The Left Hand of Memory (Redlisted)

by Sara Beaman

  “There’s no dhampyr with us,” Haruko says.

  “So she’s with Adam.”

  Haruko doesn’t respond.

  “Where’s Adam?”

  “Neither of us have any idea,” Julian says.

  I peer through the open door into the room. Inside, Julian sits in an armchair, flanked by Haruko, who stands with her arms crossed, staring down the perfect clone of Mirabel sitting across the room. Two familiar figures are at the double’s back: an eerily perfect woman with strawberry blonde hair and a spidery-thin man with a black ponytail. The man was with Mirabel when she conducted the ritual that shut off my voice. And the woman, Claire Llewellyn, was the one who performed my alterations—the physical insults that made me into a double.

  I take a slow, careful step into the room, sticking close to the wall, but what I really want to do is murder all three of them on principle.

  “Let me be clear,” the Mirabel-clone says. “Give me the girl, tell me where she is, or be prepared to accept the consequences.”

  “She’s dead,” Haruko says.

  “You’re lying,” says the double.

  “I don’t think she is,” Claire, the blonde, says. “But she knows something she’s not telling us.”

  Haruko snorts. “I know a lot I’m not telling you. What are you going to do about it?”

  I take another step. Beneath my feet a floorboard creaks almost imperceptibly. Claire looks straight at me, through me, and fixes me with a stare.

  But the Mirabel-clone dhampyr is oblivious. “I’ll turn you both in to the Watchers of the Americas for theft and murder. Or accomplices thereto. One of you will be left to an eternity of anterograde amnesia, and the other will face a firing squad.”

  Julian laughs dismissively. “So it’s true what they say about you, Mira. You’ve become utterly delusional.”

  “You think they’ll convict?” Haruko says. “On what evidence?”

  The dhampyr narrows her eyes.

  “I don’t think you have anything concrete,” Haruko continues. “I think it’s your word against ours.”

  “My word is law,” the dhampyr says. “And don’t think the Watchers don’t see you for what you are. Desmond’s lapdog. A dead man’s plaything.”

  Haruko says nothing.

  “That’s enough,” Julian says, standing.

  “I’m sorry,” the dhampyr says, her tone saccharine. “Too soon?”

  “You’re getting on my last nerve,” Julian says. “You should leave. Now.”

  The dhampyr laughs, an unnerving, girlish giggle. “Do you really think we’re likely to take your orders?”

  “Do you honestly believe Davis here is any match for me, Mirabel?” Julian takes a step forward. His voice is bemused, scarcely above a murmur, but it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “And as for Claire, I have an old matter to settle with her. Her amulet against Compulsion is the only reason she isn’t dead where she stands. Although I do have other methods to work with…”

  The dhampyr sneers. Claire gives her a sidelong look, clearly nervous. Staring directly at Julian, Davis reaches into his jacket for something and asks, “Should I…?”

  “No,” the dhampyr says. “We’re leaving.”

  “Allow me to show you to the garage,” Julian says, lowering his chin. “I assume you’ve made arrangements for daytime travel?”

  The dhampyr glowers, curling her hands into fists, but nevertheless, she stands and follows Julian to the door, her assistants trailing close behind her.

  Postmortal Coil

  Haruko and I return to Adam’s suite. Haruko leaves me at the door, saying she needs sleep. I go inside and lock the door behind me. I wish she’d stayed. I would have given her the bed; I could have slept on the couch. Though, come to think of it, this place might bring back weird memories for her.

  I pull off my boots and collapse onto one of the couches, feeling demoralized and confused. What was all of that stuff with Julian about? Why does Mirabel want me back so badly she’d send a team after me? Doesn’t she have better things to do with her time? I don’t understand any of this nonsense. I’m not prepared to play games of political machination with people who have had centuries—maybe even millenia—to practice. And seeing how Haruko nearly lost it back there, I’m not sure she’s ready, either.

  I need to talk to Adam.

  I close my eyes and plead to myself for sleep until it comes.

  ***

  And then I’m back in the elevator at the SpiraCom building, heading down from Mirabel’s office on the top floor, staring into the brushed chrome of the elevator doors. Alone.

  “You’d better be here when these doors open,” I mutter.

  I assess my reflection in the chrome, make a half-hearted attempt to fix my hair, give up. I wonder how much concentration it would take to continually maintain the illusion of a different face. I’m sick of looking at this one.

  The doors part, revealing a black wall with an oversized canvas hanging at its center. A splatter of red runs down the canvas, like someone took a gallon of latex paint and threw it. I know the painting well. This is the floor my office was on. It’s to the right, through rows and rows of cubicles. Why do I keep coming back to this place I hate so much?

  “Adam?” I call out, making my way through the grid of black cubicle half-walls. “Richard? Anyone? Hello?”

  Ahead of me, I hear a phone ring. It’s coming from my office. I open the door and stare at the phone for several seconds, apprehensive. It keeps ringing long after it should have gone to voicemail. I’m not sure I should answer it. I probably shouldn’t answer it. But what if it’s Adam?

  I reach for the receiver and bring it to my ear.

  “Hello?”

  A recording begins to play. Perky, toxic pop music. Not a song I recognize.

  “Baby, baby, please,” croons the female singer, “come back to—“

  It’s a command. From Mirabel.

  “Turning and turning in the widening gyre,” I recite aloud, hanging up. “The falcon cannot hear the falconer…”

  The speaker phone activates; the recording gets louder. I mash the button, trying to turn it off.

  “Things fall apart!” I shout. “The center cannot hold! Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world—“

  My back pocket starts to vibrate. A cell phone? I didn’t know I had one. I pull it out, look at the screen. I have a text message:

  Come to the back door and I’ll get you out of here.

  “Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,” I repeat, opening the office door, stumbling out into the cube farm, shutting the door behind me. “The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned…”

  I start walking toward the elevator. All the computer monitors in the cubicles flicker on, all displaying a music video. That same stupid song starts to play through the speakers.

  “I want you, I need you…”

  I break into a run.

  “Come back to—“

  “The falcon cannot hear the falconer,” I shout, jamming the down button. “The falcon cannot hear the falconer. The falcon cannot hear—“

  Again my phone buzzes. Another text message.

  Not the elevator. Take the stairs. Count the flights.

  The elevator doors open with a ding. Inside the chamber, the wretched song is playing through a speaker in the ceiling. I dash for the stairs, mumbling my mantra to myself over and over. I throw the door to the stairwell open and run down the stairs, taking them two at a time, sliding my hand down the railing. The horrible song is fainter now, and it fades as I descend, but I don’t trust myself to stop repeating that same stanza. Not yet. This entire place reeks of violation.

  I keep my eyes peeled for the big “G” sign on the wall of the ground floor landing. As soon as I see it, I take the door to my left, back into the building. I hear the music blaring over the PA system, and when I emerge into the atrium from the access hallway I see the music
video playing on all the flat screen TVs on all the walls. I force myself to ignore them, forming blinders with my hands, reciting constantly, and I hurry to the revolving door to the street. I throw myself against it and shove it open—

  ***

  And stumble through the door into Adam’s suite.

  The office door bursts open and two men emerge: Richard and—if I can believe my eyes—Lucien Verlinden. I recognize Lucien from the carnival-mirror perspective I’ve gotten of him: Adam’s memories of Julian’s memories of Zenas Markham’s imitation. He’s tall and thin, with pale skin and dark hair. He’s dressed in modern clothing now, jeans and a black T-shirt. His feet are bare.

  “Kate!” he says. “Thank God you’re okay.”

  How does he know my name? What is he doing here? And where the hell is Adam?

  “I am Adam,” he says.

  “He is Adam,” Richard says simultaneously.

  My jaw goes slack. “You—you’re… What happened?”

  “It’s a long story,” Richard says.

  “No it’s not,” Lucien says. “Mnemosyne did this to me.”

  “She did?” I ask. “Why?”

  Richard laughs. Lucien shoots him a look.

  “I should let the two of you talk,” Richard says.

  “Yes,” Lucien says. “You should.”

  “Let me know when you want to pick up where we left off,” Richard tells Lucien.

  Richard removes his ring; the instant the metal loses contact with his skin, he vanishes. Lucien takes a long, shaky breath and walks over to me.

  “Kate, I am so sorry,” he says, putting his hands on my biceps.

  I recoil and take a step backwards. I don’t want him to touch me.

  “Kate, please,” Lucien says, desperate. “This wasn’t my decision.”

  I mash my hands into my eye sockets.

  “It’s me,” Adam says. “It really is.”

  Now, with my eyes closed, I recognize Adam’s voice, low and quiet. I take my hands away from my eyes and take another look at him. For all I’ve heard about Adam and Lucien being so physically similar, all I can see now are the differences between the two. Lucien’s eyes are bluer. His hair is longer. His features are younger, less angular; his nose is larger. He has the same lips, perhaps, and the same skin and hair color, but I don’t see why everyone says they look so alike.

  “I don’t see it either, honestly,” Adam says with a shrug.

  “So why exactly did Mnemosyne do this to you?” I ask.

  “For my upcoming assignment.”

  “Oh. You mean the one you didn’t want Richard telling me about?”

  He sits down heavily on the couch. “God damn Richard. All I said was that I wanted to tell you myself.”

  “Right.”

  “Why don’t you sit down,” he says. “I’ll tell you everything, answer any questions you might have. Really. Anything.”

  I fold my arms across my chest.

  “Please,” he says.

  I sit down across from him, on the edge of the couch, and I look him in the eye. It’s like looking at a stranger. I don’t like it. As angry as I am with him, I still want to see his real face.

  “I know you’re angry with me—“

  “Yeah. I am.”

  “You have every right to be.”

  “You don’t need to tell me that, Adam.”

  He looks down. “Sorry. Like I said—anything you want to know—“

  “Why don’t you start off by telling me about Jennifer?” I blurt out.

  “Jennifer?”

  “She said she’s your girlfriend.” Listen to me! I should be asking about Aya, about Mnemosyne, about Julian, about Mirabel—about anything but Jennifer, but right now all I can think about is the two of them, together. I must look like a fool. Like a lovesick teenager.

  “No you don’t,” he says, reaching for my hand. “Not at all. I wanted to tell you, but everything about that mission was under an NDA—“

  “A nondisclosure agreement?”

  “Yes.”

  I pull my hand away. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “I wish I was.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “It’s the truth!” he insists.

  “Adam, that’s ridiculous.”

  “I agree,” he says, “but regardless, it’s true. Mnemosyne—“

  “Mnemosyne put you under an NDA?”

  He nods.

  “About your girlfriend.”

  “Jennifer isn’t my girlfriend,” he says. “But yes.”

  “What do you mean, she isn’t your girlfriend? Are you just fucking, or something?”

  “No! That’s not—It was arranged. Mnemosyne picked her out for me.”

  “Mnemosyne told you to date her?”

  “To recruit her.”

  “To seduce her?”

  “Well, yeah, basically,” he says.

  “You didn’t have any choice in the matter?”

  “I don’t have a choice in most matters.”

  I give him a skeptical look.

  “I rejected Mnemosyne’s first initiation offer,” he continues. “Now she makes most of those kinds of choices for me.”

  “She controls your decisions?” I frown. “Like, all the time?”

  “Not moment to moment. Not even she can do that—at least, she couldn’t before, not in her compromised state. But she made choices for me on a daily basis. Sometimes an hourly basis. Forced me to do things I never would have done otherwise.”

  “What about our mission?” I ask. “Going to Red Hook? Did she make you do that?”

  “As far as I know, she only chose to permit it.”

  “What do you mean, ‘as far as you know’?”

  “Don’t worry about it…”

  I give him a flat look.

  “Sometimes I wonder if she doesn’t force me to do things, and then edit my memories to make it seem like I made the choice myself. You know, so I don’t get too desperate? But I don’t know why she’d have done that, in this case—I don’t think I would have needed convincing.”

  “All right, well… what about reviving me?”

  “That I did on my own,” he says, sounding certain of it.

  “What about the rest of it? How you behaved? The things you said and did?”

  His eyelids droop; he looks thoughtful.

  “There are things I would have done differently if I’d had the choice,” he says. “I certainly would have been more open with you. And with Haruko.”

  I take a long breath, trying to integrate everything he’s told me into my sense of the situation. I feel lightheaded.

  “So Mnemosyne forced you to date Jennifer,” I find myself saying again.

  “To recruit her support.”

  “Via seduction.”

  “I know what it looks like—“

  “Do you mean anything to her?”

  “Jennifer?”

  “Yes, Jennifer. Is she in love with you?”

  “She’s a Warden, so I can’t read her mind, but—“

  “But yes.”

  “I think so,” he admits.

  “Does she mean anything to you?”

  “Honestly?” He slumps back against the couch. “The main thing I feel when I think of Jennifer is guilt.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s naive—willfully naive—and I don’t like that about her, but I exploited it, and…” He makes a sour face.

  “So you don’t love her.”

  “No,” he says. “But I’m certain she believes I do.”

  “And now you look like Lucien,” I say, thinking aloud. “So who are you recruiting this time? Julian? Mirabel?”

  As I say her name, Adam’s jaw tightens.

  “Jesus Christ,” I say. “Mirabel?”

  “Like I said, it wasn’t my decision.”

  “Is what you do? All the time?”

  “Basically. Of course, ever since the war started, all of Mnemosyne’s lieutenants
have been involved with recruitment to one degree or another, but—“

  “What do you mean by ‘recruitment’, exactly?”

  “You know. Finding support for the House.”

  “You mean from other revenants?”

  “Not always, no.”

  “So what you’re saying is…” My upper lip curls. “Adam, you’ve recruited humans, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like… killed them?”

  He sighs, shading his eyes. “Yes.”

  “That’s against the Sanguine Consensus,” I say, feeling ill.

  “Mnemosyne doesn’t care.”

  “Did she tell you to recruit me?”

  He doesn’t respond right away.

  “Adam!”

  “No. No, I… fuck. It was a grey area. I asked her for permission.”

  “You asked her for…?” I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. “Permission to do what, exactly?”

  “Not to revive you after I shot you—that was a split second sort of decision. But I had to ask permission to keep you around.”

  “To recruit me.”

  “I guess you could look at it that way…”

  “Were you going to kill me?”

  “Kate, no! Why would you say that?”

  “You lied to me.”

  “When? I did my best not to—“

  “You told me you’d never killed a human before!”

  He winces. “Shit. I did say that, didn’t I.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “I just wanted you to feel safe with me,” he says. “I wanted you to know I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

  “Well I wasn’t safe with you! I died back there!”

  “Come on, Kate, that’s not fair.”

  “Don’t give me—“

  “I didn’t want you to come with us to Red Hook,” he says, interrupting me. “I told you I’d let you stay with a friend of mine. Someone safe. Or don’t you remember?”

  I think back to the conversation we had in the model home in Erie.

  “That’s right,” I say. “You’re right. But you still lied to me.”

  “That doesn’t mean I would have killed you,” he says.

  I narrow my eyes.

  “I did everything I could for you!”

  “Look, Adam, I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m just having trouble adjusting to the idea that you’re a brainwashed killer. And a serial liar. Who seduces people on command.”