Jeremy Robinson - MirrorWorld

Most of my career, I’ve worked solo, depending on myself more than anyone else. Now, I’m part of a team, and it feels right. More right than anything before it.

With the dandelion cleared away, I lift the crying boy and stand. I put him on my chest, lean his small head on my shoulder, and do what Maya calls the “daddy bounce,” shifting my weight side to side while gently bobbing up and down. Simon quiets quickly. I kiss the back of his head and look down at Maya. She’s got tears in her eyes. Whispers, “I love you.”

I wake suddenly, sitting up in bed. “Maya?”

I’m in a hospital. “Maya?”

She’s not here.

This isn’t a memory. I’m awake. Back at Neuro in the present. I only remember bits and pieces of my previous life, of Maya, but it’s enough.

They have her. My wife. My son’s mother. And I’m going to get her back.

The door behind me opens. I spin to greet whoever it is, saying, “We have to—”

It’s Winters. Her face and hopeful blue eyes act as a catalyst. I grip my head, suddenly at the mercy of a raging migraine. Images flow past my eyes. Smells. Sounds. An entire sensory barrage of what once was. I feel Winters’s embrace. Her comforting words. Feel the closeness of her friendship. Her support. And then something deeper. Something forbidden and guilt frosted.

I loved her. Briefly.

But I was going to put a stop to it. In the wake of Maya’s collapse—and Simon’s death—I was weak. And lonely.

“What’s on your mind this morning?”

I look up at Winters, confused for a moment before getting lost in the memory. She’s dressed in a loose-fitting silk negligee. Her hair is messy. No makeup in sight. She’s gorgeous, standing in front of the bathroom sink in my Neuro apartment.

I can’t do this anymore.

As I lay in bed that morning, watching her sleep, I came to a conclusion. Our relationship, no matter how good it feels or how much comfort it provides, is wrong. I’m still married, and, despite what Maya did and the anguish I feel about Simon’s death, it wasn’t Maya’s fault.

She didn’t murder our son.

The Dread did.

When she recovers, I need to be there, till death do us part.

Death do us part.

But I’m not ready to break things off with Winters now. Not standing half-naked in my bathroom. Not immediately following last night. She deserves better than that. “Just distracted.”

She brushes her teeth, speaking between strokes. “About what?”

I wave off the question. I need to speak to Lyons. It’s about something important. Something critical.

But… I can’t remember what.

She spits in the sink, rinses, and places the pink toothbrush in the wall-mounted holder.

I gasp out of the memory, returning to the medical room. Winters has a steadying hand on my arm.

“It was your toothbrush,” I say.

“What?” She guides me to a chair. Sits me down. “Are you okay?”

The headache is gone, but memories are surfacing one by one. Most are insignificant, days and events lost in time, things I wouldn’t have remembered even before losing my memory. The cascade of history is like background noise. Voices, whispers really, of days gone by. Riding my childhood bike. Military training. Endless school days, each nearly identical to the previous. I can ignore these memories, but the more recent and powerful ones return with painful urgency.

“I don’t remember everything,” I tell her. “Bits and pieces. But… I do remember us. Parts, anyway.”

She crouches in front of me. Takes my hands. “What do you remember?”

“I’m not sure you’ll want to know.”

She offers a sad smile. “I’m good at reading people. It’s part of my job. I could see it in your eyes that morning. Also, it’s been a year. So, let’s hear it.”

“I’m still married,” I tell her, voicing Josef’s old conclusion and Crazy’s newly formed opinion. “And I was then. It shouldn’t have happened.”

She nods, either in understanding or acceptance.

I place a hand on her cheek, and she leans into it. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. Then my body goes rigid as a fresh cascade of memories is unleashed.

She pulls my hand from her face. “Did you remember something?”

“A lot. But nothing important.” I rub my head, feeling a fresh headache brewing. “I didn’t… break things off before. Why not?”

She stands, returning to her usual professional demeanor. “That was the day you decided to forget. About me. About Maya. Your son. And everything else that mattered to you.”

She’s growing angry. Borderline pissed. These are the emotions that fueled her earlier attempt to physically subdue me. Given what I now remember about her, I’m glad she wasn’t seriously injured during that failed effort.

“That doesn’t make sense. Doesn’t sound like me,” I say, but I’m still not positive. Out of a lifetime of memories, I think I’ve recovered maybe thirty percent, most of that being from childhood.

“How is he?” It’s Allenby, in the doorway. Her hair is loose and billowing. The sight punts pain into the side of my head and sends me back.

“What the hell did you two do?” Allenby’s voice is loud in the phone. I pull the device away from my ear.

“What are you talking about?” I ask. “What happened?”

“They got Hugh!” she shouts.

“ Who got him?” I ask, but I already know the answer. There’s only one they she’d associate with me. The Dread. “Are you safe?”

“Don’t worry about me, you—”

The office door— my office door—bursts open. It’s Lyons. His cheeks are flush.

I point to the phone, “It’s Kelly, she’s—”

“I know,” he says, moving past me to my computer. I can hear my aunt shouting but can’t make out the words. Lyons steps away from the computer, revealing the screen and a single photo. The phone lowers away from my ear. I have a thousand questions but am too stunned to ask all but one. “When?”

“Ten minutes ago,” he says.

I stare at the photo depicting my parents, both dead. My father lies on a concrete walkway, a pool of blood around his supine body. I recognize the hotel in the background. They were on vacation. I helped pick the spot. In the background is a second body, soaked and surrounded by a puddle of water.

“They’re targeting our family.” He says it calmly, like the danger has passed for the rest of us.

He doesn’t know. He thinks they’re still here.

Lyons must see the shift in my face. He asks, “What is it?”

I stand. “Maya and Simon went back to the house. Simon wanted one last night in his room.”

“But…” He looks bewildered. Panicked. “They were supposed to be here. I told them to stay here!”

I can hear the distant voice of Allenby on the phone. She’s heard and is shouting at me to go. “Get Simon, Josef! Get them both!”

I’m on my knees, gripping my head.

“What happened?” Allenby’s voice is clear now. Present.

“A memory,” I say. “A hard one.” I’m glad I don’t yet remember what happened next. My stomach clenches with the knowledge that it, too, will soon be unleashed. The memories I’ve regained are already enough to spur me into action. I remember my son. The depth of my love for him and the pain of his loss. I know what the Dread took from me. From my family. And, like Allenby hoped, it is enough to make me face my newfound fears.

No, I think, I don’t want to face them. I want to obliterate them.