Fragile Memories

“No, no, no,” I whispered frantically as I stepped over puddles of red wine and broken glass. My bed sheets were soiled, by who-knows-what, there were half-empty cups littered throughout my house, the couches were dirty and ripped, vases left shattered and the door unlocked.

“This isn’t possible,” I muttered, pressing my hand to my aching head. I remembered last night. I was here the whole time, and nothing had happened. I knew I couldn’t have slept through a party this intense, I was an extremely light sleeper.

“Looks like it worked, then,” a low voice announced from behind me. I whipped around, startled, to face an odd-looking man with honey eyes and a sharp jawline. He leaned against the doorframe into the living room in which I was standing, arms crossed in confidence. He un-crossed his arms and slowly walked toward me, shoving his hands in his khakis. At my clear confusion, he pointed at my head. “The chip.”

My hand drifted to the side of my head, right behind my ear. Chip? I felt nothing. Who was this man? Why was he in my living room? I threw him a quizzical look, dropping my hand back to my side. “Unless you know what happened last night, please go.”

He scoffed, letting a smirk settle across his lips. “You know what happened last night, but we wiped it. Apparently we wiped too much. You were supposed to remember the chip.”

“Please leave.” I heard my words quiver as they left my mouth.

His eyes flicked between both of mine for a few seconds, and then he frowned. “You really don’t remember anything,” he muttered to himself. He sighed, and told me, “I hate to do this, but it’s for your own good.” He grabbed my wrist forcefully and attempted to pull me back across the living room with him.

“STOP!” I screamed, digging my nails into the hand that grabbed my other wrist and leaning back to prevent him from pulling me away. “Please, let me go!” I yelled at him, tears already beginning to form in my eyes. The man looked back at me, his brow creased and mouth pulled into a frown.

“Angie!” He shouted, his eyes aimed behind me.

A female voice echoed back, “Yeah?” and quiet footsteps from another room quickly grew louder.

The man’s eyes turned back to me again, staring into my tear-filled eyes and skimming over my terrified expression. “Sedate her.”

Before I could let out another panicked scream, a sharp jolt of pain hit my outstretched arm and the new face in front of me blurred into the background as my eyes closed.

I woke up in a chair. A crappy metal fold-up chair. Turned out, it was pretty comfortable. And I was pretty relaxed in my crappy metal fold-up chair. There were people in the room with me. Correction; basement. Not my basement. It was dimly lit and crowded with three unfamiliar faces as well as a small lab bench on the left side, covered in papers and old computers.

The woman watching me bent down to my level in a squat. “Elle, how do you feel?”

Elle? How did she know my name? “I’m fine,” I blurted out.

“Headache? Any pain? I’m sorry, Elle, we mixed up the dates on the prototype.”

Prototype? “What are you talking about? I don’t know you guys. Can I go back home?”

A man with a beard behind the woman chuckled. I glared at him. “What’s so funny about a kidnapping?” I demanded, trying to cross my arms, but they were too floppy.

Noticing my floppy arms, the woman in the white coat stifled a laugh and announced, “seems there’s still a bit of sedative in your blood.” She stood back up, letting the man with the beard come forward to speak to me.

“Look, missy, you’re part of a project. Before you start complaining,” he pointed a finger at me, “you consented to this. The prototype we tested on you was a memory-replacing chip. Clearly, it worked, although the times were messed up and you’ve forgotten this whole project.” He took a deep breath, stepping back. “So,” - he exhaled - “we’re going to extract the chip and see what happens. We aren’t sure if the chip is blocking your real memories or has actually replaced them. We’re hoping it isn’t the latter, as we were aiming for a simple blockade, but these projects tend to, uh…” he glanced at the woman. “Take a route of their own.”

The sedative was slowly fading away. It wasn’t completely out of my system, but it was out enough. “I’m good,” I responded hastily, and jumped out of the chair, spinning to run away from my three crazed kidnappers. I heard another sigh and a new man, hidden in the shadows of the cellar, stepped in front of my path and jammed a needle into my arm. Slowly, the man from the shadows faded out of view.

“Okay, we’re gonna try this again.” The bearded man said as he stepped toward me. His blurry figure began to clear up, and I found myself in the crappy metal fold-up chair again. I groaned.

“What do you guys want?” I whined, throwing my head back in frustration. “Just let me go!”

The trio ignored me. The honey-eyed man grabbed another crappy metal fold-up chair from the wall behind them, and threw it out in front of him, sitting down to face me.

“The next time we sedate you, we’re going to extract the chip, okay?” He paused for an answer. I thought it best to go along so I could just get out of that cold basement and get back to the comfort of my own home.

“Uh-huh,” I mumbled.

He raised an eyebrow, as though letting me know he knew I still didn’t believe them but was only going along with the ruse. “Anyway, your neck is going to hurt afterward, but there really isn’t anything we can do about that. There’s a few things we know about what will happen to your brain after the extraction, and you need to know them.” He paused, then quickly added, “and please, take this seriously.”

I nodded, faking enthusiasm. Just hurry up and let me leave.

He leaned forward in the chair, bracing his arms on his legs. “You’re going to be very confused. You might not be able to tell the difference between memories that happened at the same time. Now, we don’t know how far the chip’s roots have climbed into your brain, so this could cause severe trauma and could even injure your brain. Got it?”

“Mm. Yes. Sounds good.” I answered back as I crossed my legs and leaned back in my chair.

He sighed, also leaning back. “There’s one more thing. This may come as a shock to you. And…” he paused as though bracing for impact. “We’re sorry about this, like, in advance.” His forehead creased in worry and his lips slightly pursed in preparation for the words to come.

“Yeah?” I asked impatiently.

He pulled himself off the back of the chair and returned to bracing his arms on his legs, watching me. “You can’t tell anyone about this project or your memories. This is something you’re gonna have to take to the grave. So, can you keep a secret?”