by J. Kowallis
“Can we change the connection to another room?” Reggie questioned.
“I’m sure we could, but even I’m still getting used to the technology.” Nate’s voice hardened. “It might be like things used to be.” He paused. “System, find Hugh Salinger.”
The screen went blank again and Ransley’s head jerked toward it. “What was that? What did you do?”
Moments later, the image appeared again and they were looking directly into one of Public One’s resident homes.
“It’s voice activated,” Nate said.
“Hey, London, I can’t find my . . .” Hugh stopped as he walked through the basic living room of one of the Public One homes. Although, it was noticeable different now. Paintings hung on the walls, a colorful blanket draped over the armrest of the corner chair, and the chrome dining table and chairs had been switched out for an antique oak set.
Hugh held a dish towel in his hands and it dangled from his large hands while he stared back at them. “Holy s—”
“Hugh,” Nate cut him off, a relieved grin stealing across his face. “Can you hear us?”
Hugh cursed in return and looked wide-eyed. “Nate? You have no idea how good it is to see you. Who’s that?” He motioned toward Ransley.
“This is Ransley.”
“Hey, Hugh,” Reggie called to him from the couch.
“Reggie?” A smile spread on his face. “I’m so relieved you guys are all right.”
Nate nodded back. “Yeah, us too. Listen, we’re in a hurry. We need to ask you some questions.”
He swallowed and nodded. “Sure. You guys are safe, right?”
“For now,” Nate’s voice dropped.
In the background, London’s lanky body darted out from the hallway and stopped. “Nate? Reggie?”
“Hey, kid,” Nate replied.
“We don’t have time to catch up,” Reggie said to London. “Hugh, we have a Public Four citizen with us. She sustained a head injury a few days ago and she hasn’t been right ever since. Now, Public Four has a program they call the Nexis. We think they ran her through it and somehow her mind was altered. We don't know how, but the head injury seems to have done something far worse. That’s what we need to ask you about.”
Hugh’s eyes widened, but he stayed silent. London folded his arms, watching each of them intently.
“She’s been erratic. She’s not functional, she can’t think straight, can barely walk, and is sometimes violent. I think she’s reliving memories. I don’t know what she was like before, but she’s mumbling a lot about different things. Most of the time they aren’t understandable, but I wonder . . . I wonder if maybe her mind is trying to repair itself. Could that be the reason?”
Hugh shook his head. “Honestly, Reggie, I don’t know for sure. Without knowing what was done to her, and not being there, a diagnosis is extremely difficult. As far as recovering memories, years ago, there were studies with amnesiacs where they attempted to develop memory skills. Regain what they lost by finding different techniques to retrieve memories or even create new retrieval paths. Things like pictures, notebooks, calendars. They worked, but I can’t even be sure if she’s suffering from amnesia. I mean, head trauma wouldn’t cause erratic behavior.” He folded his arms and looked off to the side, thinking. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Explain what you know about the Nexis.”
“Not much,” Nate chimed in. “All we know is Public Four runs all their captives through the process. It alters their physical form, mental facilities, pretty much anything to make them ‘perfect’.”
“Sounds like The Public,” London rolled his eyes.
“Are you thinking they implanted her with something?” Hugh replied.
“Maybe.” Reggie spoke up. “They planted a chip in me years ago. We can’t be sure though. With her behavior, we don’t dare go digging around in her skull to find out. Would the technology be available to enhance mental and physical traits like this? I don’t understand how it would work.”
Hugh cleared his throat. “Not that I know of. Not on that scale. My immediate suggestion would be to try to solidify this woman’s memories. Give her something concrete to hold onto. A photo, a . . . journal entry, or even a specific emotion can tie her memories together.”
“She’s a Public employee, Hugh. I doubt we’ll find anything,” Nate murmured. “Although,” he turned to look at Carmen who stared right at Reggie, “she’s got a little hide-a-hole with things I don’t think are exactly Public sanctioned. We might get lucky.”
“Well,” Hugh scratched the scruff on his face, “unless you do, that’s all the help I can give you. Do you want to contact me again later tonight?”
“No,” Nate’s voice barked. “It was risky enough contacting you this once.”
Hugh nodded. “I understand. Look, I don’t know what you guys are doing down there, but if you need help. You—“
The feed cut off. The projection disappeared.
Someone had shut off the communication.
“Nate?” Reggie’s voice broke.
He reached forward to try and get the screen to reappear, but nothing came up. Was it a glitch overriding the system? Or was Public Four responsible?
Nate’s eyes flickered up to the projection when it reappeared again on its own. A set of words scrolled, and a cool voice rang through the apartment.
ATTENTION. DUE TO INCREASED SECURITY MEASURES, ALL EXTERIOR AND INTRACITY COMMUNICATIONS WITH BRANCHES OF THE PUBLIC HAS BEEN NEGATED. THIS IS SIMPLY A PRECAUTION. ONLY AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL WITHIN THE PUBLIC FOUR COMMAND NETWORK (PFCN) HAVE AUTHORITY TO GRANT TEMPORARY INTRACITY COMMUNICATIONS.
Then, the words and the voice began all over again. Nate pressed his hand to the pad again and the projection disappeared, the hidden panel closing over it. They all looked back and forth each other.
“If they knew which apartment sent out the signal, they’d already be here, right?” Ransley folded her arms.
Nate turned to Reggie. She already had her eyes glazing over. Her neck tensed. When her vision ended, she shook her head. “I don’t see them coming. Nothing’s changed. They won’t be able to pinpoint us. You did a good job, Nate.”
He nodded. They were all on edge, but safe for the moment. “Well, if we’re not going to die today, we need to think about what Hugh said. The picture idea sounds like a good start, but this woman has almost nothing of personal value. Ransley, could, uh, you go into the bedroom and see if you can find . . . something among Carmen’s things that may work.” Nate sighed heavily. “I don’t think we’ll find anything, but we need to try. I’ll look through her books. Maybe they have some sentimentality.”
“Mamá?” Carmen’s voice strangled out. Her fingers lashed around Reggie’s wrist and she stared up at the ceiling. “Por favor, no quiero que se quede atrás. Por favor, por favor.” Reggie hushed her and tried to get her grip off from around her wrist.
Nate pulled the Spanish he knew from his training to his memory. Don’t leave me behind? What in the world was she seeing?
“Las velas deben ser quemado, pero son tan bonitos. No sé qué hacer. Por favor, no estar enfermo. No quiero que me dejes. Por supuesto que quiero estar aquí. Yo soy parte de El Público ahora. ¿Qué pasa si se aferró a ella? Lo necesito. Sí, así es.”
Her words tied together in one long line, without a single breath. Nate hurried to the hidden nook and rifled through the books and magazine articles. Most were basic. There was only one full magazine. An old TV Guide.
“What about this?” Nate mumbled to Reggie across the room. “It’s addressed to a Soledad Sanchez. Different last names. Could be a relative.”
“It could be no one,” Reggie argued.
He walked over, ignoring Reggie’s comment, and knelt in front of Carmen. Nate held the magazine and the address label in front of Carmen’s face and looked straight at her.
“Soledad Sanchez. Do you know who that is? Soledad. Soledad.” Nate grabbed her hand and stroked the top of her fingertips with his t
humb, calmly, assuringly. “¿Sabes quién es?”
Carmen’s eyes flitted back and forth from Nate, to Reggie, to the book. Her fingers reached out and lightly grazed the address label. A garbled sob cut off in her throat. Her eyes became moist. Nate was right. That name triggered something.
“¿Conoces a esta persona? ¿Hermana? ¿Amiga?” He looked at the date on the magazine—2007—and then asked one more time, “¿Es tu abuela?” The Spanish rolled over his tongue as Carmen’s eyes finally registered what he said. “Carmen, is this name . . . Soledad . . . is she your grandmother? Your mamás mother?”
A tear dropped from the corner of Carmen’s eye and it fell down her cheek and into Reggie’s lap. Her eyes fixated on the label. Slowly, she reached up and grabbed onto the small magazine. Her hands shook, but she pulled it close and held it tight against her. “I want it normal again.”
―RANSLEY―
The incessant tink, tink, tink of rain on the windowpanes echoes through the dark apartment. We haven’t left for days—except for the brief scouting trips or food runs Reggie and Nate make. I’m going nuts in here. What’s worse is knowing Roy’s alone, and I can’t do anything for him. I still haven’t.
“All right, can you recite your address for me?” I probe, leaning back in my chair.
“Seven twenty Belgrano, apartment thirty-four.” Carmen’s eyes wander to the other side of the apartment and I snap my fingers to keep her attention.
“How about your . . .” I think hard for another question to ask her, “co-workers. Do you have a favorite?”
Carmen gets a shy smile and I narrow my eyebrows.
“I like Juan. Very much,” she answers.
I nod slowly. Hearing about someone else’s love life is kind of at the bottom of my list right now. “Yeah . . . maybe I shouldn’t have asked that one.”
The front door slides open and Nate follows Reggie into the apartment. In their arms, they carry food. Packaged meals, fresh fruits and vegetables. I open my mouth to inquire how they paid for them, but when I see the cloaker hanging off the back of Nate’s head, I close my mouth.
“All right, which one of you is taking over? Rambo?” I push myself up and run my fingers through my short hair, which seems to be thinning by the day from the stress.
“I guess that would be me.” Nate sets his bag down on the counter along with the cloaker and moves to sit in front of Carmen.
We’ve been taking shifts, trying to get her focus at least to a normal level. It hasn’t been easy. She’s coming along, but from time to time, I get overwhelmed. I wish I knew what to compare it to. Even a three-year-old would be easier. I can’t take it much longer.
I slip out onto the apartment balcony and let the door shut behind me. Rain mists my face, a few drops pelt the top of my head, coolly running over my warm forehead and down over my eyelashes and nose. It’s calming.
I’m so tired of it all. I want this to be over. I want Roy to be out. I’d even take my old life back again if I knew he was okay. If only I could burn everything down around me and start over again. Not that I couldn’t, but what would that accomplish? Roy would die, and neither of us would get the answers we want.
Have you ever started fire out of thin air? The memory of his voice echoes in my mind and I close my eyes. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. If what Reggie said is true, and our abilities are solely controlled by our minds, I shouldn’t have to have an object to create fire. So why can’t I?
I look down into the dark streets—unoccupied by body or vehicle. Then I peer back into the apartment. Both Nate and Reggie have their backs to me, talking with Carmen. I turn my focus to a tuft of soggy paper caught on the rails of balcony below. A trail of lights lead up the side of the building, and the paper waves in the gentle wind. It covers and uncovers a single light with each movement. I narrow my eyes and take a deep breath. My focus builds the longer I stare at it.
Smoke builds first. The mist continues to dowse the fire. I focus more. Then, a spark. The soggy paper goes into flame, excessive smoke floating up toward me.
That’s easy. It’s always been.
I look down at my hand. Surely, I should be able to create fire and cup it in my palm.
The familiar throb starts at the center of my brain and I breathe harder. The pain builds too much behind my eyes and I look away. Immediately, the throbbing ends and I shake my head.
Of course, I can’t do it. I don't know why this time would be any different from the others.
I lean over the guardrail and drop my head. I’m so tired.
Behind me, the door slides open and I turn to see Reggie step through. “Needed some fresh air?” she asks. “Well, I guess it’s not so much fresh, as it is air. At least it’s raining.” She smiles and comes to stand next to me. I try to force a similar smile, but I don’t feel it.
“How’s Carmen?” I ask.
“She’s coming. I think in a couple days she’ll be focused enough to help us, so that’s good. Finding the one thing she wanted, and was most afraid of . . . the memories of her family . . . is bringing her back. I’d say I’m surprised she’s responding so quickly, but even normal minds are amazing. Let alone the capacity of hers. The only problem is she’s been away from work for so long without any notice. And no one’s been here.”
I nod. The same questions have been on my mind. Five days since we arrived here, and it feels like it’s been a month. I can only imagine what Public officials are thinking of her missing for so long. Why haven’t they been to check up on her? “Can you look to see? Will she be all right going back?”
Reggie eyes widen and I watch her eyeballs glaze over, unfocused. Her head even moves slightly, her visions playing for her.
“She’ll be fine.” She finally says, taking a breath. “She’ll walk right in with no problem.”
“Good.”
“You too.”
“What?” I turn to her.
“You’ll be going in with her. As a Public employee.”
My eyes widen. Roy’s in there. I’m terrified of seeing him. I’m also terrified of never seeing him. Reggie hasn’t even mentioned a plan yet, and now, all of a sudden, I’m thrown in. He’s so much more advanced than he was before, and Reggie was right; in his present mind, I don’t think he wants to leave. If I could use my powers the way Roy suggested—use them to their potential—he’d be easier to overpower. But I can’t do it.
“What’s the matter, Ransley?”
“Hmm? Nothing.” I shake my head. “Just . . . thinking.”
“About Roy again?”
I roll my eyes. She won’t let it go. “Not everything is about Roy, you know.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “So what is it?”
“I don’t know how I’ll do this. I don’t know if I’m made to do it. I feel like my abilities should have grown over the years like yours, but, all I get is a migraine.”
“Ransley, you don’t want your powers to grow the way mine did. At least not how they first did.” Reggie looks at me through narrowed eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“I was abused. Drugged. There were malfunctions in the technology they implanted in me. So much pain. It wasn’t ‘til I,” she looks back at the apartment and then over the city again. “Never mind.”
“Oh, por favor. Just say it.”
Reggie scratches at the balcony rail with her fingernail. “Well, the one thing that made my powers grow naturally was Nate.”
I bite on my bottom lip and roll my eyes, glancing down at the road. Of course it was. The man who bore his soul to me and now rarely says anything without barking. That Nate.
“I think, perhaps, our abilities are fed by our emotions. You and I are similar that way.”
I look at my dirty fingertips and then pop my knuckles. A few more beads of rain drip onto my skin from the overhang above. “What do you mean?”
“When I was afraid or angry, they grew. I’ve seen the same thing with you too. The curtains. And
of course, you told me about your father’s truck the first time he found you. But, Ransley, the thing that made me open up was when I,” she pauses and stares at her hands, “when I stopped looking at my ability like a burden or even a responsibility. When I actually had someone to help me through it all, it was easier. Everything developed naturally.”
I know she’s trying to make me feel better, but all this is doing is making me want to run. Someone to help her though it? Please. She can’t even help her own man.
I don’t want to hear more, but she keeps talking.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . you can’t force it. Forcing things leads to failure.”
My heart twists all I can think about is Roy. “Thanks for the talk, Reggie. I’m going to go for a walk.”
“Ransley, I don’t think . . .”
“I’ll put a cloaker on.” The door slides open and I stride through. Nate’s rehearsing with Carmen the books she owns. I only hear his voice snarl and call my name before I grab a cloaker, wrap it around my head, and listen to the apartment door slide shut behind me.
Like a shard of glass has been piercing deeper and deeper into my chest for the past five days, exiting the apartment feels like someone has yanked it out. I finally feel some relief. I lean on the closed door and look up and down the apartment building hallway. All the lights are off, except for an emergency light at the top of the far staircase. Even the steel elevator lights are off. I didn’t think curfew meant lockdown. I move down the hallway, softening my steps so they don’t reverberate on the bare floor.
A creak at the top of the stairway makes me freeze for a moment. I listen for any further movement. When I’m sure no one is there, I make my way down. Outside, all the lights in the city are still off, except for the trail of lights running up the length of many of the buildings.
I stay in the dark shadows. I know if a random guard transport comes around the street corner, I’d rather be overly hidden than out in the open.
