“When I wore it while awake, it only showed what I was seeing,” Aris says as she fits the helmet on Metis’s head.
The image on the computer is of herself staring back. She smiles.
“Okay, now close your eyes,” she says.
Metis does. The image turns black. Then globs of lights and shadows float around the screen.
“Nothing,” she says.
“Well, I’m not really dreaming.” He opens his eyes.
“You want to try?”
“Let’s go to the bed.”
Aris narrows her eyes. As much as she loves Metis, her body needs rest.
Metis chuckles. “I’ll be good. Promise.”
“Should we use Absinthe?” she asks.
“No, let’s stick to the plan.”
They had agreed that Metis would be the one to take the vial of Absinthe after Tabula Rasa if they wake up with no memories. His mind contains more images of their past together. They think the fortress inside his brain may be stronger because of music.
Aris places the helmet on Metis’s head. It is a little more difficult with him lying down.
“Are you comfortable?” she asks.
“Umm-hmm. I’d be more so if you were lying next to me,” he says.
“But no one would be looking at the computer.”
“Maybe we can do it another time,” he says.
“No, no, no. That’s what you said yesterday. You can’t slither out of this again. Just close your eyes and try to think calm thoughts.”
“Not sure if I can at the moment.” He grabs her hand and brings it toward his leg.
She takes her hand back. “Well, you’re just going to have to try harder. You promised.”
“All right, all right.”
After a long while, Metis’s breathing becomes slower and steadier. His chest rises and falls to the rhythm of his breath. He is slowly sinking into the arms of sleep.
The image on the computer changes. At first it looks hazy, as if she is gazing through thick fog. Then she sees green. The color separates into different shades, slowly revealing an image of leaves on a tree. A leaf falls and lands on a path. A park. She sees a hand. The long fingers of Metis. The hand is holding another. Aris sees a glimpse of silver. A ring. She raises her left hand and sees that it matches the one on the screen.
The image changes. She sees herself in a garden through a window. It is the garden in the back of Metis’s Victorian house. Has he always been there? She thought the Dwelling Council assigns housing randomly. Maybe that is not the case for some. It would be a difficult task to move a grand piano from one place to another every cycle.
The image on the computer increases in luminosity until the only thing Aris sees is bright white. Then slowly it takes shape. A room with white walls. White bedding. She sees her own sleeping face, her long hair spraying on a pillow. She is Metis watching herself sleep. They are at the beach cottage. The image from Metis’s perspective is clearer than hers. She looks over at him. She feels like the creator of the universe, watching everything across different times through different eyes.
The helmet works.
It is their salvation—a way for them to get back their memories so they can spend the next cycle living without pain.
She hears a sound. A low hum. A buzzing in the air.
What is it?
She has heard this sound before. Dread clutches at her stomach.
Drones!
She shakes Metis. He opens his eyes and confusion crosses his face. He sees her and springs up. His face is drained of blood.
Aris pulls the helmet from his head and grabs the computer. She stuffs them into her backpack and shoves the bag under the bed.
“Look for an exit!” Metis yells.
They feel along the walls for anything resembling a door. Aris pushes at spots she thinks may reveal a secret door. Nothing.
Then Aris hears bodies forcing themselves through the passageway. The suffocating feeling returns. A man in a brown fedora appears. Then another. And another. And . . .
Chapter Twenty-Four
Aris opens her eyes. The light is bright and piercing. She blinks to adjust, and the room slowly reveals itself. The whiteness is blinding. The walls and floor glow as if lit from within. Flowing through her is a calmness that feels eerily foreign, as if she does not have a worry in the world. There is no fear in her, and that makes her wonder if she should be afraid. Could she be dead?
But if she is dead, why is there a feeling of tightness on her arms? She looks down and expects to see two strong hands on them. Instead, there are silver bracelets around the smallest part of her thin wrists. She saw one like this on Benja the morning she picked him up from the police station. She wonders why they are on her, but beyond that, she does not care.
“Hello?” she says. Her voice is lost in her parched throat.
She tries to pull up her arms, more out of curiosity than anything. They are immovable. The bracelets anchor her to the chair she is sitting on. They are not uncomfortable, so she focuses her attention instead on moving her legs. They, too, are rooted in place. She is trapped in the chair. But she is in no hurry, she tells herself. She will sit here awhile.
The door opens. Officer Scylla enters.
“Hello, Aris. It’s nice to see you again.”
“Where are the rest of you?” Words fall out of her brain like a river without a dam to filter and block its flow. You’re being quite rude, Aris, she thinks.
He smiles.
She wonders if the many Officer Scyllas were from a dream. Maybe they were a figment of her imagination. Maybe this moment is a dream.
“Are you real?” she asks.
“Yes, I am. My brothers are back at their police stations.”
“Brothers?”
“Well, that’s what we call each other. But to be scientifically accurate, we’re clones.”
Her mind shrugs it off. There is a constant throb in the back of her head. The
