Unremembered (Unremembered #1)(49)

My hands fall limp at my sides as I surrender.

I close my eyes and let go. Because I don’t have a choice.

‘Do you have to leave so soon?’

I recognize my own voice. I’m speaking to someone.

I glance up to see him. Rio. Standing by the front door.

My front door.

It’s the same living room.

The same house.

He nods solemnly. ‘Yes. I’m sorry, Sera. But I have to get back to work.’ He raises his finger to the white plate on the wall. The electronic door beeps.

‘When will you be home?’ I ask.

Home.

The word yanks me out.

Did he live with me?

In the barn he told me that I was his greatest creation. Does that mean he’s my . . .

But I can’t bring myself to think it.

Instead I remind myself what Zen said. It was all a manipulation. A lie. None of it was real.

‘I’ll be back in a few hours,’ Rio replies. But he doesn’t leave right away. He lingers by the door, hesitating, before turning back slowly and asking, ‘Did you have fun today?’ His voice is light and cheerful but there’s something in his eyes that doesn’t match.

Regret?

Sorrow?

Remorse?

Guilt.

The girl in the memory was the one who asked the question but now I’m the one who answers it. I didn’t recognize it back then when I was standing in that living room. I didn’t have the right frame of reference. But now I do. Because I’ve been haunted by that very same emotion. And it leaves a mark.

A mark that looks like that.

‘Yes!’ I say, swooning slightly. ‘It was a perfect day.’

He smiles. A sad, tired smile that almost looks like something else entirely. ‘Good. I’m glad.’

The room fades to white.

I keep my eyes closed. Even though I know it’s over. I can’t face reality yet. I’m not sure I even know what that is any more.

‘A perfect day.’

That was my response.

Exactly as Zen described.

But Rio wasn’t really asking me about my day. He was asking if I believed the lie. He was making sure the memory implant was a success.

My eyes snap open and land directly on the door. The muscles in my legs explode with fire. I heed their request and break for the door, crossing the room in a blur.

I can’t stay here another minute.

Zen leaps from his chair but doesn’t attempt to chase after me. I think he knows he’ll never be able to keep up. Instead he tries to apprehend me with his words.

‘Sera. Please. Don’t.’

It works. The anguish in his voice brings me to a stop just short of the door.

‘You can’t keep running away every time you’re afraid,’ he cautions me. ‘At some point you have to stay and fight for what you know is right.’

I stare longingly at the door handle, my fingers twitching. My whole body screaming.

‘I stole these memories from Diotech so that I could show you. So you could see it for yourself. Because I need you to trust me. And I knew you wouldn’t believe me any other way.’ His voice cracks, but the intensity never breaks. ‘Sera, please,’ he implores. ‘I need you back on my side.’

Despite every impulse that’s urging me out that door, I turn and glance back, moisture pooling on the surface of my eyes.

‘I know how hard it is for you to hear all of this,’ Zen continues, ‘because I’ve watched you learn the truth before. When we discovered it together. But we had more time then. To let it sink in. We don’t have that luxury now. They’re coming for you. They won’t stop until they find you. And they will take you back there.’

The first tear leaks out, tracing a crooked line down my cheek. ‘Was none of my life real?’ I whisper.

He exhales, his shoulders falling. ‘I was real,’ he says.

He takes one step towards me. Then another. Moving slowly as though he was approaching a frightened injured animal in the woods. And I guess that’s what I must look like right now. It’s certainly how I feel.

He stops only inches away. Then he reaches out and cups my locket in his hand.

‘That’s why I put the pebble in here,’ he says. ‘So if you were ever in doubt, you could touch it and feel it and know that what we had was never fake. It was never generated by a computer and implanted in your brain. It was always real.’

I begin to shiver. It starts out small. A delicate tremble. But then it grows. Stronger and harder, until I’m shaking violently. My teeth chattering. My body convulsing.

Zen runs to the makeshift bed in the centre of the classroom and returns with the blanket. As soon as he wraps it around me, I crumple. Every muscle from my head to my feet giving out one by one, like a chain reaction.

Zen catches me just before I hit the floor. Then, in one fluid motion, he drapes my limp hand around the back of his neck, bends down and, with his elbow tucked under my knees, scoops me effortlessly into his arms.

My head sags against his chest as he carries me back to the foam pad on the floor and lowers me to it. I collapse on my side, my legs rejoicing and my head sinking eagerly into the pillow. It’s only now that I realize how tired I am.

I peer up at the clock on the wall. It’s 3:42 in the morning.