Chapter 3: The Forgotten Past (1)

A report reconstructed from the surveillance audio at Campol Summer Camp:

“Have you had dinner?” Morian asked.

“No, sir,” Employee D replied.

“You should have. The staff meals aren’t expensive.” Morian paused briefly. “Well, you must have been drinking. That’s why you threw up in the bathroom after this morning’s staff meeting. It made a very bad impression. We’re a legitimate organization, and working while drunk isn’t allowed. Unless there’s a reason, of course. Sometimes you have to drink for work. But I doubt you had any work-related social engagements. Your job is to clean up, put up tents, and do odd jobs. I’m sure none of your duties involve giving children counseling.”

“You’re right, sir.”

“Let’s leave it there for tonight. People like you don’t read much; you’re uneducated and act on impulse, so I can understand. But listen to me: this is part of educating the children. Parents didn’t send them here just so they could spend a week having fun. They want results. What happens if they complain afterward that their children didn’t learn anything? We’re the ones who’ll be blamed, not you. Understand? If you ask me, you should stop wearing glasses, too. Otherwise people might think you’re educated.”

“Mm.”

“That’s a pretty halfhearted answer. Forget it. I don’t want to argue with you. So why were you drinking last night? Out with friends?”

“Yesterday was the anniversary of my daughter’s death.”

“That’s unacceptable, don’t you think? Everyone has dead relatives. Grandparents, aunts, uncles. You can’t let your personal life interfere with work. Surely you know that much? If everyone fell apart over a little setback, how would the world keep running? What’s next? You kick a dog in the street by accident, then go home and drink and skip work because you feel guilty?”

[Silence.]

“You’ve made enough mistakes for me to have fired you several times already. But I know it’s hard to find a job these days, and everyone’s just trying to make a living, so I let it go. But this time really is unacceptable. You understand that, right? It’s simply unacceptable. Go to Finance and collect your pay later.”

“I understand.”

[Footsteps. A door opened.]

“Wait. Close the door. I’m not finished.”

[The door closed quietly.]

“The kids outside are so noisy. They’re waiting for the bus. Look at them. They were crying their eyes out earlier, and now they don’t have a care in the world. Killing the little animal they spent a week raising and serving it to them doesn’t do anything. If you ask me, we should screen their genes. If either parent’s no good when it comes to breeding, then their children are bound to be useless little parasites wasting food. What’s the point of letting them live?”

“So why did you argue with me back then? Was it because that little girl you were protecting reminded you of your dead daughter?”

“No… Please don’t say that.”

“Don’t get me wrong. You’re young, and you still have time to learn from your mistakes. That’s why I’m telling you these things. I’ve seen plenty of self-righteous young people like you. You think the little bit you learned is impressive, but it’s nothing—”

[An indistinct sound.]

“What did you say? Speak up. And go refill my teacup while you’re at it. You can’t even manage that?”

[Another indistinct sound, followed by a pained gasp.]

“What’s wrong with you? I said pour me some water. Do you not understand plain English?”

[Pained gasping.]

[Suddenly calm, without emotion:] “Don’t you have legs?”

[Water splashed. Glass shattered. Morian had apparently thrown the tea at Employee D, then smashed the cup on the floor.]

“Fuck you! Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that—”

[Two minutes of silence, followed by an explosion.]

[End of recording.]

“So,” Koin said, coming over to look through the one-way glass at the black-haired man in the interrogation room, “you two were college classmates and friends in the same club?”

“That’s what he said. I don’t remember a thing.” Roche rubbed his temple.

“This guy’s had a rough life.” Koin flipped through the statement. “Arian Drake. His parents died in a car accident when he was twenty-one. His daughter died of an ‘unexplained high fever’ before she was a year old. Then his wife killed herself. She didn’t die on the spot, but they spent a fortune trying to save her and still couldn’t. He was working his way through college. He never went back after that. A shame—he was almost done with his doctorate. His file even says he intended to stay on at the university. Probably wanted to become a professor or something. According to the records, he hadn’t held a job for over a year before taking temporary work at the summer camp. He’d been living on welfare most months. In fact, he’s still six figures in debt.”

He handed the folder to Roche. “I have to take him somewhere.”

“That corridor?”

“Possibly.”

“What’ll happen to him? Will he be locked up there forever, or…?” Roche trailed off.

“That’s not our concern.”

“I just wanted to know if there might be a chance he could join us.” Roche hesitated. “I’m not exactly normal myself.”

Roche didn’t remember when or how he’d gained the abilities he had now. All he knew from the memories he still possessed was that he’d once been an ordinary doctor.

Koin looked perfectly relaxed. “That depends on whether he can seize the opportunity.”

“Oh, right.” Just before leaving, Koin stopped to remind Roche, “You’d better not look at his daughter’s file. If you insist on reading it, prepare yourself. It says ‘unexplained high fever,’ but PAA was involved. You can imagine what that scene was like.”

“When the staff arrived, the little girl’s blood was still boiling inside her body.”

He left Roche with those words, giving him time to absorb them on his own.

When Roche finally processed what he’d heard, nausea swept over him. It felt as if a damp, clammy black tentacle had wormed into his stomach and was twisting it inside out. He understood, all at once, why Drake’s wife had killed herself. There weren’t many people who could see their newborn child boiled alive from the inside out and still hold themselves together.

He thought of the recording, too. Morian had spoken about Drake’s daughter without the slightest respect, as if she were a dog. He had even used the little girl’s short life as a tool to bully and discipline an employee who wouldn’t obey.

Roche felt a pang of regret. If Drake had held on for a few more minutes, it would have been Morian sitting in the interrogation room. But at the same time, Roche couldn’t help feeling that Drake’s reaction was only natural. If he’d been in the same situation, he wasn’t sure he’d have handled it any better. At most, he might have stopped short of killing Morian.

Roche hesitated for a long time, but in the end he didn’t open the file. He couldn’t tell if he was avoiding the truth or trying to leave the classmate he no longer remembered with one last shred of dignity. At the very least, he didn’t want to see how Drake had fallen from grace into the mud.

He looked through the glass. Drake remained seated in silence, head bowed. Even when Koin gripped his shoulder and led him away, he never once glanced toward the window.

Roche gathered his papers and headed for the Operations Department office. This was only his first day back, and already he’d stumbled into one mess after another: the Anomalous Entity on the bus, a strange new colleague, an old classmate he didn’t recognize, and flashbacks that kept poking at him every so often. He began to wonder whether he really could do this job.

I should have gone back. At least the army was predictable, and I was used to that life.

Head down, he collided with someone.

“I’m sorry! Are you all right?”

He didn’t have time to pick up the papers scattered across the floor. He hurriedly helped the person he’d knocked down to her feet. She wore a white coat, and her hair was a mess. She waved off his apology, then crouched to help him gather his papers. In no time, she had sorted the files and handed them back.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Actually, I came to find you. Someone asked me to pass along a message—” She broke off and looked over Roche’s shoulder. “Well, it looks like I don’t need to. She’s here herself.”

With that, the woman hurried off, just as briskly as she’d arrived.

It was past nine in the evening. The broad corridor was nearly empty, with only the night-shift staff remaining at their posts. The energy-saving lights were a cold white, stretching Roche’s shadow into a long, thin black matchstick. By comparison, the shadow of the overhead walkway was so heavy and broad it looked like a train car, as if it could crush him into pieces at any moment.

Neither of them spoke. Silence flooded the corridor like icy water. Roche felt as if he were underwater, crushed by such heavy pressure that even breathing was difficult, let alone finding a way to break the standoff.

Something in him urged him to turn around. It felt as if an iron weight, a thousand times heavier than it should have been, hung from his neck.

Pester Linvanx stood on the overhead walkway, looking down at him. Her makeup was immaculate, her expression indifferent. Her cobalt-blue eyes were like two solid glass marbles.

This was the first time Roche had seen her in person since losing his memory.

He stepped back without thinking. He couldn’t even understand why he was acting so timid. He didn’t owe Pester anything.

“Sis… Department Head Linvanx, what did you want?”

“Change your clothes. We’re going out to dinner. The car’s waiting.”

Roche suddenly felt as if the water had receded. He was standing on dry land again, able to breathe freely. Then Pester’s next words lodged in his throat like a lump of uncooked dough.

“Sanchez is paying. He invited former Deputy Director Escher and his family, too.”

The outdoor lights were the usual warm sodium lamps. Orange light spilled across the car windows. Roche sat quietly in the back seat, but he felt so uncomfortable he wanted to jump out. He was used to comfortable, loose clothes and breathable fabric against his skin. Being squeezed into a suit made him feel like a psychiatric patient in his first straitjacket. Even the shirt collar was choking him, never mind the scratchy wool.

“What am I supposed to do?” After sitting tensely in silence for a while, he couldn’t help asking.

Pester didn’t turn around. “It’s a private gathering, not a formal event.”

“But I really don’t remember anything.”

She finally looked at him in the rearview mirror. “A vase doesn’t need ears or eyes. And it certainly doesn’t need a mouth.”