Thomas pulled back his hood. "You must calm yourself," he said.
I looked at him. He had close-cropped, fair hair, blue eyes, and a craggy but handsome face. His smile was kindly. He placed a hand on my shoulder and gripped it.
"Why are you showing me your face now?" I asked.
"Because I believe you can be trusted."
My breathing was shallow and ragged. I was experiencing every kind of emotion I could think of, except for the good ones, and now my confusion was returning to blur everything."
"Trusted with what?"
"It is not a matter of specifics," he said. "It is simply a matter of your heart."
I closed my eyes. This was becoming too much for me. "I don't understand what you're telling me," I said. "You're not making any sense."
He smiled again. "It is enough to know that you are on the right path," he said.
More riddles. More vagueness. I needed something specific to get me to the next moment. My world was falling apart, and I had no glue, or thread, or twine, or even spit and chewing gum. I didn't know how to move ahead from here.
"I need something specific," I said. "I need a fact, a piece of information, something logical that I can take hold of. Because nothing that's happened to me over the last few days makes any sense to me at all. Nothing."
He gripped my shoulder more tightly. "Stay the course, friend. You will prevail."
I turned away from him and stormed away from the bed. "That still doesn't help. I don't even know what course I'm on, let alone how to stay it. I'm out of my element here. Everything is foreign to me, and I can't keep a coherenet grasp on anything I start to think about."
Thomas stepped up behind me. "Tell me your name," he said.
I turned around to look at him. It hadn't even occurred to me that I hadn't yet told these people who I was.
"My name's Jack," I said. "Jack Richmond."
He nodded and looked at me, his jaw set, his eyes narrower. "Jack," he said. "You must hear this one thing. It is vitally important that you listen, and that you understand."
I furrowed my brow slightly. "All right," I said.
"It is vitally important that you keep yourself calm while you are here."
I squinted and frowned more deeply. "What?"
He put out a hand. "Please. You must understand the importance of this."
"Importance? Of staying calm?" I gave my head a slight shake. "Of course it's important. That's always important. But the way you talk about it, you make it sound like my life depends on it or something."
He nodded slowly, gravely. "It may be as important as that."
I opened my mouth to speak again, but no words came out. I didn't know what to say to him.
"You have heard my words with your ears," Thomas said, "but do you hear them with your heart?"
I closed my eyes and sighed. "What the hell does that mean?"
He stepped closer. "Jack," he said, putting his hand on my shoulder again. "We trust you now. Will you not also trust us?"
I opened my eyes again. "I don't know who to trust," I said.
"Then trust yourself."
Now, that was actually a piece of practical advice. It was something I could use. It was something I had rarely done in my life, and now that I heard it from the mouth of this strange, monk-like man, in this bizarre alternate world, with my chaotic circumstances swirling about me like a sea funnel, it made more sense than it ever had at any other time before.
"Trust myself," I said. "That's good advice."
He must have sensed a change in me, because he took his hand away, and his smile returned. "Jack," he said, "I'm relieved."
We looked at each other for a moment, and I thought I could feel a sort of bond develop between us. Neither of us said another word, but I began to realize that, in listening to what he said, and realizing that I needed to trust myself, I was also beginning to trust him.
This was an unusual occurrence for me.
The moment was broken by hurried footsteps in the hallway outside. Thomas turned to face the doorway just as two of his brethren entered. They paused for a moment, evidently surprised that he had taken his hood down, but they recovered almost instantly.
"What is the meaning of this commotion?" Thomas asked sharply.
"Brother Thomas," the man in front said. "We are discovered."
Thomas turned his body to face the man. "What? Explain yourself."
The man stiffened slightly, but did not falter. "The enclave is no longer a safe haven. Men are approaching. Armed men. They are heading directly for us."
"This is impossible," Thomas said, moving towards the men. "We have taken every precaution. There is no way—"
"I don't think denial is your best course of action," I said.
Thomas whirled upon me. "You will stay out of this," he said. "You know nothing of the measures we have taken." He turned back to the man who had spoken. "They must be here for another reason. They must be passing through this area in search of something else. There is no way they can know the enclave is here."
I put my hand to my head. "Thomas," I said. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"
He scowled at me. "No," he said. "We have not."
"Then stop wasting time denying the facts, and start preparing to defend yourselves."
Thomas stared at me a moment, his breathing both audible and visible. He turned his head to look at his two brethren, and then he turned back to me again. His mouth was drawn into a tight, straight line, and his jaw was clenched. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he turned his whole body back towards the men.
"Gather what weapons we have," he said. "Fortify the entrances and cover the windows. We cannot let these men inside the enclave."
"Yes, Brother Thomas," the first man said. He and his companion turned and sped out of the room.
But it was already too late. More noises reached us from the corridor beyond, distant but unmistakable. Crashing sounds, shouting sounds, and the occasional sound a firearm being discharged.
I closed my eyes, suddenly realizing that these men never had a chance.
Thomas turned to me again, his eyes wet with incipient tears. "You must come with me," he said. "I will take you to the safest place in the enclave.
I sighed. "I really don't think there's any time left for that," I said.
He frowned and cocked his head. "Why do you say that?"
"Just listen to it out there. They'll have this whole place locked down in a matter of minutes."
I could see the desperation creeping into Thomas' expression. In a moment, I knew, his entire face would crumble, and so would any hopes of saving the brotherhood or the enclave.
The sounds drew closer. The shouting became less chaotic and more organized. The crashes and gunshots became less frequent. The sounds of bootheels on hard floors became louder.
And then they were upon us. The bootsteps rounded the corner and proceeded towards us down the corridor. I couldn't see it from my angle, but I could see the side of Thomas' face as he looked out through the doorway. Mere seconds later, a man in uniform entered, rifle raised and aimed at Thomas' chest. A second man entered, his firearm pointed at me.
Several more men entered, all armed, but each pulling an unwilling companion with them. The first man had one of the brothers by the arm and pulled him roughly into the room. His hood was down. The other two soldiers hauled Anthony and his boss into the room in the same manner. Two more soldiers entered behind them, firearms at the ready.
The soldiers stepped to either side of the doorway to allow two more people to pass. My jaw dropped as I watched Councillor Greaves enter the room, followed by Irene DiFalco.
Greaves' eyes went directly to me. "Mister Richmond," he said. "I'm relieved to see that you're all right."
His face and voice were both sincere. I glanced at Irene. She, too, looked relieved.
I glanced between them, and then looked at Thomas. "I don't understand any of this," I said.
Greaves stepped towards me, one corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "Of course you don't," he said. "This is not your world. Our ways are strange to you. But everything will make sense once we've cleaned up this mess and taken you to a safer place."
"I thought this was a safe place," I said.
Greaves shook his head. "Oh, I don't think so, Mister Richmond. I don't know what these men would have done to you. I'm sure they've tried to gain your trust, but once they accomplished that, I shudder to think—"
"He's lying," Thomas said. "He's a member of the Council. You can't trust him."
One of the soldiers who had come in last stepped forward and jammed the butt of his rifle into Thomas' solar plexus. Thomas gasped and crumpled to the floor in a ball, hands over his abdomen.
I glared at Greaves. "Was that really necessary?" I asked him.
Greaves shook his head and made the universally annoying tsk tsk sound. "These men have poisoned your mind long enough," he said. "I can't let their words affect you any further."
"Poisoned my mind?" I said. "These men have been taking care of me since I arrived back in this world. They've shown me nothing but kindness."
Greaves' half grin turned into a sneer. "Yes, that's how they do things here. Lull you into a false sense of security. Then they'll take all your secrets and use them to whatever advantage they can come up with. Probably towards their ultimate goal of bringing down the government."
"And what if that government deserves being brought down?" I asked.
Greaves face hardened. "Hmmm… I see we're going to have to do some serious deprogramming here, Mister Richmond. Your mind has been warped much more severely than I thought would be possible in such a short time. I'm truly sorry that this has happened to you."
I was beginning to feel a niggling in the back of my mind. Something here was not right. Greaves seemed—different. He wasn't quite the same man I had met during my first visit. It was subtle, but it was there.
"Councillor Greaves," I said. "I don't know what to think anymore. I don't know who to trust. Like you said, I'm a stranger here. I don't know anything your society or your political system. I see now that I'm mixed up in something in that I can't possibly hope to understand. I just want to do the right thing. And I want to get back to my own world."
I hoped that my vague but earnest statement would prompt him to give me a bit more information. I needed to know if he was truly trustworthy. I was beginning to doubt it, but I also couldn't forget how kind he'd been to me when I'd visited before. The change I was seeing in him might simply be due to his assuming a command position in this current situation. But I had to be sure.
He actually smiled at me, now. "Mister Richmond," he said. "Your confusion is most understandable. And I don't wish to add to it. But I really must get you out of here and back to civilization. I want to see you well and whole and ready to travel back to your world."
I took that moment to glance at Irene. Her face was pale, drawn, a veil of worry across her lovely features. Our eyes met, and she shook her head, almost imperceptably.
That was all I needed. I returned my gaze to the councillor. He was still smiling, but his eyes held something else. Concern? Worry? Or was it fear?
"Thank you, Councillor," I said. "You've taken good care of me before, and I have no doubt that you'll do so again. I appreciate it."
I thought I saw confusion ripple across Greaves' face for a moment, but it vanished almost as soon as it appeared. I wanted to smile, but I refrained. I had to convince him that I was confused, weary, and thankful. It wasn't a difficult act. I'd been confused for days, I was weary of the bizarre events that kept surprising me at every turn, and I was grateful at that moment for Irene and her quiet confirmation of my suspicions.
Greaves smiled again. "I owe you a debt of gratitute as well, my boy," he said.
"Really," I replied. "I don't see how that's possible."
"Oh, good Heavens," he said. "I would never have found this place without you."
I saw Daniel stiffen at that. I glanced at him, then looked back at Greaves. "I'm afraid I don't follow you," I said.
Greaves' smile seemed to broaden even further. "Why, it's because of you that we're here," he said. "Isn't it, Irene?" He turned back to look at her.
Irene looked even paler and more distraught than before. She threw her shoulders back, however, when Greaves turned to look at her.
"Yes," she said. "I am attuned to you, it would appear. There is something about you, Jack, something that adepts like myself are able to sense. I don't yet understand what it is, but it affects my senses nonetheless."
My mouth became dry, my hands cold and clammy. I tried to process what I'd just heard.
"Are you telling me," I said with a rasp, "that you can track me with your abilities?"
Greaves looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. "Irene is one of the finest adepts we have. She can sense variations in energy like no one else. She is our most valuable asset. And now we have another reason to treasure her. We can not only track people like yourself, Jack. We can distinguish them from the rest of the population. You can't imagine how elated I am at this news."
My brain began to spin again. I'd brought this down upon Daniel, Thomas, and the rest of the brethren. I was a danger to them, and I didn't even know it. Even now, I still didn't understand how I it could be. I didn't know enough about this type of energy they were talking about. It was maddening.
"Now, I'll admit," Greaves continued, "that you're the first person we've encountered who gives off this signature, but I seriously doubt that you'll be the last. After all, there are a lot of worlds out there."
A lot of worlds. The notion hadn't occurred to me before. I was so concerned with getting back to own from this one, that the thought of other worlds hadn't crossed my mind. But of course, it made sense. If the universe were sliced into pieces, there would probably be more than two.
Thomas and Daniel were right. Greaves and his compatriots were planning to invade other worlds. For what purpose, I did not know. But that didn't matter. It was wrong. Plain and simple. It was just wrong.
"Starting to get the picture now, Mister Richmond?"
I looked towards the door. It was the older man from the shadowy agency who had spoken. He had his patented smile on as he gazed back at me.
"Nothing's ever straightforward, is it?" he said.
Greaves turned back towards him. "Bring those two over here," he said to his soldiers.
The uniformed men took Anthony and his boss by their arms and led them to my position.
"You two are from Jack's world," Greaves said. It was not a question.
The older man chuckled. "So it's Jack now, is it? First name basis. All great friends, are we?"
Greaves narrowed his eyes. "I am led to believe that you are not a friend to Jack."
"Oh, I'm more of a friend to him than he can possibly imagine. While he's been blinding wandering around the cosmos, banging into walls, I've been gathering every fragment of information I could get my hands on. And I have a much more complete picture of this situation than your dear friend Jack here could ever hope to cobble together. So, you might say, I've been looking out for him."
"Looking out for me?" I gaped at him. "You've done everything in your power to shut me down. I don't know what the hell you planned to do with me back at your shadowy hideout, but I have these people to thank for my escape. If anyone's looking out for me, it's them."
I hadn't meant to defend Greaves so assiduously, but my feelings for the gray haired man and his disfigured lackey won out. When I thought about it, though, it didn't hurt my position at all. Greaves would be even more likely now to believe that I trusted him.
The fact of it was that I had no idea whom to trust. The three groups represented in this room would all have me believe that it they and only they who had my best interests, not to mention the interest of our worlds, at heart. I was too tired and confused to think things out clearly, and I was no position to do anything about the situation even if I had all my wits about me and a full tank of energy.
"You still don't get it, do you," the agency man said. "I'm sure they've told you that my people are trying to breach the barrier between worlds in order to invade their world, but in fact it's quite the reverse that's true. We're trying to develop the technology to ward off an invasion from them."
He held my gaze for a moment. For once in the time that I'd known him, he actually seemed sincere. His smile was gone, and his eyes were steady and focused.
I squinted at him and shook my head. "What? Are you trying to tell me that you wanted to—?"
"Yes. We knew there was something different about you, Mister Richmond, and we needed to find out what it was. We weren't going to dissect you or count your rings, for God's sake. We needed you."
"So why all the cloak and dagger?"
He let out a dark chuckle. "Would you have come with us willingly?"
I shook my head.
"Well, then. There you have it."
He was still too smooth and slick for my liking, but he was at least making some sense. I glanced at Anthony, whose half scarred visage still radiated hatred and loathing in my direction. I knew that if we ever made it back to our own world, I'd have to watch my back, probably for the rest of my life.
"Well, this is all fascinating," Greaves said, "but I think we've had enough chit chat for one day, don't you, Jack?"
I turned to him. "Yes. Yes I do."
His face quivered for a moment. I wasn't sure what emotion was trying to come to the fore, but I could tell he saw something different in my face.
"I don't believe any of you," I said. "As far as I can tell, you're all a bunch of self serving pricks who'll do whatever it takes to move your own agendas forward. I don't have a clue how things work on your cockamamie world, and I don't care to learn any more about it. You people are going to send me home. I don't care how you do it." I looked at Greaves. "Get Irene to do it." I looked at Daniel. "Or get that renegade brother of yours back here and have him do it. I personally don't care. Just get it done. Or so help me God, I'm going to start breaking limbs."
Greaves' eyes widened slightly. "And how long do you think you would last. Have you noticed how many firearms are in this room?"
My stomach was churning now. I swallowed hard to keep down the bile that was trying to creep into my mouth. My breathing began to speed up.
"Do I look like I care?" I said. "Do I look like a man who's giving any consideration to his fate right now?"
I glanced at Daniel. His eyes had widened slightly as well.
"You're a fool, Mister Richmond," agency guy said. "You have no idea what you're dealing with here."
I whirled on him. "I'm starting to get a pretty clear idea," I snarled.
He grunted. "I have my doubts about that."
"Save your smug sarcasm," I snapped at him. "I've had it up to my eyeballs with you." I turned to Greaves. "And with you." I looked back at Daniel. "And I don't even want to know about you people. Your black hoods and your secret enclave. What the hell kind of place is this, anyway?"
They were all looking at me now, the brothers, the soldiers, the agency men, Greaves, and Irene. And not a one of them looked anything even remotely comfortable.
Thomas struggled to his feet, his hands still clutching his abdomen. "Jack," he groaned. "You must try to keep yourself calm. You have no idea—"
"Oh, that again!" I cried. "What the fuck is that all about? Why is it so important for me to keep calm? What am I, a walking time bomb or something? Am I going to spontaneously combust? What?"
"We just want you to be safe, Jack," Greaves said. "That's all."
"Bullshit!" I screamed. "None of you gives a goddamn about my welfare. You all just think I'm some sort of resource to be tapped. And I don't even know why. I don't even know what's different about me."
"Don't do this, Mister Richmond," agency guy said.
"Don't do what? Yell? Scream? Make a fuss?"
"I think you know what I'm talking about."
"No! I don't! I haven't a sweet fucking clue what you're talking about. Don't you get it? I'm just a guy from Halifax who doesn't do anything particulary well. There's nothing special about me. I'm not a resource. I'm not a weapon. I'm not even a particularly good guitar player. So why the fuck am I here?"
"Jack, please," Thomas said.
Greaves glanced back at his soldiers and raised a hand. Four rifles came up instantly, all trained on me.
"That's not going to solve anything," agency guy said.
Greaves shook his head. "He's losing control of himself. I need him safe, and I need him healthy."
"Well filling him with holes isn't exactly going to accomplish that, now, is it?"
Greaves grunted. "They're not bullets, you idiot."
I saw the soldiers adjust the rifles on their shoulders and tighten their trigger fingers. Immediately, the blackness swept back into my mind.
"What do you want, Jack?" Greaves asked. "What is it that you want?"
The world seemed to slide into slow motion. Daniel and Irene seemed to step forward in unison, a long, fluid movement that seemed to take forever.
I heard myself speak, but the words sounded like a slowed down tape recorder or an forty five rpm record being played at thirty three and a third.
"I want to forget that any of this ever happened," I said. "I want to forget this world and all of you and go back to my life. That's what I want."
Their emotions rippled across their faces, but it was more like ripples in molasses than in water. The blackness was taking hold of me. The redness was there too, at the center, fuelling the rage. The very core became white, and I saw the blade of vengenace take shape, slicing through everything else.
I threw myself at Greaves. I looked at his face through my outstretched hands, and I imagined them clamped around his throat. In my peripheral vision, I saw Thomas and Daniel leap forward, their mouths forming perfectly round circles as they cried "Noooooo…" nearly in unison.
Irene screamed, but the scream was long and soundless, as my ears could now hear nothing but the sound of red and white flames. She lurched towards Greaves, but Daniel shoved her aside as he struggled towards me. My vision was narrowing. The blackness was descending. But my hands were nearly at Greaves' throat. My goal was in reach.
Daniel and Thomas reached me at almost the same moment and each grabbed one of my arms.
The world exploded.
——————
I was in whiteness. It was not the sharp, violent white of my blade of vengeance, but a more solid, even white. It surrounded me, suffused me, permeated me.
It was everything.
I saw nothing, heard nothing. I seemed to float. My thoughts drifted through my mind like clouds, puffed and cottony against a blank white sky. I couldn't feel my body. I couldn't feel anything. I just knew I existed, and that I had thoughts.
I had no sense of time. But I managed to retain some semblance of my sense of self.
As I adjusted to being in nothingness, I began to remember odd bits and pieces. I knew that I'd been visiting a strange place, and that I'd been angry. I remembered three groups of people, all vying for what seemed like my soul. I couldn't remember why they wanted me, but I remembered that I'd had to get away from them, make them stop what they were doing.
I suddenly remembered something else. I remembered that I blamed these people for something. All of them. I blamed them, but I also blamed myself in equal measure. But for what, I wasn't sure.
There was something, though. Something hovering at the edge of my awareness. A name.
Lydia.
My mind reeled. I blamed them for Lydia. I blamed myself for Lydia.
Lydia was dead.
The grief came back, overtook me, just as the blackness had overtaken me before. Lydia was gone, and it was my fault. It was their fault. It was everyone's fault. And yet, my culpability loomed larger than that of the others. I had caused all this to happen. Everything was on my head.
As the feelings of grief and anguish swirled through my mind, I became aware of other sensations. My mind was beginning to process the outside world again. I still saw nothing but white, but I was hearing sounds now. Sounds outside of myself. Voices. Words.
"…Councillor…"
"…Jack, please. Stop…"
"…Mister Richmond…"
"…more powerful than…"
"…what's happening to him?…"
"…the dead woman…"
"…Brother Thomas…"
The voices swirled around me, commingling with my grief and sorrow, stirring my mind into a maelstrom of confusion and sensation. Nothing made sense.
And yet, somehow, I knew what was happening. And I knew that I had done this. This whiteness, this confusion, this alteration of what was. I had done it. Whatever it was these people had wanted with me, it had something to do with power.
And I possessed that power.
I struggled to define it, but it defied definition. Frustration bubbled within me, and I knew that I would never understand. My brain, my mind, had changed, and it was a focal point for energies I could not concieve.
And yet, here I was, wielding power such as few had ever dared grasp, and I had sudden and clear knowledge of one very simple thing.
I had to put everything back the way it had been.
With that very thought, the voices began to fade. The grief and anger began to fade. The swirling of my mind began to slow. The whiteness grew brighter, more intense.
And I knew it would soon be over.
I made my wish one last time: I wanted to forget all this, and go back to my life.
I stilled my mind, and the whiteness swept through me, scattering me, displacing me.
And I was gone.
——————–
I awoke to more whiteness. Bright whiteness. Unbearably bright whiteness.
I squinted at it, suddenly realizing that I could actually feel the movement of my eyelids. I tried to wiggle my fingers, and found that I could. My toes, the same. I moved my arm, my leg, turned my head. I had sensation in all parts of my body.
This was nothing like the whiteness I'd just been in. I'd had no bodily sensations there. Here, things were different.
I wondered where I was. Part of me hoped it some kind of afterlife.
"He's conscious," a voice said. I couldn't see who had spoken. The white was too bright.
"Mister Richmond," another voice said. "Can you hear me?"
I decided it was as good a time as any to try my mouth and vocal cords. "Yes," I said. My voice was raspy, but it was there.
My eyes began to adjust. I began to see shapes. There was still a lot of white, but I could see other shades now, too. Pink, green, blue. All pale, all soft. But still, colors.
"Where am I?" I managed to ask.
"You're in the hospital," the first voice said. "You're going to be all right."
I blinked and looked around. The brightness was more tolerable now, and I could see that I was surrounded by pink walls. A pale green curtain was pulled back and hung in bunches near the head of my bed. The person closest to me wore a light blue uniform.
"Hospital," I said. "Again."
"Yes, again." That was the second voice, and there was a hint of mirth in the tone. "You keep this up, Mister Richmond, we'll have to start charging you rent."
"Back in the psych ward?" I asked.
"No, you're not in the psych ward this time," the second voice said. "You need to rest, though, so just take it easy for now. Okay?"
I nodded. "Okay."
The two people finished whatever it was they were doing and left the room. I lay there for a long time, trying to decide whether I should think or not. I wasn't sure I wanted to think just then, but on the other hand, I thought, what the hell else was I going to do.
So I allowed myself to think. I thought about everything. My suicide attempt, my sightings of the strange woman from the 1940s, my conversations with Lydia—
A sob cracked its way through my chest and out my throat. Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes. Lydia was dead.
I remembered. I remembered it all. Every detail. From the aborted train ride to the breakfast in the enclave, from the interrogation room to Charlotte's kitchen. All of it.
I felt a pang of grief, not for Lydia this time, but for the loss of my most heartfelt wish: That I simply be allowed to forget.
I relived everything ten times over, and then I relived it again. Nurses came and went, monitors were checked, drugs administered. I lay still through it all, answering what questions I could and ignoring the rest. Somewhere in all of that the light coming through the window began to change, and I sensed that I had been in the room for a very long time.
And then I looked at the doorway, and there was Brad.
He looked sad. His eyes were sunken, his skin sallow. He looked as if he'd been awake for a long time.
"Brad," I said, my voice slightly less raspy.
He stepped into the room. His arms were crossed, his eyes empty.
"Lydia's dead," he said.
I gazed up at him. I assumed he was making a guess, or asking a question to which he already suspected the answer. But his tone of voice suggested that he was telling me something he thought I didn't know. But how could he know? Lydia had died on another world, as far from the day to day life of Brad Williams as she could have gotten.
"They found her in her apartment. She'd been shot."
They found her— It didn't make sense. How could she have been found in her apartment?
"She—" I stammered. "She was where?"
"In her apartment," he said. He was struggling to keep the anger and blame out of his voice. I could see that. I could hear it.
"But—"
Brad turned away and took a step towards the window. "I don't know what happened to you, but you'd better believe that when you get out of here, you're going to tell me every goddamned thing that went on after I dropped you off. And so help me, Jack, it had better not be any more fucking fairy tales about men in black suits and women from the 1940s."
He turned back to me. "I don't know how you're going to live with yourself," he said. "I want to beat the crap out of you for what you got Lydia involved in, but I know must have some kind of conscience in there somewhere, and I can't imagine anything I could do to you would be any worse than what you're going to do to yourself."
I watched him as he began to pace back and forth, from the window to the door and back again.
"No fairy tales," I said. I knew I'd never be able to speak of any of it again. It was too far fetched, too foreign, too painful. All I'd need now would be to add another element to the tale: The hidden place with the monks in the black hoods.
I idly wondered what had happened there after I'd disappeared—if indeed that's what it had looked like. I wondered what had become of the leader and the one who'd looked after me—What were their names again?
I stopped watching Brad and looked inward for a moment. Frowning, I tried to recall the names of the two brothers.
"What is it?" Brad had stopped his pacing and was looking at me.
I glanced up at him. "I'm—I'm just trying to recall something."
"Coming up with another piece of science for me to try and swallow?"
I shook my head slightly and frowned more deeply. "No. No, I'm just having trouble remembering—"
I could see the room. I could see the people in it. The little old man and the beautiful woman. The scarred guy and his boss. They'd all been there. But what were their names?
I looked up at Brad, panicked. "I'm starting to forget," I said.
He crossed his arms. "Well, isn't that just fucking convenient?"
"No," I said, my agitation catching in my throat. "No. I thought I wanted to forget, but I really don't. I've been through so much. I need to remember what happened to me."
Brad frowned. "Man, you're seriously freaking about this. Are you okay?"
I shook my head. "No. No, I'm not okay. I'm losing it, I'm losing all of it, as I lie here talking to you. It's slipping away."
I struggled to recall details of my time in the other world, but I could no longer see the details. The images were fuzzy. There was a breakfast. No, there were two breakfasts. I always remembered food. Surely I could hang onto that. And somebody made the breakfast. She liked me. I wanted to drop my towel in front of her. Yes, food and sex. I knew I'd remember those two things, at the very least.
But then even those details were gone. I felt tears begin to trickle down my cheeks. I was grieving for Lydia, and now I was grieving for the memories I thought I'd wanted erased.
—Be careful what you wish for—
I laid my head back on the pillow and began to sob. Brad approached the bed, his steps tentative.
"Now you're freaking me out," he said.
I closed my eyes, but the tears still escaped through the lids. There was no stopping them.
"What do you remember?" Brad asked.
I opened my eyes and looked into his. "I remember that I need help," I said.
Brad nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Well, that's a start."
I nodded back at him. It was true. It was a start.
The start of the long journey back.
