Sarah Durst: Conjured

“You need structure to your day,” Aunt Nicki said. “You need interaction and experiences. It will help.” The toaster popped, and she spread margarine on the browned bread. “Do you understand me? God, who knows if you do? It’s like talking to a brick.”

Eve had no idea what to say to that. She considered asking if Aunt Nicki normally talked to bricks. But the agent didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor, at least not where Eve was concerned.

Choosing not to respond, Eve picked up the next job description. Library assistant. She ran her fingers over the words as she read. Shelving books, assisting the librarians with patrons, reading at children’s story hour. “Libraries … they’re the places with stories,” Eve said. Closing her eyes, she tried to summon up a memory of a library. Shelves of books. Sunlight falling across a table. She saw spiral stairs. It could have been a real place, or Malcolm could have shown her a picture at some point. It felt like a real place. She poked at the memory, but her mind didn’t yield anything but that image.

She opened her eyes to see Aunt Nicki watching her. Eve glanced down quickly at the job description—she didn’t know how the agent would react to her changed eye color. Aunt Nicki laid a plate of toast in front of Eve. “Good choice. You won’t disturb many people there.” Narrowing her eyes, she continued to study Eve as if she were cataloging her faults. “Fidget more. You hold yourself too still.”

Eve didn’t move. Heaving a sigh, Aunt Nicki grabbed the orange juice and poured a glass. She set it down hard on the table. Juice sloshed over the edges, and drops spattered the papers. “Serve yourself from here on in,” Aunt Nicki said. “I’m not here to wait on you. Just to watch you and guard you. Understood?”

Eve took a sip of the orange juice. It stung her tongue and tasted sweet at the same time. She set it back down. Aunt Nicki seemed to be waiting for a response. Again, Eve didn’t give her one.

The doorbell rang.

Aunt Nicki slapped a napkin on the table next to Eve’s untouched toast. “About damn time.” She marched out of the kitchen, and Eve listened as Malcolm entered the house.

Their voices drifted into the kitchen. “How is she?” Malcolm asked. Hearing his voice, Eve felt lighter. The muscles in her shoulders and neck loosened.

“Unreadable. Unreachable. Unchanged.”

“You need to give her time.”

“It’s been seven months already.”

Eve frowned. She knew she’d had memory losses while she’d been in the agency. Her mind had erased chunks of time here and there—hours, days—but still, she didn’t think the lost time added up to months. Weeks maybe. Of course, she had also lost additional weeks in the hospital before that. Days and nights had blurred together inside the hospital room while she’d recovered from the procedures, the surgeries that gave her this new body and face. But seven months? Her hands strayed to her face, near her eyes.

Months. Days. Years. Did it matter how much time she’d lost if she couldn’t remember anyway? It didn’t. She filled her lungs with air and then exhaled, as if she were flushing it all away. Postprocedure, one of the nurses at the hospital had showed her how to use the toilet and shower. Later, Eve had taken off the toilet tank cover and watched the chain mechanism raise the cap in the tank, and she’d waited while the float rose up until the water stilled. She liked the idea of sending what you didn’t want away from you and then waiting to be filled with clean water.

“You were fine with this yesterday,” Malcolm said. “What happened?”

“I hate being alone with her,” Aunt Nicki said. “She freaks me out.”

“Keep your gun on you, and stay alert.”

Eve picked up the piece of toast and nibbled at the edges. It felt as if she were swallowing sandstone. Crumbs scraped her throat, and her tongue felt slick from the margarine. But at least she could eat it. Bread always seemed to stay down. Her name was Eve, and she liked bread. That’s enough for now , she thought.

Malcolm and Aunt Nicki entered the kitchen, and the room felt crowded again. Eve shrank into her chair and put down the toast. “Did she select a job?” he asked Aunt Nicki.

“You can ask me directly,” Eve said.

Malcolm smiled as if he were proud of her, and Aunt Nicki looked at her as if the family dog had spoken.

Without meeting their eyes, Eve handed Malcolm the library assistant job description. “I like stories.”

“Good. That’s … good.” Malcolm accepted the description. “All right then, let’s go. I’ll tell you about libraries on the way. Unless …” He looked at Aunt Nicki.

Aunt Nicki shook her head. “We talked about orange juice.”

Eve took another sip of the acidic juice. At least she hadn’t had to explain why her eyes were green. Eyes down, she picked at her bread.

“Are you sure about this?” Aunt Nicki asked Malcolm.

“A routine will help her,” Malcolm said. “More stimulation.”

Since this was exactly what Aunt Nicki had proclaimed earlier, Eve wasn’t surprised when she nodded. “Again, you could talk directly to me,” Eve said.

“Will you say anything interesting back?” Aunt Nicki said. “Because you haven’t so far. This could all be a colossal waste of valuable time and resources.”

Eve studied her for a moment. “I don’t think I like you.”

Aunt Nicki raised her coffee cup as if toasting her. “Mutual.”

“Because I freak you out.”

“You eavesdropped,” Aunt Nicki said. “How industrious of you.”

“Drink your coffee, Nicki,” Malcolm said, sounding amused. “Eve, grab your coat. The library opens soon, and I’ll need to talk with the director before you can begin. We have an arrangement with her to place someone there as needed, but we’ll have to settle on the specifics. Nicki, let her know to expect us.”

Outside was yet another black car. This one lacked the tinted windows and hulked low to the ground. Malcolm checked up and down the street and also inside the car before he allowed Eve into the passenger seat. She fastened the seat belt as she’d been shown and looked back at the house. Aunt Nicki had locked the door behind them. It occurred to Eve that she didn’t have a key.

“Your address is 62 Hall Avenue,” Malcolm said as he climbed into the driver’s seat. He locked the door and then checked the rearview mirror as he pulled out of the parking spot. “You should memorize that. Also, I requisitioned a cell phone for you. It’s in the glove compartment.” He pointed. “If you need help, call. If you feel unsafe, call. If you even feel uncomfortable, call. I’ll come.”

Eve opened the glove compartment. A gun lay there. Next to it was a rectangular black box. She took the box out and closed the glove compartment. Inside the box was a sleek black phone, like the ones she’d seen the agents use.

“Keep it in your pocket at all times,” he said. “I’ve already programmed in my number and Nicki’s. But don’t use it to call anyone else. We monitor the call record.”

She had no one to call, or at least no numbers she remembered. She slid the phone into her jeans pocket. It dug into her hip.

“It also has a special tracking device,” Malcolm said. “In other words, it lets us find you at all times. Even if you don’t think we’re there, we’ll be there. You will be safe.”

Eve shrugged. She already knew they watched her at all times. It was what they did. They watched. So she watched them. She knew the muscles in Malcolm’s cheek twitched every time he concentrated. His forehead pinched when he was about to speak. He smiled with only half of his mouth. She knew his face better than she knew her own. If that freaked out Aunt Nicki, then so be it.