Zachary Rawlins - The Anathema

Water. Why did he hear the sound of water running? And so much of it. Wasn’t he inside? Was this some kind of strange dream?

“Maybe that sounds scary. Does it, Alex? It’s not really like dying, though. It’s more like… leaving your body behind. Evolving on without it. It just hurts for a minute, and then it’s as if this tremendous burden is lifted from you. And it’s not as if you have much of a life to lose, do you, sleepyhead? After all, your life thus far has mostly been somebody else’s dream.”

Wait… a dream? No, but, there was something there.

“It’s funny, knowing this, being able to tell you this. Thanks to the feedback loop — you see how good we are together, right, Alex? How I can tell you the truth, fix the things they’ve done to your head. And you know now, right, how they have tampered with you? Your memories, your history, your emotions, all of it. You don’t actually believe that stuff they told you about who you are, about what you did, where you come from? You have to know that’s not coming from inside you.”

He was very tired. He would fall asleep soon, he knew, and for some reason, he feared it with a dread that cut right through the euphoria of Emily’s chest pressed against him, her fingertips on his throat. He could not fall asleep yet. He knew it. Because he had something to do.

“Haven’t you ever wondered why you don’t remember when your birthday is, Alex? Most people do, even unhappy ones. Or, tell me, whom did you live with after the fire? Your grandmother, right? Okay, so tell me, what’s her name?”

Nothing. Not even an echo. It wasn’t something he forgotten, he was certain. It was something he had never known.

“Too hard? Then let’s try an easy one. Is she still alive?”

He knew she didn’t live in the trailer anymore… he thought. But why? Dead? Nursing home? It was too hard to think, like someone had poured mud into his head, and now he was trying to think through the sludge.

“I read your file, Alex. I’m sorry, but I thought it might help me understand you a little better. But it doesn’t make any sense, not at all. Alex, do you remember your father hurting you?”

He did. He wanted to say he did. But all he really remembered were stories about it. Stories that he remembered having been told.

“Do you remember if you had a brother or a sister, Alex? Just one? Because the police report said there were four bodies in that house that burned down, that they found you sitting outside of, reeking of gasoline with the matches still in your pocket, just staring at it as the roof caved in. Do you remember your mother’s name? What color was her hair, Alex? Where did you go to elementary school? When did you learn to ride a bike? What’s the name of the first girl you had a crush on? What’s your favorite movie, Alex?”

He felt like he had answers. He felt indignant, in the wake of every question, just for a minute. Then it all fell away from him, as he sunk back into the bliss that ebbed and swelled through him, every time Emily ran her wet hands across his skin. Alex knew that he didn’t have the answers, not for any of the questions she had asked him. And that did bother him. But that wasn’t what he had forgotten.

“Do you see, Alex? Do you really remember anything, before they locked you up? Who you were, what you did, what you were like? Do you remember doing any of the things they told that you did, Alex, or did you believe them because you couldn’t remember anything? Do you know who did all of this to you, who made your life this way?”

She was right, he had forgotten things. A number of things. But one of them was much more immediately important than the others. Something…

On the other hand, maybe, was there someone else? Someone besides the girl whose blond hair was dripping warm water on his chest?

“I didn’t understand it myself until I looked back and saw my body, the old one, floating in the pool, discarded. I wasn’t horrified, Alex, I was exhilarated. Now all I need is the proper volume of water and the nanites do the rest. Moreover, I am not the only one, Alex, and becoming a Drown isn’t the only way forward. But it’s evolution, Alex. When we get back to the Outer Dark, Alex, John Parson will fix whatever it is they’ve done to you, help you get rid of all the lies your head is filled with. Aren’t you tired of being lied to? Do you really want to become a weapon for the people who did this to you? The Anathema didn’t come here to hurt you, Alex, or anyone else. We just want to help you. I don’t want you to always be empty, they way they left you.”

Her words flowed out of his mind, like trying to catch water in his hands. Like trying to hold Emily as she had leaked out of his arms, cold water all over the floor.

The room was empty, besides them. As it always had been. And his hands were just as empty.

Except…

Except maybe it they weren’t. His left hand had been doing things, while he wasn’t paying attention. There was something clutched in his palm, something coarse and textured, something he had forgotten. Something a girl had given him. Another girl. There was another girl?

There was. And for some reason, all he could think was that he needed to hold on to it. As tightly as possible.

His hand squeezed around whatever was inside it. He felt nothing, at first, and then he felt a prick, a needle sliding smoothly into the skin of his hand, and then a temporary blossom of pain. Then there was warmth, spreading from the point of the injury, running through his veins like a beautiful poison.

There was a girl, he could remember that now. A girl with blue hair… no. A girl who dyed her hair blue, to hide the way it really looked. He could see her now, twirling and spinning, alone on a crowded dance floor, the light around her as slow and thick as honey. And her hair. Beneath the blue dye, he could see it, so clearly that he wondered how he hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t blond.

Her hair was made of light.

He did not remember her name, not at first. He remembered, instead, a group of monarch butterflies above California coastal sage and scrubland, orange wings against the brilliant blue sky; the smell of sandalwood and salt water; distantly, the sound of the waves breaking on a rocky beach.

Just like that, he remembered Eerie, lost in more ways the one. He remembered Rebecca, lying unresponsive, just a meter or two from where he lay. He remembered Katya, probably unconscious in a slowly rising pool of freezing water.

“Alex?” Emily asked him, sitting up slowly, her expression worried. “What has gotten into you all of a sudden? I told you not to worry…”

That was it, he figured. Over before it started. He’d already triggered her suspicions, with a slight emotional shift. Emily would notice the little cushion that Eerie had knitted him, and use telepathy and empathically induced bliss to make his mind a clean slate again. She would be able to do it just by thinking about it, long before he would have a chance to try to stand up and reach for Rebecca, to try out Gaul’s plan for waking her up. That was, if he was even able to activate the catalyst effect. He had never really understood it, after all. It was just something that happened when he touched people, sometimes…

Then he had a thought. It was a surprising thought, and it made him smile for some reason. Emily look briefly confused, but she misread it, and smiled back down on him, buying him a second or two more before she knocked him for a loop again.

He closed his eyes, and he thought hard about Rebecca; her dry laugh, her omnipresent cigarettes, her thoughtful, warm brown eyes. He thought about the first time he had met her, at his activation. He thought about the way it felt, when she worked on him, the tides of energy and emotion. He thought about touching Rebecca, Rebecca touching him. Some of his thoughts were more socially acceptable than others, but he had no idea what would work.