He slammed the door.
“Brilliant people skills, Joss.” Kalan sighed. “Now we’ve got nothing.”
I spun to Joss, infuriated. My mouth overrode my politeness programming. “What is wrong with you? You just killed our only shot with him.”
He smirked. “So the Memental does have some heat to her.”
Oh, I was going to slap him. I clenched my hands.
Kalan whirled. “Don’t you dare call her that!”
“They call us ‘Populace.’” Joss glared. “Like we’re nothing but a collection of stupid losers.”
I blinked. It wasn’t a slur, it was just . . . what we called them. “That’s not what it—”
“Contention is of the devil,” Anabel sang out.
Joss didn’t matter. None of this mattered right now. I pulled up my GPS map again and headed down the stairs. Jackson had rushed away from here like he had a goal. What had Tucker told him? Where was he going?
Kalan hurried up beside me, trailed by the others.
“Jackson’s headed toward the city center.” I crossed the dirt courtyard. “He’s not far, I don’t think he can take a tram.”
“They’re all shut down for curfew,” Anabel said, coming up too close behind me. A streetlight melded our shadows on the second apartment block as we passed it. “Let’s see what he’s—”
A shattering of glass erupted next to me.
Shouts and the tinkling of glass shards filled my ears. Something thudded to the ground: my knees hitting hard concrete. A yell from Joss, fading into the distance as he chased someone. My arms wrapped around my head. Something pressed down on my back. The pressure shifted.
“Gena? You okay?” Kalan.
“Yeah.” My voice sounded hoarse, like falling glass had stuck in my throat. Arms; head; legs; no pain. I was okay. I was okay.
The pressure on my back shifted again. Kalan’s arm. A boy, a boy I liked, was touching me. I sat up with a gasp and the arm fell away.
“What . . .” Shards of glass glittered in the light of street lamps. The window to my left gaped at us with jagged glass teeth. Inside the empty room lay a rough red rock.
I fell forward on my hands, and they slipped in something wet.
Blood. A growing puddle on the sidewalk, seeping into the blue fabric of my gloves. I followed the trail of red to Anabel. She was sprawled on the ground, her pale hair matted with blood that bubbled from a wide wound above her ear.
“Kalan!” I shrieked, jerking away.
He swore and leaped over me, ripping his shirt over his head. He pressed it against Anabel’s open gash.
Footsteps came running. I cringed low to the ground, expecting more rock-slinging assailants. It was Joss, half a block away and headed toward us.
Kalan pulled out his phone, holding his shirt to Anabel’s head with one hand.
“Emergency services.” He paused while the voice-automated call went through. “There’s been an accident, we need an ambulance right away—”
“Kalan.” I tried not to gag as blood seeped out from under his shirt. “She’s still bleeding, you have to hold it tighter.”
He pushed harder on her skull. Cradling the phone against his shoulder, he yelled down the road. “Joss, who was it, did you see anyone?”
Anabel bled harder again. Kalan was trying to do too much at once. “Let me help, Kalan, what should I do?”
He spoke into the phone again. “I don’t know where we are.”
“Cutler Street,” I said.
“Cutler Street, someone threw a rock at my friend—”
Joss jogged up, breathing hard. “I couldn’t catch them. Had too much of a head start.”
“Joss,” Kalan said, “you have to get everyone else home, the cops are coming and our people are a few streets over.”
“But Anabel—”
“Those Mementi cops won’t go easy on anyone out here. I’ll stay with Anabel, go—yeah, I’m here. The paramedics, how long?”
Joss glared at me. “This was Mementi. Retaliating from that beating today.”
I glared right back. “It wasn’t. I would have felt their Link buzz. They were from your side, probably aiming . . .” For me.
My eyes fell on Anabel with renewed horror.
Joss knelt and touched Anabel’s hair gently. “She’s tough. She’ll make out okay.”
He knelt a moment longer before taking off down the street.
Anabel’s head was beginning to swell. Someone innocent. Someone nice. Victim of a stupid hate crime. Victims piled up around me, smothering me, victims of memory loss and disappearances and rocks being thrown in the street. A rock. Such a small thing. It was so easy to hurt people.
I clutched my arms to my chest, trying to stop the tremors rolling through my body. “Kalan, let me help, what can I do?”
“I’ve got this.”
Frustration burned my eyes. “You don’t have to be the lone hero for everyone, I can help.”
“You’ve got to get out of here too,” he said. “Find out where Jackson’s headed.”
“No, Jackson’s close, they’ll send him to the scene.”
Send him back here.
Kalan whipped around like Jackson would pop out from the darkness. His hand slipped on Anabel’s head, and blood gushed over the side of her face.
Kalan swore, immediately adjusting the shirt and stopping the blood flow.
I needed to run, to pretend I’d never been here. Tiny rainbows of streetlight reflected off the shattered glass. Anabel moaned.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, unable to leave her. “You’re going to be fine.”
I murmured the words over and over and hoped they weren’t a lie. Sirens wailed in the distance.
“Gena, you have to go. Now!”
Panic. Sirens screamed in the night, closer than ever. Jackson could be here any second. He’d send word to the Link thief that I needed more memories wiped.
Kalan’s hand rested on my arm, and I snatched it away in shock. Touch. Three times now, we had touched. Touch meant something. Something good, for most people. I wished I was most people.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I pressed my palms to the rough concrete.
“No more sorries.” Kalan’s voice was soft.
“They’ll arrest you.”
“They’ll do worse to you.” Kalan’s eyes pleaded with me. I couldn’t breathe. For a strange second, I wanted to hold this bare-chested, self-sacrificing, imaginary-sword-waving boy in my arms.
Tires raced over gravel and whirls of blue and red lit the street two blocks down. I leaped up. My eyes darted, searching for an out. There—two buildings crammed together, a narrow alley between them leaking darkness.
I raced across the street and prayed the sudden crowd of Mementi would hide my Link buzz. Shadows engulfed me and I pressed against the brick wall. Out on the street, flashing police lights bloomed. I backed farther into the alley.
In the glare of the lights, Jackson stomped into view.
11
And in my thoughts with scarce a sigh
I take the pressure of thine hand.
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam CXIX
Gurney wheels crunched over glass, wheeling Anabel away. A real bandage covered her head. Mementi-invented artificial coagulants and synthetic blood pumped into her veins.
I hoped they’d be nice to her at the hospital.
Jackson grilled Kalan. No shouting, just intense questions. He had no reason to associate Kalan with me, but the granite quality to his stance set me on edge. Finally, Jackson waved Kalan away. I thought they might give him a warning and send him home, but a cop clapped handcuffs on his wrists. Kalan winked in my direction before ducking into the police car. Cheeky.
Jackson began arguing with another cop, jabbing a finger toward Tucker’s apartment. I strained to hear. Something about
why Jackson was out here alone when he was on duty, and paperwork, and reporting at the station. His jaw set with frustr
ation, Jackson climbed in the car and they sped away.
Silence fell. I took a single step out of the alley. A faint buzz from an overhead light tickled my ears.
I wanted to run straight home and hide under my blanket. Just in case the universe had any more fun in store for me tonight. I rested my forehead against the rough brick wall.
Once he filled out his paperwork, Jackson would go back on his hunt. I still didn’t have a clue what he was looking for, or where. But if I got to the city center before he left the police station, I might be able to tail him. Cora’s hopeful face flitted across my memory.
My date with the universe’s crap wasn’t over yet.
I snuck through the streets that cut toward the center of town. Shadows draped the city outside the well-lit path cast by street lights. Non-moving trams hulked above me. Stupid curfew. I shook out my clenched hands.
My hands. I spread my fingers in horror. Blood mottled my blue gloves into an ugly reddish-purple. Like a bruise. So much blood. It dripped and puddled and stained my perfect memory. I ripped off the gloves and threw them in a trashcan.
Blood still streaked my skin.
I ran the rest of the way to Central Gardens. Once there, I veered toward a large fountain. Soft lights below the surface gave it a strange glow. I leaned over the marble edge and scrubbed away blood until the cold numbed my fingers. Dark streaks tainted the water, curling away in the wake of my splashing. My hands were pale when I pulled them out. I shoved them under my arms.
And now I had no gloves. Perfect.
My phone buzzed, announcing a text. The fourth in the last hour, I noted when I clicked my Sidewinder on.
Text from Kierce Jameson Lee to Genesis Lee, TDS 21:56:02/5-6-2084 Home NOW.
I sighed. I’d have to postpone that potential panic attack a little longer.
No sign of Jackson yet. My GPS still fixed him inside the police station at City Hall. I left the dim light of the fountain, favoring the cover of darkness. A shadowy obelisk offered a convenient hiding spot. My eyes darted between the police station exit and the GPS displayed dimly on my hand.
The name label on Jackson’s dot flashed to a string of numbers the same moment he emerged from the building.
Excellent. Now I could find him when he wasn’t on duty.
With a pace too quick for his casual expression, he strode across the Gardens. Toward the tallest building in Havendale. The Memoriam reached into the sky, its spiraling mirrored surface reflecting the dim light of the stars. It was our cemetery, our memorial for the dead.
A realization hit me hard enough to knock the wind out of me.
“Oh, Blaire,” I breathed. “You hid a memory.”
Link buzz throbbed behind my eyes. The sacred memories of our dead inside the building gave this entire area a constant hum. No one would notice a small addition Blaire had made of her own.
Tucker might have known enough to tell Jackson Blaire had made an addition. But he was Populace. He wouldn’t know where to find it, or what the memory was.
Evidence. Clues. Confessions?
I sneaked across the grass, trusting the Memoriam Link buzz to keep me hidden from Jackson. I had to find that memory before he did.
Jackson stopped on the cobblestones surrounding the building. His feet set wide, he studied the Memoriam. I hid behind a palm tree. Blaire would’ve stored it somewhere no one was likely to touch. Somewhere it could hide in plain sight. Not the metal benches. Not the decorative stone urns overflowing with desert flowers. Not the glass of the Memoriam itself.
The cobblestones. Stone was almost as good as wood for preserving memories. Long-term storage, most emotional content intact. Images could get fuzzy with time, though. If she counted on Mementi horror of going barefoot, she could hide a memory easily.
Jackson moved, his shadow leaping ahead of him. I hit the ground flat on my stomach. His smooth, swift stride took him to the quaint stone bridge that crossed the pond near the Memoriam entrance. Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea either. He splashed into the shallow pond and brushed his fingers over stone. No time to wonder who was right.
I dashed forward in a crouch, out of sight around the back of the building. Then I pulled off my sneakers and socks. My feet slid from cobblestone to cobblestone. How long would it take Jackson to check the bridge?
My toe caught an uneven stone, and I winced but didn’t stop. A breeze brushed a strand of loose hair that fell from my scarf. It carried a whisper of hurry, hurry, hurry. Halfway around the building, and nothing.
A shuffle and a scrape sounded from around the curve of the Memoriam.
My fingers convulsed around my shoes. I ran for the grass. The slap of my feet on the cobblestones thundered in my ears. Shelter, a hiding place, I needed something. A wide shadow hunkered low ahead of me. I dove behind it and caught the rank smell of a garbage can someone hadn’t emptied today.
I peered around my smelly haven. My elbows shook so hard they barely supported me. Jackson crawled along the base of the building. The glass walls ended a foot above the ground, like the Memoriam stood on a small pedestal. Stones lined the recessed bottom.
I bit my knuckles to hold back a moan. It was the perfect hiding place.
Let him miss it, let it not be there, let his knees get too sore to keep crawling . . .
Jackson paused and let out a soft exclamation. I bit my knuckles again, harder. He held his crouch a moment longer, probably siphoning whatever he’d found into his own Links. He sat up and a dim glow appeared on his hand. His Sidewinder. He was texting someone.
If I could find out who, that might give me the Link thief.
I whipped out my own Sidewinder and dialed down the brightness until I could barely see it. Oh, how I loved Kinley right now. I activated the hack she’d sent me, the one that could intercept text messages.
I peeked around my pungent hiding place and eased my Sidewinder out. My Share port had to be aimed at Jackson’s when he
sent the text. He typed another moment on his glowing hand, then turned off the laser screen.
Seconds later, the Sidewinder in my hand buzzed.
I whipped behind my garbage can and opened the captured message.
Text from BLOCKED to BLOCKED, TDS 22:12:33/5-6-2084
She did hide evidence memories. I’ve taken them all out.
Since when could you block sender and receiver names? Fail. Again.
I peered around the garbage can. Jackson still knelt next to the Memoriam, hands on the ground, head bowed. He rose and rubbed his knees. Then he paused. He crouched and touched one of the base stones again, then nodded to the Memoriam as if in respect. Like a predator, he padded away until he blended with the dark.
I pulled back behind my garbage can. Nothing. After everything tonight, I would leave with nothing. The scream I couldn’t let out vibrated in my teeth.
Except, what had Jackson done at the end? He’d touched the stones again, almost like . . . he was putting something there of his own. Checking to make sure he was really out of sight, I ran to the Memoriam.
I knelt in the spot where he’d stopped. The stone was rough under my fingers. To my surprise, memories blossomed before me.
They held the tang of another consciousness. Blaire’s. Why would Jackson return any of her memories? Blaire’s thoughts accompanied blurry images and words, and the emotion was subtle. More like the memory triggered my own emotions that were similar. Happy, sad, in love . . . I knew what the feelings should be, and had my own approximations. What would Blaire feel if she relived these moments?
That’s all they were, small moments. A late-night ice cream feast with her dad when he was alive. A surprise shopping trip during high school with her mom. Kissing Tucker for the first time. Laughing with Ren while Cora and I tagged along on our long bicycle ride toward rumored cave paintings we never found. It was like Blaire reached across space and time to hold my hand for a moment.
She’d left a personal Memoriam. A collection of everything she wan
ted to share after she was gone. Jackson had taken anything important to the case, but he must have returned these out of respect.
Was Blaire dead, then? A Memoriam implied she didn’t expect to return from her disappearance. Using my fingernails, I pried at the stone, but it wouldn’t come loose. A lump rose in my throat. I should leave it, anyway. She deserved a place here.
I pulled on my shoes and socks and crossed the lawn of the Central Gardens. My thoughts swirled like Anabel’s blood in the water. I had lost to Jackson. There was no way to get the memories he’d taken from Blaire’s stone. But at least I hadn’t left with nothing.
Taking out my Sidewinder, I dictated a long message to Kalan about the night and said I’d text him tomorrow. I set it on a time-delay so he wouldn’t get it until morning. Just in case he was still in jail.
Soft grass gave way to pavement beneath my feet. I was on the street, after dark, and after curfew. Alone with no gloves.
I tucked my hands under my arms and rushed toward home.
12
Treasuring the look it cannot find,
The words that are not heard again.
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam XVIII
My Sidewinder jarred me awake with an early-morning text. I reached for it, knocking my Link buds to the floor with sleep-clumsy fingers.
Text from Cora Julieta Medina to Genesis Lee, TDS 07:17:12/5-7-2084
Early morning wake-up call. Zahra wants to do a mini dress rehearsal at 8.
I groaned. Why did Zahra insist we dance on Sunday just because she didn’t teach on Fridays? We’d already had two full dress rehearsals.
I buried my face in my pillow. My head felt oddly disconnected from the rest of me. A strange ache settled into my chest. Sort of a homesickness.
A feeling of missing someone.
My brain fogged over, confused by the feeling that had no reference. I pushed myself up and combed black strands of hair out of my face.
Dad was scanning the news holo projected from his Sidewinder on the kitchen table when I walked in, his Link buds in his ears. I popped a bagel in the toaster, and he glanced at me. Or glowered, really. Great. Now what had I done?
The Unhappening of Genesis Lee Page 12
