by Jodie Kobe
~~~
I’m sitting at the same table I sat at during the dinner with Fox, Addison, Rian, Jimmy, Laurey, and Mr. Welds. Except now it’s just me and Mr. Welds in the room.
He sits across from me, and I’m wondering why he chose to meet here. In the middle of the table, there appears to be some sort of glass kettle with a red liquid inside. A couple of wine glasses sit next to it. Mr. Welds sees me eyeing the objects so he offers, “Would you like some?”
“I...I don’t know what it is.” I fold my hands on my lap and sit there, stiff.
Mr. Welds grabs a glass and pours the liquid into it. “Have you heard of wine?”
“Of course.”
“This has a few similarities. We’ve enhanced it with a few ingredients.” He takes sip and asks again. “Would you care to have some?”
I shake my head and decline. “No, thank you. I don’t drink.”
Mr. Welds chuckles and sets his glass down. “Neither do I,” he says, but I don't understand. “I’m sure you have questions. While I have the time to answer them, you should ask.”
I look down at my tattooed hand. At least I know which question to avoid. “What is this place? Rob said you study cryonics.”
Mr. Welds clears his throat and takes another quick sip from the wine. “Rob would be correct. This complex is still a work in progress. We started sending the dead and alive down here years ago. Whatever disease they had was something they did not want to live with, so they asked to be preserved in hopes that their cure will be found. Some hopes came true, while others have not yet.”
I crease my forehead. “Have you thawed all of the people?” I ask. Then reluctantly add, “Did all of the people make it?”
“Uh...no. We have many more left. If we do all of them at once, I’m afraid we won’t have any more living space available. If you haven’t noticed, this building is already crowded. We’re…debating whether we should….keep the rest or...dispose of them.”
“You want to kill the frozen people?” I’m sure a look of disbelief is plastered all over my face. “Can’t you build more rooms?”
Mr. Welds shakes his head hesitantly. “We don’t want to kill them, but we have no choice. I don’t think you’d be comfortable living in a room packed with sweaty, breathing-down-your-neck people.”
I guess not. “That’s horrible. Couldn’t they have planned it out before they made this? You know, like putting a limit on how many people this building can hold?”
There’s a trace of anger in Mr. Welds voice and I hope I didn’t upset him too much. “We did do something like that.”
Deciding to veer away from the subject, I ask another question.
“I was murdered right? Disease didn’t kill me.” According to Janelle, at least.
“There is a chance.”
“Is there a way to possibly find out more about my past?” I ask reluctantly, not sure if Mr. Welds wants to answer this.
Mr. Welds picks up the wine glass again and holds it up to his lips for the longest time. Finally, he takes a sip and answers. “There is a way.”
I nod, gesturing him to go on. He stays silent again and I sigh with impatience.
“Have you ever heard of the phrase let go of the past and start over? Not exactly word for word,” he begins. I don’t answer him right away so he adds, “Hmm? Ms. Clancy? Have you heard of it?”
“Yes,” I say slowly. “I have. But I’m not willing to let my past go, Mr. Welds. I need to find out what I was...many years ago.”
“And you don’t remember?” He doesn’t look surprised. In fact, I believe they made me forget on purpose.
“The only thing I remember is my brother. What happened to my parents?”
Mr. Welds folds his hands together. “They died of natural causes.”
He knows what happened. I’m wondering if he remembers other people's past. Is that even possible?
“How do you know this? Don’t you have other things to be worried about other than reading everyone’s files?” I try my best to sound polite.
“I do. Let me be truthful with you,” Mr. Welds voice is hesitant. “I only remember the relevant histories.”
Silence afterward.
Do you remember mine? I want to ask.
The only sound in the room is the clinking of the glass as Mr. Welds pours more wine in the cup.
“Do you have anymore questions?” He takes another sip and I just want to smack the glass out of his hand. I clench my fists under the table instead. Can he get drunk on what he’s drinking?
“Yes. Yes I do,” I say quickly. “Rob said I murdered his father. What does that mean?”
“Ah...of course. Don’t let that worry you, Ms. Clancy.”
Again with the Don’t worry about that.
Mr. Welds frowns. “Rob can get a little...deranged sometimes.”
“What about the glass hallway aboveground? What’s it for?”
“It’s a way for us to check up on Earth every once in a while. By the way, you wouldn’t have happened to experience anything strange while you were there, would you?”
The self-healing glass. “As a matter of fact, I did.”
I fill Mr. Welds in on what happened while I was out there. He listens, nodding once in a while. When I finish, he starts talking immediately.
“Our new invention. We had bulletproof glass, so we thought, why not make self-mending glass?”
“Why was it breaking?”
“Something in the air caused it to.”
“And you don’t know what?”
“Could be the temperature. It’s extremely cold out there.”
I’m positive I didn’t feel the cold during the time I had been aboveground. I tell Mr. Welds this and he doesn’t bother thinking it over.
“Could be the glass trapping the cold out,” he says.
“It can’t keep all of it out. I would have felt it when I put my hand on it.” Pointing to the exit door, I suggest, “We could go right now and check!”
Mr. Welds shakes his head. “Not a brilliant plan. I’d rather not take the risk of heading out there and have the glass collapse on me.”
“It’ll heal. You said it’s done that multiple times and it did the same thing for me!” Rob pops into my brain. “We could send Rob instead.”
Mr. Welds actually rolls his eyes. “Ms. Clancy, I disapprove. Besides, Rob is being disciplined for his actions.”
I pause. “What?”
Mr. Welds laughs. “It's nothing you should be worried about.”
I grit my teeth. Why does he think telling me not to worry about it will solve something?
We talk for a few more minutes until Mr. Welds decides to end the conversation. As I leave, I start wondering how on earth I’ll get back to my room.
It’s easy. Just walk down the hallway until you see that colorful corridor, I try to reassure myself. Yes, I can do that. There are people heading down the hallway that I can follow.
Shrugging to myself, I start walking. I’ll find my way back.
Many people seem to be going the complete opposite way I’m going. I pay no attention to them, convincing myself that the way I’m going is correct. Besides, if they had been called down to a meeting, I want to have no part in it. I’m exhausted.
“Excuse me. ‘scuse me. Pardon.” I make my voice loud enough to be heard through the noise. People step to the side to let me through but some leave barely any room for me to squeeze past them. A few point at me but I ignore them.
I reach the bedroom corridor, proud of myself for not needing an escort. It takes me a while to find my room, but when I do, I ask myself if it’s a good idea to call Rian. He might not be in his room. There have to be other ways to communicate with him. I just don’t know how.
With nothing else to do, I plop down onto the old wheelchair with my arms hanging over the sides. No one has removed the wheelchair from my room yet. It brings back memories and I sigh.
My gaze moves over to the phone and I debate
whether I should call Rian.
I get up and snatch it anyway, dialing Rian's number quickly.
“Hello?” Rian's voice answers after a few seconds of silence.
“Oh, hey,” I say, my voice higher than what I want it to be. I clear my throat. “Did I wake you?”
Silence at the other end of the line. Then, “No. I’m not even in my room.”
Does he carry his cube phone everywhere he goes?
I don't think Rian knows where I just came from. How fast does news travel around here? Will he know Rob locked me out by tomorrow or should I tell him?
Rian laughs. “Do you want to watch someone wake up?”
“What do you mean by wake up?” I imagine myself standing over a person, watching them as they open their eyes. Rian doesn't mean like that, does he?
“I meant watch them wake up from being frozen. Just like you woke up, remember?”
I remember. I remember that bed I had to lay on. I remember my inability to move. I remember the face with the syringe in his hand.
“How often do people get woken up?” I ask.
“Not as often as before. We don’t have much room left for the people that are still dead. So...what do you say?”
I laugh. This should be interesting. “Okay.”
