Shudder (Stitch Trilogy, Book 2) (23 page)

“
Their fake memories will
be there too, so use them to play along.”

And once he’d defeated the stitch,
he’d finally be able to fight back. Recovering his real memories
didn’t erase the ones that had been programmed into him – he could
simply sort through them logically and use the information to his
benefit. He could play the part they’d laid out for him, and wait.
And when an opportunity eventually came, he could
escape.

“
Don’t let them take you,
Nikhil. Don’t.”

He wouldn’t. Not this time. Not ever
again.

And so he’d been practicing. He’d
chosen as his trace his first memory of 14, the day her note had
come scrabbling through the wall. He’d thought day and night about
the smallest detail of those moments: the relentless scratching
that’d been driving him insane, the surprise of paper against his
fingertips, the flurries of dust floating through the beam of light
from the crack in the door as he’d devoured her missive. “Hey,
neighbor. Anybody in there?” How could he forget?

That was, after all, the
first real thing that had happened to him in ages. In all his years
as Paragon’s prisoner, she had been his only true ally – the only
one to help him find the truth, help him remember himself. Maybe
he’d never seen her, or heard her voice, or even spoken her true
name. But he would never forget her. She
was
his trace – she had been from
the beginning.

So when they finally came for him, he
was ready.

He heard the heavy clunk of boot steps
first, the guard approaching his door. Then the softer shuffles of
the lab technician following close behind, the swish of a long
white coat, the gentle tap of fingertips looking up records on a
tablet. Then beep, beep, beep, beep, CLANK and his cell was
unlocked. The door swung open, the bright lights from the hall
blinding him.

14, “Hey, neighbor,”
scratching, paper, dust.

He was ready. Nikhil raised an arm to
shield his eyes and rose slowly from his cot. “Come,” the guard
commanded, and Nikhil followed. They walked him down the long
twisting hallway, back the way he’d come so many weeks before. The
guard entered another code, and they exited through a heavy metal
doorway. Suddenly the world changed from gray to white, the floors
not concrete but linoleum, the cinder block walls melting into
smooth shiny plastic.

They’d reached the medical
center.

14, “Hey, neighbor,”
scratching, paper, dust.

They boarded a swift elevator up, and
navigated down another long hallway, stopping in front of a doorway
– white, always white – inset with one tiny porthole window. Nikhil
could see the chair waiting for him, the straps propped open
wide.

This time it was the
technician’s turn, fingering the keypad beside the door as a series
of sharp beeps pierced Nikhil’s ears. The door slid open with a
sudden
whoosh
and
the technician ushered him inside. The door slithered shut behind
them, and as Nikhil took his place in the chair, he noticed the
guard looming outside the window.

14, “Hey, neighbor,”
scratching, paper, dust.

The technician worked silently to
fasten thick straps around his wrists, his ankles, his waist, his
throat. Heavy clamps squeezed in beside his ears, and suddenly
Nikhil was immobile.

He could hear the technician behind
him, clacking away on a keyboard. Then a hiss, and a small panel
slid open in the wall in front of him. A single sinister syringe
rested in the darkness beyond, waiting, menacing. A chill fog
rolled off the case and fused with the white of the wall below, the
mist seeming to disappear before it reached the floor.

14, “Hey, neighbor,”
scratching, paper, dust.

The technician stepped forward and
snatched up the syringe, regarding Nikhil with a grimace. Neon blue
brimmed behind the needle as it reached for Nikhil’s arm, and he
steeled himself for the fight ahead.

Everything was dark, and
everything hurt.
Throb
. Each pulse blared through Nikhil’s tender brain – he could
almost hear it, like the buzz of too-loud bass.
Throb
.

Ignore the pain. There was something
he was supposed to remember.

Dust.

He saw light, but it hurt,
it
stung
. He
retreated, further, deeper, lower – far into the recesses of his
mind.

Hey, neighbor.

Where was he? Why did it hurt so
much?

Paper.

Something hovered at the edge of his
mind, something important. But it was just out of reach…

Hey, neighbor.

Nothing made sense. He couldn’t
remember… Who was he? Where was he? What had they done to
him?

Hey, neighbor. Hey,
neighbor.

There was supposed to be a path,
something for him to follow, some way out. But all he saw was
black. Anything else simply hurt too much.

Scratching.

What should he do now? Where would he
go?

Hey, neighbor. Hey,
neighbor.

A strangling fear rose in his throat.
He was lost, lost, and he would never be found. His body trembled.
He searched this way and that, but there was nowhere to turn. He
was trapped.

Hey, neighbor. Hey,
neighbor. Hey, neighbor.

Panicking now.

What to do? How to get out?

WHY HAD THEY DONE THIS TO
HIM?

Hey, neighbor. Hey,
neighbor.

He screamed, and screamed, and
screamed. Screamed until his throat must have bled.

But there was only silence.

He was alone, locked in the dark,
alone.

Hey, neighbor.

Who had done this to him?

They would pay.

They would pay.

26. INTENTIONS

They didn’t think Phoenix could hear
them, but she could.

The whish of the automatic door had
woken her, but she’d kept her eyes pinned shut. Her mind was much
stronger now, less clouded than before. She could focus, she could
reason, she could think. Almost, she could remember. And with fewer
bandages now covering the injuries on her head, she could hear
quite clearly.

They were standing right outside her
door, arguing in hushed voices. They must have inched too close to
the automatic sensor, she guessed, and the door to her room had
slid open. But they were too absorbed in their conversation to
notice. She could just about make out their words.

The Developer was one of them. She
recognized his voice, the nasal whine, the occasional stammer when
his brain moved too fast for his lips.

The other one she wasn’t sure about.
That voice sounded familiar too, a cool rasp that she couldn’t
quite place. Something about that voice made her uneasy, but she
wasn’t sure exactly why.

Finally the quarrel reached an apex,
the words finally resolving in Phoenix’s ears as their voices
climbed.

It was the other one, not the
Developer. “… ridiculous. She’ll never listen to me.”

“
Yes, she will,” the
Developer argued.

“
Why? Why would she?” the
voice cracked.

“
Because I took care of
it. Just trust me. She’s ready for you.”

“
This is too big a risk.
What if she remembers?”

“
She won’t.”

“
The others
have.”

“
I’ve fixed it,” the
Developer insisted. He sighed one of the long, weary sighs that
signaled he was getting frustrated.

There was a pause. “You’re sure this
is necessary?”

“
Yes. She’ll never join us
if she doesn’t trust us. She needs to understand who we are, what
we did, and what made it justified. And you have a part of that
story to tell.”

Another pause. Then,
“Fine.”

That was interesting – Phoenix had
been wondering what the Engineers wanted from her, why they were
troubling to fill her in on their history. Apparently they needed
her for something. That was good. That meant she had some
power.

But the question still
remained: Why? Why did they need
her
? If only she could remember who
she really was…

She heard one set of footsteps trail
away from her doorway, and a moment later, a man stepped
through.

He cleared his throat gruffly. Phoenix
fluttered her eyelids, feigning disorientation from sleep before
she finally settled her eyes on his.

He wasn’t a large man, but there was
something intimidating about him, something dark. He was
middle-aged, neat, not unattractive exactly, but there was
something about his face that pushed her gaze away instead of
drawing it towards him. His eyes, maybe. His eyes seemed to drink
all the light from the room, flat and cold as they bored into her.
Something about those eyes made her shudder inwardly.

She noticed that he was distractedly
rubbing a long scar that slashed across his thin lips.

“
You’re awake?” he
groused.

As she sat up in bed, his eyes
slithered quickly over her body, making her feel unclothed. She
pulled the blanket up over her thin hospital gown.

“
Y-yes,” she answered. Her
voice was shaky, but she didn’t understand why. She steadied
herself, and more forcefully she added, “And you are?”

He regarded her for a moment before
answering in a low growl, “You can call me the General.”

The General. The Draftsman had
mentioned him. And the Doctor, she remembered.

“
I’ve heard some about
you, from the others. You organized the work roster,
right?”

He nodded. “Among other
things.”

Something about that response irked
her, but she couldn’t quite place her finger on why. He was hiding
something. But what? His demeanor didn’t exactly invite
questions.

Timidly she inquired, “What other
things?”

He shrugged. “The prison, for one. Law
enforcement.”

Something about his mannerisms made
Phoenix acutely unnerved. She felt an odd need inside to keep him
talking, keep him distracted. She fumbled for a topic. “You were in
the army before Paragon?” she asked finally. His name seemed to
indicate as much.

“
Something like that,” he
replied. “I led the civil service program, organizing civilians to
support the war effort.”

“
So how did you end up the
General?”

“
I was the highest ranking
military official in Paragon when the gates were closed. Seemed to
make sense.” He seemed a little defensive.

“
I see,” Phoenix responded
gently. Something told her it would be a mistake to get on his bad
side.

An awkward moment lingered in the room
while no one spoke and Phoenix fidgeted with her bed sheets.
Finally, she broke the silence.

“
Is that how you knew
about the memory alteration technology? From your military
experience?”

He regarded her
suspiciously.

“
The Doctor told me about
it,” she explained quickly.

“
Oh,” he grumbled. “Yes –
as head of civil service, I worked with top ranking officers in the
armed forces and national security. I had a
very
high security
clearance.”

For some reason, Phoenix got the
feeling that he was trying to impress her, but not because he liked
her – it seemed like just the opposite, in fact, like he was trying
to raise himself up to show her own inferiority. It made her
uncomfortable. She fought the urge to squirm as she waited for him
to continue.

“
I was brought on
initially to delegate the compound’s work schedule, use my civil
service experience to make sure the Draftsman had the manpower to
keep this place afloat. But then the rebellion started, and my
military background proved… more useful.” A smug semblance of a
smile crossed his cheeks. “The others didn’t understand what it
took to maintain order, to keep a population under control. I did.
So I established the prison, and the guards, and started weeding
out the troublemakers.”

The way he growled “troublemakers,”
sent shivers down Phoenix’s spine. “And the memory technology?” she
prompted. “Where did it come from?”

He hesitated for a moment
before answering, but then puffed up his chest and replied, “The
government had stolen the research from one of our enemies in the
Eastern Allies. It was under investigation at the time of the
outbreak – highly classified – but all the
top
officers were aware of
it.”

He crossed his arms self-satisfyingly
as a thought occurred to Phoenix. “Why didn’t you just modify the
prisoners’ memories and reintegrate them into society? Why use them
as actors?”

“
We needed the
entertainment for the rest of the population. Given that, it seemed
the prisoners would be more useful on the dramas than rotting in
their cells.”