Mystic City (32 page)

He pulls away and slips a tiny white pill into my hand. I curl my fingers around it and stare at him. I’m incredibly confused.

“Why are you doing this?”

“There’s no time for explanations,” Benedict says, peering sideways at the laboratory door. “You must trust me, Aria. For Hunter’s sake.”

Hunter.

The door slides back open, and Dr. May waltzes back in. Me, trust Benedict? He’s practically an ogre, always rude to me. And
on top of that, he’s devoted to my father. Why on earth should I trust him?

But Hunter’s name rings in my ear. Davida is missing. There is no one else who wants to help me. I glance down at my fist, the tiny pill hidden inside. At this point, what do I have to lose? I bring it to my mouth, faking a cough.

I swallow the pill just in time.

“Well?” Dr. May asks quizzically, standing before me with the needle.

I breathe deeply. “I’m ready.”

When I emerge from the machine, I feel about the same, only hazier. The inside of my arm is sore from the series of injections Dr. May administered, but other than that, I remain me. I gulp down a glass of water.

“How are you feeling?” my mother asks. Her arm is linked with my father’s, and they both look concerned, but I know it’s for the wrong reasons: they don’t care how I’m feeling, they just want to know whether the operation was successful.

Benedict stands a few feet behind my parents with his arms crossed. He gives me a slight nod. I should respond positively. “I feel … fine.”

“Aria, do you know why you’re here?” my father asks. His dark eyebrows are raised, his forehead creased with lines.

Benedict blinks twice. “No,” I say.

Dad offers Benedict a quick smile—the kind I’d miss if I weren’t watching for it.

But I am.

“Aria,” Dr. May says, stepping toward me, “you had another Stic relapse. Your mother found you convulsing on your bedroom floor, and—well, you almost didn’t make it.”

My gut reaction is to laugh, but instead I bite my tongue. From the corner of my eye I see Benedict’s entire body tense, like a live wire. Suddenly, I realize this is one of the most important moments of my life. I need to convince Dr. May and my parents that the operation was successful. There’s no way Benedict will be able to protect me again. If I’m not persuasive, I might actually lose my memories—this time, for good.

But what exactly am I supposed to remember this time around? How can I tell what they tried to erase?

I take a shuddery breath. “I—I—I did?”

My mother nods solemnly. “Perhaps you were nervous about the wedding? I don’t know why … you love Thomas
so much
, and Thomas loves you.…”

She trails off and stares at me, barely blinking. I know she and my father are waiting to see if I object. I don’t need to look at Benedict to know how to respond.

“I do love Thomas,” I say, keeping my voice steady. My mother grasps my father’s hand; they radiate relief. “I’m not nervous about the wedding. I … don’t remember what happened.” I take another breath. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to ask you a series of questions, Aria, to determine the extent of your memory loss.” Dr. May picks up a portable TouchMe and keys something into the pad.

“Actually,” my father says, “why doesn’t Benedict ask the questions.”
The tone of Dad’s voice makes it clear this is not a question; it’s a demand. He must think that Benedict will be tougher on me. “No offense, Salvador.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Dr. May says, a bit flustered. “I’ll record her answers.”

Benedict straightens his tie and steps forward, stopping a few inches from the examination table I’m seated on. The air-conditioning is on full blast, and my skin is covered in goose pimples. I draw the hospital gown tighter around my waist.

“What is your full name?” Benedict asks.

“Aria Marie Rose,” I reply.

“When were you born?”

“October fourteenth.”

“Who are your parents?”

I point to my father and mother. “John and Melinda Rose.”

“What is your fiancé’s name?”

“Thomas Foster,” I answer.

Benedict glances at my father, then back at me. He widens his eyes just a bit, and I can tell this is when the important questions are about to begin.

“Do you know a boy named Hunter Brooks?” Benedict asks. He gives two deliberate blinks.

“No,” I respond. My mother breathes an audible sigh of relief.

“Do you know where Davida, your servant, has disappeared to?” Again, he blinks twice.

“No,” I say. “I didn’t even know she was gone.” Dr. May grins, and I know I am doing well.

“Are you in love with Thomas Foster?” One blink from Benedict.

“Yes,” I say.

“Do you have any concerns about your upcoming wedding?” Two blinks.

“No,” I say, and then grin big. “I just hope I look good in my dress.”

Benedict turns to my parents, who beckon—he steps away and speaks with them in hushed tones. Dr. May joins them for a moment, and I am left with my own thoughts:

My parents tried to wash Hunter Brooks from my mind. They failed.

They want me to believe I am in love with Thomas and marry him. I’m not.

And Benedict wanted to put a stop to this procedure. He is my father’s right-hand man, his biggest supporter. What could his betrayal possibly mean?

Dr. May clears his throat. “Aria, you’re going to be fine. Your parents want you to see a therapist, someone I’ll recommend, so that we can get to the root of your Stic addiction.” He pauses. “I’m worried that if you continue using this drug, your memory won’t be the only thing at risk—your life will be, too.”

“I want to get better,” I say, trying to sound sincere. On the outside, my parents look the same—my mother and father, the only family I have besides Kyle. But I know what they truly are: Liars. Murderers. In my mind’s eye I see Hunter’s knees buckle and his body tumble overboard, see him disappear into the murky water. I feel a pain deep in my chest.

He is gone. I’m still here.

The best way to honor his memory is to put a stop to whatever
plan my parents have set in motion. “I’ll do whatever I have to do,” I say, “to make things right.”

My idiot parents beam at me.

A few hours later and I am home.

Dr. May gave me a slew of painkillers, but unlike the first few times I had the procedure, this time I feel perfectly fine. It must have something to do with whatever inhibitor Benedict gave me.

Kiki calls, and we chat for a few minutes until dinnertime. I pull the locket out of my clutch and turn it over in my hands. Thankfully, my parents hadn’t suspected it was anything other than normal and didn’t throw it away. Hunter said he didn’t know how to open it—and if he didn’t, who will? The only person I can think of is Lyrica, but there’s no way I’ll be able to escape to the Depths to see her. Not now.

I place the locket around my neck and tuck it under my blouse. It’s risky, but I want to feel close to Hunter. This is the only thing I have that he touched. I glance at the clock; it’s important for everyone to think I’m normal, so it’s off to dinner I go.

Downstairs, the whole Foster clan is seated at our dining room table, along with the whole parade of evil stuffed shirts: Mayor Greenlorn, Police Chief Bayer, Governor Boch. Stiggson, Klartino, and a gaggle of bodyguards, all in their black suits, hover quietly in the next room, attempting to blend in with the intricate pattern of the wallpaper.

I take a seat next to Thomas, who looks blandly dashing in a light blue button-down shirt, open at the neck, his hair parted at the side and combed back.

“How
are
you?” he asks, kissing me. He puts on a good show, that’s for sure. If I blacked out all of the lies, the deception, the cheating … I suppose I could convince myself that he actually loved me.

Unfortunately, I know who he is. He might not be responsible for anything that’s happened to me, but he’s certainly happy enough to go along with it.

All eyes are on me, though, so I chirp, “Great!” making sure to rest my hand on the table to show off the new engagement ring, which sparkles even brighter than the chandelier above the table.

Across the table is Benedict, who is wearing the same clothes from this afternoon. I catch his eye but he looks away.

We are served the soup first, a light summer bisque. I push around tiny globs of corn with my spoon. I can’t imagine eating—my stomach is churning with nervous energy. I keep wondering how I’m going to be able to steal a moment alone with Benedict. Why did he help me? Does he know Elissa is a double agent, working secretly for the rebels? Are they working together? I want to ask him, but I promised Elissa I wouldn’t blow her cover.

“Aria?” I hear Erica Foster say as though she’s repeating herself.

I give a quick smile. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right, dear. I was just telling your mother how beautiful the engagement ring looks.”

“Oh yes,” I say, staring down at the big hunk of diamonds resting on my finger. The silver band feels tight, as if it’s squeezing the very life out of me. “It’s quite something.”

The meal passes slowly, as if every minute is an hour. The talk, of course, is all politics and poll numbers, when it’s not about the details of the wedding—which, to be honest, is the same thing.

“The seated dinner will be delicious,” my mother tells Erica Foster. “Filet mignon with a peppercorn sauce, broccoli florets, and bronzed new potatoes—”

“Excuse me,” I say. “I have to powder my nose.”

“Everything okay?” Thomas asks.

“Absolutely,” I say.

“Aria?” My mother raises a brow. “Do you need me to accompany you?”

All heads turn my way. “I just have to pee!” Kyle rolls his eyes. “I mean … I don’t need any help! Thank you.”

I stand, placing my napkin on the table in front of me. Benedict isn’t looking at me—he’s talking to the police chief.

I walk out of the dining room and down the hall, where our guest bathroom is located. Then I stroll right past it and into the tiny room where we keep guests’ coats, purses, and briefcases.

I do a quick scan for Benedict’s brown leather briefcase and recognize the gold clasp immediately. I’ve seen him carry it at work and always thought, why carry a briefcase at all? Most everything in the office is computerized, so it’s not like he has to carry around many papers.

It’s mostly empty. Inside is a half-drunk bottle of water and a slim manila envelope containing a single sheet of paper. Scribbled across the top is an address and the words
Fred M. Rose family
.

The handwriting is familiar.

Where’s the top-secret information? Where’s the reason he’s helping me? I sigh, slipping the paper back into the envelope and the envelope back into the briefcase.

I return to the dinner table and place my napkin on my lap.

“Everything all right?” Thomas asks me.

I fake a smile. “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Once everyone is gone, I get ready for bed. Magdalena runs a brush through my hair and helps me wash my face. She gives me a pill from Dr. May; I pretend to swallow it, then spit it into the garbage once she’s gone.

I try to fall asleep, but I’m restless. Images of Hunter flash through my head—of his face, his lips. I remember the way his arms felt around me. It’s not fair. We knew each other so briefly. And now he’s dead because of me.

I wonder what Violet Brooks is doing. Is she thinking of her son? Does she suspect she’ll never see him again? And Turk! Poor Turk. He deserves to know what happened to his friend.

I slip out of bed and to my windows, opening the curtains and looking out into the night. Where is the loophole? How can I access it?

A shadow flickers across the balcony.

I blink and it’s gone. I press my face up against the window. Kyle? Davida?

No. That’s ridiculous. Nobody’s there.

I close the curtains and am about to get back into bed when I feel the weight of the locket against my chest. I take it out from underneath my nightgown and stare at it, rubbing my fingers over
the polished silver, searching for a clasp that I know isn’t there. A capture locket. What does that mean?

Maybe there’s an answer in the note I found with it.

I go over to my armoire, where I’ve hidden the note. I know it only says one word—
Remember
—but maybe there’s something I didn’t see.

My fingers shake as I hold the piece of paper up to the light. I flip it over, but the back is blank. There is nothing new here. What was I thinking, that suddenly I’d look at the note and the answers I’m searching for would magically appear?

I’m about to hide it back in the drawer when something clicks, like a latch snapping into place inside my head.

Remember

I stare at the word, the clean lines of the letters, the swoop of the
R
, the curve of the
m
’s.

The handwriting is familiar. I saw it earlier this evening.

In Patrick Benedict’s briefcase.

• XXV •

“Isn’t it lovely?” my mother asks.

Tentatively, I step into the apartment. Thomas is by my side; he reaches to take my hand, and I let him, even though my instinct is to shrug him off. Or slap him. But it’s important that everyone think what Dr. May did was a success. That I’ve forgotten about Hunter. That I love Thomas.