“This is a good illusion,” I said, finally. “Flawless even. The smells, the sights, the touch –”
Jennifer backed away. “Sir… are you… are you alright?”
“Stop it.” I snarled. “This isn’t real. I know it isn’t.”
“Sir, should I call –”
“Shut up,” I said, closing my eyes again. “Shut up. Shut up.” I opened my eyes. “Is this supposed to be a dream? A nightmare? Who are you, and why are you doing this?”
“I – I don’t understand.”
I took a deep breath, and counted backward from ten. Counting down until I reached one, I returned to my seat. “Even if you somehow could make a perfect replica of my world, you wouldn’t be able to get everything.”
I tapped my pockets and froze once I felt it. My hand slipped within, a familiar key attached to military dog tags emerged from within. My hand, shakily, reached for the desk, the bottom drawer. I inserted the key, turned it, the sound of the mechanism unlocking hitting my ears with a click. Jennifer stood a fair distance away from me as I opened the bottom left drawer.
The contents were as I remembered it. An old Cuban cigar. A bygone-era handheld console. A small picture of her –
My mother.
“This isn’t funny.”
No one in the world should have known the contents of this drawer. No illusion in the world should have brought it before me, in vivid detail. My mother’s face, complete with blonde hair, dark eyes and an empty, almost hollow smile.
“This isn’t fucking funny.”
Not an illusion. A memory. I was in my memory. I was reliving my memory. Why am I reliving my memory? Was this the work of Erzili? The work of the memory-thief she spoke of? No, no, it couldn’t be possible.
“Sir – ”
“I said shut up.”
I slammed my hands against the table, gritting my teeth. Think, Janus, think. Someone was making me relive my memory. What was the last thing I remembered?
I remember kissing Erzili, and then –
Then having sex. Erzili was the perfect lover, because of the ability to morph and change shape and form. The experience had been nothing like I’d ever remembered –
Focus, Janus.
There were no recollections of finishing. No recollections of how the night ended. One minute, I was having sex with Erzili, the next, I was waking up here, within my memories. I didn’t understand how. I didn’t know what happened in between that time frame.
“Erzili!” I called.
“Sir –”
“Erzili! What’s going on? Are you there?!”
Jennifer, no, my memory of Jennifer, grew even further concerned. “Sir… I – I think I’ll come back…”
She slinked away, past the door, and I snarled as I chased after her. “Come back here!”
The door slammed shut behind her. I reached for it, pulling with the full force of my might, but it wouldn’t budge. It wouldn’t move. I grit my teeth even harder. Taking another, fuller, deeper breath, I realized it was exactly what they wanted. Whoever it was, whatever it was, that put me in here, wanted me to panic. To get angry. To toy with me.
I wouldn’t play into their hands.
Instead, I plopped down, on the red rug of my office, and crossed my legs. Closing my eyes, I cleared my mind, and forced my shoulders to relax. If they wanted to play psychological mind games with me, they certainly chose the wrong person.
Minutes passed. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. It could have been days. I fought off, with all my intensity, any desire to panic. All desire to rage and rant. Think of it as a mini-vacation.
Meditation was not something I ever did. The first few hours were the worst, as I found my mind overwhelmed with thought after thought of how I was going to escape. With concern after concern of why I was here. Pushing back the thoughts to enter a further state of Zen was needed, especially as I was sure that my attacker’s patience would run out before mine did.
“Disappointing as always.”
My lips thinned at a familiar voice.
“And yet, as always, your brothers surpass you.”
I took a deep breath. “First, you bring my secretary, and now, you bring him?”
I couldn’t remember his name. I couldn’t forget his face. His voice. His gait, slow, steady, each step carrying more weight than I could ever hope to muster. I remembered imitating him once, trying, and failing, over and over again to have that same seamless grasp of grace and power. I never succeeded. In the end, I merely found another way to disappoint him.
He was a tall man. With a mustache that was combed to elegance, hair slicked back, dyed and gelled, and eyes sharper than that of a raven. Even knowing that it was a mere memory of him didn’t stop my back from instinctively gesturing straighter. It didn’t stop my form from immediately getting tense.
“What do you think you’re doing, foolish child?”
“You’re just a memory of him. Get lost.”
His cane, the family cane he always had with him, struck hard against the floor. “Yet, you flinch, as always, foolish child.”
“That’s not my fault.”
“No, foolish child. It is your fault. It was always your fault. I never treated your brothers the same. It was you, always you, fueling my ire. My wrath. Pushing me, child, pushing me to render correction after correction. Because you couldn’t learn. You never learned. You left me no choice foolish child.”
I took a breath. It’s just a memory. He’s not real.
“You have managed, with no effort of your own, to find yourself in a position of power, have you not?”
My breath stilled. I locked my gaze with his.
“How do you know that?”
“You will fail, as you always do. You will disappoint, as you always do. Because in the end, foolish
