Unforgotten (24 page)

The city that discovered my secret. Called me a witch. Set me on fire.

The artificial memories that are encrypted in my mind. Leading me somewhere. A place Diotech wants to find.

The young man with the aquamarine eyes. Who is like me. Who is out there searching.

The scientist who died in front of my eyes. And the one who impatiently awaits my return.

Kaelen stole it all. Except for the last one. The one that brought me here. To Cody.

That one I keep for myself.

I don’t know which memory finally causes Cody’s expression to turn dark and grim, his eyes to flash open, and his hands to scratch restlessly at the receptors attached to his head, ripping them off and tossing them onto his desk.

I don’t know which of the countless horrid truths finally shoved him over the edge but he abruptly rises to his feet and, without another word to me, stalks out of the room. I listen intently for the front door, praying I won’t hear it open and close. I can’t afford to have Cody leave. Not now. But I also know better than to follow him.

He needs time to process everything. Just as I did when I first learned the truth.

Thankfully, the front door remains closed. Which means Cody is still somewhere in the house. Dealing with the unsettling reality of my life in whatever way he needs to. It’s a lot of information to learn all at once.

I will give him that time.

With a deep breath, I settle back in my chair. The rush of my own fatigue hits me like a stone wall. At first I fight it, refusing to let my eyes close even for a second. But after a while it becomes too much and I give in to the undertow of exhaustion.

I spend the next half hour dozing in and out of sleep in the chair.

When I’m awake my eyes are glued to Zen and the monitors next to his bed. There’s a soft
beep
that rings out every second, reassuring me that he’s still alive. That he’s still with me.

And yet every single silence that falls between is more tormenting than the last. Waiting for that next
beep
, that next sign of life, is like waiting for an eternity to pass. It’s like falling off a cliff over and over again. Every empty second that goes by without a
beep
is gravity pulling me to my death.

When I’m asleep I dream of Kaelen. His ocean eyes staring at me. I gaze into them, finding beautiful relief. Finding escape from this monstrous reality that I’m living.

He slowly reaches out to touch my face. I hold my breath, anticipating his touch. The warmth I know it will bring. The serenity that I know will follow.

But I wake before it ever gets there, a thousand tiny needles stabbed into my heart. The shame I feel for wanting him to touch me—even in my dream—smothers me like a thick, itchy blanket that scratches my skin raw.

I’m suddenly irritable and angry.

Angry that I can’t keep him out of my thoughts.

Angry that when I’m asleep, when his face is in my mind, I don’t
want
to wake.

But I
should
. I should want to wake.

Zen is real. He’s here. Now. And he needs me.

Kaelen is some kind of mistake. A confusion. An error.

Someone I shouldn’t want to exist. Someone I shouldn’t want to dream about. Someone I shouldn’t want.

“Sera?” Zen’s frail voice interrupts my thoughts and I blink down at him, forcing a carefree smile that makes me feel like a fraud.

“I’m here,” I reply, squeezing his hand.

“Where are we?” His voice is so airy, so light, it feels like it will blow away if I exhale too hard.

“We’re in the year 2032. At Cody’s house. Remember Cody?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s trying to figure out what’s wrong with you. He’s going to make you better.”

“I want to be better.”

I bite my lip to keep from breaking into sobs. “I know. I do, too.”

“Then we can run away again.”

“Exactly,” I say. “Where do you want to go?”

His eyes remain closed, he shifts uncomfortably. “The moon?”

I grin. “That sounds like a good idea. Or maybe Venus?”

“Too hot,” he breathes.

I release a small giggle. “Okay, not Venus.”

There’s a long silence and I think he may have fallen asleep again but then another frail whisper breaks through. “Sera?”

“Yes?”

I feel the slightest pressure on my hand as he attempts to squeeze it. “Did I ever tell you about the bench?” he asks.

My brow furrows. “What bench?”

“I guess not.”

“Why don’t you tell me now,” I suggest, desperate to make this rare moment of coherency last as long as possible.

“It was made of white marble,” he goes on with difficulty. “In your front yard.”

“On the compound?”

He lets out a ragged cough, blood spattering the sheets. “Yes.”

I pluck a tissue and wipe his lips.

“It was how I knew every time they erased your memory of me.”

“From a bench?” I clarify doubtfully, wondering if the fever is making him delusional.

He attempts a nod but his head barely moves. “Every morning when you woke up, you were supposed to bury something under the bench.”

“Bury something? Like what?”

His smile is strained as he remembers. “It was always different. Some days a flower. Other days a rock. One time you buried a spoon. It was your signal to me that you remembered.”

“Remembered what?” I ask.

“Me.”

I fall silent, pressing my lips together.

Zen continues. “If I arrived and didn’t find anything buried under the bench, I knew that they had erased me again. And that I’d have to start all over.”

“How did you find the strength to do it so many times?” I ask. “Why did you keep coming back when you knew I’d look at you like you were a stranger?”

He closes his eyes and for a moment I think he’s fallen back asleep. But then he whispers, “You never looked at me like I was a stranger. That’s how I knew they could never win.”

I rest my head on his chest, listening to his irregular heartbeat.

“I haven’t forgotten, you know,” he says.

“Forgotten what?”

“What we promised to do. In the woods. Are you still ready?” His words come out choppy. Disjointed.

I close my eyes, remembering that unfamiliar craving I felt when I was lying on top of him. The warm desire that flooded through me. Zen’s promise that whatever it was would bring us closer together. As close as we could ever be.

Remembering how we were torn apart—by sickness, by guards, by Diotech—before we could hold true to our promise.

I lift my head and lock onto his dark eyes. “Of course. I can’t wait.”

His lips curl into a weak smile and he drifts to sleep like that. His breathing falls back into an easy rhythm and his body goes still again.

I glance at the clock on the nightstand. It reads 7:05.

I don’t know if Cody has had ample time to digest everything he’s learned or what kind of mental state he’s in but I need to get out of this room. I need to breathe different air. See different faces. Occupy a new space. I bend forward to kiss Zen’s hand and then set it to rest by his side. I rise achingly to my feet and ease open the door. Completely unsure of what I’ll find on the other side.

39

OFFSPRUNG

The delicious smell of food cooking wafts into my nostrils and nearly knocks me over as soon as I enter the hallway. My mouth starts watering and a gurgle emanates from my stomach. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I haven’t eaten since … well, since 1609.

And the last meal I had there was stale bread and water in a dirty prison cell.

To say that I’m hungry would be a severe understatement.

The walls of the hallway that leads into the main area of the house are covered with square frames. Each one holds a small screen in the center that plays a series of photos and videos in a constant loop.

I must not have noticed them when I first came in, too distracted by helping Zen. But now I pause long enough to watch one complete its full cycle, starting with a photo of a tiny infant wrapped in a blue blanket, transitioning to a video of a larger, pudgy baby taking wobbly steps across a carpet, then a little boy with bright red hair and a sprinkling of freckles on his face blowing emphatically toward two candles in a cake, and finally ending on a still picture of that same boy, dressed in a white collared shirt and navy-blue shorts, with a backpack on his shoulder.

“That was his first day of school last year,” Cody says as he comes up next to me. “We couldn’t put the video in the frame because the footage was too shaky. My wife was crying so hard.”

For a moment I’m speechless. I gawk openmouthed at Cody. “You’re a father?”

He beams back at me. The previous sinister version of him that stormed out of the guest room is suddenly nowhere to be found.

He nods. “He’s my whole world.”

Now it’s my turn to be completely rocked by the truth. Cody? A husband? And a father?

It’s too much.

When I look at him, I still see the moody, pimple-faced thirteen-year-old boy who got grounded for helping me sneak out of the house.

“What’s his name?” I ask.

“Reese.” I marvel at how bright his face becomes when he says this. It’s as though someone is lighting him up from the inside. “He’s five and I’m convinced he’s already smarter than I am.”

“Well, that’s not hard,” I joke.

Cody raises his eyebrows. “Hey, look who mastered sarcasm.”

“You remember.”

“I remember everything about you.” I watch his face color with that familiar shade of red as he looks away. I’m happy to see some parts of him haven’t changed. “I guess I had a pretty bad crush on you.”

“Crush?” I ask.

He still refuses to meet my eye. “I liked you. A lot.” He lets out a small snort. “Don’t tell my wife.”

I glance back at the frame, taking in the boy’s round blue eyes and freckled face. “He looks like you.”

“Well, let’s just hope when he gets to be thirteen he’ll start looking more like his mother.”

I let out a laugh that feels like it’s been trapped in me for years. “I remember your mom telling me you were at an awkward age when we first met.”

“My mother had a way of downplaying the truth. I was a complete nerd.”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

He brushes a chunk of dark blond hair from his forehead. “It’s something you never have to worry about being.” He falls quiet.

“Look,” he says after a moment, his voice turning somber. “I want to say thank you.”

This surprises me. “For what?”

“For trusting me with … well, everything. I know it took a lot of courage to show me those things. I’m sorry I walked out. It was…”—he pauses, struggling for the words—“it was a lot to process. I’m still trying to sort through it all. You know, make sense of it.”

“I know,” I say softly.

I feel something warm against my hand and when I look down I see Cody has wrapped his fingers around mine. “We’ll figure out what’s wrong with him,” he vows.

Gratefulness wells up inside me, threatening to overflow from my eyes. “Thanks,” I whisper.

He gives my hand a tug. “C’mon,” he says, his entire demeanor shifting, lightening. “I want you to meet my family.”

I’m not sure what Cody has told his wife about the strange teenage girl in his house—if he’s even had a chance to tell her anything. I wince when I step into the kitchen and see a petite and slender attractive woman with long red hair pouring a burgundy liquid from a bottle into two stemmed glasses. I guess after the way Mrs. Pattinson acted about having me in her home, I’ve come to expect the worst when meeting new people.

But it quickly becomes apparent that Cody’s wife is
nothing
like Mrs. Pattinson because when she looks up at me, she has a beaming smile on her face. She wipes her hands quickly on a towel that hangs from the oven and flitters over to me.

“Seraphina,” she says brightly. “It’s so lovely to meet you!”

She pulls me into a hug, a greeting that still confuses me, but I manage to return the gesture with a clumsy pat on her back. She releases me and holds me at arm’s length. “I’m Ella.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

“Would you like something to drink? Water?”

I nod. “Yes, please.”

Ella retrieves a glass from a cabinet and fills it with water from a thin spigot installed on the sink. When she hands it to me, the first thing I notice is how crystal clear it is. I’d grown so accustomed to the slightly brownish color of the water we drank on the Pattinsons’ farm. My first sip is glorious. It’s so fresh and clean. Like I’m drinking directly from the sky. I finish the entire glass in a single gulp.

Ella laughs and takes the glass from me. “Thirsty?”

“I guess so. It’s been a long day.”

Ella gives me a pitying look from the sink as she runs the spigot again. “I do hope your friend is better soon.”

“Me, too,” I say quietly.

“Well, you must join us for dinner,” she says, handing me the refilled cup. “Cody is an excellent cook.”

I raise my brows at Cody. For some reason, I simply can’t picture the thirteen-year-old boy from my memory, who did nothing but read science magazines and play video games, cooking a meal. “Really?”

Cody chuckles. “It was a matter of necessity. Either learn how to cook or be forced to eat takeout every night.” He walks over to his wife and tenderly kisses her shoulder.

She shrugs. “Guilty as charged. Cooking is just not in my DNA.”

Cody and I share a quick look before he clears his throat. “Let’s eat.”

“Sweets,” Ella says to Cody, “will you call Reese down?”

Cody walks over to a staircase off the living room and yells, “Reese! Dinner!”

“I thought you were working late tonight?” Ella asks her husband.

“I was planning to. But something more important came up.” He shrugs and gives me a wink.

Working late?

I automatically flash to the memory. The one that takes place at two in the morning tomorrow. But my thoughts are interrupted by the patter of excited, tiny footsteps as a red blur comes whizzing down the stairs. I’m fairly certain he’s moving as fast as I do. He skips the last two steps and leaps energetically into Cody’s arms.