He shakes his head. The movement is so small it’s almost imperceptible. “I was not misinformed. I know with certainty that the memories we need remain intact.”
“If you’re so convinced that I have them, why don’t you simply put on some receptors and dig them out yourself?”
He crosses his arms, causing his black button-down shirt to crease around the chest. I can’t help but be drawn to those arms. They really are quite remarkable. Muscular and yet somehow soft and inviting at the same time. I would imagine Alixter only recruits the toughest, strongest people to be his agents. And Kaelen appears to be no exception.
But I’m not worried. I managed to outrun and outmaneuver the last two agents he sent after me; I have no doubt I can take on this one as well. Especially after all the practice sessions I’ve had with Zen in the forest.
The thought of Zen almost manages to double me over again but I fight hard to keep my composure. I can’t let this guy see any weakness. I’m just buying time, listening to his pointless story until I can figure out where my necklace is, and then I can stealthily make my move. When he least expects it.
“It’s more complicated than that,” he replies. “These aren’t memories that you have now. They’re memories that you will have. Eventually.”
My brow furrows. “What?”
“They’re called TDRs. Time-delayed recalls. Memories installed in your brain that are programmed to activate after a certain amount of time, or when introduced to a specific trigger. Similar to a series of bombs set to detonate.”
Bombs? In my brain?
“How do you even know I have these?”
“The TDRs are visible in a scan. But they’re encrypted files. And they can’t be decrypted unless the predetermined time period has passed or the programmed trigger is set off. We can’t access the actual memories until they’re activated.”
“So you scanned my brain,” I say with an unsettling realization. “You looked at my memories.”
I suddenly feel ill. And violated.
He obviously doesn’t see this as a problem. “It was a necessary step in the successful completion of the mission.”
I want to scream but I know it won’t do any good. I suppose I shouldn’t even be surprised. Since when has Diotech ever respected the privacy of my mind?
I run my fingers along the soft cotton sheets of the bed, wondering how long I was lying there, completely vulnerable and helpless. Long enough for my legs to heal, I know that much. But what other things did he do to me in that time? What other memories did he see?
“How long have I been here?” I ask.
He stands completely still but I swear, out of the corner of my eye, I see one finger on his left hand twitch. “Two days,” he tells me.
“And how did you keep me unconscious?”
He reaches into his pocket and slowly withdraws the familiar black device with the dial on the side and the two metal prongs protruding from the top.
I should have known.
A Modifier.
Diotech’s weapon of choice. I remember when Rio used one on me in the abandoned barn in 2013. And Maxxer in the car on the way to her storage unit. Momentarily deactivating my brain. Forcing me into an involuntary sleep. Sometimes minutes, sometimes hours. And then I remember Alixter using one on Rio. In that cave. Cranking the dial until it could go no farther. Deactivating his brain for good.
I quickly shake the thought from my mind before it has a chance to debilitate me.
“And these memories,” I continue in a wobbly voice, “you know for sure that they will be triggered. That I will be able to see them?”
Kaelen nods. “One of them has already been activated.”
I suddenly flash back to the woman’s voice I heard in the woods. And the scene that played out in my head while I was lying on the floor of my prison cell. That seemed to come out of nowhere. It pounded inside my brain like an explosion of colors and sights and sounds.
The swarm of people.
The strange symbols carved into the sky.
The ferocious beast with eyes of black and gold.
The old man beckoning me inside his dirty blue door.
“I help you…”
Is that what that was? A time-delayed recall whose clock just happened to run out? But that still doesn’t explain what the memory means. Why the man was trying to help me.
And why did the woman’s voice tell me to find her?
“Who put these in my brain?” I ask in a brusque, demanding tone.
Like always, his response is blank. Distant. “I cannot divulge that information.”
I grunt. “What exactly are you hoping to find in these memories once they’re triggered?”
He seems to hesitate as he deposits the Modifier back into the pocket of his pants before resting his arms dutifully at his sides again. But as he does, his hand inadvertently snags the fabric of his shirt, causing it to shift and the collar to tug down an inch.