Masked

I walked with my head down, locks of dark hair and burning gray eyes obscured within the relative safety of the soft shadows of my hood, while my hands fisted themselves deep in the pockets of my jacket, fingers brushing against stray threads and dust motes that clumped together to form a shapeless ball.

The lights and sounds of the city, people muttering and hustling two shops down, grated at my nerves until I felt every rigid set of my shoulders like they were carved in stone.

I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be here.

And yet the memories, as vivid and condemning as they were when they chose to flit through my dreams at the most inopportune of times, didn’t actually tell me where I was supposed to be.

A dumpster? A dung heap? A grave?

The last one was probably more accurate than most people would assume.

I ground my teeth together until the ache in my jaw forced me to relax muscle by muscle, until the smooth rhythm of my steps lulled me into a false sense of temporary tranquility. Maybe other people sensed the bubbling fountain of anger and frustration brimming at the surface of my thoughts, though, and were wise enough to stay away because even though I was tromping along a bustling sidewalk on one of the more popular routes to the square, nobody jostled me or bumped into me as I went along. It was just as well, because even though I couldn’t yet place the bottomless anger that hummed through every fiber of my being, I was smart enough to know that keeping to myself right now was probably for the best. 

For others, at least. 

Before my thoughts could spiral deeper into its abyss, a commotion across the street drew my eye to it the way the ethereal glide of a swan’s dive draws the predatory glint of a hunter’s scoped bow. I watched with a vague sense of detachment as a group of people burst out the doors of a coffee shop, nearly tripping over one another in their haste to escape. I spared only a few seconds to take in the contorted expressions of fear marring the people’s faces, their drab clothes in disarray and their gestures and mannerisms frenetic, bordering on manic, before I slowly turned back to my methodical steps down the sidewalk. 

Another crash drew my attention back almost against my will, and amidst the faint twinge of irritation at whatever dared to interrupt this melancholic mood I’d settled in, I felt a brief pulse of surprise wash over me when I glimpsed what had appeared in the frosty panes of the store’s windows. A dark silhouette, hulking and grotesque, stood starkly contrasted between the murky dim light from within versus the glaring bright of the sunlight from outside. I had a moment to appreciate the sheer enormity of the beast before it raised its forearms and in a brilliant burst of violence that resembled the stop-motion silence of an acrobatic assassin at work, the beast shattered the window panes and lunged out into the street. 

Mayhem immediately broke out in a wave that swept people away from the beast chasing after them, but my eyes were instinctively drawn to the coffee shop itself, which was part of a three-story unit that also housed a barber shop and small insurance firm. The beast hadn’t just broken the windows. It had wrecked the entire front frame of the building, and even as the structure tilted alarmingly, I knew that its imminent collapse was at hand. 

I didn’t register running until my body was already in motion, streaking its way past cars that pulled insane maneuvers to avoid me and pedestrians who barely had time to get out of the way before I hurled them aside. I didn’t realize what—or who—I was even aiming for until I was scooping up the little girl frozen in fear in the shadows of the building and setting her aside at a safe distance from the groaning structure. A few seconds later, the entire building collapsed with a muffled whoomph and I felt the heavy waves of the aftershock buffer me as I stood there, a bit dumbfoundedly, wondering if I’d lost my sanity somewhere amidst the fray in following through on such a reckless impulse.

A tug on my pant leg brought me back out of my reverie, and I looked down to see the little girl stare up at me with wide eyes of blue that seemed to search for an answer to the problem at hand within the icy darkness of my own gaze. I hoped for her sake she didn’t find what she was looking for.

“Go home, kid,” I said gently, trying to smooth out the roughness in my voice by pulling my mouth into a questionable smile that probably came closer to a grimace. 

As I finished shooing her away, I was brought back to the chaos at hand by the number of people rushing past me in a panic as their screams rose through the air like the world’s most horrendous concert at play. I started to take a step toward the place where the screams were loudest when my arm was suddenly wrenched viciously to the side and back, and I felt the startlingly familiar cold of metal lock over my wrist.

A brutal jerk of said arm brought me face-to-face with a cop whose expression was set in an unforgiving snarl.

“What,” he bit off, each sharp word spraying spittle in my face. “Have. You. Done?” 

I ignored the wrath twisting the man’s face into an expression of righteous fury and instead scanned his searing eyes, his twisted brow, his dark complexion and crooked nose, all in the fruitless hope that I’d recognize something. It was a futile endeavor that only made me feel more bitterly embroiled in shame afterwards. Here I was, a guy who could recall snippets of things that would apparently happen in the future—in my life, in my actions, in my thoughts—yet I couldn’t remember a shred of the person I’d been two weeks ago. The pain of such hollowness lining my insides had slowly built up in toxicity until I’d felt today’s weight of living yet another meaningless existence nearly shatter me like lightning breaking through a tempest. 

But having seen that inquisitive sparkle in that kid’s eyes, having felt the jarring warmth of her small hand as she’d gripped my arm, I’d felt a lingering spark of her life force stir what remained of my willingness to live on.

So maybe today wouldn’t be the day I caved. My dreams could still be wrong. For once, I hoped it wasn’t predicting the truth.

Remembering my current predicament, I tried to yank my arm back, my failed attempt at suppressing my anger darkening my expression until I looked dangerously close to the edge.

“Look—“ I started to snarl, but the cop cut me off by grabbing the front of my hoodie and yanking me clear off my feet.

“You little—do you know how many lives you’ve taken? How do you think you’re going to pay for this, mmm? How long will they let you rot in jail?” 

I dangled from his grip apathetically, forcing my muscles to relax and tamping down the urge to throttle him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said quietly, my voice barely audible above the clamoring roar of the crowd’s screams and sounds of infrastructure breaking. I thought about drawing the cop’s attention to the citizens who were more in need of protection than I was in need of a dull lecture, but what happened next paralyzed me.

This close to downtown, there were a few more well-to-do shops that had set themselves up around the crowded square, and a few of them boasted colorful billboards that showcased small advertisements and schedules for popular attractions. One of them, however, had switched to a wide view of an anchorman videoing live footage of the wreck happening right now to the square. Even as the cop practically strangled me with his iron grip and filled my ears to bleeding with blistering words I barely understood, my eyes were drawn to the wide, expressive movements of the excitable reporter talking into his microphone. While I couldn’t catch the words broadcasted from the speakers, I recognized the scene the cameraman was zooming in on, and I recognized the startled expression on my own face.

Out of the thousands of people bottlenecked in the square and the beast still rampaging through downtown, the cameraman chose to hone in on me. My wordless question was answered the instant I noticed the words scrolling along the bottom of the screen as a caption to the ongoing scene.

TERRORIST HITMAN FINALLY CAPTURED BY POLICE CHIEF? CHAOS FROM HIS LATEST ATTACK SWAMPING THIS CITY NOW.

My breathing hitched, and for a moment, I wondered how my heart could continue beating when my spirit had evaporated from my body. 

Me.

A madman.

A terrorist.

It made an awful lot of sense, especially considering the puzzling urges of violence I’d repeatedly found myself tamping down on. I hadn’t thought of myself as a murderous type before now, per se, but I certainly hadn’t been all sunshine and flowers. 

And now, seeing as how the evidence seemed heavily weighed against my favor: I, a boy who couldn’t remember anything from his past, really had no right to refute a truth that finally gave him all he needed to know.

Jerking back to the present, my body reacted as instinctively as if I’d been set on fire. My foot crunched into the cop’s face and split his nose, while at the same time I pulled hard on the handcuff, dislocating my thumb and wrenching my hand free in a slight spray of blood.

I was on my feet running as soon as the soles of my worn boots hit the ground, and I knew precisely where I needed to be. My dreams had led me to this exact moment. I hadn’t understood the context at the time, but I remembered the feelings. 

Despair. Anguish. Desperation. 

They were the cornerstones to how this would end. 

I knew what might happen, what would happen, and while I’d spent two weeks both relishing and dreading this moment, I also understood that I couldn’t shy away from it anymore.

The sudden relief that I was finally afraid no longer brought along a startling chill that washed through my body with equal parts resignation and ruefulness.

I came to the intersection between Dove Avenue and Langston Street, and I saw what I’d seen over and over again in my dreams. Two guys were backed against a barricaded storefront, facing up against the looming beast I’d seen for split seconds ten minutes ago. This time, however, I recognized the gargantuan monster as not a monster of the myths but a hulking beast of a machine, completely outfitted with gears and automatic guns. 

The guns lowered, the AI system aimed, and I chose the path I’d always avoided in my dreams before.

I sent my body hurtling forward into space, shoving the two boys out of the way forcefully and falling heavily to the asphalt a split second later. I couldn’t recall lifting my head, but suddenly I was blinking pulsing flashes out of my vision as I woozily braced myself on one trembling arm. Something wet coated the front of my hoodie, and as I looked down in a half-curious, half-befuddled state, I noted with a detached air that the stain was spreading. My breathing felt heavy and clogged, like my lungs were attempting to speak to me through soaked cotton towels saturated with tar. Sounds seemed to tunnel in from afar, and as my eyes blinked open for what felt like the millionth time, I registered a voice screaming someone’s name. 

No wait. My name. Remi. That was my name.

“Remi! Hey, kid, don’t you dare—“

My mouth opened before my mind registered my need to speak before it was too late. “I didn’t mean to,” I muttered, almost too breathlessly for the heavy words to escape past numb lips.

“Okay, okay,” the person agreed frantically, and I wanted to scoff at how unconvincing they sounded like. I opted for peace and silence instead of correcting them, though, and began to fall into the warm embrace of the bottomless abyss waiting for me.

Instead, a hard shake forced a tremor shuddering through my body which caused a spike of something unpleasant to lance through my veins. I squinted open one aggrieved eye but barely had the energy to ponder at how the man staring down at me looked conflicted.

“Hey,” he said in a softer tone, his expression warring between something hateful and something regretful. “Look, kid, just stay awake. Just stay awake and we’ll get things sorted out, okay? I know you didn’t mean to do those things. Just—hold on.”

It was nice of him to say those things. It was nice of him to lie.

But even as I lay there, bleeding out and finally realizing that I was dying, my memories briefly pieced itself together and I understood. 

“You’re right,” I whispered, though I doubted anybody heard me. “You’re right, it was never me.”

And that was the last confession Remi Calico would ever make, because the next time I woke up, it was a different person wearing my face. It was a different person who blinked at his guard with a bewildered look, and it was a different person who goggled at the tubes and machines keeping him alive with a panicked expression. It was the face of a guy who had completely forgotten his past, and had nearly completely forgotten his future, but had held on to at least one resolution. 

My life was my own, and nobody else’s. And I was going to keep it that way. 

This time.