The Gift of Remembering

by C. L. Shaffer

  "Father, I don't want to discuss it any further. If you must keep to your dogmas, at the very least, keep them to yourself. That is my advice."

  Chris moved closer. "And if I don't?"

  Tia's face seemed to lose some of its color, which triggered another question in Chris's mind. "You know, you never did answer my earlier question about where the people who needed to be processed are sent."

  "That's right. I didn't."

  "What aren't you telling me?" He moved in front of her and pointed out the window. "Those high-rise buildings, they're for The Firsts' workers like myself, but where are all those people I saw at the reeducation camps? Where are they?"

  "Ma'am?"

  Chris looked back to see the butler, who'd initially let him into the house, enter the room.

  "Ma'am, the visitor you requested to see has arrived."

  "Yes, Henry. Please let her in."

  Chris felt his daughter observing him as he watched the visitor come through the doorway. It was Irene.

  His daughter walked toward her, and the recognition on Irene's face at seeing their daughter was too obvious. "What is this?" Chris asked his daughter in an attempt to give Irene a moment to compose herself.

  "I thought you'd like to congratulate Irene personally for completing her schooling." Tia outstretched her hand to her mother. "Hello, Irene. I'm Tia," she said cordially but with no emotion.

  Tia's coldness must have stung Irene, for she reached out and pulled Tia close, wrapping her arms around her.

  Chris raced in and grasped Irene's arms to loosen her hold. "Ah . . . I don't think she's quite mastered social skills yet."

  Irene backed away hesitantly, and Chris raised an eyebrow at her.

  "Well, no harm done." Tia adjusted her suit jacket, seeming uncomfortable by the embrace. "Would you care for something to drink, Irene?"

  "Yes . . . please," Irene responded, smiling through what Chris noticed were tear-filled eyes.

  One ran down her face, and Chris mimicked wiping his cheek with his hand, causing Irene to do the same. He let out a silent exhale.

  "See, father," Tia said with her back to them, "she said 'please,' so she's not entirely uncivilized."

  "I guess not."

  As Tia poured a drink for Irene, Chris mouthed a silent rebuke at his wife. His concern must have gotten through, for Irene placed her hand on his arm as if to reassure him. He nearly rested his own on top—an habitual gesture originating, no doubt, from the memories returning to him over the last few days. He stopped himself, however.

  Tia swung about with Irene's drink in hand, catching what seemed the last second of the exchange. She glanced at Chris and then at Irene. "Here you go, Irene," she finally said, as if putting her curiosity aside.

  She led them into a sunken living room, taking a sip of her drink after she sat down. "How do you like your job so far, Irene?"

  "I like it very much."

  Tia smiled at Chris. "See, father, she likes it very much."

  Chris frowned in response.

  Irene leaned toward them. "My boss says I am good at coordinating his schedule."

  "That is what I've heard as well. You should be proud. You're part of a team that is helping with logistics. It's very important getting supplies to our other locations."

  Irene nodded. "You are welcome."

  Chris had to applaud his wife. Even her speech patterns resembled those of a novice. He wondered if his wife was pulling from her many experiences at the White House, where she interacted with foreign dignitaries who could speak only the barest of English.

  "And what of your job, father? How is that going?"

  Chris scratched the back of his neck. "What can I say? I may be doing more administrator type duties, but Wallace is still a bear to work with. I'll be glad when we're through clearing the old city."

  Tia tilted her head and gave him a quick glare. "I don't know. I always thought Lieutenant Cunningham was a compatriot. He certainly is passionate about The Firsts' mission." Tia sat her drink on the glass coffee table in front of her. "That's something we have in common." She glimpsed over at Irene. "Isn't it true, Irene, that women love a man who is passionate about something important?"

  Chris noticed Irene had scooted up to nearly the edge of her seat. It was apparent that she wanted to say something. He decided to speak for her. "Passion can sometimes lead a man to do unspeakable things," he said. "That's particularly true for Wallace. I would stay clear of him."

  Tia smiled mischievously. "That will be difficult."

  "Why?" Irene asked with a sharp tone, looking as if she were nearly ready to pounce.

  Tia flashed her a look.

  "I think Irene is just curious about the difficulty," Chris interceded quickly as he watched his wife settle back into her chair, perhaps realizing she was appearing a little too interested in the topic.

  Tia lifted her glass off the coffee table as if to offer a toast. "Yes, well, the difficulty comes into play because Wallace and I are engaged."

  Chris just sat there for a moment. His mind floated back to the incident at the hospital when Tia walked in on Wallace, Sims, and his gun. At the time, Chris assumed Wallace had obeyed Tia because she outranked him, but now it seemed he'd ended his amusement because he and Tia were in a relationship. "Good grief," Chris finally blurted out, "Wallace is a madman."

  Tia shrugged her shoulders. "As they say, 'One man's passion is another man's madness.'"

  Chris scratched his neck again. "No one says that. That's not even a saying." Chris stood and stomped away to the windows. He needed to create some distance between him and his daughter. As the initial shock began to recede, he glanced at Irene. She appeared to be biting her tongue. He stared out the window again and watched as a cluster of workers hastily moved their belongings into one of the high-rise buildings. In the distance, he noticed the color of the sky changing to dark blue. A storm was approaching, and the men knew it.

  "I think Wallace is a strange man," he heard Irene say from behind him.

  Chris pointed at Irene. "See, even Irene can see there's something not right about Wallace."

  Tia got up and walked over to him. "Are you really going to use her as a character witness?"

  "Well, she's all I've got right now."

  "Trust me, father. I know what I'm doing."

  Chris placed his hand on his daughter's shoulder. "I beg you. Don't do this."

  "I'm afraid it's quite impossible. The date is set, and there's nothing more to discuss."

  Chris let go of his daughter. "It's interesting you didn't lead with that news."

  Tia cast her attention to the floor. She appeared somewhat guilt-stricken by the comment. "I do hope, in time, you'll see how my choice was the right choice," she said, raising her head again.

  Chris answered her with a sigh. He rejoined Irene at the couch. Her well-performed blank expression was holding steady. But Chris wondered how long it would last. "I'll see Irene back to her apartment."

  Chapter 24

  Chris and Irene walked in silence toward Chris's manual-drive car parked outside Tia's home. As he opened the door for Irene to get in, he could see her detached manner deteriorate. Her eyes filled with tears once more, and the vein alongside her neck was throbbing. He recalled witnessing that reaction once before back in the holding cell. But now he remembered an additional detail. That vein often served him well in his married life. It indicated when his wife was ticked off at him.

  Closing the door, he tried to regain some composure. Sliding into the driver's seat, he started the car and began their journey down the steep mountain road, back to the center of the city.

  Irene wiped her face with her hand as her body seemed to relax into the seat. "Wallace is a cruel man," she said quietly, as if still afraid someone was listening. "We can't allow our daughter to marry him."

  Chris shifted the car's gears. "On that, we can agree."

  "So how do you suggest we stop her?"

  Chris punche
d on the air conditioning. It was becoming more humid with the approaching storm. "Your performance back there was good, but it wasn't that good. I think Tia suspects something. But that may help us."

  "I don't see how."

  "With a little nudge, it will." Chris noticed the vein on his wife's neck becoming more prominent again.

  "You'll need to explain what you mean," she said, her voice rising in volume.

  "I plan to call Tia tonight and ask her out for dinner." Chris swung the car into a wide turn. "At dinner, I'll tell her how I've come to see that Wallace is the right choice for her. That should soften her up. I'll then start to point her in the direction of who her real parents are. We'll see if that does what I think it will." He glanced at his wife. "Are you okay with me manipulating her in that way?"

  "I don't see any other way," she said and then laughed either from fatigue or relief.

  Chris smiled at her. "I like hearing that."

  "What? That I agree with your plan?"

  "Well, yes, but I was really talking about hearing you laugh."

  She offered him a smile. "So how much are you remembering now?"

  Chris could feel the smile on his face developing into a smirk. "When it comes to our marriage, I remember everything."

  "Everything?"

  "Yes." The smirk on his face was almost uncontrollable now as if it were a remembered habit.

  Irene put her hand to her mouth and inclined toward the window.

  Chris noticed a few rain droplets hit the glass where she leaned. "And I wouldn't mind making some new memories too. If you know what I mean."

  Irene let out another laugh. "Yes, I think I know what you mean."

  "Well, I wasn't sure. I'm a little rusty."

  She laughed once more but then fell silent as if a thought had gained her attention.

  "What is it?"

  "It's nothing," she said and pointed out the windshield to a sky that was now dark grey. "Looks as if we're really going to get hit by this storm."

  "Come on. I know something's bothering you, and it's more than just the storm. You can't pretend anymore with me now that I remember you."

  "Why did you grow that mustache?"

  A gust of wind hit the car as sheets of rain suddenly swished against the windows. Chris switched on the wipers. "Mustache?"

  "When the kids were younger, you started growing a mustache. Why?"

  Chris intermittently caught sight of the road through the relief of the wipers, as he tried to recall the incident, or more importantly, why his wife was asking him about the incident. A memory then swept in on him as if it were a superhero trying to help. "I . . . remember now. I had that gash on my upper lip from the accident in the garage, and I needed to give an important speech at work. You remember? I figured the mustache would cover it, and it did. You helped me shave it off when the presentation was over." He glanced at his wife, who seemed to file the memory back into a lifetime of recollections. "Did you forget?"

  She put her hand to her forehead. "I don't remember the reason you grew the mustache. I only recall being suspicious about it. That you—"

  "What?"

  "I took the mustache as a sign of there being another woman—that you grew it because she liked mustaches . . . because I certainly didn't."

  Chris thought about the comment. "Is that why you didn't trust me back at the theater? Because you thought I'd cheated on you?"

  Irene rubbed her forehead but didn't answer.

  Chris slammed on the breaks, and the car skidded a little on the wet road. "Is that why you were second-guessing our plan?"

  Again, his wife said nothing. He pointed at the door. "Get out."

  "What?"

  "Get out of the car. If you can't trust me at this point, then there's no way we can work together to get our kids back."

  Irene dropped her hand to her lap as slabs of rain hit the car. "There's no way I'm getting out of this car." She let out a sigh. "Look, I admit that the thought made me doubt you, but I did go through with our plan. Didn't I?"

  "After they gave you a shot and dragged you to the machine."

  Irene snorted a rebuke. "I don't know what to tell you. Maybe . . . The Firsts messed with my memories to breed doubt."

  Chris stepped on the gas again as his anger began to cool. It was possible that what his wife was saying was true. The Firsts had apparently done something to both his and Tia's memories. But he still didn't understand why they'd mess with Irene's in such a way, and he vocalized his doubts.

  "I'm sure you've already guessed that The Firsts took some of my memories. I didn't remember you as my husband—not your face anyway. The personality was there, but what you looked like was all erased, so the memories I held of you were void of your physical features."

  "Well, that's a shame."

  She pursed her lips. "What I'm trying to tell you is they erased your identity from my mind so they could use you as a mole to infiltrate The Opposition. They thought we'd bond easily. That's what Wallace told me, anyhow. So who knows what else they did while they were in there. Maybe they inserted the suspicious memory as an insurance policy, so if I got to thinking you were my husband, I'd still keep you at a distance, believing you'd been unfaithful. And as you've pointed out, that doubt nearly worked in their favor."

  "When did you know you were my wife?” he asked, thinking back to that time. “It didn't seem as if it happened back at the holding cell because when I told you that you were my wife, it sort of felt like I was telling you something you already knew. You looked surprised, but now that I'm thinking about it, maybe you were only surprised that I had come to know it myself."

  "At that point, I already knew. Wallace told me in a not-so-nice way at the mill."

  The mention of the mill caused Chris to recollect the day. His stomach soured. He remembered the way Wallace had treated her—pulling her hair and forcing her to the ground. He recalled how she looked at him with a pleading expression. But he'd done nothing about it.

  "You're remembering something, aren't you?" she asked.

  He didn't respond. Instead, he gripped the steering wheel tighter. The rain was beginning to clear, but his mind wasn't. He was feeling guilty and angry. Both emotions were stewing simultaneously within him. The guilt was perhaps unwarranted since he hadn't known at the time that Irene was his wife. On the other side of it, she was still a human being who'd Wallace mistreated. He promised himself that he'd make it up to her and the others who Wallace had abused. The assurance calmed him, and then he recollected something else. He hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. "I remembered you."

  "What?"

  "At the mill, I recall getting this strange feeling that I knew you. At first, it was only a blur, but once we put you and Charlie into custody, the memory of the town, of you, and Natalie, came flooding back. That was when I went back to see Mac for a second time to get processed. I knew I needed to erase the location of The Opposition. That was why I didn't recognize you at the hospital. I'd already gotten rid of your memory to protect the town, to protect—"

  "So you remembered the town? Did you recollect anything further back?"

  Chris understood what she was getting at. She wanted to know if he recalled her being his wife. "No, it was as if I only remembered the most recent events. I recollected the town and you being in it. I didn't recall you being my wife or us having kids. I don't think I could have gotten processed again if I'd remembered that."

  A smile grew on his wife's face as Chris turned the car onto the main avenue, which led back into the city's center. He noticed three men hauling a ladder out to the street as the sun began to shine through the dark clouds. The team appeared to be installing banners on rods that would apparently line the entire road. But there was something unusual about the flags. They didn't display The Firsts' standard logo. Instead, the graphic had been altered somewhat. Gone was the human head with flames coming out of it. Instead, a yellow sunray shined in the direction of the silhouette. He n
oticed Irene seeming to recognize the change as well.

  "The reason you're remembering—some call it a gift,” she said, looking at him. “Donatello referred to it as The Gift of Remembering.”

  "Yeah, I've heard of that. I figured it was just a myth, but now—"

  "Do you think it's a glitch or just The Firsts' inability to erase every memory or some unique biological response?"

  Chris was too busy parallel parking to answer.

  "Whatever it is," Irene continued, "I don't think it's unique to you. I worked with a woman who claimed she remembered her daughter, who just so happens to be the mayor of Mayfield City."

  Chris turned off the engine. "You worked with a woman whose remembering? Where is she now?"

  "I don't know. They took her away, probably to get reprocessed. Unfortunately, she made the mistake of remembering in front of everyone, including the office cameras. My guess is there must be others like you and her."

  "I suppose that's possible, but it makes me feel . . . less special."

  Irene shook her head at him.

  Chris peered out the window. "It looks as if it's cleared up a bit. Do you mind if I walk you up to your apartment?"

  "I would like that."

  …

  As Chris and Irene made their way through the cement block building toward Irene's apartment, they held off on their conversation, having agreed in the car that it could breed suspicion among nosey neighbors. But his wife kept giving him glances and smiling as she did.

  Chris exhaled a quick laugh. "Quit it," he said.

  She turned serious as they rounded a corner, and a man approached them. "Hi, Chase," she said to the young, fit security guard. The guard tipped his hat at her and smiled.

  Chris pointed his thumb back at the guy after he’d gone around a corner. "Who's Chase?"

  Irene stopped in front of a door and began to unlock it. "As I'm sure you could tell, he's a security guard."