False Memory

by Meli Raine

  Romeo takes it.

  I’m trapped.

  “Drew can’t be here today, so I’m filling in for him,” Silas explains as we open the folders, the side of me facing Romeo feeling like someone’s tasing me. My fingers shake as I work the edge of my folder. Duff notices.

  “Lily?” he asks, looking at my hand. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just a neuro quirk.”

  Jane frowns. Romeo watches my hand.

  “You need help?”

  I hold up my weak arm. “It can’t lift more than a kilo or so, but it can flip a...” Yellow. Rectangle. Paper.

  “File folder,” Duff finishes for me.

  “...a file folder open,” I conclude.

  He doesn’t react.

  I put my shaking hand on my thigh and open the file with the other hand.

  It’s words, lots and lots of words in organized patterns that are designed to make sense of the whole mess I’m stuck in. My reading ability is coming back, getting close to college level again, but sometimes the words jumble on the page, like the bullet’s exit path created a town called Dyslexia in my grey matter.

  But that’s not the reason I can’t read the report.

  The energy radiating off the man to my right is.

  “We’ve gone over the events of the shooting plenty of times, Lily, so we won’t rehash everything,” Silas says. Jane keeps her head down. She stopped dyeing her hair, so our color’s different now, but the shape of her cut is still short. Whatever hair I have is much shorter, though. Our twin-like appearance isn’t an issue anymore.

  There’s no mistaking her for me, or vice versa, now.

  My heart thumps in my chest like a big, wet golden retriever’s tail thwacking on the beach, the sound impossible to describe but aggravating to feel. I don’t want to be this nervous. This traumatized. So out of control emotionally that my body’s wiring short circuits. The panic rising in me comes from my reaction to Romeo. It is rational. It is legitimate.

  What it is not is functional.

  All this stress coursing through me causes damage. Corrosive and toxic, it permeates my cells, my soul, the way I move my body through time and space. Rebuilding myself piece by piece is a monumental effort. Realizing how fragile I am is deflating. All that energy. All that work.

  All to be felled so quickly by proximity to a man who held my life in his hands.

  Still does.

  We all read the report in silence. I pretend. The words mix in front of me, like a word salad.

  “This doesn’t say anything new,” Jane whispers, breaking the silence.

  “No. We don’t have anything new.” Silas and Duff share a glance. The note is new.

  I know you know.

  Wait a minute. Why aren’t they bringing it up? My skin spikes with tiny needles. My ears ring. What are they doing?

  “Romeo suggested this meeting,” Silas says, looking at Romeo but I swear he’s watching Jane in his peripheral vision. Some kind of energy arc is flowing between them, and not in a lovey-dovey way. It’s sparked and tense, but not angry. They’re on edge. Intense.

  Why?

  “Lily,” Romeo says kindly, “We wanted to meet with you, away from your parents, who are wonderful but might make it harder for you to focus.”

  “Hmmm?” is all I can say as my hands turn to icicles.

  “Your mother and father mean well, but you are an adult. You are increasingly independent.” His voice is triggering so much in me. The hand on my thigh twitches uncontrollably. I have to grip my knee to stop it. “They want you to remember, and hence may place too much pressure on you.”

  The slightly arcane speech pattern makes me feel even more remote, distanced, disconnected. My brain struggles to follow most conversations, picking up on nonverbal and emotional cues.

  Pitch of voice. The way someone holds their shoulders. Eye contact.

  Romeo is a block of concrete. He gives nothing away.

  I look around the room. Every face is impassive. No one can tell that my heart is trying to break out of my chest. If it had a pickaxe, it would hack its way out.

  “What do you want?”

  “What we've wanted all along. To find your killer. We need to know everything you know.”

  I know you know.

  Oh, God.

  "But I've already told you. I don't remember!” The hacking sensation in my chest is starting to feel like a jackhammer on top of that pickaxe.

  And why isn't anyone talking about yesterday's note?

  Silas looks at Romeo with disdain. "I told you this was a waste of time. My time, Lily’s time, and everyone else's.”

  With a shrug that only a secret operative in a room full of other secret operatives can pull off, he gives Silas a cold, even look right back. “I’m doing my job.”

  “No. You’re flogging a dead horse.”

  “I thought you were the one who flogged, boss,” Romeo cracks, with a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

  Jane’s hands curl into fists.

  No one laughs.

  I don’t understand the joke, but then again, I don’t want to understand the joke. This is all too sick for me. I stand up, wobbly but clear.

  “Are we done?” It's not really a question.

  Before anyone can answer, I cut them off. “I don’t care if we’re done. I’m done. I’m done being nice. I’m done being followed. You can stop.”

  Duff leaps to his feet. “No.”

  “Yes. I don’t want this service anymore, Jane.” Unrolling as I speak, the idea takes shape. If I keep the coverage, at some point Romeo’s going to be put on a shift with me. The last time he was alone with me, he tried to kill me with a poisonous spider.

  I don’t want to give him another chance.

  “No.” The sound of Duff’s voice makes me turn sharply, the emotion like a vibration that goes right to my gut. “You can’t do that. Not when we have no idea who tried to kill you.”

  Oh, but I do.

  “He is right,” Romeo says as Silas motions to him, trying to get him into the hall. Romeo ignores Silas, the power play evident. “If you do not have security, you could be dead in short order. Look at what happened to all of Jane’s other friends.”

  “Leave my old friends out of this, Romeo,” she says in a deadly voice. “What happened to them isn’t connected to what happened to Lily.”

  “You know this how?” he challenges, eyebrows up. “That’s a report I’ve not seen.”

  I know you know.

  Jane’s old friends died in horribly brutal ways two years ago. Arms slit to look like suicide in a bar bathroom. Run into by a truck at a park in broad daylight. A faked heroin overdose. All three killed to send a message.

  Romeo’s bringing them up as a warning.

  To me.

  “Enough,” Silas snaps. “Hallway. Czaky. Now.”

  Jane’s eyes track the two men as they leave.

  Duff watches me.

  “Look, Lily, I know this is hard,” she starts.

  “Why are you here?” Duff asks her. His voice is even. Calm.

  But it’s clear he expects an answer that contains the truth. Does he suspect her? Why would Jane plant that note?

  “I wanted to see Lily.” The way her eyes meet Duff's but jump away sets my teeth on edge. She’s telling the truth, yes.

  Just not all of it.

  “You don’t have to come to a briefing meeting to see her.”

  “Quit talking about me like I’m not here. Like I’m a tabletop. I am not a surface!” I hiss, the sound louder and more emotional than I want.

  “Sorry,” Duff and Jane say at the same time.

  “Why are you here?” I ask her.

  “I want to make sure you’re covered. I heard about the paparazzi at your physical therapy appointment the other day. The security team isn’t just protecting you from the possibility of the shooter coming back, are they?” she explains.

  “Being ‘shot’ by the paparazzi isn’t fun
, but it beats the other kind of shooting,” I tell her, rubbing the back of my head.

  Closing her eyes slowly, Jane holds her breath.

  I feel bad.

  Yet I don’t apologize. I told the truth. The truth hurts. Sometimes inside, and sometimes in splintered bone.

  “Thank you. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” I tell her, because that, too, is truth.

  “How could I not?”

  “You didn’t have to. Still don’t have to. Twenty-four/seven coverage with this security team is a bit much. Does Duff get to have a life? He’s with me sixteen hours a day, seven days a week.” As the words roll out of my mouth I feel exposed. Naked. I’ve blurted out a truth I didn’t realize I was holding inside me.

  What truth will I let slip next?

  I know you know.

  Chapter 19

  Silas and Romeo return to the room, both looking like they’d rather eat nails than be next to each other. Silas sits down and immediately looks at me.

  “Lily, any change in your memory in the last month since we talked?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?” Romeo asks, ignoring Silas’s irritation.

  “Yes.”

  “This is bullshit,” Duff announces, turning toward me. “Lily crashed yesterday. I tossed a medicine ball at her and misjudged. Her temperature regulation’s off, too. She’s a recovering GSW with a TBI and–”

  “Alphabet soup,” I murmur.

  Romeo gives me side eye.

  “What’s that?” Silas asks me.

  “Alphabet soup. I know TBI is me. Traumatic brain injury. What’s a GSW?” I ask.

  “Gunshot wound,” Duff says.

  “Oh. Then that’s me, too,” I say with a sigh.

  “You’re more than abbreviations,” Duff grinds out.

  I tap the folder once. “Not in here.” I look at Silas. “My doctors all told me that memory is weird. It’s not linear. Not rational. And trauma makes it act like a series of rainbow wormholes. No central command. Plasticity means the brain can do anything. It doesn’t mean the brain can do what you want.” I let out a giggle that sounds really unstable.

  Mostly on purpose, but there’s a little truth in there.

  “Your verbal improvement is astonishing,” Romeo says, eyes narrowing.

  “I fell off the toilet yesterday when I tried to wipe,” I say, meeting his eyes directly for the first time. I hold them. “I yelled for help and called my mom by our cat’s name.”

  “Oh, Lily,” Jane says with compassion.

  “Our cat’s name is Bitty. I called out, ‘Hey, Bitchy!’”

  Romeo’s the only one who doesn’t laugh.

  “I know you all want me to remember,” I say, the quiver in my voice not at all fake, even if the words coming out of my mouth are, “and I want to remember, too. I wish I could. I’d do anything to get the man who shot me off the streets.”

  I know you know.

  I look at Jane with real tears in my eyes. “He was trying to kill you. I’m so glad you’re still alive.”

  Romeo shifts in his seat, but shows no sign of discomfort. He picks up his to-go cup of coffee and takes a sip. On his wrist he wears a big watch, an aviator’s timepiece. Dark, thick hair lines his forearms, poking out under a blue Oxford shirt cuff.

  “That’s what I don’t understand,” Jane blurts out. “If he was trying to kill me and shot you instead, why not come after me again? He’s had all this time.”

  “You’re under exceptional security,” Silas declares. “Even if he tried, he’d fail.”

  How does Romeo sit here and listen to this, knowing he’s the one? I can’t look at him or he’ll know I know. Instead, I reach for my coffee, the lukewarm taste a distraction I crave more than the caffeine.

  Evil has a scent. Evil has a feel. Evil takes over all the molecules in a room, the air weighed down by the gravity of potential. No one else in the room feels it. No one else in the room smells it. To them, the air is unchanged, undetectable, unnoticed.

  How is that possible? How can they not tell?

  And if they can’t tell about Romeo, does that mean they’ll never be able to tell I’m lying?

  Right at the base of my neck, a tingle begins. It’s cold, like someone’s licking the back of my neck with an electric-charged popsicle. The tingle spreads, racing along my skin, taking over my lungs.

  They don’t see it.

  They can’t see it.

  I know the truth. I’m hiding the truth.

  Romeo knows the truth. He’s hiding the truth.

  I have more in common with evil than I ever imagined.

  Because I know that I know.

  “Lily?” Duff’s been in his seat, observing everything with that impassive stance he’s cultivated. Or maybe he was born with it. Either way, it suits his job. Be threatening without being aggressive. Gather information without being obvious. Be quiet without being withdrawn. Balance is key, and Duff pulls it off.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You okay? You went quiet.”

  “So did you. Doesn’t mean you had a seizure.”

  “True. I also didn’t get my mastoid bone shattered into my brains like you did.”

  “I don’t recommend you try it. Not even on a triple-dog dare.”

  Jane’s jaw is half on the floor. “You two scare me.”

  “Are we done?” Romeo asks, coolly angry. He sounds like me a few minutes ago, using the exact same words – but from a very different angle. “If you’re not going to take Lily’s memory seriously...”

  “No one is trivializing her memory,” Silas says tightly. “We’re making her overall health more important than some stressful, repetitive series of interrogations. At this point, Lily, consider this the last time we question you. If you remember, you’ll come to us.”

  He didn’t ask that like a question.

  “Of course!” I lie.

  No one notices.

  I’ve spent eight months making sure no one figures it out. I’ve succeeded.

  So far.

  Romeo stands and leaves without saying goodbye. As the door shuts, Jane’s hands unclench. What is it about him that freaks her out? I want so badly to ask, but I can’t.

  I can ask other questions, though.

  “What Romeo said about my shooting being connected to your other friends dying,” I start, looking at her. “Is he right?”

  A palpable discomfort fills the room. “It’s complicated,” Duff begins.

  I nod. “I get that. Dumb it down for me. I want an explanation.”

  Silas, Jane, and Duff all exchange looks they don’t even try to hide. That’s refreshing.

  A lightness fills me as the seconds tick on, the wait excruciating for Jane, who looks like her skin’s about to split from pressure. Romeo is gone, and that reduces my stress.

  Out from under his scrutiny, I can ask my own questions.

  Maybe I’m watching them right back.

  “Until we know who shot you, we can’t know why they shot you. And until we know why they shot you–shot someone they assumed was Jane–we can’t know whether they’re connected to the murders of Jenna, Mandy, and Tara,” Silas calmly explains. Jane’s old friends. Jane said they were part of the conspiracy to hurt Lindsay Bosworth.

  “Motive is what you need.”

  “A name. A description. A clue. A break. We need those before we need motive,” Duff corrects.

  “Until we know who did this, nothing can be resolved,” Silas says, Jane nodding.

  “Romeo was being a pushy jerk,” Jane says, “but he has a point. If your memory comes back, it’s key.”

  I look her right in the eye and lie. “I wish I could tell you more.”

  Wait. That’s not a lie.

  “Given how long you were in a coma, and how long it’s been since you woke up, the chances of spontaneous recovery are slim,” Duff says. “Your doctors made that clear.”

  “Romeo doesn’t think so,” I ventu
re.

  I can tell they’re trying to figure out how to interpret what I’m saying. The old Lily would have rushed to make them less confused. She would have been worried about discord. She would have wanted clarity.

  The me that I am now sits in ambiguity, knowing it can only help me.

  Jane looks at Silas, whose eyes widen slightly, the nonverbal cues crystal clear:

  He doesn’t know what to say.

  “I hope Romeo’s right,” I sigh. “I hope one day my memory does help catch the guy who did this to me.” I squint. “Or woman.”

  “Woman?” Silas asks.

  “We keep saying man, guy, gunman. How do we know it’s not a woman?”

  “No one saw any women near the shop when the shooting happened.”

  “No one saw any stray guys, either,” I point out. They’re right–it’s a man, of course. But maybe opening up space for the idea that it’s a woman will help get Romeo off my trail.

  “Here’s what we do know,” Jane says to me. “When people were actively trying to kill me, it was because Harry Bosworth’s wife wanted me dead.”

  “And now he’s president.”

  Jane puts her hand on mine. It feels like hot pieces of lead. “Lily, Harry Bosworth isn't just the president.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s my father.”

  I laugh. I laugh because it’s ludicrous. I laugh because Silas turns red and stares at Jane like she just ate a live baby pig in two bites. I laugh because of course the president of the United States is involved in my shooting.

  Of course he is.

  “You’re not kidding, are you?” I say, great big whoops coming out of me until my chest starts that tight feeling I get when I’m overwhelmed. That explains so much–why she was targeted, why she had a security force when I met her.

  “Whats’ername wanted you dead?” I squeak out. Blonde hair. Big, fake smile. Always next to Harwell Bosworth. “Bosworth. Her name. Bos–”

  “Monica,” Duff calmly fills in for me.

  “Monica!” I shout. “That’s right.”

  “Yes. She knew the truth would be revealed. That my mother and Harry were in love. Killing me was–well, it wasn’t just about that. She hired someone to kill me. He damn near succeeded in killing you.”

  “I–I can’t believe this,” I gasp before my throat tightens and I can’t, I can’t, I can’t breathe, Duff’s steady, strong hands on my shoulders, his voice in my ear.