Sarah Durst: Conjured

He’d said to look through the photos again, but she didn’t know what he meant. She had no memory of this tablet or any faces. She felt as if a fist were curled inside her stomach. She could remember a piece of cake but not this, the operating room but not level five, this office but not her home before it.

Aunt Nicki shoved her chair back and stood. Without a word, she stalked around Malcolm’s desk. Leaning over Eve, Aunt Nicki tapped a button on the tablet, and it flashed on. A photo of a teenage girl appeared. She had sour lips and hostile eyes underneath a rainbow of eye shadow. Aunt Nicki slid her finger across the screen and a new face appeared, a teenage boy with a single braid in his hair. He had dark skin and black eyes, and he wore an embroidered gold shirt. His expression was serene.

“Should I recognize them?” Eve asked.

“Never have before,” Aunt Nicki said. “But let’s be optimists and say sure! Your best buds, all in high definition. You used to share lunches, have sleepovers, trade homework answers, play truth or dare, borrow one another’s clothes.”

Eve slid her finger across the screen the same way Aunt Nicki had. There were dozens of photos, all close-ups. Half were male, and half were female. Most looked to be Eve’s age, or close to it. She tried to conjure up memories to match the photos, but she felt nothing as the faces flickered past. “You’re lying.”

Aunt Nicki leaned in close. Her face was inches from Eve’s. Her eyes bored into Eve’s. “Prove it. Prove you’re worth all he did to find you, all we are risking to keep you. Remember them.”

In the photo on Eve’s lap, a girl wore a smile with crooked teeth. She had freckles on the bridge of her nose, and antlers that sprouted in the midst of her limp red-brown hair. Eve studied her and shook her head. She didn’t know her.

Eve slid her finger to bring up a new face, a sandy-haired boy with a pointed chin. Next, a boy who needed to shave. He wore a black chain around his forehead. Next, a girl with a pale-green face. She had pearly scales on her neck. Next, a gangly teen with the face of a Doberman on his bony shoulders. And then back to another human face, a girl with jet-black hair and sorrowful eyes. Frozen in their photographs, the faces stared out at her with accusing eyes. Know me , their eyes seemed to say. Remember me . But Eve didn’t. She scanned through face after face, one after another, as Aunt Nicki returned to Malcolm’s desk. Green eyes, brown eyes, red eyes, cat eyes, black eyes, milky eyes, blue eyes. Her hand shook as her finger slid across the screen, summoning more faces of strangers. “I don’t know you,” she whispered at the screen. “I don’t know you!”

A hand caught her wrist.

Her hand was gently lifted up, her fingers lifted from the screen. Eve raised her face to look up at Malcolm. She didn’t read any blame in his eyes. Just pity.

Eve swallowed hard once, twice. Her throat felt thick.

He touched her cheek with one finger. He studied the damp remnant of a tear as if it were a jewel glittering in the fluorescent light. Eve touched her own cheek. She hadn’t felt herself crying, but her skin was damp.

In a hushed voice, Aunt Nicki said, “Is she …?”

“Just for the record, I am right, no matter who approves or doesn’t.” Malcolm put his hand protectively on Eve’s shoulder.

“Huh.”

Coming around the desk, Aunt Nicki peered at her as if Eve were a strange new bug. Eve turned away, but Aunt Nicki caught her chin and tilted her face up. Pulling away, Eve spun toward Malcolm.

“Didn’t her eyes used to be brown?” Aunt Nicki asked.

Ignoring her, Malcolm said to Eve, “Lou wants you to meet a few people. Kids your age. They’re waiting for us in the cafeteria.”

Aunt Nicki jerked to attention. “Them? She can’t!”

“He insists,” Malcolm said, his eyes on Eve.

“Damn, Lou has balls,” Aunt Nicki said. “Stolen from all his prior employees. You have to talk him out of it. You know what they’re like—”

Malcolm rubbed his fingertip against his thumb. “We have no choice. He’s curious, he said. And the other options were worse.”

Aunt Nicki shook her head vehemently. “She’s not the same—”

“She can handle it.” He squatted so their eyes were level. Eve felt herself caught in his intense brown eyes. “Can’t you?”

Eve ignored Aunt Nicki. Malcolm’s eyes were warm and encouraging, as if he hadn’t noticed how she failed him again and again and again. “Of course,” Eve said.

His mouth quirked in a half smile, an expression she’d seen so often on him that she’d memorized it. She remembered all of his expressions. “Good girl,” he said.

As Eve trailed after Malcolm through the halls and between the cubicles, she listened to the whoosh of the air conditioner, the hum of the server room, and the churn of a printer as it spat out pages. This isn’t right , she thought. She knew this place better than she knew any place, and it didn’t … sound right. She should hear the receptionist’s radio. At least one TV should be tuned to the local news. The police scanner should be crackling with voices. More important, the offices should be filled with marshals and their staff. Their conversations on the phone, to witnesses, and to one another should have drowned out the air conditioner and the computers.

The quiet made her skin prickle.

After she passed the third empty interrogation room, Eve asked, “Where is everyone?”

Malcolm pointed to a red light that flashed on the ceiling. “High profiles on the floor. Only essential personnel in the office. Best to limit exposure.”

“Is that who I’m to meet?” she asked. She wondered what “high profile” meant and why it was important to limit exposure.

“It’s ‘whom,’” Malcolm said.

“Whom,” Eve repeated dutifully.

“Never met anyone who didn’t sound pretentious saying ‘whom,’ though. Best to just imitate what people say and not overthink it. If you start thinking about it, English doesn’t make much sense. For example, the plural of ‘tooth’ is ‘teeth,’ but the plural of ‘booth’ isn’t ‘beeth.’ The word ‘abbreviation’ isn’t short. Neither is ‘monosyllabic.’”

He halted outside the cafeteria, and the lecture abruptly ended.

“Did you teach me everything I know?” Eve asked.

“No,” he said.

“Who did?”

“You did,” he said. “You listened; you learned.” He rapped her forehead lightly. “You. Not me. Not Lou. Not anyone.” He glanced at the cafeteria door. “That’s something not everyone understands. You know more than you think you do, more than you believe you remember.”

But I don’t remember! she wanted to shout. She didn’t. It wouldn’t have helped. Instead, she followed Malcolm’s gaze, looking at the cafeteria door. It was blue, with a notice that read INTERAGENCY BILLIARDS RESCHEDULED, TUESDAY, 4:00 P.M. It also had a no-smoking sign, a poster with instructions for what to do if someone were choking, and a reminder to follow security protocol. Eve heard three voices through the door: two male and one female. She noticed that the muscles in Malcolm’s neck had bunched up.

Eve listened to the voices, but they were muffled by the door. She couldn’t distinguish individual words. “Are they connected to my case?” she asked. “Will they help me remember?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “After this, I’ll take you for pizza. Garlic knot crust. Kills your breath for hours, but worth it.” He pushed open the cafeteria door and then added in a low voice, “Don’t provoke them. Don’t question them. Don’t trust them.”