by Susan Harris
Time for me to lose it. I pushed Afsana aside with as little force as possible and when her arms were detangled enough for me to attack, I balled up my fist once more. Veronika readied her weapon to aim for my head, but I lunged for her midsection when strong arms wrapped around my waist and held me still.
I presumed it was Jayson who restrained me but was too keyed up to notice. Veronika launched herself forward only to freeze and drop her makeshift weapon as her body convulsed. She hit the ground, twitching and screaming in pain for what seemed like the longest time before her body stilled, and her eyes rolled back in her head. Veronika was down for the count.
When I went to escape my captor’s arms, I stayed a while longer when I heard a familiar voice whisper in my ear. “Alana, calm down, babe. Do not give Theresa an excuse to send you to Treatment. Think, babe, think.” Babe? Had I heard him right or was my mind playing tricks on me again? Far too much adrenaline pumped in my veins, and I reluctantly spun out of his arms. Daniel stood before me with his hands held up in a sign of peace. I relaxed, slightly embarrassed at my loss of control. When I opened my mouth to speak, Daniel put his finger to his lips, and I waited.
“Miss McCarthy, please refrain from the use of violence. It would be such a shame to end up ill from the effects of your chip for a day or two when we have made such progress. Clean up this mess, and try to remain calm. I will see you at our session later to discuss this incident.”
With a sneaky peek out the side of his glasses, those blues eyes peered up at the observation deck, and I could only imagine that the warden had been watching the whole time. I nodded, and Daniel turned, his lanky frame crossing the room and exiting the door leading to his office.
Turning my attention back to Veronika, I watched as one of the guards lifted her up. She sagged in his arms, her head lolling back as he carried her from the room. Connors rubbed the side of his head, and I did not miss the opportunity to tease him as I paraded past to help Jayson with the debris. “Might knock some sense into ya, Connors.”
Connors chuckled lightheartedly and shooed me on. “It would take a harder punch than that to knock some sense into me, McCarthy, a hell of a lot more.”
I smiled to myself and bent down, helping to gather the broken table pieces into little piles while some guards brought in a replacement and removed the rubbish to give the appearance that nothing had happened at all. Veronika’s boyfriend scampered away once the clean-up was done, not as brave now that the numbers stacked up against him. Jayson sat down at the table after picking up his cards and indicated for me to join him.
Afsana stood at the edge of the table as if debating whether to join us or not. I tried to reassure her with a smile as she cautiously took her seat, and I said. “Hey, I’m sorry if I hurt you.” She smiled back at me, and I got a clearer view of her face. Afsana looked younger than she was. Olive skin blended in with sea-green, innocent eyes. I knew this girl could never be a terrorist.
“Hey, Jayson, how’s the hip?” I asked.
Jayson’s lopsided grin made me laugh with his reply, “I’ve had worse knocks when I used to play rugby in school. Although Veronika hits nearly as hard as they did.” He shuffled the cards and flicked them between his fingers. The tension had almost evaporated from the room. My session with Daniel was in an hour, and I tried to remember how to interact with people. I had not always been socially awkward.
But, of course, my mouth worked faster than my brain, and I studied Afsana while blurting out, “What are you in for?” Jayson cocked an eyebrow at me while Afsana tried to avoid eye contact. “I know what Jay is here for, and everybody knows my story, but I’d like to hear what happened to you.”
Afsana glanced at Jayson, who shrugged. She brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I am terrorist.”
“No, I don’t believe that, Afsana. You don’t have it in you… I can see it in your eyes.”
She appeared startled for a moment before blinking and unfolding her story for me.
“I grew up in a wealthy family in Kabul. My father was a doctor and my mother ran the nursery in the hospital where my father worked. We had a good life. Money meant that my father could purchase the best education for his children. My brother leaned towards medicine like my father, but I had, how you say it, a knack for computers and fixing things.
We had been given a school project for sciences to replicate any item from past technologies, and I was excited. I had used my pocket money to go to the markets on my way home from class that day. All I bought was some wiring, an old battery, and a few other items so I could build an old radio, program it on a frequency and listen to music as they did long ago.
As I started to leave the market, there was an explosion. The ground shook. I was terrified. Dust billowed, clogging the air, and I had to pull my hijab over my nose so I would not inhale the dust. People screamed and wailed. Bodies littered the street. A siren sounded as the army filtered into the market, and the dogs were unleashed to sniff out further threats.”
She paused for a moment and Jayson reached out and held her hand in support. I wanted to do the same, but we were practically strangers. She looked at Jayson with admiring eyes and squeezed his hand back before turning back to me to finish her story.
“I just wanted to leave. The scene sickened me with the maimed bodies that seemed to almost trip me up at every turn. Horrified, I paused to see a young child so badly burned I could not tell if it was a boy or a girl. The smell of burned flesh was putrid, made me sick. I clung to my messenger bag and was almost to the far side of the market when one of the dogs barked at me and reared up. The officer wielding the dog ordered me to stop, his gun pointed directly at my head.”
A muscle ticked in Jayson’s cheek as his face turned all protective while Afsana neared the conclusion of her story.
“He came to me and asked where I had come from and where was I going. I explained to him that I had come from school and had stopped to pick up some material for a project before I met my father at the hospital. He grabbed the bag from my hands and searched it, his eyes widening at the contents. He immediately pointed at me, calling me a terrorist. I was tackled to the ground and arrested for the bombing of Kabul.”
Afsana paused as her voice cracked with emotion, and I fought the urge not to reach out and engulf her in a hug.
“I was never allowed to plead my case nor did they look into my story to confirm that I indeed had a project for science class. They said they found some bomb making techniques on my laptop, but it was false. My family disowned me publicly to avoid any further shame to the family name. And then I was sent here for the murder of twenty-seven people. I lie in bed at night, and all I can see is the empty stare of that child looking back at me.”
The poor girl shivered, and I sighed. Three prisoners with a lot in common. Jay had only wanted to help his ill sister and got here by accident. Afsana had been blamed for something the girl would never even conceive doing. And me? Who the hell knew if I was guilty or not? Deep down it seemed wrong even thinking that I could have killed my family.
I reached out and took the girl’s free hand as tears trailed down her gaunt cheeks. “Hey, I barely know you, and even I can tell there is no way you are capable of murder.” She narrowed her gaze. I continued, “You can tell by a person’s eyes. I see nothing that would lead me to think that you would mean anyone harm. Sometimes people see and believe what they want because it’s easier that way. Stick with Jayson. He’ll keep you safe.” I didn’t say the next part out loud because she would die as I would, and I would not be around to watch over her.
The quiet girl stared square in my eyes, and I had to admit that maybe she was tougher than I gave her credit. She focused on me for another minute or so before opening her mouth again. “I do not believe you are also capable of the things they say that you did, Alana.”
I snorted out a laugh and asked, curious to hear her answer. “And what makes you say that?”
“You can tell by a person’s
eyes and I see nothing that would lead me to think that you would mean anyone harm.” She repeated my exact words back to me with a silly little smile. It made me sad to think that she would have been a beautiful woman had fate carved a different path for her.
“Now that you guys are BFFs, can we play some cards, please? All this talk of dying is depressing as hell.”
I laughed at Jayson’s comment, and so did Afsana. She nodded for him to deal. After a few rounds of rummy, Jay got miffed when I kept beating him. I’d spent some of my youth playing cards with my dad and a few of his army cadets. Afsana proved to have an infallible poker face, her expression only softening when Jay batted his eyes in her direction. The girl was useless against his charms.
Despite earlier events, I enjoyed myself and lost track of time, a first since ending up in here. I continued to play a few more games with Jay and Afsana until a hand rested on my shoulder. When I looked up, Connors’ smiling face beamed down at me.
“Sorry to break up the party, McCarthy, but you and the doc have a date.”
A date, yeah right. I wish. I said my goodbyes and after promising to return to their table for dinner, followed Connors to face the music with Daniel. Should I tell him about my dreams or would that just embarrass me completely? I stayed lost in my musings as Connors led me out of the mess hall and into the corridor.
He held out an arm in front of me, and I stopped as two guards left one of the rooms carrying an unconscious Veronika with them. Her eyes were red and blotchy, evidence that she had been crying, but her gaze seemed unfocused. They dragged her by the arms down the hall, past Daniel’s office, and I watched in amazement as a door slid open to reveal an elevator. They hoisted her into it and turned, facing us.
One of the guards had fingernail scratches trailing down his face and the other had blood trickling from his nose. They exchanged nods with Connors as the doors clanged shut, and I heard the elevator motor start. The noise sounded as if it was going down. I hadn’t realized there was anything below this level.
Connors removed his arm from mine, and we continued on our way to Daniel’s office. Connors opened the door, and I took a deep breath and entered, still unsure of whether to seek help to clear the clutter that was gathering inside my head.
12
Daniel
“I can see through you, see to the real you”
(Stained: Outside)
Today a new twist in the atmosphere surfaced between me and Alana: awkwardness. She kept averting her gaze, a faint blush creeping on pale skin when she peeked out through hooded lashes. Was she embarrassed that I had stepped in during her fight with Veronika? Or was this something else entirely? I had never seen this side of her, before or after her memory loss, and her coyness was completely alien to me.
“Would you like to talk about the incident with Veronika?” I asked softly, hoping my tone would reassure her that I was not angry or whatever the hell she thought I was.
She shook her head. Today she sat as far from me as possible, on the couch by my bookcase, hugging her knees to her chest. Her head rested on her knees, and apart from the few times she glanced out through the strands of hair, she avoided meeting my glances.
“Is there something new bothering you, Alana? You know you can speak freely here, don’t you?”
She lifted her head as her face creased in a frown. “I don’t have anything to say. We fought, she got shocked. Now I’m here. Do you have to overanalyse every single thing that happens to me?”
Her words were spoken in anger—but I didn’t think it was directed at me—hopefully just at her situation. From the way she dug her nails into the palm of her hands, Alana had become increasingly frustrated about her impending death sentence. With her birthday looming, we had precious little time left, so I pushed.
“I get the feeling you are angry at me for some reason, Alana. Would you like to share that so maybe we can go back to being friends?”
She snickered a cold, dead sound. “Friends? Is that what we are? You’re my shrink. I’m your project, the broken little doll who needs her head fixed. Even if I get my memories back, I’m dead anyway. Nothing I want will matter either way.”
“And what do you want?”
“I want you to stop asking me fucking questions!” Her voice rose, but I fought a smile. This was my Alana, fiery and fierce. I pushed my glasses up on the bridge of my nose, picked up a folder and began flipping through pages. It gave her a chance of letting the steam run out of her anger until she was ready to speak again. I looked out over the top of my glasses and watched as the frustration drained from her face. Her expression returned to looking sad. I pretended to focus on the folder as she stood and paced around my office as she had done so many times before. She stopped at the bookcase which held numerous paperback books I had collected over the years.
“Why do you bother with books when all the information can be stored on your computer?”
Setting the folder down, I pondered before answering, “Enjoyment has been taken out of so many things because of technology. That’s not simply why I collect books, but I prefer to read from them. It’s an important connection with history rather than leaving it behind as we evolve.”
“Your house must be full of old junk… Your girlfriend must be demented from it.” Another blush flushed her cheeks, and my heart skipped a beat.
“Most of my collection is in storage at the moment because I must reside here until my studies are complete. And not that it’s relevant, but I do not have a girlfriend at the moment.” Actually, I do and she is standing in my office with no clue as to who I am.
Alana opened her mouth to speak but clamped it shut again. She crouched down and ran her fingertip along the spines of my books including Shakespeare, Tolstoy, George RR Martin, Tolkien, Joyce, Yeats, Wilde, Beckett, and Keane. Her eyes examined every single title and absorbed the names and authors as she had done once before. My breath hitched, remembering her in my campus bedroom examining those same books as she did now, making fun of the fact that I had volumes of poetry.
Once again, she zoned in on my battered collection of poetry and pulled one out from the shelf. Sitting down on the floor, she opened the book and mock coughed at imaginary dust, bringing a ghost of a smile to my lips while I pretended not to notice. I listened as she swiped through each page, the rustle of paper against her fingers a more welcome sound than the previous stony silence.
I let her alone, lost in the sanctuary of words, but carefully watched her. Her nose scrunched up in a cute wrinkle and I could only think that she was trying to figure out the meaning of some forgotten poem. Without notice, she turned a page, her eyes moving slowly from side to side as she devoured each poem slowly and carefully. Alana chewed on her bottom lip and my heart skipped a beat again.
“Why do poems have to be so morbid… even the supposed love poems are all about loss and grief,” she asked in a whisper. I was uncertain if she was talking to herself or to me.
“Maybe because the greatest loves of all always end in tragedy,” I answered.
“Bullshit.”
“Bullshit?”
“Yes. The greatest love stories may end in tragedy, but real love is never so epic that it can result in mutual death or suffering.”
“So you basically think that all the great, epic stories that we all grew up reading and listening to are really just bullshit.”
She nodded and returned the poetry book to its rightful place. “Take Romeo and Juliet. If you look at the core of it, Romeo was just a randy teenager who promised to marry Juliet so he could get into her pants or whatever. And Shakespeare just couldn’t end it with her dying and him going on his merry way… so to make it a better story, he offed ’em both and boom… instant romantic tragedy to last the test of time.”
“Aren’t you far too young to be this cynical?” The words had left my mouth before I had a chance to mull over them.
“I won’t ever get to experience it, so I’m within my rights to be cyni
cal.”
We stared at each other for what seemed like ages. I would have given just about anything to rush to her, take her in my arms and tell her that we have yet to finish our own epic love story. She fidgeted in her seated position, dragging her gaze from mine and returning to skim the shelves. Snatching The Fellowship of the Ring, she paged through it as if searching for something in particular. Once she found it, she smiled and turned to speak.
“All that is gold does not glitter;
“Not all those who wander are lost
“The old that is strong does not wither;
“Deep roots are not reached by frost.” (Tolkien 1954)
I knew she would eventually go there, and hope ignited a spark in my chest as I began a conversation that we had had once before.
“You’ve read Tolkien?” I asked.
“I’ve seen the movies.”
“But nothing beats reading the book. It allows your imagination to be taken to a faraway world. Yes, the movies are great and true to the book, but there is something so magical about getting lost among the pages as you delve deeper into other worlds. If not for the books, that would not exist.”
“I feel like I’ve had this argument before,” Alana muttered to herself.
“Maybe someone tried to persuade you about the benefits of books over films?”
“No, that’s not it… I dunno… sort of felt like Déjà vu or whatever.”
Yes! This was what I needed, little reminders of the past year so it might jog something in her, and all at once she would remember our life together.
“Anyway, I only like it because, even though the ending is happy, you can still feel saddened that Frodo dies or whatever… seems more realistic that way.”
“And does your story not seem real?” I asked, curious to know her true feeling on the subject. “Do you not feel like something is missing from your story that should be there?”
Alana pointed to her head and said, “Um, hello, memory loss here. Of course, I’m missing something.”
