Samantha Kymmell-Harvey

Claire picked at her freshly applied nail polish while she waited. The sterile smell of the hospital waiting room made her stomach turn. Final soma-therapy injection, she reminded herself, trying to push the memories of her cancer surgery from her mind. Then I get my life back. The double doors swung open.

“Claire Evans?” the nurse looked up from her e-registration.

Claire stood. “Coming.” She tucked the polish back into her bag.

“Just place your finger on the pad, please,” said the nurse, holding the pad out. Claire pressed her index finger against the glass and watched as the device opened the full record of her life, her DNA sequencing summary, her cancer surgery, even her first skin regeneration when she fell from her bike as a child. The Bureau of Genetics knew more about her than her own mother.

The nurse smiled and tucked the pad under her arm. “Right this way,” she said, pushing open the double doors.

Her feet faltered momentarily as she took her first of her last steps down that dark hallway. Claire planted a hand on the wall to steady herself.

“Everything ok, Mrs. Evans?”

“Just nerves,” she said. I hope.

A guttural cry echoed from one of the examination rooms. Claire gasped as she saw a man emerge and limp down the hallway toward her. The nurse scurried past her, waving her arms at the escaped patient. His cries muffled anything the nurse might have said to him.

His wide, dilated eyes locked with Claire’s raising goose bumps on her arms.

“Anna!” he murmured, reaching for her.

Claire watched him teeter toward her, arms outstretched. Run! She told herself yet at the same time, there was something so sad about this bizarre man. Something that made her pity him rather than fear him.

“Stop him!” Dr. Benson yelled over the cacophony, white coat billowing out as he hurried toward his patient.

The madman locked hands so hard her fingers hurt. His touch sent an electric jolt through her bones. A wave a heat flooded her body as a dizziness overcame her.

Medi-lights, glinting needles, numbness.

“Anna, I see you in there,” he said, caressing her face with his gruff hand. “Don’t let them take me from you again! Remember me! Remember!”

Hazel eyes. A bright light. I can’t see. They’re hurting me!

The images vanished. Claire blinked as the hallway came back into view. Only their pinkies remained interlocking as the doctor pried his hands from Claire’s. Her lungs burned. She realized she had been holding her breath.

“No! Let me go!” he pushed the doctor to the floor. “Pinky swear, Anna! Pinky swear!”

The nurse came up behind him and plunged a needle into his thigh. Within moments, the man silenced, his body relaxing under the influence of the drug.

“I’m so sorry about this, Mrs. Evans,” Dr. Benson said. “I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

Shaking, Claire watched as the man was escorted back to his examination room. Dr. Benson closed the door behind them.

“Soma-therapy doesn’t usually have that affect on patients,” she said. “He must be doing something else to his body.”

The nurse escorted Claire to the end of the hallway. The strange man’s moans echoed between the walls. Claire sat on the examination table and the nurse shut the door.

“Any problems with your soma-therapy injections?”

“No, not at all.”

“Your body seems to be adapting to the new sequencing very nicely,” she said with a smile. “Dr. Benson will be happy to hear that. He should be here momentarily.”

Claire said nothing but picked at her nails again. Her thoughts drifted back to the scene she’d seen in her mind when that man had grabbed her. Her arm even vaguely ached from a phantom injection. She rubbed a finger over her imaginary sore spot. It had felt all too real.

She didn’t like to think about where the genetic material for the soma-therapy was harvested from—the Genetic Bank. Whoever the material was harvested from, it had cured her of her cancer.

One more injection. You can do this. The stranger’s touch still tingled on her skin. She clasped her fingers together and squeezed. I hope I don’t end up like that guy.

Claire waved to her husband and flashed a grin. He stood up from the cafe table and kissed her cheek.

“There’s my shiny, new wife!” he said, pouring her a glass of water from the carafe.

Claire smiled. “I’m not new, just not sick anymore. I’m certainly ordering dessert.”

“You can eat whatever you want, my dear,” said Tom. “And I think we can finally discuss our procreation timeline. The Bureau’s extension will probably be discontinued now that your treatments have ended.”

Procreation timeline. Claire winced. How loving. But that was the accountant she’d married—logical and always in control. Even though their marriage had been ordered by the Bureau just the same as everyone else’s, Claire still felt lucky. Her husband was reliable and responsible.

“I don’t think we should rush into this,” said Claire. “After all, I’m just getting used to the idea of having a future.”

Tom shook his head. “And risk being uncoded? No, I don’t think so.”

“We’re not going to be uncoded because we’re not going to disobey the Bureau’s orders,” she said. “But I’d love to renew our extension. It would give us some time to adjust to having normal lives again.”

“Why wait? I already have an idea for the nursery. What do you say—” Tom swept up her hand and kissed it just like the knights of old in the movies. “—m’lady?”

All Claire could feel was the subtle electrical current of that crazy man’s touch, still pulsing over her skin. She flexed her fingers in an attempt to rid herself of the sensation. But she found she only wanted more of it. She nodded mechanically. “I love it, I can’t wait.”

“Hey,” Tom said, suddenly leaning forward, staring intensely at her face. “I think your eye is changing color.”

“What?” Claire dug around in her handbag and retrieved her compact. The mirror reflected back eyes she hardly recognized; one her normal blue, but the other hazel and growing darker.

Claire pressed the link on her com-pad to Dr. Benson’s office.

“Yes, that can be a side effect of the soma-therapy,” said the nurse. “But your normal coloring should return within a day or two. Call if anything gets worse.”

“Okay.” Claire hung up.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “Everything’s fine.”

Wake up, something’s wrong.

Claire jolted up from the bed. “Who said that?” It was a woman’s voice, one she didn’t recognize. She took a sip of the water on her bedside table, and let the coolness wake her and wash her dreams away. It was just a dream, Claire thought, See? You can still think in your own voice. A bit of laughter escaped and Claire shook her head. “I sound crazy.”

Help me, please!

The other woman’s voice again, tense, sharp, sad.

Stop it! Claire untangled herself from the bed sheets and hurried to the bathroom. She flicked on the lights. Her two different colored eyes stared back at her.

This isn’t real. She blinked, but her eyes did not change. Splashing her face with cold water didn’t help either. This is just a side effect. It will stop. It will stop.

“Tom?” Claire shouted. No answer. Had he left for work already? “Tom!”

I have to call the doctor, Claire thought.

Don’t. The woman’s voice quickened.

Claire perched on the edge of the tub. I’m not having this conversation with you. You’re not real. Her blood thumped in her ears as she rocked back and forth. Please don’t let me be like that man… His wide, drugged out eyes stared vividly in her imagination.

What man? she asked.

Claire sighed and opened the cabinet. Goodbye, side effect. She popped open the headache medication and tapped two pills into her palm.

I’m trapped. I need to find something… someone? I can’t remember.

With a swig of water, Claire downed the pills. It’s all just a bad dream.

There was something almost therapeutic about unpacking all the boxes Claire had tucked away in the guest room. They’d stayed tucked away, like promises of a future yet to come. But now that she was cured, Claire’s future could finally be opened. With each slice of the exacto-blade, she made more space for the nursery.

She removed a tin of candles from the box. They smelled like her college dorm, like lavender and vanilla. Those scents had fueled a hundred essays. Maybe they’d calm an infant, too? What if I’m not good mother? What if I get sick again? Claire thought of the crazy man, of the voice she had heard in her head this morning. Stop doubting yourself. One box at a time, Claire.

Wading through the boxes further into the closet, Claire then squatted beside a small cardboard box whose inked label had faded. With a swipe of the blade, the box opened. But Claire didn’t recognize the piles of microchips inside. That technology hadn’t been used since early days of the New Eden Renaissance after The Accident, when the Bureau of Genetic Husbandry was first begun. Claire hadn’t even been born yet.

She plugged a chip into her com-pad. A folder opened revealing hundreds of image files. These must be Tom’s. Claire knew he had been married before, but he never really talked about it much. He said the memory his first wife’s death was just too painful to discuss.

She opened a few of the images. None of the people looked familiar to her except for Tom. He was very young, his hair still sandy brown, his skin still smooth. When had these been taken?

Stop, the woman’s voice returned. Let me see that.

Claire screamed, dropping her pad on the floor. I’ve had enough of you! Whatever you are, you’re making me crazy. I’m calling the doctor.

No! The doctor can’t help me. Only you can. Just help me remember who I was before being in this body.

Blood rushed to Claire’s face and the room began to smear around her. She sat down and put her head between her knees.

Her words realized Claire’s fears. The genetic material in her soma-therapy had come from an Uncoded.

You were uncoded, weren’t you? Claire asked. I’m infected by an Uncoded.

I think so, the voice said. I must have been.

What did you do?

I don’t remember.

Who are you?

I don’t remember.

Claire groaned. Of course you don’t remember, you’re only a part of who you used to be. She picked up her pad and examined the photo. It was of a tarp slung between two trees. Gray mist of smoke rose above a newly doused campfire. Look familiar?

The voice didn’t say anything for a long while. Claire flipped forward another photo. This one was of a clearing in a forest.

I lost someone there, the voice finally spoke. I need to go back and look.

“Where is this place?”

It was on the edge of the city.

There was a small natural park on the edge of New Eden the City Council finished a few years ago. It may not be the exact forest this woman remembered, but it was the best she could do. If I help you to find what you’ve lost, will you then leave me alone?

If it works that way, then yes.

Let’s go then, said Claire.

The crisp May wind brought goosebumps to Claire’s exposed arms as she stepped awkwardly onto the path. She hadn’t gone on a hike since her diagnosis. She inhaled and closed her eyes. Smelled like dirt and dankness.

Look for the circle of oaks, said the woman.

With each step, Claire went further into the forest, never questioning the path she walked. A stinging sensation of panic teased her stomach. A branch broke beneath her feet.

They’ll never find us here. We’ll be safe if we just stay. Claire saw a tent, a little brook trickling by. Angry voices echoed in the distance. The tent vanished as Claire spun around. There were nothing but trees. It had all been a distant memory.

Am I crazy?

You’re finally waking up, said the other woman’s voice. Keep going, it’s just ahead.

Claire took a deep breath before treading further into the woods. Reaching a thicket, she pushed through and emerged into patch of grass surrounded by oaks. It matched the photograph; only the weeds and three-headed dandelions were much taller. The wind skated over her skin like fingers. Its touch reminded her of the strange man. Why did she keep thinking of him?

Here. I lost something here…

A flood of images overtook Claire. Head throbbing, a face appeared in her mind. His dark curls tangled, his eyes full of fear and love. Not Tom’s face. He hooked his pinky with hers. “Pinky swear, my love. We will never be parted.”

Ethan. The woman’s voice again, sad, desperate.

Overcome with dizziness, Claire sat in the moss and closed her eyes. Her arms burned. Long red streaks ran up her forearms. They bled. Her breathing quickened, the forest folded in on itself. Claire screamed and opened her eyes. Her arms weren’t bleeding, they weren’t even scarred.

“Stop this!”

You must remember. The voice urged. We must find him.

“No, no. We are not ‘we.’ I am me, you are you.”

We are one now, Claire. You promised you’d help me.

“That’s back when I thought you lost something. Something easy, like a watch or a locket. Not a person. That’s dangerous. Chances are, he was uncoded like you.”

Which means he could be alive in someone else, like I am in you.

Claire’s mind drifted back to the crazy man at the hospital. If he was hearing a voice in his head, then of course he was going crazy. She’d be next if it didn’t stop. “It’s impossible. I’m sorry. But it is. I’m going home, I’m going to see my husband, and I’m going to enjoy this second chance at life I now have.”

Is this not my second chance, too?

“You don’t get a second chance. You’re a criminal.”

For once, Claire enjoyed silence all the way back home.

“I’ve had the weirdest day.” Claire curled up beside Tom in bed, playfully entwining her foot with his.

“Oh really? Tell me about it.” His lips kissed her forehead then her cheek before finding their way to her neck and exposed shoulder.

“I was…” Eyes closed, Claire tilted her head back. Her words vanished from her thoughts as a new memory manifested. In her mind, she lay beside the dark haired man underneath the tarp. She ran her fingers through his curls, picking the dead leaves from them. He smiled, his dark eyes free of worry.

“Wait,” said Claire, wiggling free from Tom’s grasp. I don’t need this right now, whoever you are.

I’m not to blame. It’s your body.

“What’s wrong?” Tom kept kissing her.

Claire sat up. “Stop. I have to ask you something.”

“You look very serious,” Tom said, sitting up and wrapping his arms around her. “Is this about your weird day?”

Claire exhaled sharply. Just ask. “I was cleaning out the guest room today.”

Tom nodded. “And?”

“I found some old microchips. I wasn’t sure if they were mine or yours, so I popped them into my com-pad. They’re just some old photographs. But one in particular seemed out of place.”

“It’s this one,” Claire said, showing him the campsite.

Tom’s face paled as he averted his eyes. “That’s just a picture from one of our family vacations.” He handed the com-pad back, chewing his lip ever so slightly.

Claire’s stomach twisted. She grasped the com-pad to keep from showing her hands were shaking. “I thought you didn’t like camping.”

“Of course not, but my father loved it.”

He’s lying, said the voice.

I know. Leaving the city was illegal in his father’s time.

In my time, too. The Accident was still affecting nature then. They didn’t want to risk more death.

“Excuse me,” Claire left the bed.

“Wait, Claire, what’s wrong?”

She shut the door to the bathroom and clicked the lock. Gripping the counter, Claire stared down her alien reflection in the mirror.

This has to stop, she said. Tomorrow, we are going to the doctor and you will be removed from my head.

I’m not the problem, Claire.

Yes, you are. I had no problems until you came along.

Tom’s the problem. He’s a liar. We must find Ethan.

There was a knock at the door.

“Claire, you okay in there?”

“I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.” Claire turned back to the mirror. Get out of my head! She fumbled in the medicine cabinet. The bottle of pills cracked on the tile floor.

“Claire! Open up!”

Don’t open the door, I’m scared of him, said the voice.

Claire bent down and started scooping up the pills. If you do not get out, I will force you out.

“Claire!” The door vibrated, thumping against the frame.

In her mind, Claire heard fists against a metal door. She was laying down on something cold. The room was dark. The shadowy outline of a man’s face looked through the circular door at her. His clenched jaw she’d witnessed many times.

“Claire, I swear I will break down this door!” Tom yelled.

Don’t do it. The voice said. Your mind is just unlocking us.

I hate us. Claire took a handful of pills and swallowed.

From the bathroom floor, Claire watched the door bend unnaturally outwards. Then Tom hung over her, cold hands on her hot cheeks.

“Claire, can you hear me?” Tom’s cradled her head in his lap. “You don’t know what you’re saying. Don’t worry, everything will be okay. I’m here.”

Ethan!

The voices faded, leaving Claire in a deep sleep.

The doctor’s office was over air-conditioned. Claire shivered in her gown, clutching her arms. Tom sat in the chair across from the bed holding her hand. The door clicked open.

“Mrs. Evans,” said Dr. Benson. “I’m glad you’re doing okay. I was distressed to read your husband’s report when you came to the hospital last night.”

“All of this started with the eye color change,” said Tom. “She hasn’t been herself.”

Claire listened for the woman’s voice in her mind, but she didn’t speak.

“She’s having strange nightmares,” Tom continued. “Or maybe they are hallucinations. I don’t know. Our deadline for children is getting closer. I don’t want my wife to be both sick and pregnant.”

“I certainly understand your concern, Mr. Evans.”

Do you get a say? Her second voice said.

No, because you are the reason I’m here being treated like that crazy guy. We both stay silent.

The blue vein in Tom’s neck bulged as he spoke. “Your treatments have done this.”

Dr. Benson shook his head. “Soma-therapy does not create what you are describing.”

“Maybe we need a psychiatrist?” Tom talked about her as if she wasn’t even there.

He’s so desperate to drug me up. What is he trying to hide? “I’m not crazy, Tom.”

“I’m not calling you crazy, Claire,” his tone sharper than it needed to be. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“No one thinks you’re crazy, Mrs. Evans,” said Dr. Benson. “But you did try to harm yourself last night.”

“I wasn’t feeling well, I didn’t mean to take that much,” said Claire.

He was going to kill us, said the voice. I don’t trust him.

Stop talking to me, you’ll only make it worse. I have to think of a way out of this.

“Let’s have a look at your eyes,” said Benson as he switched on the ultra-light.

No! the voice screamed.

The examination room washed white as Claire was consumed by another memory-dream. The lights extinguished with the exception of one bright light overhead. Black shadows shaped like nurses surrounded her.

Where is he? Oh God! Let me go! her second voice shrieked.

Claire turned to see the nurse’s gloved hands holding a syringe. It glinted in the spotlight. She tilted her head up. This wasn’t her body. She was in someone else’s body.

Wake up, it’s just a memory. Wake up, Claire. She thought as she writhed, desperately trying to wrench herself free but the restraints dug into her wrists too tightly. A face on the other side of the doors looked in through the small square window, his jaw clenched. A younger Tom, eyes red and puffy, stared in at her torture. They made eye contact. He shook his head unapologetically. It was Tom who had her uncoded. Claire began to weep. He killed her. Then Dr. Benson appeared, gas mask in hand.

“Claire!” Tom’s voice. “Claire!”

The memory-dream ended and the doctor’s office sharpened into view. No nurses, no needles, no bed straps. She clawed at her chest, struggling to catch her breath. Dr. Benson held no gas mask.

I remember now.

“What did you do to her?” Tom pushed Benson away. Wrapping his arms around Claire, he rocked her.

He uncoded me, my husband, said the woman’s voice.

Tears smeared down Claire’s cheeks. “I…I don’t know what happened.” Stay calm or he’ll have me uncoded, too.

Dr. Benson glanced from Claire to Tom.

Tom’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not even Claire’s voice.”

Claire shivered. Their secret was out. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Dr. Benson tapped a few buttons on his cell phone. “I’ve sent you the name of an expert. I suggest you go see him.”

Tom tucked the card into his jacket pocket. “Doctor, you think she can be saved? They won’t have to uncode her, will they?”

No one can save me from him, Claire thought. I know too much.

 

“I thought I was done with this mess.” Tom’s face flushed crimson, blue veins still bulging. He shoved Claire into the kitchen as he slammed the front door. “I cannot lose a second wife. Do you know what that would do to me?”

Claire shook her head. “I saw you there, Tom. In my memory. I was in an operating room.”

“I didn’t know you when you had your cancer surgery.”

“It wasn’t me on the operating table. But you know who it was. Who did you have uncoded, Tom?”

Tom clenched his fists, jaw set. “No, we are not having this discussion, Claire. Can’t we just go back to the way things were? We were normal, we were happy. I deserve a normal life.”

“So do I!” Jaw trembling, Claire tilted her head away from him. “But your ex-wife is inside of my head all day every day. Her memories are mine, her feelings are mine and I can’t make it stop.”

“That can’t be true. You’re not her. Anna.”

My name, said the voice. I remember my story.

Claire spoke, her voice melding with Anna’s. “I met Ethan when I was just a kid. We grew up together. Had our first kiss together. But when the Bureau matched us up with different people, we ran away into the wilderness. You turned me in. The authorities found us at our campsite homestead.”

Claire thought of the photo she found, of the clearing in the woods Anna’s voice had led her to. It was all true.

Tom’s face flushed pale. “How could you know any of this?”

“Look at the evidence, Tom. Your ex-wife gets uncoded. Her genetic material taken from the uncoding is stored in the bank for medical uses. I get sick with cancer. I undergo soma-therapy and her genetic material proves key in my treatment, so I’m injected with it. That’s why the Bureau matched us together, Tom. You were matched with her and since she is part of me, we were placed together. You were always going to be matched with her no matter what.”

Tom released her, fists clenched. “She was never even my ex-wife,” Tom spat bitterly. “She stood me up at the altar. But she’s right. I found her. It wasn’t that difficult. I knew she’d been unfaithful to me. She’d never loved me.” He plunged his fist into the cabinet. The door split, the knob clanked to the hardwood floor.

Murderer, Anna said.

“You made her pay with her life,” said Claire.

Tom didn’t look at her. “Anna chose to break the law. It is the law that uncoded her, not me.”

Claire kept her distance. “And now I’m your imperfect wife. Will you have me uncoded, too?”

“No,” he said circling her, eyes swollen with tears. “I can’t go through that again.” He cradled his bleeding knuckles against his chest. “I can’t lose you, Claire. I love you.”

Claire said nothing. Her head swam in a million thoughts. All of Anna’s previous memories were unlocking.

Run away, get away. Find Ethan. Anna shouted.

That was your life, Anna. Not mine.

He’ll uncode you if you stay. He wants a wife that doesn’t exist and never will.

Tom wrapped Claire in a bear hug, leaving bloody knuckle prints on her collar. “I will save you, Claire.”

Anna, maybe we can both get what we want if we work together.

Ethan?

And freedom.

Pinky swear, Claire?

Claire smiled as she remembered Ethan and his unruly curls. He’d hooked his pinky with Anna’s, just like the crazy man had in the hallway.

We’ll find him. Pinky swear.

“Tomorrow, we’re going to get you to the specialist and we can start over again. I can still save you.” He began to sob into her hair. “I will save you.”

“It’s too late for us,” said Claire-Anna.

We are kept in a white room with nothing but paper-based books and notepads. We haven’t seen such relics since before the Accident. The doctors tell us to write down our memories.

“Mrs. Evans, you have a visitor,” says the nurse as she opens our door.

Do we want to see him cry again today? we think. It wastes our time.

We say nothing to the nurse as we walk down the white hallway past the rooms where the others like us are being kept. Maybe Ethan is here, too. We haven’t been able to search. They keep us separated.

The nurse escorts us to the plastic booth at the end. The nurse knows we don’t speak much anymore.

“How are you feeling, Claire?” asks Tom. His eyes are red and puffy.

“We don’t need to be here, Tom. Why won’t you free us?”

He flinches when we say “we.” Tom’s cold hands grip ours. “There’s nothing I want more than for you to come home. Don’t you understand? This is your last chance. The Bureau has told us that we family members need to make decisions. Either we commit you here for life or we terminate you.”

Terminate. The word sits on us. It mutes us with its power. No more second chances to live.

Tom keeps talking. “That’s why you have to get better. You can have a normal life, if you choose to.”

He sounds like he’s repeating whatever Dr. Benson told him. It makes him feel like he can control us. We’ve already made our choice and Tom is going to help us. It can be his penitence for what he’s done to us.

“We can hope,” we say. “Goodbye, Tom. See you next month.”

We stand and walk away. We hear Tom screaming at us. But we turn our head from him and scan the windows we pass. We know what he looks like, we remember him from before we merged. Ethan awakened in his new body before we did. The feel of his pinky is still a lingering ghost on our skin. But only blank faces look back at us from their holding cells. He isn’t here.

The nurse returns us to our room. “Don’t forget to write your notes, Mrs. Evans. Dr. Benson will be interested in your memories from your conversation with Tom.”

We nod and smile, but we have other plans.

We hear the nurse’s rubber-soled shoes thumping toward our door. Tom is a week early for his monthly visit. That’s how we know he’s made up his mind about us.

“Please come with me,” says the nurse as she opens the door. “And bring your journal.” The door hangs wide open as she waits for me. She scrolls through the messages on her com-pad, magni-card dangling from the plastic band round her wrist. Our good behavior has been paying off.

“Ready,” we say, careful of our words.

“Follow me, Mrs. Evans.”

Instead of escorting us back to the plastic box, the nurse turns the corner of the hallway. Her pace quickens. We know we’re actually headed to Dr. Benson’s office.

“Mrs. Evans,” the doctor greets us as we enter the examination room. Tom sits on a small metal stool in the corner. His face is tinged a light shade of green. Our eyes drift to something glinting beside the examination table. A metal tray with three syringes. Today is the day. They’ll have to make us lie down if they want to kill us this time.

Dr. Benson takes the journal from our hands and gives it to Tom. “Look for any evidence of recovery,” he says. Tom can’t look at us, won’t look at us.

“Sit up here,” Dr. Benson pats the examination table.

The nurse, now gloved, forces me to sit.

“How are you feeling, Mrs. Evans?”

We watch the nurse go linger beside the closed door. She plays nervously with her magni-card.

We touch Dr. Benson’s hands. He’s known the both of us from the very start. “Isolated,” we say.

Tom looks up from leafing through the journal, eyes wide. Hopeful.

Dr. Benson speaks, “We’ve let you down. I suppose we didn’t test soma-therapy long enough, but we needed to do something. The Accident would have killed us all off without genetic intervention.”

We glance to Tom. His fingers tremble as he turns another page. We wish he would go faster. We’ve written something for him on the last page.

“The Accident happened generations ago,” we say. “You’ve created a new generation. A stronger one.”

Dr. Benson’s eyes narrow. “No, Mrs. Evans,” his voice lowers. “We’ve created a genetic pool that can never procreate. We’ve squandered our genetic resources to make people like—you.”

Us we think, but we don’t correct him out loud.

“As your acting legal caretaker, Tom has reached a decision regarding your care,” says Dr. Benson. “Right, Tom?”

Tom picks at the corners of the pages. “This decision wasn’t easy, I agonized over losing you. But then I realized, I already lost you a long time ago.”

Pathetic, Tom. Two lifetimes and still he doesn’t understand. Like a spoiled child bored with yet another toy, he throws us away.

“Turn to the last page, Tom,” we say.

“Lay back, Mrs. Evans,” says Dr. Benson. “You’ll only feel a pinch. You won’t suffer.”

Tom’s face pales. He looks away from me.

“Tom, please,” we say as the nurse grips my arms. “It’s not too late.”

Dr. Benson plucks the first syringe from the tray. It clanks, heavy with serum. The nurse turns her face from me, her hands still firmly planted on my shoulders. Her magni-card rests against my neck.

We hear something heavy thud against the tile floor. We hear Tom cry out. We smile. He’s finally found our message.

“Stop, I’ve changed my mind.” Tom wraps his arms around Benson, wrestling him away from us. “Look what she wrote! She is cured.”

Dr. Benson reaches for our journal. “Impossible,” he says. “We’ve been monitoring her daily. There is no reason to believe she is cured or even can be cured.”

Tom clutches our journal to his chest. “You are too blinded by your own experiments to see your patients’ own progress. You have cost me two wives,” Tom says, tackling the doctor. “She is cured and you would have had me kill her!” They tumble to the floor, knocking the tray of syringes over. They roll and scatter, shattering as they strike the cinder block wall. The journal falls open to our message: You are loved, Tom.

We smile. The nurse gives a shout. As she reaches for the doctor, we grab her wrist. She slaps us and screams, but we rip the magni-card from her plastic band.

“Thanks for helping us escape,” we say to Tom as we swipe the card. The door clicks open. He starts to say something but Benson punches him.

As we sprint down the hall, we swipe that card in each and every door.

“Ethan?” we say.

They shake their heads as they push past us. Freedom is more pressing to them. We are a wave, a revolution. The nurses can’t stop us, we are too many. The doctors can’t stop us. The doors can’t hold us back.

We emerge into the glimmering white light squinting. It’s heat hugs us. We are free. We are free.

We’ve set up a tarp-lined utopia in the wild outside of the city. There are so many of us, we are our own city. We help one another to build and to remember. Yet still, we cannot find him.

We watch our first sunset in a very long time. The crimson-orange glow radiates throughout the forest. To think, we used to fear what is natural. The trees cast an elongated shadow, like an arrow. It points to something bright deeper in the woods. It crackles and flickers, like a campfire.

Our feet remember the cool squish of the mud, our skin remembers the cool breeze, our ears remember the peaceful birdsongs. We retrace our steps deeper into the foliage. The afternoon sun dapples the trail in gold. We remember where it all began.

We emerge from the thicket. Someone waits for us in the circle of oaks. His face is tanned from hours in the courtyard, his body lanky from the institutional routine. But behind those multi-colored eyes lies a shared memory. Tears blur our vision. It makes him look like an angel with a halo of smeared light.

“We promised we’d find you, our love.” It is still Ethan’s gentle voice, after all this time.

“We’ve never forgotten you,” we say, playing with the buttons of his flannel shirt.

“We never stopped loving you.”

We hold one another in the shade of the oak tree, our skin tingling like little sparks. It’s as if two lifetimes never happened. He’s still our second skin. Our lips hungrily find one another. He holds our hand, thumb rubbing where our daisy wedding ring once was. Our pinky fingers hook together. We grin.

“Pinky swear,” he says.

“We swear,” we say.

 

U is for Uncoded