False Memory

by Meli Raine

  Bowie appears before Linda can act, dragging Duff by the arm. It’s clear Duff has zero interest in being touched, and shakes my over-excited brother off him with a restrained authority. A lesser man would use a violent flick to make my brother let go.

  A man with less control.

  I need to remember how deadly he is. Restraint is a sign of coiled capacity. People who are powerless don’t need to restrain themselves, because they lack power. The potential to abuse it isn’t there when you don’t have it.

  Duff can curtail the easy impulse to dominate Bowie because he knows he’s in control. The control is the true power.

  So much power.

  Enough to kill me easily.

  “Lily?” Duff asks, the scar near his eye twisting, his brow down, concentration engaged. I am the sole focus of his laser-like stare and it makes my skin crawl. The muscles under my ears ache and make my mouth fill with a copper tang that is so close to blood, I almost gag. His simple stare is triggering my body.

  I wish all I felt was fear.

  “Mmmm,” I say, eyes darting to Mom. She squeezes my hand.

  A doctor I’ve never seen before, with stubble and more grey hair than brown, comes into the room holding a tablet and a take-out cup of coffee. He’s disheveled, and he comes to a halt at the foot of my bed, handing the coffee off to a nurse.

  “Lily Thornton?” he asks, looking at Mom as if I’m not here.

  “Mmm,” I say. I’m here.

  He doesn’t look at me.

  “She’s trying to talk,” Mom says. “I’m her mother, Bee.”

  The skin at the top of his cheeks tightens. He’s heard of her. Suddenly on guard, his whole demeanor changes, eyelids dropping like a shield.

  Mom doesn’t notice.

  I do.

  “Lily’s experiencing some new signs of awareness,” he says, looking at the tablet.

  “She’s trying to speak!”

  Eyebrows go up. Mom must get tired of that look.

  “Mmmm,” I say, wanting to help her.

  “See?” Mom points at me.

  “Patients coming out of long-term coma states can often–”

  “Waaaah,” I say, looking at the water. “Buuuh,” I add, looking at Bowie. “Muh,” I say, looking at my mom.

  “Water. Bowie. Mom,” she states flatly to him, arms crossing over her chest.

  Uh oh. Watch out, skeptical doctor. Mom is pissed.

  Duff stands by my side, just watching Mom. Hands behind his back, earpiece in, navy sport jacket and khaki pants making him look like a bodyguard in a movie. The jacket is rumpled and he has a Band-Aid on the back of his hand. I wonder what happened.

  I look at the back of my hand, which is resting on a pillow.

  If we’re having a tape competition, I win.

  The doctor and Mom stare at me.

  “Duh,” I say to the doctor.

  “Doctor,” Mom announces.

  “Yes?”

  “That’s what she’s saying. The word ‘doctor.’ Lily looked right at you and said ‘doctor.’”

  “That’s a stretch.”

  “Who is your boss?”

  Dr. Skeptical turns into Dr. Uh Oh.

  Two other doctors appear in the door. He makes his way out, conferring with them in the hall. My hand is suddenly warm. Mom grabs it and whispers, “Just keep going, Lily. Keep going.”

  Duff watches her with troubled eyes.

  A spike of nerves runs down my leg as I remember I can’t trust him. I shouldn’t have to remember that, because I shouldn’t ever forget it. All I am right now is what I feel.

  I can’t compromise that.

  Dr. Uh Oh returns. “It looks like this isn’t intentional. We cannot consider it true speech. She’s making vocal sounds, which is a positive,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll continue to monitor her.”

  “But it’s not random. She’s using consonants that match the person she’s talking to!”

  More raised eyebrows.

  I really don’t like his eyebrows.

  I concentrate. “Fuuuuuuhhhhh,” I say.

  Mom spins around. “Lily? Did you say something?”

  Inhaling slowly, I let the air come in like I’m sucking on a straw. It hurts to breathe this deeply. It hurts, but I don’t care. I have to say this.

  I have to say something.

  “Fuuuuuuuuh,” I try again, Duff coming closer, Mom’s hand on his arm urging him.

  “You hear this, Duff?” she asks, begging him to confirm she’s not crazy.

  “I hear it, Bee. She’s trying to talk.”

  Dr. Uh Oh crosses his arms over his chest, the tablet loose in one hand.

  Mom’s eyes go wide, hands over her heart.

  I tune her out. I focus on Duff. I try again. This time, I’ll do it.

  “Fuhhhhhh,” I say. “Oooooo.”

  Then I look right at the doctor.

  I rarely see Duff smile.

  But he does now.

  “Eep!” Mom says, the sound the kind of noise that would make me laugh if I could. “Did–were Lily’s words what I think they were?” She blushes.

  I reach for her hand. It’s inches away, but until now, it was miles from me. I squeeze once for yes.

  “My word! Lily!” she says with horror and laughter, a mix that sounds impossible but is perfectly executed by her in this moment. She looks at Duff.

  Who is smiling even wider, blue eyes on me.

  He has a nice grin. Warm and open, totally different from his usual resting face. If I had a type, he’d be it.

  Too bad he’s a bad guy.

  Chapter 5

  “This is a terrible idea and I refuse to allow it,” I hear Mom insist outside my door. I think it’s been a few days since I first started talking, but I can’t count nights with any accuracy. Someone said today is Tuesday, which means it’s been eleventy billion years. Time means nothing to me. Why should it? Time is about tracking your movements and experiences through space.

  My only space is inside me.

  And no one else has access to that.

  “I respect your difference of opinion,” Duff replies, his tone making it clear he doesn’t. “But we have to know.”

  “She’s only been awake for a week! After being in a coma for fourteen months. The doctors aren’t sure about brain function yet and you want to stress her out with an interrogation?”

  “Not an interrogation. Just some yes-or-no questions so we can get information that will help us find her assailant.”

  “You mean her killer. Almost killer. That disgusting piece of shit ruined Lily’s life.”

  My stomach clenches. Mom doesn’t swear.

  And the ruined Lily’s life part doesn’t help.

  “Bee.” Duff’s voice softens. For some reason, it’s the compassion in the way he says Mom’s name that makes the tears come. They prickle, the skin around my eyes turning into a maddening xylophone of tingles. “I’m on your side.”

  No, he isn’t! I want to scream.

  “There were no cameras in your flower shop,” Duff starts.

  Dad must be standing outside, too, because he interrupts. “There sure as hell are now.”

  Oh, Daddy.

  “Good,” Duff says, voice back to being all business. “But there weren’t when Lily was shot. We have video cameras in her room now, too.”

  Warmth floods me, the closest sensation to relief my body can produce. Cameras? In my room? I look around but can’t find any.

  “We need as many details as possible. So far, the killer’s gotten away with it.” Duff’s voice drops as he says it. I can feel his teeth grinding, his tight jaw, the injustice of it eating away at him.

  Which is weird.

  Because why would his voice telegraph that when he’s working with Romeo?

  “She’s barely stable,” Mom says in a low, furious voice. “Even her siblings aren’t allowed to visit right now. Her body’s struggling to regulate itself
with her newfound energy. The doctors finally believe me when I say that she’s talking. Her vocal cords haven’t been used in more than fourteen months and the speech pathologists and physical and occupational therapists are scheduled to consult, but she’s not even ready for them. Why on Earth would you think she’s ready to be interrogated by law enforcement?”

  “Not interrogated. We just want to ask four simple questions.”

  “Nothing about this is simple, Duff. You of all people should know that.” Daddy’s voice is weird. Accusatory.

  Nasty.

  “Tom, we’ve talked about this before,” Duff says in a voice that sounds... contrite. Or close to it. The air moves in and out of my nose as I breathe and it feels like a cruel caress, the sound making the nerve endings in my ears hurt. I breathe harder, the pain like sandpaper rubbing hard to erase a mistake. To smooth a rough edge.

  To make an imperfection disappear.

  “We’ve talked about it but no one is doing anything!” Dad shouts. “God damn it!” A meaty sound, like a hand slamming against the doorframe, makes me tense.

  “Honey,” Mom says.

  “Someone waltzed into my store, the one I built with my wife for the last twenty-five years, marched up to my counter, and shot my daughter from behind. Some coward shot her from behind because he thought she was someone else. Because he thought he could kill another human being. Because he thought he could get away with it. And he did!” Dad blasts.

  I flinch. I’m not the source of his anger but boy, do I feel it, licking at my skin like the edge of a flame.

  “I’m not going to let that happen,” Duff insists. “Talking to Lily will help us find him.”

  “Why aren’t you interviewing Jane Borokov about this? Silas Gentian? Hell, the president-elect himself?” Dad asks, his voice angry. “Lily was shot because someone thought she was Jane, who is connected to Lindsay Bosworth. And then that whole mess with Harry Bosworth’s wife trying to kill him. It was all over the news. We know there’s some connection. Has to be. You guys can’t confirm it–I know, I know. My Lily was an innocent victim of some screwed-up D.C.-insider scandal.”

  “Tom,” Mom says in a voice of warning. I can’t see them. Why would Mom warn Dad?

  Dad’s voice turns to hot steel. “Bottom line is this: my daughter has been fighting for her goddamned life for fourteen months because she befriended a woman. A woman known to have betrayed a senator’s daughter. And you were right there when it happened, Mr. McDuff.”

  “Sir, I–”

  “Tom, your blood pressure–”

  “Lily’s goodness almost got her killed,” Dad bellows. “We raised a kind, friendly, caring young woman and that–do you have any idea what–”

  “Tom!”

  People shout in the hallway, until Mom screams, and I hear a strange thump.

  “He’s coding!” Duff calls out. Shuffling and scuffle sounds, the clang of a cart’s wheels click-clacking faster than I ever hear it.

  “Whaaa,” I say. Can’t move. Can’t see. Can only hear.

  Hear something bad happening to my dad.

  “TOM!” Mom screams, and then it’s nothing but noise, all of it, including my body. I buzz, I vibrate, I move without movement, my heart the only part of me that has a muscle I can use to get rid of all the energy building inside me.

  Energy that needs to know.

  Needs to know what is happening out there.

  I hear words like “cardiac” and “code” and “defib” and Mom screams “Make him start breathing!” and then I realize I did this.

  I did this to my daddy.

  I gave him a heart attack.

  Beep! Beep! Beep! Some sensor attached to me starts screaming, too, screaming for me because I can’t. That’s what the machines do.

  They speak for me.

  Heat floods me, a prickly sensation without sweat or actual relief. My blood doesn’t know what to do with itself, trapped and burning, the temperature rising and no way out. Shame floods me like a tsunami, knowing my father is out there dying because the stress of defending me was too much. All these months–more than a year–they’ve selflessly been here, caring for me, caring about me, and what have I done in return?

  Nothing.

  I am nothing but a problem.

  A problem that is literally killing my father.

  Beep! Beep! Beep!

  The metal-tangy scent of sweat fills my nose, my mind turning to spun cotton, the feeling increasingly familiar. Can't think, can't feel, can't hide, can't anything.

  The door flies open and I see a crowd, my eye muscles aching, the skin around my eyeballs tight, so tight that I’m a balloon, stretching. Duff looks at me from a bent position, his hands on my mother’s shoulders, pulling her back from something on the floor I can’t see.

  And then the door snaps shut.

  “Ma! Da!” I say, throat spasming, emotion building up but pressing against my skin, until I can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t hear, and now Mom is screaming my name, too.

  Donna’s face is inches from mine, her hair brushing my shoulder. Her hands are purple, no, wearing purple gloves, and she’s holding a needle like it’s a life preserver as a crowd of white forms behind her, men’s voices shouting orders and women, too, and that’s all I know as it goes black, so black, Mom’s scream a thin thread that unravels something I can’t see as I go down, down, down.

  Down.

  But there is no bottom.

  It never ends.

  Chapter 6

  Blink.

  * * *

  I hear myself before I can feel my existence. Descartes had it wrong. It’s not I think, therefore I am.

  It’s I make noise, therefore I am.

  The sound of my breath fills the air. My hand, cold and unmoving, is suddenly warm.

  I am not alone.

  The scent of lemon and wood makes my heart shoot through my ribs and bounce off the ceiling. I can’t open my eyes, but even so, I know who is in here.

  Duff.

  He’s come to kill me.

  I relax.

  Because it’s time.

  And what other choice do I have?

  A pillow is all he needs. If I open my eyes, will I see it? Do we die with less pain if we watch while it’s happening? How many rules are there about life that I’ve never learned? Maybe I'd have a better crossing into whatever existence is next if I’d studied harder, searched more. Talked less and listened more.

  Regret is useless now.

  But there is no pillow across my face.

  Just a warmth on my hand and a scent that tells me he’s here.

  * * *

  Blink.

  * * *

  “Lily,” he says.

  Did I die? Is this heaven or hell? God sounds kind of rough.

  Or maybe that’s not God.

  Warmth pours over me until my skin itches and it burns, oh, it burns, so maybe I’m in hell after all. Every ounce of effort goes into not choking. My mouth is cotton and razor blades, but there’s nothing in my throat. A cold spot at my waist makes me want to turn, to cover it with a blanket. Can’t turn. Can’t move.

  Just breathe.

  A single tear pools in the corner of my left eye, at the edge. There’s a precious feeling as it gathers, like it’s going to so much effort just for me. My teeth rest against each other and I feel crooked. Misaligned. A puzzle made of pieces that don’t fit, but people keep trying anyhow.

  They don’t know why they try. The effort is more important than the result.

  As I take a deep breath, I let my eyes open slightly. Just a tiny crack, enough to see him.

  We are alone.

  I am completely, utterly unprotected.

  If he wants to kill me, he can.

  * * *

  Blink.

  * * *

  He didn’t.

  * * *

  Blink.

  * * *

  “Da?” I ask, making Duff startle. He’s in the chair on
the other side of the room, thumbing his way through a text, and the look on his face when he jolts is so unguarded. So human.

  How can he be both that and what I know he is?

  “You awake?”

  “Nuh.”

  Laughter bubbles out of him, a joyful sound that is frightening because it’s so unexpected. “Jesus, Lily. What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

  More than you can ever know.

  “Da?”

  “Yes?”

  I’m asking about my dad, but he doesn’t understand.

  “Da!” I cough after saying the sound louder. Pain rips through me.

  “Yes, Duff. My name is Duff.”

  “Nuh! Nuh Duffffffffff.” My lips feel like they’re made of novocaine. “Da! Muh Da!”

  “Your dad?”

  I nod.

  “Oh, shit, Lily.” He scrubs his stubbled face with a big, strong palm. “He’s upstairs. Stable. Doing fine after the heart attack.”

  The heart attack.

  “They got him into surgery fast. Found a huge blockage. He’s out and stable. Lucky it happened here in front of a team of doctors.”

  Lucky.

  “We were–he was angry. Because I wanted to talk to you. He was protecting you.”

  Daddy can’t protect me now.

  “Your mom’s with him. That’s why I’m here. Checking in on you.”

  I look away.

  A long exhale, like he’s exorcising something more than air, like he’s in a confessional booth and ready to admit to a mortal sin, comes out of him. “That’s not true, actually. That’s not why I’m here.”

  Oh, God.

  “I need some time with you. Alone.”

  No no no no no.

  “What happened that day in the flower shop was left unfinished.”

  All the blood in my body drains to my feet.

  My hands can’t reach the call button. I’m about one for three on that effort, but when I try to move my hand, it just shoves the square electronic box off the edge of my bed, the wire delaying its slow descent between the side bar and the mattress.

  “Lily,” Duff says. “We need to end this. Now.”