Shattered Memories

by Susan Harris

  When I turn eighteen and get out, I can’t return to my hometown. It’s part of the conditions of my release. My parents have been shunned and have since moved away, but Jer still lives there. I haven’t seen or heard from him since. Not even a letter. We had been together for a year under their noses, but sometimes people can be selectively blind about things they don’t want to see.”

  “I’m sorry… that sounds…” I searched for the correct word to use, but nothing came to mind. “Awful.”

  “Thanks… the name is Marshall, by the way.”

  “Typical American name there, Marshall.”

  “Yeah, the all-American boy. That’s what I am.” The words were dry, bitter even, but Marshall was smiling. It failed to reach his eyes. I knew that look. He was lost thinking about his past and the people who abandoned him and the ones he left behind. Been there, done that, except the people in my past are long dead or forgotten.

  Now that the air was broken, we all chatted away with Jayson telling stories and jokes. Emily continued to stare daggers at me, for whatever reason. Why she had to look down her nose at me was anybody’s guess, but I simply ignored her. Jayson and Marshall broke off into a conversation about football, and I zoned out a little, leaning back in my chair and listening to the noise of chatter around me. Looking upwards, I gazed out past the ceiling, watching as clouds gathered, greying as they did, blocking out any chance of sunlight. The sky darkened, and the patter of raindrops on the glass roof only added to the din in the room. It didn’t take long for the rain to grow heavy, and soon it was pelting off the roof, sounding like sharp rapping on a door.

  A commotion started up behind me, and I turned around in my seat to see what everyone was gaping at. Veronika had stepped into view and it was as though she’d undergone a complete transformation. Gone was the wild look in her eyes, replaced by a blank, empty stare. Her clothes were tidy. Even her hair was pulled back into a braid that held her usually unkempt hair off her face. I tensed up as she approached our direction and sat still, open-mouthed as she simply strolled past us without so much as a sneaky look. Had Veronika been replaced by a robot or a zombie?

  Veronika continued her forward progress, slow and deliberate as the Russian inmates rose to greet their former leader. Her boyfriend pushed out past them and whispered something to her, but when she didn’t respond, he shoved her away. To everyone’s amazement, including my own, Veronika apologized in plain English with no hint of her Russian accent and then continued on her way. What the hell was going on?

  The boy raced after her, put his hands on Veronika’s shoulder, spun her around and began to shake her. He screamed at her to snap out of whatever daze she was in. I spied Connors stepping forward and the guards inching their way in the arguing couple’s direction. The crowd shifted slightly, and I stood to get a proper look at what was happening.

  While the boy continued to shake Veronika, blood trickled down from her nose. It was as if a light switch had suddenly gone out inside her, and her entire body shuddered, then she slumped to the ground. I rushed closer as Veronika convulsed on the floor. My view was blocked by the gathering crowd, so I slipped under the taller inmates and edged closer. The guards tried pushing everyone back. Veronika continued to tremble, blood now trickling from her ears, as well.

  My own thoughts returned to the nightmare where everyone haemorrhaged blood, and I pinched myself hard to make sure I wasn’t dreaming again. Another shift in the crowd allowed a perfect view as Veronika stopped moving. Connors bent down to check her pulse. I knew without a doubt she was dead.

  I strained to hear and almost made out what the two guards in front of me were saying. “Treatment failed. Damn it, and it was going so well,” one commented, shaking his head.

  “Yeah. They’ll need another candidate soon now,” the other one replied.

  “That bitch is going to be in some mood now.” The guard looked up towards the control room.

  “Let’s hope our shift finishes before she hears about the Russian’s death.”

  I stood up straight, ready to ask the guards what Treatment they meant when delicious blue eyes caught mine. Daniel was leaning against the doors leading to his office, observing the situation. He must have read something in my gaze because he lifted a hand up and held a finger to his lips, silently asking me to do the same.

  An alarm sounded, dragging my gaze from Daniel’s. When I glanced back, it was as if he had melted into the shadows and vanished. Another guard and Connors laid a sheet over Veronika’s body as a few cries came from the Russian table. Connors stood, and in an authoritative voice he shouted. “All right, inmates, return to your cells immediately for lockdown.” Nobody moved, so he tried again. “Now!”

  The alarm shrilled again, and I backed away from the body and inserted myself into the crowd of inmates making their way up the stairs. I lost myself in a sea of unrest, inmates utterly shocked that a fellow inmate had died. Death was a daily occurrence, with some of our own deaths scheduled, but it rarely happened unexpectedly. Most prisoners either died on death row or were rehabilitated and sent back outside to be functioning members of society. The ripple effect of Veronika’s death would stay with them for a long time, even though the girl had been disliked. Jayson was suddenly standing beside me, his hand in Afsana’s. To say the girl looked relieved was an understatement.

  “Is it inappropriate to say ding dong the witch is dead?”

  “I don’t think there are many here who will miss her… so no, not really.”

  “Something seriously weird is going on,” Jayson muttered just low enough for me to hear. I nodded as we split off and went back to our cells. Before I reached mine, I peered down over the ledge and saw them carrying Veronika away. The alarm stilled.

  Mention of Treatment again. Jayson was right, there was something very strange happening and I knew one person who could give me answers. Time for the good doctor to answer my questions for a change.

  14

  Daniel

  “Is it okay to be afraid of hope if you don’t know how to keep it?”

  (Charlie Simpson: Down, Down, Down)

  The words pomp and pageantry were not lost on the warden. Her office had been decked out. One of the bland beige walls was almost hidden behind framed diplomas and degrees. A trophy case occupied most of another wall. Medals for service to the United Parliament’s Department of Corrections, medals for being top of her class in everything from strategy to aggression prevention were laid out with care and precision. Anyone entering her office couldn’t help but be drawn to the excessive shine.

  My attention was centred on a small cluster of photos that sat atop the trophy case. Some of the backgrounds were familiar: the centre, the prison gates, and even the pub Alana and I had gone to on our very first date. I spotted the warden straight away in the photos, but she appeared less serious than she was now. Theresa seemed happy, carefree, laughing, and even smiling, whether she was dressed in casual clothes or her navy prison uniform.

  I stood, studying the photos while I waited and quickly noticed a frame lurking in the back as if hidden in plain sight. It seemed to draw me towards it, and I instinctively reached for it and brought it forward to get a clearer look. All the other frames were the same black wood finish… but this one was fancy, with a black border and another silver border inside it. This photo was special to her. Why?

  After a long minute of study, I took in the warden’s appearance. Dressed in dark denim jeans and a loose salmon shirt, her hair hung over her shoulders and she wore a faint hint of makeup. Theresa stared up into the face of a man, someone who was looking the other way as if watching something else. He had an arm slung over her shoulder, and a broad smile showed in his eyes. Theresa gazed adoringly at the man but as I studied him further, I couldn’t hold back a gasp. Cormac McCarthy.

  I had only ever seen other pictures of him with Alana, in the online bulletin when he died. The man in this photo was older and had far more facial hair than his younger se
lf. As I focused on him, Alana’s resemblance to him was obvious. They had the same shape face and nose, and the same colour eyes, a rich hazel. The photo wasn’t a sharp original, obviously a poor reproduction with the image zoomed in. Had Theresa done that herself?

  A clickity-clack of heels echoed in the hallway, getting louder as they drew nearer. I returned the frame to its place and sat in a chair in front of the desk, trying to appear normal. My skills as a liar would be put to the test. Something about the photo gave me the creeps.

  The door opened behind me, and I stood, turning to greet the warden. Flashes of the carefree girl in the earlier pictures came to mind and were replaced by the harsh, cold woman standing before me. She looked less than pleased that I had requested a special meeting, and I knew if I had any charm at all, now was the time to use it.

  “Dr Costello, please sit.” She waved her hand in the direction of a chair, and I complied. Waiting until she had sat, she stared me dead in the eyes before beginning.

  I spoke the words I had rehearsed over and over in my head all night. “Warden, thank you for agreeing to see me. I know my request is unorthodox, but I think we will start to see rapid improvements if you agree.”

  “You want me to let you take a highly dangerous inmate outside for your session with little or no security? Why on earth would I agree to that?”

  “I believe Alana will remember more if she feels relaxed and realizes she can trust me. We have forged a bond, but if I get her one of the things she most wants before she dies, that faith will be cemented. I have suspicions that she has remembered more than she’s admitting and want to give her the chance to find some peace before her execution.”

  My voice almost faltered at the words die and execution. It took every single ounce of strength to rein it in. I paused as wheels visibly turned in the warden’s head while she contemplated my words. I crossed my fingers under the table, hoping, wishing that my plan would work.

  “Do you really believe the girl has remembered but is withholding information?” The twitch in the warden’s mouth indicated a hidden meaning behind her question.

  “Not that she is deliberately trying to do that per se but that her unwillingness to trust anyone prevents her from divulging that information to me. Understandably, Miss McCarthy has lost an entire year of her life and had her family taken from her. In fact, I do not think she fears her execution at all. Her fear is wrapped up in not knowing the truth.”

  “And if I grant this little boon, then what?” Hope flushed through me.

  “I believe that tactile experiences may bring back her memories entirely. If she has started to remember small things, then her mind is slowly releasing snippets of the past year. It would be our duty as members of the Parliament and advocates for the Grand Masters to try our best to help her unlock those memories.” Dear God, my mouth was dry.

  The warden drummed her fingers against the wood surface of her desk and ran her eyes over me. I held back a shiver at her stare and shifted uncomfortably in my seat. That seemed to please her.

  “Okay, Dr Costello… you may take Miss McCarthy out for one hour today and take a guard of your choosing. I understand from the other guards that the girl seems to like Connors. He might be a possibility.”

  Eager to escape this uncomfortable situation, I stood before she changed her mind. “Thank you, Warden.” In two quick strides, I was at the door and as it slid open, I prepared to step through and leave.

  “Dr Costello.” The voice stilled me, and I turned to face her. “I wish to be informed if Miss McCarthy does eventually remember. It would be of great misfortune for her to meet her death with her family’s murderer still at large. You will update me.”

  An order not a request. I nodded, but she had already turned away and the door slid shut in my face. I didn’t mind. Excitement and nerves overcame me at the same time. Treatment had been brought up a few times, and I would have to explain something to Alana to appease her because she would bite down like a dog with a bone until she got an answer. Memory loss or not, it was part of her character. She would not let it go.

  I went straight to the mess hall to find Alana, but she was not there. Chris Connors inclined his head upwards, indicating Alana was in her cell. Then he raised his eyes in question, and I nodded with a smile. Only Connors could have beamed back at me like that. He leaned in and said something to one of the guards before moving away, heading for the door that would lead us out to the yard.

  The door was open to her cell and she lay on the bed, eyes closed. She was not snoring, so I guessed she was just taking time out. I gladly interrupted her.

  “Hey.” At the sound of my voice, her eyes sprang open, and she sat up straight in bed. Her hair was tousled and I grinned at the sight. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  She combed her fingers through her hair. “It’s okay. You didn’t.” My smile grew, and she laughed. “Well, not really anyway… Did I zone out and miss my session?”

  I shook my head. “No, but our session will be cut short today. If you’re free now, we could begin.” A happy flutter jumped in my chest as the look of disappointment showed in her eyes. Before she could speak, I continued, “But I take it you’d be happy to sacrifice an hour of my time for the chance to go outside.”

  Alana blinked, processed what I had said and blurted, “You’re shitting me, right?”

  “No, not at all. Come on, get your shoes. Connors is waiting to take us.”

  She hesitated… and for a brief moment I thought she would refuse to go. Alana swivelled around and rushed to put on her shoes. She pulled a black piece of string from around her wrist and pulled her hair back off her face into a ponytail. I waited as she did, drinking her in before she faced me again and said, “Right, let’s go.”

  Motioning for her to lead the way, I walked in sync with her. We descended the steps in silence, stopping at the end of the stairs. Since she did not know which way to go, I cautiously put my hand on the small of her back and steered her in the right direction. The doors leading outside were at the top of the mess hall corridor where staff enter and exit, away from prying eyes. Yes, there would be cameras outside, but no one would be able to hear our voices.

  Alana had let out a sigh when my hand touched her back but did not shirk it off. We halted when we met up with Connors, who nudged Alana with his elbow and started whistling some really old George Michael song under his breath. She looked up at me, puzzled, and I shrugged but smiled.

  The door slid open and we followed Connors through the corridor. He shuffled on ahead, still whistling his tune until we rounded a corner and then another before Alana spoke.

  “How did you manage this? Death row inmates are never allowed outside… no need for vitamin D when you’re gonna die, I suppose.”

  “I have my ways. Can’t a man have some mystery about him?”

  “There is nothing but mystery about you, Daniel.” She pulled her eyes from mine.

  After rounding another corner in the prison labyrinth, we stopped, waiting as Connors scanned his badge. The door opened and light billowed into the dark corridor. Connors went out first, and I followed him. Thankfully the weather was perfect, overcast but not very cold.

  I watched the wonder on Alana’s face as she stepped through the doorway, shielding her eyes from a ray of bright sunlight that peeked out from behind grey clouds. Taking her hands away, she blinked a few times adjusting to the new conditions. A tear fell, trickling down her face before dropping to the ground.

  “Do you want to go back?” I asked, but she simply shook her head. I waited in silence. The yard wasn’t exactly exciting. It was a square comprised of grass and a stone walkway surrounded by a high metal fence enclosing the area. If an inmate ever got over the fence, a full football field length stood between them and a massive ten-foot tall stone wall. A sniper perched in the security tower and guard dogs patrolled the perimeter. The grass had been freshly cut, and I held back a sneeze as the smell invaded my senses.
>
  It had rained the night before our visit to the grounds, and the grass still had that wet look and fresh smell about it. No amount of moisture would have stopped my girl. She pulled off her shoes, tossing them aside, rolled up the legs of her cotton pants and walked barefoot in the grass, gingerly at first. Then a smile lit up her face, and she began running, kicking up loose bits of grass as she went.

  Before I knew it, she started spinning around and around, her laughter floating on the soft breeze. Alana appeared carefree, alive and so beautiful. Connors nudged me, leaned in and whispered, “Danny-boy, I think your chick has finally gone crazy.” He looked up, and I followed his gaze. Blurry faces were pressed against the security tower window. I let her enjoy her brief freedom.

  Dizzy from her spinning, Alana flopped down on her back in the grass and lay there awhile. Connors gently pushed me forward, my brain forgetting that there was a reason we were here. I’d been content to watch the girl I loved, forgetting the purpose of the outing.

  As I approached her, she regarded me with a smile. Her voice was low and crackled as she spoke. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Shall we walk?” When she accepted the hand I’d offered, I reluctantly removed it once she was standing. She raced over to Connors, who held out her shoes, and she slipped them back on, dusting off the stray grass from her legs.

  I began to stroll around the stone pathway, and she joined me halfway. We continued to walk the path quietly for a while, walking shoulder to shoulder, our bodies almost touching but not quite. We had completed one lap of the square before Alana broke the silence.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened to Veronika?”

  “She died,” I said. She frowned her own special sarcastic version.

  “That’s not what I meant. You know it. What’s the Treatment? I… I kinda remember my dad saying something to my mom about it.”