Erased (12 page)

WHEN I WOKE UP, AN OLD MEMORY HOVERED
in the sleepy haze, like a word I’d forgotten, just out of my reach. I knew the feeling of it, the shape of it, but not any of the finer details, the details that mattered.

Whatever the memory was, I knew instantly that it’d been important, and I sat up cursing.

Nick looked at me with a frown. He was hunched in the chair, still positioned at the front window. There was a beer in his hand, the top popped open. His hair was even more disheveled since I last saw him. I wondered absently if he’d moved at all, or if he’d been in that spot the whole time I slept. He must have moved to at least find a beer ferreted away somewhere in this place.

He looked beyond exhausted.

I set my feet to the floor and rubbed my eyes. “I had another flashback, I think.”

“You know who was there?”

The way he asked the question made me wonder if he was asking because he wanted to know if
he
was there. Since he’d been in a lot of my memories, I thought it was a good chance the answer was yes.

“I’m not sure,” I said, because that was the easiest response. “But there was…”

Blood. I paused, and looked down at my hands. A phantom sensation, warmth spreading between my fingers. Here in the present, my hands were pale, dry, cracked along one knuckle from the cold. Not covered in blood, but the sensation was overwhelming. I could almost feel it beneath my fingernails, feel it running down my arms.

I shook the image away.

Maybe I was going crazy.

“What?” Nick prompted.

“Nothing.” I stood. “Any idea where the bathroom is?”

He nodded down the hall. “Second door on the right.”

“Does the water work?”

“Yep.”

Inside, I shut and locked the door and used the toilet. After washing my hands and face, I looked in the mirror.

My head was pounding. My eyes hurt deep into the sockets. When would I ever live a normal life? Like, go to bed not worrying
about being ambushed in the middle of the night. And wake up looking refreshed, a whole day spread out before me. A day of possibilities.

I sighed and turned on the faucet to splash some warm water on my face when my vision cut out. Sight came back to me in flashes, like a dozen blinks in rapid succession.

I slammed my eyes shut, pressed the heels of my hands to my temples.

A scream. In my head.

What the hell was happening?

I was running. Through a hallway. People were shouting behind me. I slid into the bathroom, tore off the toilet tank lid, and plunged my hand into the freezing-cold water. I came up with a plastic zipper bag. There was a gun inside.

My knees buckled. I pitched to the side, scrambled for something to hold on to, but took a basket of toiletries down with me. Aluminum and glass containers clanged and shattered on the floor.

Blood on my hands. Running down my arm. Blood beneath my fingernails.

Something splintered and slammed against the wall. Hands shook me.

“Get Anna out of here,” Dani said.

“Anna!” Nick shouted. “Can you hear me?”

Opening my eyes hurt and the light from the ceiling blinded me. The leftover haze of the flashback mixed with the present, and I wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t.

Nick crouched beside me, his fingers digging into my skull as he examined me. “What the hell happened?”

“Another flashback.”

He looked over his shoulder at the shredded bathroom door. “New rule: Leave the door unlocked next time.”

With his help, I climbed to my feet. My head swam a second but dissipated enough that I could pretend I was fine.

But was I?

When we’d first left the lab at the farmhouse, Sam had gone through several debilitating flashbacks once his system withdrew from the memory suppressants. My dad had told me once that Sam had gone through too many memory wipes and that’s why his came back so violently.

As far as I knew, I’d had my memory wiped only once, right before I’d been placed at the farmhouse.

So why was I experiencing the same thing Sam had?

We hung around the summer cottage for several more hours while Nick tried to repair the bathroom door. He managed to get it back on
its hinges, but there was no way to hide the caved middle where Nick had rammed a shoulder into it.

Just after seven
PM
, Nick turned down the heat and locked up the house. He walked with me to the passenger side of the car, as if he was afraid I might have another sudden flashback.

After I got in, I watched him as he rounded the front bumper, his face shrouded in darkness. I wasn’t sure who this Nick was, the one who looked after me and helped me into the car and took a second to make sure I was all right.

Maybe this was more of the real Nick, a combination of the old him and the present-day him, who was a genetically altered badass.

Whoever he was, I liked him. And I hoped he stuck around.

It took us another half hour of driving before we reached Molly’s bar. The clock in the dash said it was 7:45 when we parked in the lot.

Molly’s was a two-story building on the edge of town. Music pumped through the thin redwood walls, and people were huddled together outside smoking cigarettes. An orange neon sign hung in the front window promising cold beer on tap.

“Let me lead,” Nick said after he’d parked. “You think you’ll recognize your uncle when you see him?”

“Yeah. There were pictures of him in the files.”

“When you spot him, tell me before we approach. Got it?”

“Yes.”

We climbed out, and I tightened my coat as we hurried across the parking lot.

As soon as Nick pulled open the front door, the smell of sweat and stale beer wafted out past us. Music thumped through the floor. The place was packed.

Nick guided me to a round table in the corner, where we were partially hidden by a support column.

I scanned the crowd. There was a big group of people in the opposite corner from us. A large man in denim overalls held on to an unlit cigarette as if the nicotine could be consumed through osmosis. A petite dark-haired girl guffawed at something her friend said.

Farther back, a couple made out in a booth. A cluster of girls slung back shots. An old man drained the last of his beer. And a lean, red-haired man—

“That’s him,” I whispered, leaning closer to Nick. “Back of the room. One o’clock.”

I tried to act inconspicuous, but this man—Uncle Will—was the only living family member I had who might remember the details from the night I’d been taken by the Branch.

He looked similar to the man in the picture from my files. Red hair, cut short; freckles peppering his nose; wide-set eyes; and full lips, like Dani. I could see a lot of her in him, and it made me wonder what our dad looked like and what part of the family genes I’d inherited. I didn’t have the red hair. I didn’t have the same plump lips. I did have the freckles, but that seemed like the only thing I’d been given from the O’Brien side. Was I more like my mother? Did she have blond hair and hazel eyes and a nose that seemed too small for her face?

There was a man sitting next to Will, a beer in his hand. There was no drink in front of my uncle. He smiled at something his friend said.

I stood up.

Nick took my hand. “Wait.”

“I’ve been waiting to meet my real family ever since I found out about them.” I yanked my hand back. “I’m not waiting another minute longer.”

The music changed from a quick rock song to bluegrass, and the crowd livened up as the room filled with the sharp twang of a banjo.

I crossed the room. My hands grew slick with sweat. I wasn’t sure what my expectations were, but I knew more than anything that I wanted Uncle Will to like me.

He laughed again. His friend patted him on the back. Will looked up and spotted me. He paused.

Did he recognize me? Did I look like my real mother or father?

Will stood. His friend asked him something, but he didn’t answer.

I stopped three feet from the table, hands hanging loosely by my sides. Now that I was here, I didn’t know what to say or where to start.

“Anna,” he said with a smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“Uncle Will?”

He nodded and came out from behind the table, wrapping his arms around me, squeezing tightly.

When he pulled back, he said to his friend, “Nathan, I’ll call you later. I gotta go.”

“Sure thing, buddy.” Nathan grabbed his beer and sauntered off.

Hands still on my shoulders, Will stared at me for the longest time, as if he couldn’t believe I was real. Nick edged closer.

Finally Will said, “We need to talk. Somewhere quieter, perhaps?” He looked over my shoulder at Nick. “He a friend of yours?”

I could feel Nick hovering just a foot or so away. I was both thankful and annoyed. “Yeah. A good friend.”

“All right. Well, he can come, too. Follow me.” Will set a hand between my shoulder blades and guided me out the front door. He gestured to a small pickup truck parked in the back of the lot. “That’s my car. Did you want to ride with me or…” He trailed off, eyeing Nick.

“We’ll follow you,” Nick answered.

“All right. My place is over on Washington. We can talk there.” He fidgeted with his keys and they clattered together. “So I guess I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

I nodded. “Sure.”

In our car, Nick turned to me. “I don’t like this.”

I rolled my eyes. “You don’t like anything. Or anyone.”

“Yeah, well, I especially don’t like this.”

“I’m not backing out now. Will could know something. And even if he doesn’t, he’s my uncle. I want to at least talk to him.” My voice cracked, and I inhaled deeply. “Please, Nick?”

He turned on the engine and followed Will out of the parking lot. “If we get shot at tonight, I’m blaming you.”

Uncle Will lived in a second-floor apartment across from the public library. Sam often told me that if it seemed safe, it probably wasn’t, and there was nothing more innocent than a public library. So while every part of me said to relax, I kept my guard up, just in case.

The apartment was small, with one bedroom in the back, and a kitchenette connected to the living space. There was a couch in the living room, worn on the left side, as if Uncle Will spent most of his time in that one spot watching the old TV propped up on a rickety table.

There were dishes in the strainer but none in the sink. The small two-seater table was bare and freshly polished. It smelled like Pine-Sol in here. And cigar smoke.

“Have a seat,” Will said.

I took the right side of the couch, and Nick sat on the arm next to me. I didn’t have to look at him to know he was tense, ready to go off on a moment’s notice.

Will pulled up a chair from the table in the kitchen. “I don’t even know what to say.” He laughed, but it turned into a drawn-out sigh. “You look so grown-up.” He rubbed his hands together. “So, tell me, what did you want to talk about?”

“A few things, I guess. First, Dani said you had contacts in the Branch?”

“I do.”

I threaded my hands together and tucked them into my lap.
“Well, two nights ago, we found Dani in a Branch lab, along with three other boys.”

“Others like Sam?” Will asked, his tone guarded.

“Yes, but… something was different.” I explained what had happened to Greg when we’d tried saying our good-byes.

Will digested the information and crossed one leg over the other knee. “Interesting. I’ve heard talk about the Branch looking into new programming. You think they were somehow activated?”

“Yes. But we’re not sure how.”

“Could be a code word.”

Nick cracked a knuckle. “What are the chances that one of us would have said the right word at the right time?”

Will shrugged. “If it was a common word…”

“Do you think there’s a way to reverse it?” I asked.

“Sure. There usually is, but I wouldn’t know how. Or even where to begin.”

I sighed. I was afraid of that.

“One other thing,” I said.

“Sure. Anything.”

“Dani said you were there the night my parents died.”

Will bowed his head, the fan of his lashes meeting the freckles on his cheeks as he squeezed his eyes shut. “I was,” he said quietly.