“I don’t know,” Eerie said, shrugging and looking away nervously.
“Okay, but Edward was saying some stuff about… about how you were like him,” Alex said, frustrated, and not sure why.
“Dead?”
“No… like, maybe, there was something about you that you weren’t telling me.”
“What do you want me to say?” Eerie said. She looked hurt, which was much, much worse than her being angry. “You’ve never asked me anything about myself. Is it my fault that you don’t know anything about me? I didn’t think that you were interested.”
“Oh, fuck, Eerie, that isn’t it all…” Alex said, turning toward her, realizing she was right.
“Why do I have to explain myself to you, anyway?” Eerie demanded. “You are going on vacation with a girl who likes you. A girl you sit next to in class. A girl you hold hands with. And do I ever give you a hard time about it?”
“No, no you don’t, and I didn’t mean to…” Alex said, reaching out his hands to try to hold her.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be touching me, Alex,” Eerie said, slapping his hand away. “Since you aren’t sure that you can trust me.”
“Eerie, please, you have to let me — look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it. I wish I hadn’t said anything at all…”
“How long have you been thinking about this anyway?” Eerie said, abruptly tearful. “Have you been suspicious of me this entire time? Is that why you are always so weird when I try to be nice to you? I hear all the names they call me, you know. All the things they say about me. I didn’t think that you would be like that.”
Alex tried to object, but she turned away, and he didn’t blame her. She was right, and he knew it, sick to his stomach and sick through his heart, he knew it. He also knew that he had nothing to offer to fix it but it lies and flattery, and that both would fall short. He wasn’t surprised when she started to walk away, or that he didn’t do anything to stop her.
“Have a nice trip, Alex,” Eerie said, not looking back at him.
He just stood there, hoping the earth would open up and swallow him, hoping that he could stop his heart from beating just by thinking about it. Nothing of the kind happened. The world remained as before, the girl continued to walk away. He just stood there and watched her go, knowing that if he did nothing, that there would be nothing left between them for him to come back to. Yet all he did was watch her leave.
When Xia felt like this, the only thing to do was clean. He started at the middle of the room, using disinfectant that he made himself. The soap he used left a particular sheen that allowed him to see where he had cleaned already, so he could be precise. He did the floors with a rag, by hand, just to be sure. Then he did the walls. Then he cleaned everything in the kitchen, which was just a half-dozen dishes and a freezer full of bagged, frozen meats and vegetables that he had selected, prepared and vacuum-sealed himself. Then he did the bathroom and the futon he slept on, even though he’d done it the day before. Then he showered, changed clothes, and brushed his teeth.
It didn’t make him feel all that much better.
He put out a package of frozen broccoli and a chicken breast, each in its individual wrapper, to thaw, before he boiled and baked them, respectively. He took one look at the finished product, then put it back in the refrigerator, and had a sip from a sealed bottle of water instead.
Then he went to go change the tape that sealed the cracks in the door.
“Tell me,” Alice suggested playfully, “do you know what your favorite food is?”
The prisoner looked at her warily, blinking to get rid of the water that kept dripping from his hair into his eyes. He was too out-of-breath to respond immediately, but Alice was feeling generous, so she gave him time.
“What?”
His shaky voice belied his gruff tone. Alice’s grin widened another notch.
“Well, honestly, I’ve forgotten mine,” Alice continued brightly. “I thought you could relate, since you have all those cognitive blocks and anti-interrogation routines restricting your memory. It’s more complicated than you would think. I had a turkey with Swiss the other day, and it was okay, but for all I know, that’s my favorite sandwich, right?”
Alice stopped while she leaned over to the side, picking up the industrial sized cattle prod that sat next to her chair, moving it slowly enough that the man could watch her double check the batteries, the power, the weight of the thing. His chest heaved in panic. The whole front of his body was soaked.
“Then the next day, I have roast beef, and I’m like, okay, this has got to be it, right here… it was Robert Fisher, right? Anyway, Robert, I order a roast beef on rye and it’s mind-blowing, and I think maybe I’ve found it, and then that night I go out for Italian food, and it all goes right out the window when I have that pasta with cream sauce and shrimp. It could be that one day I’m going to eat some plain yogurt or whole-wheat crackers or some shit and discover that’s my favorite food. It’s nerve-wracking. What if macaroni and cheese is my favorite food and I keep skipping it in the cafeteria every afternoon? What if I like the donuts with jam inside them best, but pass them up ‘cause they look weird?”
Robert Fisher’s eyes crept up to the man above him, the man with his hands placed on his neck and one shoulder, almost in a friendly way. He was a hard man, and he looked it, all bulky muscle and obvious bad intentions. Then they returned to Alice Gallow, leaning across the chair back and smiling at him, happy as a cat with a mouse.
“What the hell are you-?”
He made it that far and then the man behind him drove his head down, into the bucket that he knelt in front of, cued by the slightest nod from Alice. He struggled and thrashed feebly, but he never managed to dislodge the man’s grip or upend the bucket. Alice started to giggle the moment his head hit the water with a gurgling, choking noise, and the man joined her a moment later.
“This shit never gets any less funny,” Alice said, leaning over the chair to watch.
“Are you ever going to ask him any questions?” The man asked, apparently untroubled by his victim’s rather minor struggles. “I’m starting to feel sort of bad for him.”
Alice snorted.
“Taking a page out of Alistair’s book, are we, Mark? You telepaths are all alike. Softheaded bleeding-heart pansies. What is the point of having all you mind-readers around if we still have to ask people goddamn questions?”
They both laughed again.
“Uh, should I let him up?” Mark asked uncertainly.
“Is he thinking about anything interesting yet?”
“Nope,” Mark said, shaking his massive, stubbly head. “Same nursery rhyme he’s been thinking the whole time, same counter-interrogation telepathic routine. Taos did a good job on the memory locks and the cutouts on their people. Quality psychic engineering.”
Alice swore and looked at the ceiling for a moment.
“Okay,” she said, sighing as Robert Fisher’s head came back into view, breaching the water with a hideous, shuddering gasp followed by coughing and spitting water. Mark dumped him unceremoniously on the concrete, where he writhed and shuddered.
“Now, what I was trying to point out is this,” Alice said, leaning close to the wet man, though not so close that his writhing splashed her. “I have forgotten my favorite food. Other things too, but this is the one that bothers me the most, for some reason. Unless luck or research intervenes, I may die never knowing.”
“Bitch,” Robert Fisher spat, “fuck your — ”
Alice made a disappointed sound and then activated the cattle prod, pushing it firmly to his chest. There was sparking, a loud noise, and then a great deal of screaming and twitching, and some steam coming off his wet shirt where the prod touched. She kept it on for ten seconds.
“Don’t be impatient,” Alice scolded. “I am trying to make a point. My point is that I will die without ever being able to remember what I have forgotten. There is nothing I can do about it. You, however, can have all of your precious memories back, just by wanting them. All you have to do is trigger that psychic safety word they implanted in your mind, where my friend Mark can’t get at it, and it will all come flooding back to you. I am envious.”