Undiscovered (Unremembered #1.5)(11)

And that was the part I clung to. The part I pulled my strength from.

Because I knew, without ever having to hear the words from her mouth, that it was the part that loved me back.

Some days I would get lucky. She would be waiting for me, a smile brightening her entire face. One time she remembered me for four days in a row.

These were the days that terrified me the most.

Because Diotech never did anything by accident. They didn’t make mistakes.

They were sustaining her memories on purpose. And that purpose—whatever it may have been—gave me nightmares.

As the months wore on, these “lucky” days became more and more frequent, making me feel as though they were leading up to something, preparing for something. I decided I needed a more concrete way to track their movements. I needed some data of my own.

“Sera,” I said, lightly touching her arm.

She looked up from the story she was reading, her eyes warm and inquisitive.

“I want to try something.”

She stayed silent, her eyebrows raising ever so slightly.

I glanced around the sparse front yard of her house, and my eyes fell on the marble bench. The one she’d lifted over her head one day to show me her strength. I pointed at it. “You see that bench?”

She nodded.

I struggled, trying to figure out the right way to word it. “Every time you get home, I want you to put something under that bench.”

I used the phrase “every time you get home” because I knew that’s the way she remembered her mysterious daily trips. As “outings” with the man she referred to as her father. I was beginning to wonder if she ever really went anywhere at all. Except maybe a lab somewhere in this sector.

But regardless of what really happened each day, she always seemed to remember going somewhere.

An artificial memory to hide the truth. To hide whatever Diotech didn’t want her to know.

She studied the bench. “What do you want me to put there?”

I shrugged and leaned back on my hands. “Anything you want.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I promise to explain it later. But for now, will you just agree to do it?”

“Yes.”

“Repeat it back to me,” I told her.

“Every time I come home I will place something under the bench. For you.”

I smiled. “Thank you.”

The next day, I was anxious to see if there would be anything there. If there was, it meant her memory of me hadn’t been tampered with. If there wasn’t, it meant I would be starting over yet again.

It was a small enough memory. One line out of a four-hour conversation. I knew it could be easily missed in a review. And that’s what made it the perfect test.

When I climbed the wall the following afternoon, I found the space under the bench empty.





9: Departure


I arrived home that night to find my mother sitting at the kitchen table with her usual heaviness draped around her like a blanket. I felt my stomach drop to my knees as I quickly deduced the only reason she would have to be here. In this apartment.

They found out I was using her fingerprint to access the restricted sector.

She was going to ask me to stop seeing Seraphina.

The willful answer—a resolute no—was already building in my throat, ready to spew out with a spray of venom.

“Lyzender.” My mom’s voice was different than I’d ever heard it. Distant and small. “Sit down.”

I shook my head, knowing I’d have an easier time standing up to her if I was actually standing up.

She pointed to the chair. “Please?”

“Oh, do you live here now?” I asked, the sarcasm thick and sticky on my tongue.

She sighed and looked at me. “I have to leave the compound for a while.”

I blinked in surprise, losing control of my angry fa?ade for only a moment. That was certainly not what I expected her to say.

“Why?” I asked, immediately feeling stupid, especially when I heard the crack in my own voice. It was pointless to give my mother access to any of the emotion I was feeling. I’d learned that a long time ago. My mother didn’t do emotion. She didn’t respond to it. She didn’t encourage it. And she certainly didn’t participate in it. She was a scientist through and through. Emotion was wasted energy that couldn’t be analyzed.

It was as though she were born without any maternal instinct whatsoever.

Why she even had a child was beyond me.

“Research,” she said simply, her face an unchanging blank page. And then, just when I expected her to elaborate, she stood up and walked toward the door.

That’s it?

A single glitching word and she’s gone?

“I’ve asked Dr. Rio to keep an eye on you,” she added.

I scoffed at that. “He’s not my father.”

She nodded. “No, he’s not.” And then she looked at me for a moment longer than usual and said, “Goodbye, Lyzender.”

As she reached for the doorknob I felt the panic rise up in me. I willed it to go away. I tried to swallow it down with all the strength that I had.

You don’t need her! I screamed silently at myself.

But no matter how loud my mind screeched, how hard I fought, I still couldn’t make the feeling go away. I couldn’t stop myself from wanting her to stay.