Alternity (32 page)

I sigh, feeling very old, even though I now know I’m a mere babe of three months. “Didn’t you hear a word Duske said? You’re not losing me again. I’m not Mariah. Your precious Mariah is lying in a drawer.”

“I meant lose you again like when you went back to Earth. As Skye,” Dawn corrects.

I screw up my face in frustration. “But don’t you get it? I’m not Skye either! I’m no one! I’m just some freaking clone that, at the end of the day, doesn’t really even exist. You were right when you said being with me is like being with a shell. That’s all I am.”

Dawn turns to me, eyes wild, face haunted. “Skye, don’t say that,” he says. “Don’t buy into their game. You’re a person. Just like me or anyone else. You’re real. Special.”

“Special? Please. I’m nothing more than a puppet designed to promote government propaganda. Everything about me, everything in my head is all made up.” I squeeze my hands into fists, angry tears blurring my vision and pity wracking my insides. “Admit it, Dawn. You never loved me. You only wanted me because you thought deep down I was really your ex-girlfriend. But I’m not. And I never was.”

“You’re wrong,” Dawn exclaims, dropping back to his knees in front of me. “You’re so, so wrong. Sure, my early affections for you may have been sparked because I thought you were Mariah. But I’ve known for a while now that you aren’t.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious,” he says. “Mariah was a wonderful person, and at one time I loved her more than life itself. In a way, I probably always will hold a special spot for her in my heart.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “You can’t imagine what it means to me to find out that she didn’t really betray us. That, even weakened by addiction, she stayed strong and never sold us out. Never took the easy road. What a girl she was!”

“Yes, yes, the great and wonderful Mariah,” I mutter, trying to keep the bitterness at bay. His lauding is not exactly making me feel any better.

“It’s funny,” he says, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I figured that finding out the truth would finally allow me to put my anger aside. But the weird thing is, it’s already long gone.” He smiles. “And that’s got a lot to do with you.”

I cock my head. “What did I do?”

“You were just you. Passionate. Self-sacrificing. Patient. Kind. You helped even pigheaded, stuck-in-the-past me realize that it really is possible to learn to love again. To fall head over heels for someone who is totally different than Mariah but equally as special.”

“But how can you love me?” I ask, choking on my words. “I’m not even a person. I’m not real.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dawn asks, incredulous. “In the short time you’ve been here, you’ve done so much. And not for your own gain. When given the chance to go home, you decided to stay. You risked your life by seducing Duske to get his thumbprint. Then you risked it again by coming here with me. You did this all to save a people you didn’t even know. To redeem a world that isn’t even yours. And you weren’t after fame and glory from your heroics. You helped because you couldn’t bear to see people suffer. You’ve done more in the few months you’ve been alive than most people do in their entire lives. I’m in awe of you. And I’m in love with you.”

Tears fall from my eyes as I listen to his words. Could it be true? Could at some point his feelings have really shifted from mourning Mariah to loving me?

“Before you came I’d given up hope. I’d quit the Eclipsers and resigned myself to living an empty life,” Dawn continues. “You changed all that. Now, when I look at you, I get this crazy feeling inside. A feeling that we could take over the world or something.” He searches my face with an earnest, open expression. “Mariah means nothing to me anymore. I love you, Skye.”

It’s all I can bear. I throw myself into his arms, burying my head into his shoulder, sobbing. “I love you, too,” I cry. “So much more than anything, ever. You say I’m noble, but the truth is, one of the main reasons I came back was for you.”

Dawn pulls out of our embrace, then leans forward to press his lips against mine. I kiss him, knowing that this may be the last time I recognize his lips. He lays me down on the cot, crawling on top of me, and kissing me over and over again. Every caress—every touch—is a knife through my heart as I realize it may be the last. I desperately try to burn memories of each touch into my brain. Memories that can’t be erased, no matter how strong the magnet. The trail of kisses against the hollow of my throat. The tender fingers tracing my waist. How is it possible I could forget all of this? Forget him? I’d easier forget my very self.

Oh god, this isn’t fair.

We fall asleep in each other’s arms, but it’s not a restful slumber. I keep waking up, panicked and worried about falling back into dreamland and losing my last moments of reality. I want to remember this night forever: the warmth of Dawn’s arms wrapped securely around me, his body spooning mine. His heartbeat, his musky scent, his sweet breath exhaling in my ear—priceless sensations that should embed in my brain as everlasting memories, not be robbed from my consciousness to further a government plot.

But there’s nothing we can do. And soon, way too soon, the prison door clangs open. Jarred awake, we leap from bed, realizing the time is here. The point of no return is upon us too soon. Two guards enter the cell. Dawn steps in front of me, fists raised. He’s not letting me go without a fight.

But the guards aren’t interested. They club him several times until he stumbles, then collapses to the floor. “No!” he cries, pain and fear choking his voice. “Don’t take her! Don’t you bastards take her from me!”

The guards laugh. One of them kicks Dawn in the stomach. He bellows in rage, helpless and emasculated on the filthy floor. The guard with the club approaches me, waving it in my face with a smirk. “You going to come along quietly, Sister?” he asks. “Or would you like to be ‘managed’ as well?”

“Screw you,” I growl, kicking him in the groin. If I’m going to go down, it’s going to be fighting. After all, in a few minutes, I won’t remember the pain anyway. But these guys will.

The guard doubles over, stumbling backward. The club goes skidding across the floor. I make a dive for it, my one hope, my one chance, but the second guard reaches it before I do. He picks it up and strikes me hard enough to make me see stars. I collapse. He laughs and motions to the first guard to help him pick me up. One takes my shoulders and the other my feet, and they carry me outside the cell and onto a gurney. They must have expected they’d have to beat me. Or maybe they would have even if I hadn’t resisted.

I look back at Dawn, who’s still lying on the floor. There’s blood on his face. Tears flood my eyes. This will be the last time I ever see him. Or at least the last time I recognize him.

“Skye,” Dawn calls out in a hoarse voice. “I love you. No matter what happens, never forget that I love you!”

“I love you, too, Dawn,” I tell him, forcing the words from my throat. They seem so useless. Though, at least for him, he’ll be able to remember.

Is it better to have loved and forgotten than to have never loved at all?

“What a sweet good-bye,” sneers the guard. “Too bad in a few minutes you won’t know this guy from Duske.”

Furious, I spit on him. The guard just laughs, not even bothering to wipe the loogie off his cheek. If only I had my sword, I’d chop him into a thousand pieces. A thousand and ten pieces, so even his mother wouldn’t recognize him. And I’d do it slowly, too. So he’d feel every cut. So he’d know what it’s like to lose something he cares about.

But I’m weaponless, powerless, and so I lie helpless on the gurney as the guards wheel me down the hall and into a sterile, all-white room—a sharp contrast to the disgustingly filthy cell. From the stethoscopes and hammers and blood-pressure cuffs hanging on the wall, I gather this is some kind of doctor’s office. But I know I’m not just here for a checkup. The guards drag me up onto the bed and bind my arms and legs in four-point restraints, then exit the room.

A few moments later, a man in a white coat enters the room. He’s about fifty, slender of build, with graying blond hair and a stethoscope around his neck. He pulls a chart from the wall and peers down at it before speaking.

“So, you’re here for a memory transplant,” he says, hanging the clipboard back on the wall.

“You’ll never get away with this,” I tell him, though I’m not sure what the hell will stop him. “You can erase my memory a thousand times. But I’ll find you, someday, somehow. I’ll track you to the ends of the earth—er, Terra—and make you pay for what you’ve done.”

“Do whatever you feel is necessary,” he says mildly. I squeeze my hands into fists, furious that I can’t get any reaction from him.

He places the cap over my head and flips a switch on a large metal machine next to my bedside. A whirring noise starts. “Here we go,” he says. “Don’t worry. This won’t hurt a bit.”

But he’s lying. A moment later, icy cold shards stab through my scalp. The machine’s whirring grows louder and louder, its only competition: my screams of agony. I can feel tiny fingers invading my brain, robbing my thoughts, sucking out my memories. Oh God, it’s really happening.

I desperately try to cling to one simple image: Dawn’s face. I etch it firmly in my consciousness. If everything else goes, at least maybe I can somehow hold on to that. Somehow, some way. Grab the memory of his love and not let go, no matter what the pressure.

But it’s like trying to hold on to grains of sand. Eventually, like everything else, even Dawn slips from my grasp.

TWENTY-TWO

I open my eyes. I’m in a small white room, strapped to some kind of bed in four-point restraints. There are instruments everywhere, as if this is some kind of doctor’s office or something.

But how did I get here? And where is here? And while we’re asking the questions, who am I, anyway?

I have no idea.

TWENTY-THREE

I lie, tied to a bed, trying to think, trying to process, to remember, for what seems like hours. It’s no use. I can’t recall my name, never mind who I am or why I’d possibly be lying here, strapped to a bed. All I know is that I’m terrified and my empty brain races a mile a minute, trying to make sense of it all.

A middle-aged man in a white lab coat enters the room, flanked by two uniformed guards. He lifts a plastic cap from my head and pulls out a lighted instrument from his pocket to peer into my eyes.

“Who are you?” he asks in a conversational tone.

“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me that,” I reply.

I notice the guards tossing each other self-satisfied glances. Evidently my answer pleases them, though I don’t have the faintest idea why it would. The doctor says nothing, continuing with his examination, listening to my heartbeat with his stethoscope and then following up with a check on my blood pressure. I know all the tests he’s doing. I get what each of them is designed to do. I understand words, can interpret body language. So, how come I can’t remember who the hell I am or what I’m doing here?

“She’s good to go back,” the doctor announces to the guards. “She’ll have to rest a couple of hours before we perform stage two of the operation. Go ahead and inform your boss that the procedure was successful.”

I cock my head in confusion over his words. Stage two of the operation? I’m supposed to undergo some kind of surgery? More surgery? I glance down at my body, searching for marks of some previous procedure. But there’s no evidence I was ever touched.

“What’s going on here?” I demand, my voice quaking.

The doctor waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry,” he says, walking over to the sink to clean some instruments. “You’ll understand everything after phase two.” He turns to the guards. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he demands. “Take her back to her cell.”

“They haven’t removed the other prisoner yet,” one of the guards says.

“What does it matter?” the doctor says. “She won’t know him.”

Appearing satisfied, the guards step up to my sides and unlatch my restraints. They help me to my feet. I’m weak, but I can walk. I wonder for a moment if I should fight them, try to get away. But where would I go? Best maybe to bide my time and figure out what’s going on before I make any rash moves.

I regret this decision a moment later when they drag me into a small holding cell, near empty save a small cot in one corner. I wrinkle my nose. The place is filthy. Disgusting. The stench is nearly overwhelming. I shudder. Am I a prisoner here? And if so, who are my captors and what do they want from me?

The guards shove me into the cell and lock the door behind me. It’s then that I realize I’m not alone. There’s a teenage guy in here, probably the one they were referring to, squatting in a corner of the cage, his head buried in his hands. When the cell door slams shut, he leaps to his feet, his face white and questioning. His eyes fall on me and I gasp at their beauty. They’re so blue they almost glow. And the way he’s staring at me … as if he knows me. As if he’s had a lifetime with me. I search my empty brain for recognition, but none comes. I have no idea who this guy is. If he’s a stranger or soulmate.

“Skye!” the guy cries as he rushes over, throwing his arms around me. Alarmed by his sudden embrace, I jump back, but he grabs on, clamping down on my shoulders with strong hands. Reflexively, I knee him in the groin. He stumbles backward, hunching over, hands over his privates. His squints up at me, his expression a mix of physical agony and mental anguish. Suddenly I feel bad that I hurt him. Though, in my defense, he shouldn’t have just jumped me like that.

“Nice to see you again, too, Skye,” he says, retreating to the cot. He slumps down and it groans under his weight. “Déjà vu all over again, I guess.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I demand, keeping my back to the cell door. “And who are you? And who—” I start to ask about my own identity, but think twice before the words escape my lips. I might not want to let on how vulnerable I am right now. He may try to take advantage. Make up some story to get me on his side before he rapes and murders me.

The guy stares at me for a minute, with a level of horror I’ve never seen before on a face. (At least that I can remember.) Then he buries his face in his hands and wails. “God!” he says. “I can’t do this again. I just can’t.”