The Unhappening of Genesis Lee

by Shallee McArthur

  “Mr. Matthews, this recent turn of events has raised a whole new set of questions about the Link thefts,” Jorge said, his voice arrogant. “We’re left with fewer answers and more dangers than ever. I’m sure the researchers at Ascalon have considered new strategies to help with the investigation.”

  Matthews cleared his throat. “Yes, we’ve found ways to use the SLS to aid the police.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t elaborate.”

  “Is that why your colleagues say you’ve been spending less time at your lab? Are you working with the police?”

  “Again, I can’t say much.” Matthews rolled his shoulders, glancing away from the camera.

  “There have been rumors Ascalon might, shall we say, ‘hack in’ to the victims’ emotional memories for clues. What’s your response to that?”

  Whoa. What the devil kind of question was that? Did he really think Ascalon would ravage the tortured minds of those who’d already lost everything?

  Matthews, red-faced, had recovered from his own shock. “Even if that were a possibility, it violates every tenet Ascalon holds in trust. I can’t even . . . I won’t answer that question. It doesn’t need an answer.”

  “In that case, what approaches has Ascalon taken?” Jorge’s tone was biting. “Continued promises of memory backups have led to nothing. It seems we’d have much more to go on in this investigation if Blaire and Miranda Jacobs had their memories backed up.”

  Matthews rammed his hat further down on his head. A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Ascalon’s researchers are committed—passionate—about developing backups. We’ve never stopped that research. Not since day one. But science takes its own time. We can’t hand out a da—a schedule with delivery dates.”

  “Can you give us anything other than empty promises and false hope?”

  He was trying to impress the press. Get a syndicated spot on the pro press corps. Or was he instead spouting the frustration of the entire town about the lack of protection we had over our own lives?

  On screen, Matthews’ jaw worked in silent fury. Jorge cut off the interview and said, “We’re going to cut now to a live feed from the case’s lead investigator.”

  The view shifted to City Hall, where Jackson stood at a podium in full uniform.

  “. . . though there is much speculation,” he said, “we’ve discovered no evidence that Blaire’s disappearance is connected to the Link thefts.”

  I squinted at the screen. No evidence my foot. There’d be no evidence after Jackson had been on the scene.

  “There also don’t appear to be any disappearances connected with the other Link theft victims. Liza Woods, former employer of Blaire, has shown Blaire left employment with Happenings. The staff at Happenings is fully cooperating to help locate her.”

  My phone rang—Cora. I flicked my hand at the wallscreen to silence it and wrapped my Sidewinder around my ear.

  “We must have the stupidest police force in the country,” she said in greeting. She continued in a high-pitched voice. “How could they not know for weeks Blaire was gone?”

  I collapsed back on my bed. “I don’t know. How was the doctor? How are you feeling?”

  She bulldozed right ahead. “This is so loco. I mean, it’s Blaire. We knew her.”

  Knew. Past tense.

  “She might not be dead,” I said. “She might be . . .”

  “She might be the Link thief,” Cora said.

  “Cora!”

  “The report said the thefts started like a week after she went missing. What if she went into hiding and started stealing Links from people who saw her around?”

  “Blaire isn’t the thief,” I said, crossing my arms behind my head.

  There had to be a connection between Blaire and the Link thefts, but I knew Blaire. This wasn’t the right connection, no matter what Cora—or Kalan—said. Just because Kalan was my partner now didn’t mean I had to agree with his conclusions.

  “Whatever. Are you coming over tonight?” Cora asked.

  I wanted to. And I also never wanted to leave my room again. Just riding the tram to school this morning, I’d found myself scanning the faces of my neighbors, searching for suspects. Suspects. Neighbors. Same thing now.

  Funny how anyone could become everyone.

  Before I could answer, my Sidewinder buzzed in my ear.

  “Hang on,” I said, sitting up and hitting the button on my Sidewinder to project a holo. “Just got a text.”

  Text from Kalan Daniel Fox to Genesis Lee, TDS 19:16:06/5-6-2084

  Telegram: Detective Kalan calling Detective Gena. STOP. Can you meet me at tramstop 22? STOP. Important meeting scheduled for 20:00 hours. Over and out.

  A smile twitched on my lips. Kalan really was a nerd. Which was kind of endearing, for a Populace guy who jumped to the wrong conclusions.

  “A text from who?” Cora asked, curiosity overtaking her former panic.

  “No one,” I said quickly. “Just, uh, someone I met the other day.” I could almost hear the wheels in her head turning. “A random someone?” And then, the hint of a smile sounded in her voice. “You are totally crushing on someone.”

  My cheeks heated. “I’m not either, he’s just a boy.”

  “Spill.”

  “I—” I hadn’t planned on telling anyone about Kalan, even Cora. But Cora had a right to know. I was doing it for her, after all. “He’s part of a group investigating the thefts.”

  “A cop?” Cora asked.

  “No. A guy I’m sort of working with to find the thief. And your Link.” She gave a tiny gasp. “For real?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  She expected it to be someone she knew. She expected him to be Mementi.

  “I can’t say. His group doesn’t want people to know who they are. For their own safety.” True enough.

  “Thank you,” Cora whispered. “I didn’t know you were doing that.”

  I traced the flowers on my bedspread. “You’re my best friend. I want to find the thief as much as you.”

  “How’d you meet him?” Cora asked. Hope filled her voice.

  “It was kind of an accident,” I said. “We just . . . ran into each other.”

  “Is he hot?”

  I couldn’t stop a little grin. Okay. Maybe I was crushing a tiny bit, Populace boy or not.

  She laughed, a real Cora laugh. “He’s totally hot. You’re sweet on the secret agent man. You can’t tell me his name?”

  “Well, he has a—a code name.” He’d get a kick out of that. “Kalan. Don’t tell anyone, though.”

  “Not a soul.” She giggled.

  “Um . . .” I bit my lip. “He wants me to meet him tonight.”

  “Oh.” Her tone dropped again. “So you can’t come over?”

  I should. Just for a little bit. I was the rational side Cora didn’t have. After a day at the doctor, plus the craziness of Blaire’s disappearance, she needed me. Maybe I could be late for the meeting.

  “I don’t know.” I traced bedspread flowers again. “His group is having a meeting about the Link thief. I should go . . .”

  “Yeah. You definitely should.” She tried to sound excited about it. “I mean, I want to see you, but you have to go.”

  I glanced at my bedroom door. “If I go . . . could you cover for me? Mom and Dad will only let me go out if I’m going to see you.”

  “No problem. As far as they’re concerned, you’re here all night.”

  I stood and grabbed my messenger bag from the floor by my closet. “You sure you’ll be okay? What are you going to do tonight?”

  “Oh. You know. Watch a movie with lots of kissing. Snuggle with Monkey Brains.”

  My bag slipped from my fingers. Monkey Brains was her tattered stuffed monkey that had once belonged to my Grandma Piper. Grandma had given it to me when my mom’s old dog died. It has lots of experience comforting sad little girls, she’d said. The day Cora’s dad moved the las
t box out of their house, I’d passed Monkey Brains to her.

  Cora had hardly touched the thing in over a year.

  We didn’t have her Links back yet. I had to do more for her than offer a shoulder to cry on.

  “I’m going to find your Link,” I said fiercely. “I swear, Cora. I’m going to bring back your memories, no matter what.”

  10

  Day, mark’d as with some hideous crime . . .

  —Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam LXXII

  It didn’t take long to get to Tramstop 22. I was in Populace territory again, but I held my head a little higher stepping off the tram this time. Kalan lounged on a metal bench at the bottom of the stairs. He’d kicked his long legs out in front of him and tossed a small ball into the air.

  “Hey,” I said, feeling a little awkward.

  “Hey. Long time no see.” He caught the ball, stuffed it in his pocket, and jumped up. “Ready to meet some people?”

  No. “I guess. Who exactly is going to be at this meeting?”

  “Some people from my dad’s congregation,” he said.

  “You’re bringing me to church?”

  He laughed. “No. It’s the people from church who are helping with the street patrols. For the Link thief. We’re meeting down the street.”

  This was a good idea, I reminded myself as we headed toward the meeting. The more people searching for the thief, the higher the likelihood of finding her.

  “How much did you tell them about me?” Please say not much.

  “Hm? Oh. Nothing, yet. Except to my dad.” Kalan’s eyes scoured the shops that lined both sides of the street.

  “Are you looking for something?” I asked. I unwound the ends of my blue scarf from my neck and stuffed it in my bag. Nobody over here would be able to siphon memories. The scarf really did make me stick out.

  I couldn’t make myself take my gloves off, though.

  “I’m nervous after what happened this afternoon.” Kalan’s eyes darted toward a family exiting a secondhand store with paint peeling from its sign. “You’re with me, so you’ll be fine.”

  The father leaving the store glared at me, then hurried his wife along. She picked up her toddler and they crossed the street. Most shops on this road were closed. Some had signs posted that declared earlier-than-usual closing times until further notice.

  “What happened this afternoon?” I asked.

  “You didn’t hear about the guy who was attacked?”

  “Attacked?” My voice rang in the almost-empty street.

  “I thought everybody’d heard. A Mementi on his way home from the protest got beat up pretty bad. He’s okay, but I don’t want anybody who sees you to think you’re here to retaliate.”

  I tugged the scarf in my hands. So much for feeling more confident on the Populace side of town. Everywhere I went, I was a target for something.

  “No worries.” Kalan sliced an imaginary sword through the air. “I’m here to be your knight in shining armor.”

  I stuffed my scarf in my shoulder bag. “Sweet. But I prefer you as a nerd, not a knight.”

  “A nerd?” He put his hand to his heart. “My lady doth greatly dishonor me.”

  I let out a small smile. “My lady doth not wish to be a damsel in distress.”

  Though to be honest, my lady was a little distressed. Across the street, a girl in ratty jeans grabbed her boyfriend’s arm and pointed at me. He lowered his head, like a bull ready to charge. I counted my steps as I walked, trying to slow my heart.

  “Ah, behold!” Kalan gestured toward the corner ahead of us. “We’ve reached the safety of the castle.”

  “It’s the sushi place,” I said, relieved as we passed the bull and his girl without incident. “Why aren’t we meeting at the church?”

  Kalan grinned. “Welcome to the chapel of the United Church of Christ. We outgrew our apartment a while ago, so the restaurant owner rents us his front room for services.”

  Learning about God in a sushi restaurant. That seemed to be the kind of church Kalan would attend.

  Eyes leapt to me the moment we walked through the door. An angry hiss of “Memental” sliced through the sudden quiet. I shied away from the waiting customers and wondered how the people in Kalan’s church group would be. They were trying to find the Link thief so people would stop blaming the Populace. That didn’t mean they’d welcome a Mementi to their meeting.

  Kalan led me to a room off the waiting area. A picture window looked out over an orange-tinted view of the street—just over an hour till sunset and the new curfew. This better be a quick meeting.

  Tables had been shoved into a corner and wooden chairs lined the room in a semicircle. The smell of fish and rice wafted in, the hum of distant conversations spilling through an archway from the rest of the restaurant. A dozen or so people mingled in front of me. They had a whole room. Why cluster? I couldn’t take my eyes off them. They never stopped moving. Shaking hands, slapping backs, nudging elbows.

  It looked like a lot more fun than a Mementi gathering.

  Kalan and I sat down near the window. No one in this room had noticed me yet, or at least they hadn’t noticed I was Mementi. For now, invisible was good. I wrapped the strap of my bag around my hand, criss-crossing it and winding it in patterns.

  Kalan tugged on the strap and leaned closer. “It’s okay,” he said. “They’re not going to lynch you or anything.”

  His breath tickled my neck, and a wave of tingles shivered down my arm. I flinched, startled at the reaction. Then kind of wanted to feel it again.

  “Kal!” A teenage girl a bit younger than us ran across the room. She tripped on the carpet and stumbled.

  He laughed. “Hey Grace.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him before turning to me. “My name’s Rachelle, in case my brother tries to tell you otherwise. What’s yours?”

  “Uh, Gena.”

  “Oh, Kal told us about you. Freaky-weird stuff going on, yeah?”

  I frowned. Kalan had said he’d only mentioned me to his dad. “Yeah.”

  She threw herself into the chair next to Kalan, then leaned over him to talk to me. “So you remember, like, everything?”

  I cleared my throat. “Um, yeah.”

  Her eyes widened. “So what was it like when you were born? Was it a really spiritual kind of experience?”

  “Rachelle!” Kalan pushed her back. “You don’t ask things like that!”

  I’d never thought about that. Populace wouldn’t remember anything before . . . “How old is your oldest memory?” I asked. “I mean, how old were you?”

  Rachelle grinned at Kalan. “See, she asks things like that. I don’t know how old. Maybe three or four? Hard to say.”

  Three or four? I sat back in my chair. No babyhood, toddlerhood, nothing. “Hard to say for me, too. We get our Links immediately after birth, but memories that old are mostly sensation—noise, light.” And fear and pain and cold . . .

  “Where’s Dad?” Kalan interrupted. “It looks like we’re waiting on him.”

  I bit my lip. Did he think it was weird I could remember back that far?

  “Called to say he stayed late talking to a customer.” Rachelle sighed and leaned down to rub her calves. “Are we ever going to get more tramstops? I ended up walking all the way here.”

  “How tragic,” Kalan said dryly. “Nearly a full mile.”

  “It was tragic. My shoes look awful.” She lifted two feet clad in white flats with bows on the side. Red dirt stains tinged the edges. Her innocent drama reminded me of Cora.

  “You can stick those in the washing machine,” I said. “Fabric flats wash out pretty well, and you can use bleach since they’re white.”

  Rachelle brightened. “Ooh, thanks for the tip.”

  The rise and fall of murmured conversation dropped off as a skinny man in a white shirt bounced into the room. Bald on top, he’d gathered the rest of his graying hair in a ponytail. Not how I’d pictured Kalan’s preacher dad.

&nbs
p; “Sorry folks,” he said, rubbing his balding head sheepishly. “Got a little delayed.”

  “We’re used to it, Elijah,” someone called, and a few people chuckled while taking seats around the room.

  A birdlike blonde with way too much eyeliner sat next to me. She didn’t look much older than me. She turned soft, wide eyes to me and gave me a dreamy smile. “Welcome,” she whispered.

  Then she nudged me with her elbow.

  With a little jerk, I shifted my chair away from her. I rubbed my arm where she’d poked it, banishing the tingles. She was only being friendly, Populace-style. Still. She wouldn’t be so thrilled if she knew who I was. Or maybe she was just stoned. It could be that kind of church.

  A guy with a beard so scroungy I’d have pegged him for homeless stood up. “Let’s sing a praise to the Lord, all!”

  Sing? I shifted in my chair. Beard-man hummed a note, and the group began to sing. Hands rose in the air. The girl next to me swayed. I tried to shrink down as small as possible, away from the music and the touchy-feely hands waving around me.

  Unity, unity,

  Christ will unite you and me.

  Unity, unity,

  He will unite Him and me.

  And when He needs me to fight,

  I will fight for the right.

  When His will says be still,

  Like the waves I’ll grow still.

  Every person I see

  Is His child, just like me.

  Unity, Unity,

  Christ will bring us unity.

  I stifled a giggle and glanced at Kalan.

  “Dad wrote it,” he whispered. “If you can get past its cheesiness, it’s actually kind of beautiful.”

  A song about being one with God. Doing what’s right. Loving your neighbors. Coming from a group trying to help people they didn’t even know. I looked around the room again, and my cheeks heated. They were an odd group, but they deserved a little respect.

  Elijah noticed me sitting with Kalan and Rachelle. “Give me a moment, folks,” he called.

  He walked straight toward me. “Gena, glad you could be here. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”