwritten. He said this feeling is love, and I have to return it. I have to let him know that I do care, that I¡¯m not purposefully leaving him again. That this torn feeling is killing me.


    I put the pen and the note next to the TV. I grab my brown garment and throw it on over the blue dress. I braid and bun my hair, and then wrap the head scarf over my hair. I head to the door and pull on my boots. I¡¯m ready for battle.


    You stand in front of me, blocking my way. But I don¡¯t care. I walk through where you exist, and leave. I look back, and you are following me like a lost puppy.


    The outside is the same as yesterday, a sleepy decrepit old part of town, but I have no idea where to go to now. The jail should be on the outskirts, if I remember correctly, but where was that? I search through the memories that I stole from the guards, slowly building a route that I see them taking to get there. If I go to the market, there should be a public shuttle stop there. From there, it looks like two shuttle changes before I take a shuttle out to the jail.


    People see me and look away, but I see them trying to sneak glances as I pass. Furtive looks to see what a ¡°religious woman¡± looks like while attempting to pretend disinterest. These people are so silly to think that their obvious uncomfortableness with being openly religious wouldn¡¯t be noticed.


    The walk to the market square is an old memory, but it is still there, and I follow the route through the old run down neighborhoods.


    The market is busy, just like any other day. People hawking their wares to passerbys. ¡°Are you interested in an orange?¡± I hear a woman ask, but I pass by. I don¡¯t have time to deal with other people. I have to get to the jail and public transportation isn¡¯t fast.


    I make it to the stop, and stand near the sign that marks where the shuttle will arrive. It doesn¡¯t take too long before it shows up. It stops, and the doors woosh open. A mob of people exit, and then those of us at the station start getting on. People start getting on, and I check the memories to make sure I am the same as the others getting on.


    One lady worrying, hoping she isn¡¯t over charging her account when the camera reads her face¡­ Oh! I can¡¯t let the camera see me or Patrick will be able to find me. I read out with the imaginary hands, and imagine them blocking the view of me. They are a screen, showing the other side of the entry. I am but a space left between people.


    I take a standing location near the door, continuing to block the sight of the camera with the hands. A hamer gently taps against my forehead, I wish I could fall asleep to escape this concentration, but I can¡¯t. If I let up, they will see me. Facial recognition is stronger than makeup, and a little makeup won¡¯t hide me from it.


    Three stops. I have to hold this for three stops before I can take a break.


    One.


    People get off and on. I can¡¯t let up even a little in case the cameras catch sight of an unexpected person on the shuttle.


    Two.


    Just one more stop.


    Three.


    I slip out with the couple of people that exit at this stop, and as the shuttle flies away, I let go of the screen. It feels like I¡¯ve been holding an office chair over my head for the whole ride! I take a deep breath; roll my shoulders to release the tension and strain. I need some way to make this less mentally exhausting on myself for the next shuttle ride.


    There are three cameras on the shuttle. One looking at the entrance, one looking at the back half, and one looking at the front half.


    If I position myself so that only one of the inside cameras can see me and the others can¡¯t, then I should be able to just disable that camera.


    A shuttle comes, but it isn¡¯t my route, so I back away to keep myself out of sight from its camera. People coming off the shuttle give me a strange look, and then continue on past me. No one stays at this stop to wait for a transfer. They all hurry off to do their own things.


    A few people board. The shuttle speeds away along its magnetic lines.


    Another shuttle comes, but it is also not my shuttle. This is the right stop, right? I check my memories and look around, yes this is the right stop.


    The remaining people at the stop get on this shuttle, leaving me alone at the stop. What do I do if no one else is getting on? Will the shuttle be able to tell if I get on even if I have myself cloaked if no one else gets on?


    Another shuttle pulls up to the stop, and this one has the right route number. It¡¯s the shuttle I need. It stops and the doors open. I bring the imaginary hands back in front of my, imagining them cloaking me from view.


    No one gets off the shuttle, so I quickly step on before the doors can close. I move to the back , holding my imaginary invisibility around me until I am only in view of one camera. Now all I have to do is disable that camera. I take a seat in one of the many empty rows.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    I force myself to imagine yet another hand, and I feel like I am slipping. My stomach tries to hide from the feeling in my mind, but it can¡¯t find anywhere to hide.


    I have to reach that camera. I push the hand toward the camera while holding the cloak. My cloaking moves slightly toward the camera, the hand moving toward the camera drags the other with it. I can¡¯t quite get the other hand to move away. My mind is splitting, or maybe it¡¯s my skull. The further I stretch the hand, the more my head hurts. I clench my teeth together and force myself as quick as I can to reach out. I grab the cable at the back and pull it just enough to disconnect the camera, and then drop all the hands.


    I hold my head in my two real hands. I haven¡¯t had an issue with having a lot of the hands before, but then again I¡¯ve only ever tried to do one thing at a time. I¡¯ve never tried to hold an image in my mind and manipulate the hands to touch an object at the same time before.


    This shuttle is quite empty. The few passengers don¡¯t seem that interested in me. The buildings outside look like old high rise apartments. I guess we are heading into more of a residential area. Probably the opposite of where most people are going.


    The shuttle slows. This is my next stop. I wrap the cloak around myself again; this feels easy now compared to the differing paths I just forced my brain to take. It slows and stops. I quickly step off. It looks like no one else is joining me in exiting the shuttle, and no one is boarding either. I¡¯m lucky this shuttles auto stop at all stops. I¡¯ve heard some express shuttles require people to request non-express stops.


    It¡¯s one more shuttle to the jail. One more chance to get caught. What if the shuttle doesn¡¯t stop? It¡¯s not that far away. I can walk. But will I beat Patrick to the jail walking. Will I be able to get to the Xatron in time? And do what? There was a reason I left it there previously. I guess I can sit there and defend the machine for as long as people attack me. But what if there is no end? Will it just be a siege? But I¡¯m one mind. What happens when this body gives out? Do they destroy the machine and myself with it?


    I start walking toward the jail. No point in waiting for that shuttle in the middle of the day when people aren¡¯t trying to get to their jobs at the prison.


    But what do I do when I get to the Xatron? Do I try and move it? If I remember correctly, it was hooked up to things, and moving it¡­ If I turn off the power do I pass out? Would I just be gone? I wouldn¡¯t be able to protect it in that state. And it was so large and bulky. Even if I continue consciousness, would I be in any state to move it? I probably wouldn¡¯t have access to my memories if it¡¯s not on.


    I guess I¡¯m down to barricading myself in the room and defending us. Myself and the machine. The thing that is probably also me. In the distance, I can see the jail. Its main tower that used to house me rises up above the downtrodden streets near it. Even the iron frames for the shuttle grid run along the ground in this area. A straight line, leading me toward the prison.


    I notice the cameras on the streets, and hold up my hand cloaks to make the cameras see what is around me and not me. These cameras must be how Patrick identified me originally after we escaped. After leaving the prison the memories of getting away are hazy.


    My head hurts, and I feel like I can¡¯t hold this cloak anymore. If I could just break the cameras, everything would be so much easier, but I can¡¯t alert Patrick yet. If I break the cameras; he¡¯ll find me. I have to get there first.


    Am I carrying something? I feel so tired, like this cloak weighs 100 pounds. The gate looks hazy, am I hallucinating now?


    A person is walking up to me, ¡°Hey, you aren¡¯t supposed to be here.¡±


    I need - I need- fuel. I reach one hand out, and grasp their shoulder. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°What-¡± he starts to say, but I easily reach into his mind, and pull his memories into my mind. The cloak stabilizes and my vision becomes a bit less blurry. His memories won¡¯t sustain me for long. I can see the family he provides for the wife who is ill. She smiles at him and calls him ¡°Rich¡±. But I can¡¯t help him. His vacant stare bothers me. I feed back his memories after stripping them of power. Everything up until today. And I leave him standing there lost and confused. At least he should still know his family¡¯s names.


    Another guard comes toward me. No, toward the guard I¡¯ve left behind.


    ¡°Rich, what ya see buddy?¡± I hear him saying. He can¡¯t see me now. The memory¡¯s power is fueling my cloak again.


    Rich turns slowly toward the man.


    I need this man¡¯s memories too. I walk up to him, and siphon off his memories. Art, his brother calls him. His mother calls him Arthur, and they all live near the prison. His whole family works at the prison, except for his mom who has the memory sickness. Her memories are in me too. I let him see his own life again. Giving him back his knowledge of events. Everything up to today.


    Rich is looking at him. ¡°Are you Art, the guard who works the shift with Rich?¡±


    Art nods slowly. ¡°I - I might be? Am I? How - how did he end up here?¡±


    They seem to at least recognize each other. I walk away from them, toward the gate feeling stronger. How do I open it? It doesn¡¯t look accessible from the outside. I drop my cloak. I can¡¯t open the gate and hide at the same time. No point in hiding while opening the gate.


    I reach out with my hands toward the gate and tug. It doesn¡¯t budge. The mechanism holding it closed is strong.


    ¡°Hey, who are you? You can¡¯t be this close to the gate without permission.¡± A voice comes over a speaker.


    I ignore it and yank with all the strength in my imaginary hands. The mechanisms hold. I imagine that they are machines themselves with strong motors, stronger than the gates, and suddenly the gates start screeching open.


    I walk through, and let go, but the gates don¡¯t close behind me. They must be broken now.


    ¡°Stop or we will shoot.¡± I hear over the speakers. Bullets are nothing to me. But I do need to get inside now before they can stop me. I recloak and run for the entrance to the jail. A small door says ¡°visitor entrance¡±.


    I drop the cloak, smash the cameras I can see, and open the door while running.


    I slip through and recloak. Cameras. Where are there cameras? I spot three. I drop the cloak and smash them with my invisible mechanical hands.


    There are a couple people here. A woman in a uniform is in an encased booth with bars over the window. A piece of paper slips out of her frozen hand and flutters to the floor. Next to her booth is a door made of iron bars. The rest of the area is cinderblock walls. I just need to get through the door.


    I reach out and with my strengthened hand, I grab the iron bards and wrench the door open. My head is pounding. I have to get to the Xatron. I have to get there before Patrick can harm me. I¡¯m running.


    A guard fires a shot at me, I block it. Block the successive shots afterwards as I run toward him. He starts ro reload, another guard is shooting at me, My barrier of hands protects me. I reach the first guard, and rip his memories from him, putting him in front of me. My head is pounding quite as much. I feed the memories back to him leaving out just today. I reach out for the other guard who is afraid to fire at his buddy and do the same thing to him.


    I leave them there in their confused state as I run for the stairs. A camera. I smash it. I¡¯m breathing hard, but I can¡¯t stop now.


    Three more guards. I block their shots and one by one I strengthen myself on their memories. I have to have the strength to fight Patrick, and fighting them takes so many memories.


    Further in I see the door I am looking for. A camera is watching it, so I smash the camera and wrench the door to the stairs open. My lungs hurt. I haven¡¯t run this much in awhile. I must get up these stairs.


    I start running up the stairs, and every step feels painful. My legs are jelly. I slow to a walk pulling myself up the stairs. I can¡¯t get enough oxygen into my lungs. My hands can do nothing to get me up these stairs faster.


    A camera, I reach out and smash it.


    So many stairs. It was much easier to go down these than it is to go up.


    No one seems to be on these stairs. Where are the guards?


    As I reach each sequential floor, I destroy the camera looking at the door. One after the other. Up and up. The memories of the day I left remember the floor I need, but it feels so far away.


    I whittle the distance step by painful step, pulling myself up by the hand rail. Where are the guards? Where is anyone? It doesn¡¯t matter. I have to get to the Xatron. I wish I could see through the camera system to make sure that no one has gotten to the Xatron yet, but the hands do not provide that ability. It is strange that I can look into people¡¯s memories, but not into the cameras. It probably has something to do with the fact that the Xatron is literally made to steal memories from people and that the power for my hands has to come from somewhere. Or maybe it has to do with my understanding of the cameras. No time to think about that now.


    I have to get to the Xatron¡¯s floor. I¡¯m almost there. One more flight of stairs. I focus on the door. My lungs feel like they are being ripped to shreds. I¡¯m almost there. Just a couple more steps.


    I smash the camera that looks at the floor where I was once kept. I have to stop and breathe. But I need to keep going. Breathe in, breathe out. Deep breaths. My hands on my knees, doubled over trying to support myself as I gasp for air. It takes a moment, but I manage to control my breathing enough that I can keep going.


    It¡¯s only a short distance from here. I wrench open the door with my hands, pulling the frame with the door.


    There¡¯s a strange grinding noise in the distance. What is that noise and why is it coming from the direction of the Xatron?


    I stumble into a shambling run. I shouldn¡¯t have dallied at the top of the stairs! I have to get there! The noise gets louder as I get closer. I see the door to the Xatron. I try to rip it open, but it doesn¡¯t want to budge. It¡¯s stronger than the door at the stairs! I yank, but it doesn¡¯t move. Wiat, if it¡¯s locked, shouldn¡¯t my hands be able to move the lock? I can reach through a human body to the heart, so why not through a door to the lock? How could I destroy strong locks though? What if I sawed through them? I imagined my hands as little saws, and then took the image I saw, and started sawing at the space between the door and the wall. The sound of metal screeching against metal makes me wince, but it is not my saw that makes the worst noise. Something in this room sounds horrid like dying shrieks of a shuttle being smashed into a building in a storm.


    Hurry little hands! I imagine them moving so fast they are a blur. Quite quickly they are clear and striking the bottom of the door. I yank at the door again, and this time it swings open.


    Patrick is there, a chain saw cutting away at my Xatron machine, his eyes look like the gazelle¡¯s on the wall when they realize a lion is nearby; afraid and ready for flight.


    My hands are there, a barrier against -


    Against? Wait - what? Hands? Hands. Two ghostly pale hands, connected to a body. My body. Who am I? What is this place? A person stands in front of me. A person? I¡¯m not quite sure. They stand behind the box, the box, its - its -


    I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t understand. ¡°Who am I?¡± I ask this person in front of me.


    Little squares of black fill my vision, and everything starts to dwindle away, until there is nothing left.

 Book 5: Forgotten Memories; Chapter 1: Held by Memory

    The sage green cloth above my head looks unfamiliar. Or does it? I¡¯m not sure. My thoughts feel foggy and uncertain. A curtain to the side of the bed pulls back revealing a middle aged woman with her graying hair pulled back into a tight bun.


    The woman leans over me. ¡°You¡¯re awake,¡± she states.


    ¡°Where am I?¡± I ask the unknown woman.


    ¡°In your bedroom. Let¡¯s get you ready for breakfast, my Lady,¡± she says as she pulls me into a sitting position.


    The cloth around my bed moves to the four corners of the bedframe by itself, and I can see I am in a grasslands, or am I? It doesn¡¯t look quite real.


    ¡°This is my bedroom?¡± It doesn¡¯t feel like it.


    ¡°Yes, my Lady. You¡¯ve lived here for quite some time,¡± she answers as she pulls back the blankets over me. ¡°If you could get up, my Lady, it would greatly help.¡±


    I oblige and turn myself on the soft mattress. It feels too soft. I almost collapse as I try to stand, but the woman grabs me and holds me up.


    ¡°I was afraid you might be a little weak. You¡¯ve been asleep for a little while,¡± she says while carefully holding my waist till I stabilize on my legs. The moment she feels I¡¯m stable she lets go and hurries over to a dresser that has a simple blue dress lying on top of it.


    ¡°Do I know you?¡± I ask her, uncertain of anything.


    ¡°No,¡± she states as she grabs the dress. ¡°I¡¯m new, my Lady. My first day was yesterday.¡±


    She brings the dress over to me and sets it on the bed.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± I ask as she seems reluctant to easily provide information to me.


    ¡°Rebecca, my Lady,¡± she gives a small curtsey as she says this and then she grabs the simple white shift I am wearing and pulls it over my head.


    This seems sort of familiar, but at the same time I have no memories of it. She dresses me in the blue dress quite quickly with a practiced hand.


    Where is this room, this place? Why does a person dressing me feel like a familiar routine? What is happening? Who the heck even am I?


    As my breathing starts to match the speed of my thoughts, she tugs gently on my hand. ¡°It¡¯s breakfast time, my Lady.¡±


    I follow her and try to not think too much about my missing memory, but as we head to the door I can¡¯t help asking her again, ¡°Where am I?¡±


    She pauses and glances back at me, her eyes have narrowed a little, and I wonder if my questions have made her suspicious. But suspicious of what? Do I have something to hide? ¡°Why do you keep asking where you are? This is your bedroom, my lady,¡± she says calmly, and then turns back toward the door.


    ¡°Has it been my bedroom for awhile?¡± I ask.


    She opens the door. ¡°You¡¯ve lived here a long time, my lady,¡± she says as she walks through the door without looking at me.


    The room she leads me into is lined with shelves filled with books and has some couches in the middle of it, but I don¡¯t have much time to look around as she leads me through it and into another room.


    She opens yet another door, but this time she stands to the side and lets me pass her. The room has a large dining table and a woman sitting in one of the seats quietly eating something yellow on her plate.


    ¡°Please take a seat, my Lady. Breakfast is scrambled eggs this morning,¡± Rebecca says from beside me and gives a little curtsy.


    The seated woman looks up at me, and smiles at me with kind brown eyes. Her black hair hangs around her like a curtain almost touching the chair she is sitting on. She glances at Rebecca, and then looks back at her food as if she is afraid of looking at me too long.


    What is this place?


    I take a seat near the door and a person brings me a plate with the fluffy yellow stuff on it. Scrambled eggs.


    I think about saying something to to the other woman, but as soon as she finishes eating she stands up without looking at me and hurries off. I notice there is a portrait of the woman looking stern with her hair done up and in a nice dress on the wall. There are also other portraits around the dining room. Most are men, but I notice one other woman. Do I have a portrait in this room?


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    I look down at my white hair, and then at the portraits. None of them have white hair.


    As soon as I finish eating, Rebecca walks over to me. ¡°Let us head back to your room, my Lady¡±


    I don¡¯t seem to have a say in this. I stand and follow her back to the room.


    After opening the door to the room she calls mine, she steps to the side. I walk through, and then turn back to see she is about to close the door, but I stop her. ¡°Umm, where can I use the restroom?¡± I ask.


    For a moment it looks like she grimaces, but she points at the wall across from me. There is a door on that wall. ¡°That is your private bathroom, my Lady. Your toilet and bathing facilities are in there,¡± she closes the door as soon as she finishes.


    I try to open the door, but it seems to be locked. I am trapped in this strange room. I might as well use the bathroom. After I finish using the toilet, I test the door again, but it is still locked.


    I walk over to the bed on the left wall, and flop onto the soft mattress of the unfamiliar bed. It¡¯s the only place to sit in this sparsely furnished room, and I don¡¯t feel like standing while I wait some amount of time for someone to show up and explain more to me.


    It¡¯s a pleasant room that has the illusion of looking like it¡¯s in the middle of grasslands that has animals wandering around in the distance. Between the bed and the door is a rug hidden under the holograms of grass. Next to the door is the dresser this dress was on, and on the wall between the dresser and the bed is another door that I haven¡¯t tried. On either side of the bed are empty nightstands. Draps cover the wall across from the bed, and across from the entry door is the door that leads to the bathroom.


    It¡¯s too pristine. It looks unlived in. There are no pictures on the dresser of people that I cared about. I would have had pictures right? Like the pictures I saw on the walls of the dining room this morning. This room has nothing.


    The other weird thing is I saw my reflection in the mirror in the bathroom, and I definitely don¡¯t look like any of the photos I¡¯ve seen. Maybe the woman at the table would tell me more later when there weren¡¯t all those people standing around watching us eat.


    Everything feels wrong, but what is right? My head hurts even trying to remember anything past this morning. In fact it just kind of aches in general.


    I sigh and bury myself in the fluffy blankets covering the bed. Why have they left me here with my thoughts?


    There is nothing to do in this room. There is the mystery door next to my bed. I stand back up and go to the small door next to the bed. It opens to a small closet filled with dresses.


    How do I know this is a small closet? What is a large closet? Nothing makes sense. I know this is a closet, but I don¡¯t even know my own name! Should I know my name?


    I can¡¯t make sense of anything. Why am I locked in this room?


    I close the closet and walk to the cloth covered wall on the other side of the room. I try to lift the drapes, but they seem to be anchored to the floor. I pull at them trying to move them to the side, and I still can¡¯t.


    I truly am locked in this room that holds the illusion of infinity with grasslands as far as the eye can see displayed on the walls. I collapse into the fake grass I can¡¯t touch.


    In the end, there is nothing I can do. This wall of cloth feels like the way out, but there is now way for me to get past it.


    A click and the entry door open. A tall man who still has the lankiness of youth walks through the door. A light brown scruff covers his jaw and his brown hair is neatly trimmed close to his head.


    ¡°Hope! You are up just like Rebecca said. I was worried we might have to hospitalize you soon,¡± he exclaims as if he knows me and is happy to see me sitting here in the middle of the floor.


    Who is this man?


    But I don¡¯t ask that. Other questions are more pressing. ¡°Is that my name? Hope?¡±


    He looks surprised and turns to look out the door behind him. Then he looks back at me. ¡°Stop acting like this, Hope. An insanity plea won¡¯t protect you.¡±


    ¡°Acting like what? I don¡¯t even know where I am, much less know enough to act like something! I¡¯ve eaten what I was told are scrambled eggs in another room and since then I¡¯ve been locked up here! Who even are you people!?¡± This isn¡¯t fair. I want out. I want to be free of this place, and tears of bottled frustration and confusion spring from the corners of my eyes.


    He¡¯s staring at me like he doesn¡¯t know what to do with me.


    ¡°Are you going to pretend to have memory sickness to get out of this?¡± His voice sounds harsh and angry. He steps forward as he speaks towering over me and filling my vision and I find myself scrambling backwards.


    I don¡¯t know this man or why he¡¯s so angry with me!


    He stops and takes a deep breath. ¡°Stand up, Hope.¡±


    I want to ask again if that really is my name, but I¡¯m too scared to make this man any angrier. I stand up, and though being closer to his height makes his presence less terrifying, his frowning brown eyes hold so much blame and hatred I have to look away.


    He grabs my jaw and forces me to look at him. Eventually his eyes soften slightly and he lets go. I immediately look back at the ground, but he is already heading for the door.


    At the door he stops and turns back to look at me. ¡°My name is Patrick McNeil. The woman you were eating with this morning is my wife Azalea. Rebecca, your maid, will take care of anything you need.¡±


    He pauses for a moment and tilts his head slightly, softening his features as pity took over his expression. ¡°You are under house arrest while awaiting trial for corruption of an election, multiple counts of murder, and a number of other things. Your name is Hope, and you were the Mayor of this city. For now your world will be this room, though I will allow you in the library connected to this room under supervision. That and the dining room for meals.¡±


    He turns as if to leave, and half way through the door he turns back. ¡°You are a crazy woman to give yourself memory sickness. It won¡¯t help you even if you don¡¯t remember anything you¡¯ve done.¡± While shaking his head he shuts the door and leaves me alone in this room again.


    I¡¯m a murderer? None of this feels right. I collapse back on the floor and curl up in a ball. The overload of information washes through me, and comes out my eyes as I cry into my arms. I don¡¯t even know who this person named Hope is, and yet I¡¯m on the hook for everything she¡¯s done.

 Chapter 2: In my Time

    I attempt to open the door to my room. This time, the handle turns and I am able to go into the room filled with books.


    I could pull a random volume off a shelf and look at it, but the doors to this room call my name. I walk to one and attempt to open it, but the handle doesn¡¯t move at all. I walk to the other and try it, but it also seems locked. Even if my space has expanded slightly, I am still a prisoner.


    For some reason, this thought feels comforting and familiar. But a prison should be less fancy, I think. I¡¯m not really sure, though, because it''s more of a feeling I can¡¯t envision.


    It feels like a haze across my thoughts, and pain obscures any further knowledge of this; with a sigh, I stop trying. The best way to avoid pain is to accept the situation and just live with the flow.


    I grab a random book from one of the shelves. The cover says, ¡°A Leader¡¯s Way of Thinking.¡± Flipping the book over, I see a blurb that says, ¡°Learn to think and act like a leader following Governor Rillewald¡¯s expert advice!¡±


    A leader. Does this apply to me? It feels like it should.


    I amble to one of the chairs in the middle, sit down, and begin to read. The words are like a jumble of thoughts and things that mean nothing to me. The author rambles, and the words collide at odd angles in my head, but I keep reading the sentences, which feel like fish flopping out of my mind.


    One of the doors opens, and the woman with black hair walks in. Her black hair is now braided up around her head like a crown. She glances at me and then quickly looks away at one of the bookshelves.


    ¡°Are you back to be my friend?¡± She says to the books she¡¯s looking at.


    She runs her hand along the spines of the books and finally turns to look at me. ¡°Well?¡± she asks while looking straight at me.


    Is she talking to me? She waits, staring at me. ¡°Are you asking me that question?¡± I ask back.


    She nods. ¡°You said when you came back we could maybe be friends.  I was hoping you¡¯d come back to be my friend.¡±


    I don¡¯t know this woman. ¡°I don¡¯t remember any conversations with you. I don¡¯t remember anything from before this morning.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± she sounds surprised. She blinks and then runs her hand across her braided crown. ¡°I guess you came down with memory sickness as well. Are you locked up because Patrick doesn¡¯t want people to see you like this also?¡± she stops and shuffles her feet. She seems to be waiting for me to respond.


    How do I answer her when I don¡¯t even know what she¡¯s talking about? The man who called himself Patrick McNeil said something similar. Memory Sickness. Had I given that to myself in the past? Why would past me have done that? I shrug. ¡°I¡¯m not sure. That man, Patrick, he said I was a bad person. He said¡­¡± I leave the sentence hanging. For some reason, telling this woman that he called me a murderer feels horrible and wrong. That¡¯s not me!


    The woman frowns, the wrinkles marring her perfect face. ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re a bad person. You seemed nice. You said we could be friends when you got back. Maybe we can start anew together now.¡± Her face transforms into a hopeful smile, and she reaches in my direction with her hand.


    Why is she walking toward me with her hand outstretched? Her hand sits there, hanging like my apparently forgotten promise. ¡°Why are you holding out your hand to me?¡± I ask.


    She looks down at her hand, and her smile slides away for a second as she concentrates on why she is holding out her hand. Then her smile returns as she looks up at me. ¡°I think if we shake hands, we can make an agreement.¡±


    An agreement. ¡°An agreement to be friends?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she eagerly nods.


    It can¡¯t hurt as I don¡¯t seem to have any friends. I hold out my hand, unsure what this shaking ritual entails. She reaches forward, grasps my hand, and gently pulls it up and down before letting go.


    ¡°Now we are friends,¡± she proclaims.


    I smile and nod, is this all there is to being friends with someone?


    She sits down on a chair across from me. ¡°Since we are friends, we can share everything with each other. No one here ever wants to talk with me! My husband used to always frown and look uncertain without responding when I tried to speak with him, but recently, he¡¯s taken to looking sad and slightly dejected if I speak with him, which is e.ven worse!¡±


    I nod along. ¡°He is quite an enigmatic character.¡± The words feel suitable to describe him, but momentarily I question why these words describe his hidden behavior. I¡¯m not sure. It might be the same reason that any words make sense. Words must be ingrained in my thoughts at a deeper level than the knowledge of my past self.


    Her smile has turned a little sad, ¡°You¡¯ve met him once and you already understand. He¡¯s so handsome, and I wish I could get to know him better. I wish I could sit down next to him, run my fingers through his brown hair, and lean against his muscular shoulders. But-¡± her eyes glance away toward the door that she entered from and then down at her lap as her words hang in the space between us. ¡°He holds himself at a distance I can¡¯t seem to cross over.¡± she finishes, staring down at her hands folded together on her lap.


    I feel as if I know this distance. I stand and walk over to her, kneel, and take hands in mine, watching as her eyes look up at me in surprise. ¡°I think you just have to close the distance. Like you did a moment ago asking to be my friend. Just go up to him and be affectionate. Show that even without your memory, you can still care.¡±


    Her eyes widen and she smiles brightly. She leans forward and hugs me. ¡°My dear Hope, I think you are right!  We all just need to be more open.¡± It feels weird to be hugged, but I like this strange openness with my unknown friend, who I think might be the wife, Azalea.


    If we are to be friends, though, I should confirm her name. ¡°I apologize that I haven¡¯t asked sooner, but is your name Azalea? I don¡¯t want to rely on assumptions about what I¡¯ve heard.


    She lets go and sits back in her chair with her eyes wide and her hand touching her lips. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry I forgot to introduce myself. I was so excited that you were back. I didn¡¯t even think you might not remember my name.¡± Her hand lowers, her eyes glance at me, then to the side, and back at me as her head tilts slightly downwards. ¡°Yes, I am the lady Azalea McNeil, wife of Patrick McNeil,¡± she smiles and reaches forward, taking my hand. ¡°And you are?¡±


    A sensation like a weight lifts off my mind. For the first time, someone is asking who I am, and not telling me who I was. I can be anyone. Genuine happiness pulls my face funny into a smile, ¡°I am not sure who I am, but I think my name is Hope.¡±


    She starts laughing, and I join in. It is freeing and joyful. She stands and pulls me up with her, her face radiating joy. ¡°To new beginnings!¡± she shouts, pumping her fist in the air.


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    It seems fitting, and I punch toward the sky, ¡°To throwing off the past!¡±


    Our laughter quiets as we share a smile of understanding. We are not who we used to be, and our names will not be our chains.


    She grabs the book I was attempting to read and walks to a two-person couch. I follow and sit down next to her.


    She turns the book over in her hands. ¡°Do you understand this book? It looks like something my husband would read.¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°Not really. I understand the words, but the things it says feel foreign.¡±


    ¡°Maybe if we read it together, we can parse what it says. I feel like if I can understand more of my husband¡¯s world, I can bridge the gap between us more easily,¡± she says, opening the book to the first page.


    ¡°It¡¯s worth a shot. Let¡¯s work together to make sense of this world.¡± I lean in and read the words on the first page out loud.


    Together, we discuss and parse out the confusing concepts and develop our own understandings.


    At about three pages in, the maid named Rebecca comes in. ¡°Lady Azalea, it¡¯s time for your-¡± she pauses and looks at me. Her eyebrows raise, ¡°appointment,¡± she finishes.


    Azalea gives me an apologetic smile and shrugs. ¡°Same time tomorrow?¡±


    I nod, and she leans in to hug me before leaving with Rebecca.


    I don¡¯t feel like continuing to read the book I was reading with Azalea without her here. I peruse the bookshelves and instead choose a book that calls itself ¡°A biography of John Mordstadt¡±, whoever that is.


    I sit down and begin to read this story about a man who grew up with working-class parents who worked hard to give him a decent life. Do I have parents? I move my hand over the image of the two people with a small boy standing between them on the cover. I hope so.


    The door opens, and Rebecca steps through. ¡°It¡¯s dinner time, M¡¯lady. " Her impartial voice lends no urgency to the announcement, but it doesn¡¯t seem like something I should ignore.


    Setting the book down on one of the end tables, I move to the door and follow her to the dining room.


    My eyes catch sight of Azalea first. As our eyes meet, she gives me a tiny smile before dropping it and looking away.


    On her right is the man who barged in on me earlier in the day. Patrick. Her husband. He frowns at my appearance. Unlike Azalea, he doesn¡¯t look away and watches me as Rachel leads me to a seat across from him. I wish I could run away from the stare.


    At the end of the table farthest from the door, an old man with no hair on his head mutters through a scraggly white fluff of facial hair as he pushes around mashed-up food on a plate in front of him. No one else has food yet.


    Rebecca walks to him and sits next to him. She helps him lift food to his mouth.


    ¡°So, umm, Patrick,¡± Azalea pulls attention back to our end of the table. ¡°How was work today?¡± She smiles sweetly at him, probably hoping to lighten the tension at the table.


    He glares at me. ¡°Little Miss ¡®can¡¯t remember anything¡¯ is making my life hard. I have to take on all her work, deal with all the reporters, and prepare the trial case against her while also helping organize a public defender for her.¡±


    What work? If this involved me, why couldn¡¯t he at least talk to me? ¡°Maybe I could work the defender or help with some of the work you are doing?¡±


    He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before rubbing his forehead. ¡°No and No. You are being convicted for doing a bad job.  You can¡¯t keep doing the work you were doing when you were doing it improperly.¡±


    ¡°If I can¡¯t help with the workload because I am bad at it, why can¡¯t I at least talk to the person set to defend me?¡±


    His lips twist into a mocking smile, ¡°Because I¡¯m the one prosecuting you, and I can¡¯t let the public know you¡¯re claiming memory sickness now. It would go against the very case I am making against you.¡±


    ¡°What did I even do? Why are you so convinced I¡¯m such a terrible person?¡± The last words came out louder and higher pitched than I meant them to. My chest feels tight. Why am I stuck here at this table with this man who clearly hates me?


    ¡°You my dear, supposed Hope of the people, went about giving memory sickness to all the lawmakers you didn¡¯t like. You might as well have killed them,¡± his hand points to the old man at the end of the table. ¡°They¡¯ve all ended up like my father. Unable to work and needing constant care. You even took down the governor of the state so you could take his spot and wreck our state. So many things you¡¯ve done wrong, and you will pay for it.¡±


    His slight smile sends a shiver through my body.


    A man with tightly cut blonde hair carrying two plates of steak and asparagus enters from the door at the other end of the hall. He glides over and sets a plate in front of Patrick and Azalea before smoothly exiting.


    Patrick picks up his knife and saws into the steak in front of him. He smiles as he pops a bite-sized piece in his mouth.


    I wish I could leave. Do I have to sit here in this room? I¡¯d almost rather not eat.


    The man comes back and places a bowl in front of me. It looks like some sort of rice stew with veggies or something in it.


    Azalea looks between Patrick and me, the corners of her eyes crinkled with concern, but no one says a word. Patrick continues enjoying his steak. This seems to be some sort of statement about my position in their household.


    I can¡¯t stand it anymore. ¡°If you hate me so much, just let me leave. I¡¯ll disappear and you¡¯ll never have to worry about me again.¡±


    Patrick shakes his head, ¡°You still don¡¯t understand Hope. We¡¯ve gone too far for that. There is no turning back now. You are only enjoying the comforts of my family¡¯s home due to a court order allowing you to reside here rather than in jail, but you might as well be in jail. That¡¯s why you''re being fed prison food, so eat up. You¡¯ll need the energy. Oh, and you don¡¯t get to leave this room till you finish eating.¡±


    I try to think of something to say, some way to convince this man that I am not who he thinks I am. All I can do is eat this food and get out of here. I take a bite, and while it¡¯s bland, nothing seems wrong with it. It¡¯s just so flavorless it¡¯s almost hard to eat. But I feel like I¡¯ve had worse. Bland veggie rice soup isn¡¯t that bad.


    I scarf down the food and stand up as soon as I finish.


    Patrick looks surprised but then waves Rebecca over. ¡°Take her back to her room and lock her up for the night. We can¡¯t have her escaping.¡±


    She nods and walks toward the door. I dutifully follow, knowing that right now there is no escape for me.


    As soon as we enter the room she grabs my shoulder. ¡°Stay standing here, M¡¯lady. You must be changed into night clothes now.¡±


    I stay where she¡¯s directed as she undoes my dress and pulls it off. She hands me a thin white gown and underclothes in a pile. ¡°You can change into those after you take your evening shower.¡±


    Then she leaves. I recheck the door, but it¡¯s locked. No reading after dinner apparently.


    The only thing to do is shower and sleep. The bathroom¡¯s shower seems to have no way to turn on, but when I step in completely undressed, the water comes pouring out of the ceiling. I wish I could make the water a touch warmer, but I don''t know how. Oh well. It is what it is. I¡¯m stuck in this place. I step out, and the water stops. After a quick dry-off, I change into the silky dress before lying on the soft bed.


    Will all my days go like this?


    They do.


    Monotonous. The only bright point in my days is Azalea. She¡¯s the sweetest soul as she keeps me company through the days.


    We find books on dating advice. She tries it on Patrick and tells me how it goes. At the dinner table, he even starts to engage in conversation with her. He mostly ignores me.


    Each day: get up, get dressed in some cutesy gown by Rebecca, eat breakfast, spend my day in the library with some snacks provided by Azalea, dinner, and bed.


    No ending. I lose track of the days after five, or maybe it was before then. I think I counted day five twice.


    I¡¯m not quite sure, so I attempt to keep counting. I hit day fourteen the other day. Day twenty.


    Oh, who even cares what day it is anymore! This is my prison of time. Infinite repeating time that never ends.


    Day something, the routine is broken. At the door to bring me to dinner is the serving man with short blonde hair, wearing a black suit, and blue eyes that captivate me and make me afraid to look at him. Where is Rebecca?

 Chapter 3: A World out of Tune

    This new guy stares at me and doesn¡¯t move even as I walk toward the door. His intense blue eyes make me uncomfortable.


    ¡°Hope?¡± He asks as if he isn¡¯t sure if that is who I am.


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what they call me.¡± I shrug. It¡¯s time to go eat my gruel.


    He gulps and stands in front of the doorway, blocking me from passing through.


    This new guy is clearly nervous, but soon he¡¯ll realize there¡¯s no reason to be nervous about me. I¡¯m just the easygoing prisoner that does as she¡¯s told. No memories of the person they claim I am.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to worry about me running away or how to close the door while keeping your eye on me. All the doors can close automatically. Just lead the way to the dining room, and they will close on their own,¡± I tell him.


    He rubs his right hand through the short hair above his ear. ¡°I wasn¡¯t worried about that. I - I just wanted to -¡± he pauses, his eyes staring hard at me. ¡°Introduce myself,¡± he finishes. ¡°I¡¯m Nathan. I¡¯ll be your handler while Rebecca is on vacation.¡±


    I hold out my hand like Azalea did for me, ¡°I¡¯m told my name is Hope. I promise I won¡¯t make your life difficult.¡±


    The left side of his lips curls upward in a smile while the other side stays still. He grips my hand and shakes it. ¡°I won¡¯t hold you to a promise I know you can¡¯t keep,¡± he says.


    ¡°I¡¯ve not caused any trouble at all for Rebecca,¡± I inform him, not sure why he would think I would be a troublemaker.


    He shakes his head and turns, leading the way through the door. I follow like the docile prisoner I am.


    The moment we enter the dining room, Nathan rushes out to get plates of food. First, Patrick and Azalea, then myself, and finally, old man McNeil. He takes Rebecca¡¯s spot next to the old man, helping him eat his meal, and I scarf down my dinner, only half listening as Patrick talks about the challenges of mistreatment of individuals in the public hospital¡¯s memory ward.


    I have trouble taking my eyes off this man named Nathan. He¡¯d been serving food here the entire time I remember being here, and I¡¯d barely noticed him till now. I¡¯m not even sure what it is that has me feeling like I¡¯m about to jump off, out of, something? Jump off the edge of my room? To what. Why does the thought make the hair on my arm stand up? But this new guardian is not the same abyss as the thought of leaping into the pit of the unknown. Similar in the way I feel alert.


    ¡°It¡¯s all your fault, Hope,¡± Patrick says.


    I have no idea how public hospitals and memory sickness are my fault, but Patrick always seems happy to blame me for everything. ¡°What are you blaming me for this time?¡±


    ¡°My day of having to deal with anger at the public hospitals. It was your work that put funding into them. It was you who insisted we allow anyone with memory sickness to seek treatment at these decrepit mental hospitals. And now I get to deal with the fallout,¡± Patrick rants.


    ¡°Was there no oversight put in place with the additional funding?¡± I put to use the knowledge I¡¯ve gained reading with Azalea in the library.


    ¡°Patrick told me the inspector got bribed,¡± Azalea responds.


    ¡°Why wasn¡¯t there more than one inspector? The more checks on a system, the harder it is to corrupt.¡±


    ¡°We didn¡¯t have the funding due to the repairs costing more than expected,¡± Patrick rubs his temples. ¡°I really didn¡¯t want to be put to further interrogation at my dinner table,¡± he groans.


    Azalea shakes her head. ¡°I¡¯m telling you that I think the person in charge of handling the hospital¡¯s funds embezzled money by pretending the repairs cost more than budgeted. Then, all the problems cascade from there. It would mean that it¡¯s your finance department¡¯s fault rather than Hope¡¯s fault.¡±


    I smile at my friend, glad to have someone on my side.


    Patrick¡¯s brows narrow, and he rubs his forehead. ¡°If Hope hadn¡¯t decided to steal everyone¡¯s memories to move things along faster, we wouldn¡¯t be having so many issues.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how any person could steal someone else¡¯s memories,¡± I say. His accusations really are tiring.


    ¡°Ah yes, and destroying your own memories was your greatest feat. Plausible deniability. The scientists at the prison explained to me that you were the first test subject for the machine, and as such, you had extra hardware that somehow connected you to it at all times. They called you a part of the Xatron system, whatever that means. I¡¯m guessing when you saw me destroying it is when you decided to eat your memories,¡± Patrick¡¯s ramblings were like gibberish to me.


    I glance over at the servant, Nathan, and see him staring straight at the old man as he feeds him, his brow wrinkled in a frown. Did he understand that nonsense?


    Azalea asks Patrick a question about the book we are reading, and the conversation moves on, leaving me to finish up my stew without further interruptions.


    The moment the last morsel is in my mouth, I stand. Patrick motions for me to sit back down.


    ¡°We are a little short-staffed right now. You will have to wait for everyone to finish eating before we can spare a servant to walk you back,¡± Patrick says.


    I sit and watch as Patrick¡¯s attention turns back to Azalea. He smiles at her and reaches forward to move a strand of black hair out from in front of her face. Her blush and return smile makes me feel a little warmer. At least she is managing to improve her relationship with her husband.


    At the other end of the table, I can see that the mash on the older man¡¯s plate has gone down. I fiddle with my fingers, impatient to be released from sitting in the middle of this family.


    Spoonful by spoonful, the older man eats. As the last spoonful enters his mouth, I exhale and feel my tension ease a little.


    The blond man looks over at Patrick, his blue eyes asking what he is supposed to do next, but he doesn¡¯t say anything.


    ¡°Take my father,¡± Patrick pauses and looks at me, his brown eyes thinking through the scenarios ahead. ¡°No, take the girl to her room first. I¡¯ll watch my father until you get back and can take care of him again.¡±


    Nathan stands, and I jump up from my seat. ¡°Thanks!¡± I say with a smile directed at Patrick. I have no restriction against talking in this household of stilted silence.


    I follow Nathan back to my prison room, expecting him to stop at the door and leave, but he enters the room and then waits near the door, watching me.


    As I pass him, he whispers. ¡°Security is light. Ask for me to be back later.¡±


    I stop and stare at him. What does he mean by ask for him to be back later? He¡¯s my current prison guard. I can¡¯t imagine what reason he would want to visit later.


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    ¡°You don¡¯t need to look so worried. I¡¯m not going to touch you,¡± he says loudly, as if for the cameras in the room. He smiles at me, softening the lines around his eyes and making his narrow, oval face look a little less stern.


    ¡°I -¡± I don¡¯t know how to respond to his two very different statements. ¡°I would assume you wouldn¡¯t touch me with the cameras that are always watching. I¡¯m just not used to my guardian coming into the room with me now.¡± I say for whoever is watching¡¯s benefit.


    He laughs, ¡°I am not your guard. I¡¯m a servant who is here to ensure I get you anything you need.¡±


    The wording is a touch awkward, but I think I understand this game. ¡°I know you have to get back to serve the master, but could you bring me some chamomile tea later tonight?¡± I ask, fulfilling his request.


    He gives a slight bow with his hand on his chest, ¡°Of course, m¡¯lady.¡±


    He leaves, and I prepare for bed. I do not know when ¡°later¡± will be, and I don¡¯t feel like waiting around doing nothing.


    ¡°Later¡± seems to be much later. With nothing left to do, I lay down in my bed and contemplate this day that hasn¡¯t been quite right.


    A knock on the door pulls me up from the edge of sleep.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to intrude, but you asked for tea,¡± a hesitant male voice asks.


    ¡°Room, light on,¡± I say, seeing Nathan holding a cup of tea near the door. ¡°Come in.¡±


    As he brings the tea to me, the door closes behind him.


    ¡°Sorry I¡¯m so late. I had to wait until security left for the night. With the holidays right now, only the new staff, such as myself, are working,¡± he says while handing me the tea.


    ¡°So what¡¯s so important that you had to wait for security to be gone to talk to me?¡± I ask, blowing on the hot tea. I realize it¡¯s too hot and set it on my nightstand.


    ¡°Mind if I sit?¡± he points to the bed, the only place to sit in this essentially bare room.


    ¡°Go ahead.¡±


    He takes a seat near my feet and then takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not really supposed to talk with you, which is why I had to wait for security to be lax. I¡¯m on your side,¡± he pauses and opens his blue eyes, turning to look straight at me. ¡°I think they¡¯ve told you some things. I heard Patrick mentioning the memory sickness and your time in office. What else do you know?¡±


    I feel awkward laying in bed with him sitting near my feet, so I sit up and swing my feet to dangle off the bed.


    ¡°Not much of anything. Supposedly, I am some crazy, dangerous murderer or something, and I somehow took my own memory,¡± I tell him the things I¡¯ve been told. It¡¯s not much; anyone in this house should know this information. If I did know more, though, I¡¯m not sure if I would trust anyone here to tell them more.


    ¡°Patrick changed out most of the staff after you passed out at the prison. I managed to get hired here through some connections so I could see you again, but when I got here, I saw that you had reverted once more. Patrick is trying to hide that information from the public. What he¡¯s been telling Azalea and you about is only half the story of what¡¯s going on outside,¡± he says.


    There¡¯s so much to unpack in those few statements. I¡¯m not even sure where to start. I look into his blue eyes, which draw me in. I¡¯ll start there. ¡°See me again? Reverted once more? Who are you to me? Why do I feel like-¡± I don¡¯t even know how to explain how I feel. I want to trust him, to believe everything he says.


    ¡°We were -¡± he pauses, his eyes focused on me, searching for what he wants to say. ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t know what we were. We were close. Then, we were separated. Then I met you again, and we were prisoners who escaped together. We were far, two people with differing ideals. In the end, though, I think we were in love. I don¡¯t know. You ran away - I can¡¯t blame you, I was the one who ran first. Next, I hear you¡¯ve been captured and are awaiting trial while under house arrest. Hellen, one of my housemates, helped me create this identity so that I could search for you. And when I found you, you didn¡¯t even glance my way.¡±


    We were in love? How strange to look at this man and remember nothing. Didn¡¯t memories make up love? But even without memories, I was drawn to him. And that didn¡¯t answer the question about having reverted again.


    ¡°But here you are, like you were when we met at the prison. A memoryless prisoner. Except this time, you remember the name I gave you in prison. Last time you didn¡¯t remember your old name.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t remember this time. I was told who I was,¡± I say. We sit in silence. If this isn¡¯t the first time, I¡¯m surprised that this admission has silenced him. ¡°So this is the second time I¡¯ve forgotten everything?¡±


    ¡°Sort of?¡± he shrugs. ¡°You seemed to be able to choose to remember or forget up to at some point from when you were in prison. But I think I understand why now.¡±


    Another revelation. ¡°You understand my memory issues?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve met others like you. They have watched your memories, and they are coming,¡± his voice is rushed and quiet.


    ¡°What?¡± I can¡¯t seem to wrap my head around what he is saying.


    ¡°We waited till I had a chance to talk to you. When they bring their Xatron in range, your hardware should connect, and you can download your memories again. I need you to continue to be clueless. You can do the blocking you¡¯ve done in the past. When we are ready, I will come get you. Can you do that for me?¡± his eyes look up toward a corner of the room. I assume that¡¯s where the camera is.


    ¡°Yes, I guess,¡± I don¡¯t even understand what I¡¯m agreeing to.


    He smiles, looks at his watch, and then looks back at me. ¡°You should connect soon.¡±


    Pain drills into my head. I want to scream, but I can¡¯t. I know I can¡¯t alert security. I could block the pain. Send it away, but that doesn¡¯t seem like a good idea. Much like holding up against this feeling drilling into my skull feels wrong. I close my eyes, and I give in to the pain, letting it engulf me.


    Memories. I see Nathan. Lizzie. The guards I killed. The steps I took to become the mayor. Everything. It¡¯s all there. All still me.


    Not like the other memories that start flooding my mind. A boy, Van, who surfs on the wind. He watches his life in a disassociated existence, but he has felt what it was to be me. It is his Xatron that has connected to me. There are others. Thirteen of them gathered. Van shows me the shuttle they are in. They are in the outskirts of the city. They are coming.


    When? I ask him.


    Soon, but not yet. Van says through the connection. Nathan will tell you more.


    I open my eyes. Nathan has moved closer. Concern lines the bottom of his eyes, and I realize he is holding me. I don¡¯t want him to let go, but he releases me the moment he sees my eyes open.


    ¡°Nathan,¡± I whisper his name, tears welling in my eyes. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry. I panicked when I realized that Patrick might know about the Xatron. And I was right to - wait, how do I have my memories? My Xatron was destroyed,¡± my brain frantically runs through the memories of my last moments, searching for some explanation.


    He hugs me. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you right now. We don¡¯t have enough time.¡±


    He starts to pull away again, but I lean into his hug, wrapping my arms around him. I don¡¯t want to let go. I don¡¯t want him to leave me.


    He pulls me tight and then releases me. ¡°I need us to be like strangers for what I¡¯m about to say next. You need to remember this next part.¡±


    I let go and pull back even though I don¡¯t want to. A tear drips down my face, and Nathan pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket, reaching forward to wipe my face. I don¡¯t want to hear what he wants to tell me next.


    He pulls back, scoots away from me, and then takes a deep breath. ¡°I need you to forget everything from before waking up here after your Xatron was destroyed, and I need you to forget most of this conversation after I ask you to stay clueless until the end of this sentence.¡±


    He waits for me to respond, so I nod, not trusting my voice at this moment.


    He closes his eyes and recites the line he wants to say. ¡°When I come to you and say the phrase: ¡®It¡¯s time to leave your cocoon, Hope.¡¯ I need you to release your memories.


    For a moment, I wonder what exactly he wants, and then I realize he¡¯s talking about what I did in jail. I pushed my memories behind a barrier so I didn¡¯t have to remember. Now, he wants me to selectively cherry-pick what I remember and what I don¡¯t. I look up to his downcast eyes, where he sits far from me.


    He¡¯s asking me to forget him again.¡± I¡¯ll see you on the flip side,¡± I whisper even as I take scissors to my memories of the evening, shove them in with the memories of the past, and force it all behind a wall.


    I knock on the wall. What¡¯s behind it? The last thing I heard was this weird man sitting in front of me saying something about releasing my memories. I think of the strange wall in my head that appeared out of nowhere. I nod. ¡°I¡¯ll listen for that. Then will you tell me what¡¯s going on?¡±


    He opens his mouth, closes it, and then shrugs with a nod. ¡°I won¡¯t need to. You¡¯ll understand.¡± He looks at his wrist. ¡°It¡¯s time for me to head out. Drink your tea and sleep well.¡±


    I look at the tea sitting on the nightstand and pick it up. It¡¯s cooled off enough to drink. What have I forgotten?


    The door shuts; he is gone.


    You are there by the door. I know you, but how? I haven''t seen you before, have I? And yet, you are here. A presence I know.