What you don’t remember can’t hurt you…
Cyan has lived at the Elsewhere Sanctuary for as long as he can remember, freed by Dr Haven from dark memories of his past life. But when Cyan finds a mysterious warning carved into the bones of a whale skeleton, he starts to wonder what he had to forget to be so happy.
New resident, Jonquil, begins to resist the sanctuary’s treatment, preferring to hold on to her memories – even the bad ones. So when Dr Haven resorts to harsher measures, Cyan embarks on a secret mission to discover the truth about the sanctuary…and himself.
“Marvellously visual and gripping”
A. M. Howell
For anyone who’s hurting.
CONTENTS
About this book
Title Page
Dedication
TREATMENT PHASE: A
DOSE ONE: TALL BONES
DOSE TWO: THE GRINDING DRAWER
DOSE THREE: THE LETHE METHOD
DOSE FOUR: THE STROBE CHAIR
DOSE FIVE: BOOKS AND CHOCOLATE
DOSE SIX: RECONFIGURATION
DOSE SEVEN: THE S WORD
TREATMENT PHASE: B
DOSE EIGHT: GET SET
DOSE NINE: THE SERENITY
DOSE TEN: DISCLOSURE
DOSE ELEVEN: GREY OCEANS
DOSE TWELVE: CAT AND TONGUE
DOSE THIRTEEN: SNUGS AND HOLLOWS
DOSE FOURTEEN: DUNE-LIGHT
DOSE FIFTEEN: MUSTARD AND STARCH
DOSE SIXTEEN: PINS
DOSE SEVENTEEN: NEEDLES
TREATMENT PHASE: C
DOSE EIGHTEEN: AWAKENING
DOSE NINETEEN: BRUISING TO BLUE
DOSE TWENTY: DEEPER
DOSE TWENTY-ONE: WITHDRAWN
DOSE TWENTY-TWO: LAST ONE WHERE
DOSE TWENTY-THREE: SOMETIME-SOMEWHERE
DOSE TWENTY-FOUR: TICKLESS TOCKLESS
DOSE TWENTY-FIVE: TINKERING
TREATMENT PHASE: D
DOSE TWENTY-SIX: FOLLOWING DOTS
DOSE TWENTY-SEVEN: CLIPS AND CODES
DOSE TWENTY-EIGHT: DEEPER STILL
DOSE TWENTY-NINE: BAIT
DOSE THIRTY: A PARTING GIFT
DOSE THIRTY-ONE: NO-ZONE
DOSE THIRTY-TWO: HEARTBEAT
DOSE THIRTY-THREE: GREY PARADE
RECOVERY PHASE: A
STEP ONE: SALTWATER
THE MEMORY THIEVES: AUTHOR’S NOTE
TALKING ABOUT FEELINGS
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Copyright Page
Cyan sat back against a huge curving rib. He was surrounded by a boundary of bone: a whale’s yellowing skeleton, stranded in the sand. His creased uniform stood out against the dunes, like a green bottle on a deserted beach.
Taking a book from his satchel, Cyan found his page and plucked out his bookmark. He began to read, and was a few pages in when he heard a throbbing in the air.
He swept his white fringe from his tortoiseshell glasses, got up and peered through a gap between some ribs. Apart from outcrops of rock and some stranded, rusting boats, the landscape was all sandy knolls, topped here and there by patches of beach grass.
Cyan’s gaze rose and he found the sound’s source. An orange blip was cutting through the sky, coming in from the south and heading for the sanctuary. As the chopping of rotor blades sharpened, the helicopter took shape. The lights on its underbelly winked against a backdrop of cloud.
A muffled beep came from the pocket of Cyan’s green trousers. He reached in and pulled out a small silver locket. With its thin chain still clipped to his trousers, he opened it up and read the message on its screen:
Ms Ferryman’s office. ASAP.
Cyan sighed and slipped his bookmark back into his book. While grabbing his satchel, it knocked a clump of sand from a rib and something caught his eye. He paused, then got to his knees to brush more sand away.
Something had been scratched low into the bone. Tiny words, careful and deep.
best to deceive the memory thieves
between green and red, fight don’t forget
S-7270
Cyan frowned. In all the time he’d spent at these bones, he’d never noticed this. The etched words and numbers were strange. Half of them didn’t mean anything, and those that did sent an uncomfortable flutter through his stomach.
memory thieves
fight don’t forget
Cyan brooded on the words while putting his book back in his satchel. Turning away, he left through the whale’s parted jaws and mounted the quad bike parked on some nearby beach grass.
Cyan slapped on some goggles and flicked the ignition switch; all silence was lost to the engine’s loud growls.
A twist of the throttle sent him racing across dunes. His blazer and shirt flapped wildly in the wind, and the hurtling quad spat sand in its wake.
He could see his destination up ahead, breaking the sandscape’s monotony: the green hills of a grassy cove. To his right he saw several ships, half-buried and clustered around juts of rock. Some of the boats had tipped onto their sides, with their tall masts tilting towards the ground.
The clouds parted and sunlight hit the wrecks, causing the salt in their rust to sparkle like diamonds. Cyan grinned at the sight. He could taste the salty grit that hit his teeth. Revving the engine, he launched himself over another dune and laughed giddily when the quad landed with a thump.
Up ahead, two stone piers stretched like pincers from the cove’s harbour. Tucked within the cove was the Elsewhere Sanctuary – a vast cube of white concrete, pocked with rows of large porthole windows.
Cyan passed the lighthouse on the eastern pier’s tip. Its black-on-white spirals were thick but flaking, and its lantern panes were hidden behind slats, just as they’d been for as long as he could remember.
He revved the quad up the wide, cobbled ramp that led from the sand to the harbour’s raised bank. A fellow resident leaped aside as he flew over the ramp’s top. Cyan hit the brakes, swerving to a stop before grinning at his friend. “Ahoy, Teal!”
Teal grimaced and threw both hands into the air. “Can’t you watch where you’re going, Cyan?”
Cyan laughed. “Can’t you watch where I’m going?”
Teal yanked off his wire spectacles and, after wiping them clean with his own green blazer, pinched the tape wrapped tightly around their bridge. “Worst driver on the island, I swear. Your quad’s throwing dirt all over the place.” He put the glasses back on and started scratching his neck and afro. “It’s in my shirt and hair and…argh, everywhere!”
“Lighten up, joy boy. You’ve been here…however long, and you’re still not used to a bit of sand?”
“I hate the sand.”
“You love it. Gives you something to moan about.”
“I’ve got you, Cyan; I’ll always have something to moan about.”
Cyan clicked his fingers. “Hey, did you see the helicopter come in?”
“Heard it land.” Teal gestured over his shoulder to the hangar next to the sanctuary. Cyan could see the helicopter on the hangar’s roof, motionless and gleaming on its helipad.
Teal shrugged. “Probably bringing in medical supplies or something.”
“Supplies come with the hovercraft. I think it’s a new resident.” Cyan flicked dirt from his blazer’s double-striped cuffs, then pulled his locket from his pocket. “Got a message to see Ms Ferryman. Maybe I’m doing a new resident’s induction.”
Teal shook his head. “Doubt it. We had Pewter come in just the other day. New residents don’t come in that often.”
“Dunno. There’s always someone else who…wants to forget.” Cyan slowed as he spoke, thinking back to the words he’d seen carved into bone. His eyebrows
began to sink.
Teal shook his head again. “Nah. Not today.”
Cyan’s grin returned. “You’re so sure of yourself! Okay, tell you what: I’ll bet you it’s a new resident.”
“Oh, yeah? And what’ll you bet?”
“Tonight’s pudding.”
Teal mulled this over and began stroking the small pot of his belly. “Deal. But don’t whine when I’m eating your afters.”
“Ditto. Sometime-somewhere!” Cyan doffed an imaginary cap, then shot across the harbour to whip through the hangar’s double doors.
The quad’s snarls echoed across steel walls, until Cyan parked by some other bikes and killed the engine. He hung his goggles on the handlebar and hopped off his seat. Smells of diesel and cool metal filled his nose.
Two mechanics were tinkering with the orange hovercraft that filled the hangar’s bulk. Cyan saluted when they looked at him from behind massive twin propellers, then left the hangar and made for the sanctuary.
Hopping up the marble steps that scaled the staff floor and led to the sanctuary’s entrance, Cyan paused to murmur beneath his breath: “S seven two seventy. Between green and red, fight don’t…forget.”
The words bothered him, though he couldn’t put his finger on why.
A sudden flush of heat had him loosening his collar. He shook his head as if shaking the words away and – after stamping sand from his plimsolls – forced the spring back into his step.
And with a push of the revolving door, Cyan entered the Elsewhere Sanctuary.
Inside, at least twenty young residents – all dressed in the same green uniform – filled the sanctuary’s foyer with chatter. Some crossed the blue carpet on their way to other rooms, while others sat together on trim, colourfully cushioned benches.
Paintings of ships and sailors decked the smooth oak walls. From its position between two spiral stairways, a large white clock faced the entrance, as if on vigilant watch. Its numbers were made of brass and – just like all the sanctuary’s clocks – this clock had no hands. Its centre bore only the sanctuary’s emblem: a simple, upside-down anchor within a ring of rope. The same emblem appeared on the breast of Cyan’s blazer, on his satchel’s clasp and on the casing of his locket.
Cyan headed for the corridor to the right and stopped at a door with a brass nameplate: Ms Ferryman, Head Orderly.
After knocking, he tucked his loose shirt into his trousers. There was a buzz from the electronic lock, and he eased the door open.
“Ahoy, Ms Ferryman.”
Ms Ferryman beckoned from behind her desk, which had the same style as much of the sanctuary’s furniture, with shallow drawers and jutting, tapered legs.
Someone was sitting on the chair that faced Ms Ferryman’s desk; someone new and already in uniform.
The girl turned to study him with deep brown eyes. Her black, centre-parted hair was thick and wavy, and so long that it reached her hips. She had brown skin and looked a tad younger than himself – maybe about thirteen – though he wasn’t sure of his own age.
While the girl watched him, Cyan saw a glimmer in her gaze: something like unease, perhaps even fear.
Ms Ferryman nudged the bun of black braids at the back of her head, waiting for the door to close and lock behind him. “Sit down, Cyan.” She nodded at the bench by the wall. Cyan took a seat.
Ms Ferryman eyed him with a coolness that verged on being frosty, then tugged the hem of her white tunic. “A new resident was flown in this afternoon.” She addressed the girl, who was now gazing timidly at her lap. “Would you like to introduce yourself to Cyan?”
The girl looked at him again. Her face was long and delicate, with high cheekbones that rose when she tried to smile. She massaged her fingers while she spoke. “Hi, Cyan. I’m Pri—”
“No,” interrupted Ms Ferryman. She lifted her primly trimmed eyebrows. The dark skin of her forehead wrinkled. “Remember: that’s not your name any more. It’s crucial to the treatment that you never use your real – your old – name. Names are one of the hardest things to forget. You need to be thorough in aiding its removal. Now try again.”
The girl nodded in meek apology, cleared her throat and did as she was told. “Hello, Cyan. I’m…Jonquil.”
“Ahoy, Jonquil.” Cyan gave a little wave before frowning at Ms Ferryman. “What colour’s jonquil? Some sort of…purple or something?”
“Yellow,” said Ms Ferryman.
“Right.” Cyan nodded as if he’d known all along, then noticed the confusion on Jonquil’s face. “We’re all named after colours,” he explained. “So, I’m Cyan. Which is kind of bluey green.”
Jonquil still looked puzzled.
“Don’t worry,” he went on. “It gets easier. All the new residents soon settle in.”
Jonquil’s smile was faint but grateful. She seemed unaware of her fidgeting fingers.
Ms Ferryman cleared her throat. “Cyan’s been with us for a long time, Jonquil. He’ll show you how to entertain yourself here on the Island of Elsewhere. There’s plenty to do – exploring the caves and wrecks and so on. And he’ll accompany you while you begin treatment and find your way around the sanctuary. It can be a little…overwhelming at first. We find that new residents benefit from having someone more experienced around. To ease them in.” Her dark eyes moved to Cyan. “You don’t mind, do you, Cyan?”
“Not one bit, Ms Ferryman.”
“Thank you. First things first, then. Dr Haven is expecting her. She’ll need to record her oath and receive an initial course of treatment. Could you take her to his office, and then guide her through the next reconfiguration, so she knows how to stay safe whenever it happens?”
“Consider it done.”
“Thank you. We’ll schedule a reconfiguration for later. Now, Jonquil, I see you’re wearing a watch.”
Jonquil glanced at the watch on her wrist. “Yes, it was a present from—”
Ms Ferryman’s hand shot up. “Again. No talking about the past. Not to anyone. It’s a simple rule, and it’s essential if you want to get what you came here for. Now give me your watch, please.”
Jonquil took off the watch and – after a moment’s hesitation – handed it over. Ms Ferryman held it at a distance between finger and thumb, as if it were dirty or dangerous.
“We don’t do time here,” she explained, standing up to reveal trousers as starched and white as her tunic.
Cyan glimpsed the staff card clipped to Ms Ferryman’s waist and couldn’t help smiling at its photo of her. He’d often thought it looked far friendlier than the real thing.
“Time is an anchor,” continued Ms Ferryman. “It hinders the…disorientation, as we call it, that’s crucial to the Lethe Method.”
With that, she marched on flat white shoes to one of the wooden cabinets by the far wall. She opened its lowest drawer and tossed the watch in before slamming the drawer shut. The three of them listened while the drawer’s mechanism ground the watch to pieces.
When Cyan looked at Jonquil again he froze. A bright sheen was trembling in her eyes. He shuffled along the bench for a better look, trying to recall when he’d last seen someone so close to crying. But nothing came to mind.
Ms Ferryman must have noticed too. Her lips pursed and she let out a soft sigh. “It’s okay, Jonquil. Everything will be fine. You agreed to come here so you could escape whatever it was that happened to you. To forget and stop the pain. Isn’t that so?”
Jonquil rubbed her nose and nodded.
“We’ll help you with that, I promise. But you have to help us to help you. And that means letting go.” She looked back towards the grinding drawer. “It means letting go of time, of who you were – of everything. Are you willing to do that?”
Jonquil’s eyes grew moister. For a moment it looked like she might cry real, actual tears. But she blinked them away, pushed out her chest and nodded.
“Good. Then you’ll find peace soon enough. We’ll see to that.”
There was a dull thunk as the watch
– or whatever was left of it – dropped into the incinerator below.
Ms Ferryman opened another drawer, took something out and returned to her seat. She held the object – a metal circle no bigger than a coin, with a fine chain and clip attached to its side – in the light of her orb-like desk lamp.
“This is your locket. Every resident has one.” She opened the locket to reveal its round, blank screen. “Your locket serves multiple functions. It replays your oath – something you’ll be recording with Dr Haven shortly – whenever you need it. It acts as an alert system. It tells you when to get up, when to pick up your lunch and when to have dinner. These things will never happen at regular times, but between them and treatment sessions, you’re free to do as you please. Your locket will also help you to navigate the sanctuary and find your way back when you’re exploring the island. Have it with you at all times, and charge it using the charger in whichever bedroom it leads you to at night. Here, take it. Use this clip to attach it firmly to the inside of your pocket.”
Jonquil held the locket warily on her open palm, before clipping it in her skirt pocket.
Ms Ferryman said something, but Cyan didn’t catch the words. He’d seen a flash through one of the large round windows set deep into the wall: a white flicker of flame. His hands gripped the bench, trembling and clawed, until he realized it was a trick of the light – the sun’s reflection on a quad rider’s goggles.
“Cyan?”
His eyes shifted to Ms Ferryman. He inhaled deeply, felt the tightness leaving his chest.
“I said,” repeated Ms Ferryman, “you can take Jonquil to see Dr Haven now.”
“Right.” Cyan glanced at the window again, almost laughing with relief. He beamed and rubbed behind his ear. “Sure. Dr Haven.”
Cyan and Jonquil rose from their seats. Cyan offered his hand, which Jonquil took shyly so he could lead her to the door.
He pressed the button that released its electric lock. While leaving, he pretended to doff a cap at Ms Ferryman. “Sometime-somewhere, Ms Ferryman.”
“Same to you, Cyan.” Ms Ferryman was already bending towards some paperwork on her desk.
Cyan led Jonquil across the foyer before stopping by its revolving door. “Okay, a bit of orientation first. Right now, we’re on the communal floor, which is basically for everyone. This is the foyer – though you’ve probably figured that out for yourself. Dr Haven’s office is that way, on the opposite side to Ms Ferryman’s.”
The Memory Thieves Page 1
