PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  I nodded, slipping the communicator into my pocket. When he started to walk away, I quickly called out, “Wait a second, Blake.”

  He stopped and looked over his shoulder at me, waiting for me to say what I needed.

  “How do you know who I’m meeting?”

  “Just keep your eyes open, Elsabetha. Your questions will be answered soon.” He disappeared into the crowd.

  I made it to the ticket booth where Alexander waited for me. Following him to our seats, I felt the cloud of confusion passing. In its place, anxiety, excitement, and fear took over.

  “Are you feeling okay today?” Alexander’s voice buzzed in my ears over the roar of the men in the crowd cheering on the scene below.

  I shifted my gaze to him, plastered on a fake smile, and nodded. My attention returned to the pregame antics, also known as the time that half-naked women flung their bodies in synch to some overly loud and high beat music. After the number ended, a loud announcer introduced the players from each team. As the game began, a cheerful roar created by every fan in the stadium vibrated through my body. Even Alexander seemed relaxed, his arm around the back of my seat.

  Large digital screens hovered high above the field, magnifying the game and making it easier to see. The opposing team was from Kansas City. The winner of this game would take over the Central District Division and have a chance at the final championships . . .

  Apparently, I liked football a lot more than I remembered.

  It was still cold, but comfortable. The wind wasn’t blowing too much and the seats around us were filled up, creating a barrier of body heat. I felt out of place and, at the same time, strangely well at home. The seats we had were close to the one on the stub. We were five rows back, three seats in on section three, which was pretty far back from the field but not the nosebleed section. According to the ticket stub, the seat I wanted to visit was in section one, row eight, seat twenty-three.

  The away team had the ball first. It didn’t seem to have any bearing on who could score, because the home team caught the ball and ran it down the field from the thirty-yard line on the opposing team’s side. The run ended with the touchdown I was waiting for. Everyone stood up, cheering the great play.

  I turned to Alexander. “I better run to the restroom before it gets too late in the game and the line is too long . . . ”

  He glanced at me with his cold, dark stare. The corner of his lips pulled into a smirk. “Of course, let me escort you.”

  “I’m sure I can make it to the restroom and back without incident.”

  “I insist,” he pushed.

  “Alexander, I’m not comfortable with you walking me to a restroom like a three-year-old. I’m fine. I’ll be back. Ten minutes, tops.”

  He pressed his lips firmly together and nodded, stepping into the aisle to let me through. I felt his attention on my back the entire time. I got the impression of just how dangerous he was, if provoked too much. I would have to walk a delicate line around him.

  I kept looking around for someone watching me. I felt their intrusive eyes on me, like the weight of knowing the guillotine is about to fall and there’s nothing you can do about it. Keeping my eyes forward, I glanced at all the signs that pointed me in the right direction. I followed the corridor until the smell filled my nose, then I followed that.

  The concessions spanned the outer wall of the stadium, with a line of people trying to beat the half-time rush. Several benches flanked each side of the opposite wall, by the entrance to the stands for that level. I took a seat on the corner and kept an eye out for anyone looking for me.

  When my back pressed against the wall, Blake started talking to me from the bench around the corner. I nearly leapt out of my skin.

  “I’m here, but don’t look.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked, pretending to chew a piece of gum, watching the crowd from the other end of the corridor.

  “You were being followed.”

  “I know. I tried to shake them but couldn’t.”

  “Do you think you can make it home on your own?”

  “What? Now?”

  “It’s necessary,” he said.

  “You do realize that it makes no difference with the company I have?”

  “You have a bolt option on your door, don’t cha?”

  “Yes.”

  “Use it. Now, go home before all Hell breaks loose.”

  I started my way home, not stopping until I heard a vibration come from my coat pocket. I pulled out the small communicator. The silver cover had a screen that matched the rest of the device when inactive, making it nearly impossible to tell it was there. As it activated, it became visible, as well as the words . . . You have one message waiting . . . scrolling repeatedly.

  I stared at the contraption, knowing full well what it was, but not a memory of how to use it. I tapped the screen, unsure of what else to do. The device beeped at me and flickered to another screen with the message.

  Don’t tell anyone else that you are remembering. I’ll be in contact with you soon. Go home and stay there.

  When I finally made it home, I bolted the door and ensured that the privacy screens were still on before taking a seat on my couch. Even that became too much to handle. I paced the length of my apartment. When that became too stressful, I climbed into a hot bath.

  As soon as I relaxed to the point of falling asleep, the female mechanical voice came over the speakers, “You have a call waiting. Would you like to answer it?”

  “Yes,” I sighed.

  “Connected . . . ”

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Elsabetha, is something wrong with you?” my mom asked, sounding exceptionally worried.

  I had to think quickly for a reasonable and believable excuse. “I’m okay, Mom, just feeling under the weather right now, why?”

  “We had the dinner tonight. Do you feel up to coming still?”

  “Oh, Mom, I’m so sorry. I completely lost track of time and meant to call you. I’m dealing with some sort of stomach bug. I’m in the bath with the salts the doctor gave me. He said it should help curb the cramps, but that was two days ago.”

  “You better get yourself back in that office on Monday if you’re not better,” she said, not sounding less worried than before. “Homeopathic medicine is only going to work so far.”

  “I will, Mom. Can I take a rain check? Maybe try for next Saturday evening?”

  “I’ll talk it over with your dad and let you know.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need anything? I can come over and take care of you.”

  “I’m fine. I’ve got things covered. Besides, I don’t want you catching this. It’s not fun at all.”

  She let out a heavy sigh. “All right, but you let me know if you need anything or if you get worse.”

  “Will do.”

  “Okay, honey, get some rest and feel better soon.” At least she didn't sound as worried. Instead, more resigned and helpless.

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Goodnight,” she said sadly.

  “Night,” I replied.

  The mechanical voice came back and said, “Call has been disconnected.”

  A large lump of guilt lodged in my throat. I was a crappy daughter for lying to my mom, but what was I to do? I didn’t want her or my dad involved in this.

  If things were as dangerous as I’d been warned, the last thing I wanted was to drag them into the crossfire.

  FOURTEEN

  ONE WEEK PASSED WITH me cooped up in my home. Since a thick, white sheet of snow covered the city below, I was more than happy to stay inside. I ordered delivery food and made sure the front desk knew I didn’t want company. Later, I would go to my parents’ house for dinner.

  While in the process of ordering lunch from my built-in computer system, a strange melody floated from by bedroom. I followed the sound to the communicator about to fall off my desk. I ran, jumping over my bed while reaching out
my hand, and caught it in the middle of its decent to the floor.

  I inadvertently pushed something on the side of it, causing a portion to slide out from the bottom, revealing a series of numbers and a small space for the microphone. I stared at it for a few seconds before bringing it to my ear.

  “Hello?” I said, breathlessly.

  “You’re remembering.” A man’s voice came from the other end. He sounded strained, like he didn’t like that I was remembering. What he thought I remembered, I couldn’t be sure.

  “Who is this?”

  “A friend,” he said.

  “What do you want?” I asked, removing myself from the bed and taking a seat in the chair at my desk.

  “You are the one looking for answers.”

  “And I suppose you’re the man to provide them?”

  “I may be . . . ”

  “And how, exactly, am I to trust you and your answers? I don’t even know you.”

  “Careful, you don’t want to hurt my feelings.” The humor in his voice reached inside me, making me want to laugh. I swallowed the urge.

  “Hardly.” At least it came out even enough and with just the right amount of cynicism to be convincing.

  “Well, since I’m already talking to you, and you seem eager for answers, why don’t we start with how much you do remember?”

  “How do you know I’ve forgotten anything?”

  “I . . . can’t answer that question right now,” he said, his voice dropping sadly.

  Why did his tone change like that?

  I pulled the phone from my ear, giving myself a few seconds of calming peace before diving into this same song and dance. I wasn’t all that hopeful about getting further than the other times, but I wouldn’t know unless I tried.

  “I don’t remember much at all. Short of waking up in the hospital from a five day coma, struggling since then to make some connections to my past, I’ve remembered very little. I really don’t know why I’m telling you this. You could be the one out to kill me, for all I know.”

  “Hardly,” he said, mocking the same tone I had used earlier to say the same to him. Absently, my fingers traced the grain of the jewelry box. I remembered how to unlock it, discovering the trinkets within. I pulled on the necklace and stared at it a few moments while silence returned to me from the other end.

  “Look,” he said, “if it’s any consolation, you and I were very close. I couldn’t kill you anymore than you could kill me.”

  I raised my eyebrows at this bit of offered information. My interest in this conversation had elevated. He could be the key to unlocking my memories, if we were as close as he claimed. Of course, Alexander had said the same thing. Nothing in mystery man’s voice gave any indication of lying, though.

  Still . . .

  “You can’t know me that well,” I said, challenging him.

  “If you think you could kill me then, by all means, you’re welcome to. Gaia knows I deserve it.”

  “Gaia?”

  I repeated that word over and over in my mind, recognizing its familiarity, causing something hidden to churn in the back of my mind. But it was only an abstract image, not clear enough to act upon.

  “I remember something.”

  The words slipped out before I could stop them, like he willed them from me, or I was well accustomed to talking to him.

  “What?”

  It came out too eager for my comfort. He cleared his throat, which seemed odd. He didn’t strike me as someone who let their emotions get the best of them.

  “What is it you remember?” he reiterated in a calmer tone.

  “It’s nothing. To you anyway. Look, as much as I enjoy trying to decode and unravel the mystery of my mind, I can’t spend forever talking into a communicator. I haven’t eaten much all day and would love to finish ordering my food. Besides, I still don’t know who you are.”

  “But you’re remembering. You could barely remember how to use the communicator during the game, yet you remembered enough to answer it before it hit the ground just now.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I know a lot about you,” he said. “I told you, we were very close.”

  His voice filled my ears, calm and smooth, causing goose bumps along my arms and my heart to race faster.

  “How close?” I whispered, sitting back in the chair.

  He sighed. “Keep the communicator with you at all times. I’ll be in contact again soon.”

  The communicator closed itself. I lowered it to my lap. Suddenly, I wasn’t so hungry anymore.

  FIFTEEN

  DESPITE THE WARNINGS OF staying safe at home, I wasn’t going to stand my parents up again. Not when it meant seeing my dad and removing that wedge between us. Whatever happened was major. I couldn’t refuse the chance.

  The cold nipped at my insides, turning me to ice. It was more than the weather. Something inside me remembered what happened between me and my dad and didn’t like it. That feeling grew in intensity when I saw my dad standing on the porch watching for me. The sun’s final rays shone on the porch, illuminating my dad, like a beacon.

  “Don’t you have a transporter or something like that to get around on?” he asked.

  Like my mother, he looked much older than I remembered. His eyebrows grayed along with the streaks that painted his once solid brown hair.

  “Hi, Dad,” I said, stepping through the gate.

  “Your mother tells me you lost your memories?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You didn’t bring anyone with you, did you?”

  I paused a moment, confused, but then shook my head. “No, Dad. I’m alone.”

  “Do you live alone?”

  “Dad, why are you asking me this?”

  “Well, I don’t see you. Haven’t for a long time.”

  I reached the porch and stopped at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at my dad who seemed edgy and kept looking into the shadows. “I live alone. I don’t have a boyfriend, and I’m pretty much a loner, as far as I can tell.”

  He nodded. “Well, come on in, you’ll catch your death out here in this cold.”

  That wasn’t true. Most people don’t die of illness anymore, due to the advances in medicine and science. That was just an old saying his family used when he was a kid and before the advancements. Nevertheless, I followed him inside.

  My mom was busy setting the table for our meal. Veal casserole filled the white CorningWare in big, heaping mounds. The dish used to be my favorite growing up. Back when I still ate meat. I realized, with the lapse in memory, my mom may not have known about my choice of lifestyle. Her eyes lifted to mine as she stepped up to me, grabbed me by the arm, and pulled me off to the side where my dad couldn’t hear.

  “You’re still doing the vegetarian thing, right?” she said barely above a whisper.

  “Yes.” Maybe I’d done it longer than I thought?

  “Good, this is meatless veal casserole. I looked up the recipe. Tried it too. It’s really good!” She leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “Don’t tell your dad.” She pulled back, giving me the ‘or else’ look she mastered over the years of my rebellion and disobedience. The look worked. Most of the time.

  “Thanks, Mom. Your secret is safe with me.” I took a seat at the table.

  My dad came in from the living room and took his seat. He placed his napkin in his lap, per his routine, then said, “So what have you been up to since being released from the hospital?”

  His green eyes found mine and held the look of interrogation he was so good at. But not usually with me. Never giving him a reason to use that look on me, I swallowed hard.

  It became painfully obvious he still didn’t want to talk to me, but was doing this to make my mom happy. I saw it in both their eyes. I felt the tension in the air. The show of the dinner. The cold distance. The prickle of chaotic energy that buzzed along the hairs of my arms.

  “I’ve been trying to find the missing pieces to my mind.”


  “Are you sure that’s such a good idea?” he asked, placing a spoonful of casserole onto his plate. He picked up his fork, shoved into the heaping mound, and bit it off.

  “It’s really hard to live with half my life missing. I’d like to know at least who I was and what I was doing before the accident. There’s no real guarantee I will remember anything at all.”

  “What more is there to know? You were in the Academy and inducted into the service that made it so you were never able to come home and visit your family.” He spoke while chewing his food, his tone accusing. I knew a part of him blamed me. My heart raced faster as the uneasiness set in.

  “Paulson Ellery,” my mom interceded. “Stop hounding your daughter. Let her eat.” She took a seat in her usual spot, in between me and my dad, and served herself a plate.

  I smiled at my mom. “It’s okay.”

  “What’s that around your neck?” my dad asked as I took a bite of casserole. The hot juices dribbled down my chin.

  I held up my finger so he didn’t think I was ignoring him while I swallowed, then quickly wiped the juice from my face with my napkin. “This is really good, Mom! The necklace is just a silver chain I found in my apartment.”

  “Is there anything on it?” he asked.

  “Paul,” my mom snapped.

  I bit my lip. I never could lie to him. It felt like we were sitting on a delicate glass that had already started to crack under our weight. I pulled the chain out and let the charm rest over the back of my hand, facing him.

  You’d think I shown him the death of his one and only daughter with how contorted his face became. He pushed away from the table and, despite my mother’s pleas, started yelling at me, “You take that piece of garbage off your neck or you can leave this house and never come back!”

  “Paulson, stop it! Leave her alone, she doesn’t remember any of it,” my mom cried.

  “I don’t care! She’s wearing their symbol, Livian. She remembers more than she says. I won’t stand for my daughter mingling and mixing blood with them. It’s unnatural. No daughter of mine will have anything to do with them. Do you understand?” His volume increased with every word until I was sure the neighbors down the street could hear.