ver·i·si·mil·i·tude: n (formal): the appearance of being true or real; something that only appears to be true or real
It's early evening. Just him and Dad. The sand is its familiar texture, both soft and rough on his skin as he slides across it, laughing. "You're out!" he cries triumphantly. They're both still laughing as he stands, and Dad sits down with a thump, tired but grinning.
"You know," Dad says wryly, "one day you're not gonna want to play with your old dad anymore."
"Never," he denies instantly.
"Dad!" A high-pitched voice cuts easily through the endless wind across the beach. "Mum said I could play, too!"
He grins. Gray's stride across the shifting sand is still ungainly — but then, he can still remember when Gray was just barely walking upright across the firm surfaces in the compound. But graceless or not, Gray's still the best thing that happened to their family in a while.
Together they start one last round of their game. The ball flies hard and fast out of sight — he runs after it, charges up the small sandy dune and reveling in the last of the sun.
But he doesn't get there first. Some other boy's there. He doesn't know the other one.
"Who're you?" he asks, direct but not impolite.
"My name's Adam," the other boy replies. "Can I play?"
Chills creep over him, and not because of the wind. He frowns.
"Let me play," Adam insists. "Before it gets dark. There's lots of room."
The chills become an inexplicable anger. Adam can't play. This is his place. Adam shouldn't be here. So he pushes Adam to the ground.
"Hey!" Dad's voice calls down. "What're you doing?"
Dad and Gray come down the dune. Dad gives him a stern look before helping Adam to stand. "Are you alright?"
"I just want to play," Adam repeats.
"He can play," Dad agrees immediately.
"No," he protests. "No, he doesn't belong here." Is he the only one who knows that? "I don't want him playing with us."
"I'm Adam," Adam says, reaching out to shake Dad's hand.
He hits the hand away. "Don't touch my Dad," he snaps.
"Hey!" Dad's voice raises. "Are you alright, Adam?"
"Yeah," Adam replies. "He just doesn't want to share."
Damn right he doesn't! Adam doesn't even belong here!
"Right," Dad says to him. "Well, if you're behave that way we're going home."
"What?" he gasps. "No…"
No, they don't leave yet. They play some more — it gets dark. They light a fire. Mum joins them…
But Dad and Gray are leaving and expecting him to follow, even though this is wrong.
He whirls on Adam. "You did this," he accuses. "You spoiled it."
"I made it happen," Adam says.
And it's too late.
Jack gasped, eyes opening to soiled concrete and dirty glass. He hadn't realized he was leaning on it as if he couldn't support himself. Inside his head was a maelstrom, his thoughts and memories fighting for what he wanted, what he remembered, what he believed. "I want the real memory back," he pleaded brokenly. Adam could do that. He didn't need this shadow. He could have what was real.
"Then let me live," Adam commanded. He stood back from the glass, staring at Jack with lively, hungry eyes. "That box you found," he explained, "contains my last good memory of you, your dad, and Gray. You see I'm a part of it now," he added darkly. "And I'll always live as long as you remember it."
Hot fury rushed to fill the hollows in Jack's heart. "That's why you took me back?" he spat at the creature.
"Wasn't it lovely?" Adam grinned at him. "Playing in the sand, no one knowing what was ahead? Your dad laughing, Gray safe and happy…"
It was lovely. It was what he'd wanted, wasn't it? One perfect day with his family, one moment of bliss he could hold up to fight against those days when the darkness and the screams of the nightmares haunted him insistently…
Except… it wasn't his. Adam had given him a perfect ghost. This alien creature could make fantasies as real as life, and he'd made one out of Jack's hidden childhood and kept it as an ace up his sleeve. Jack could keep a beautiful lie — he could even forget that it was a lie, if he let Adam touch him. He could change the past, make it better, prettier, happier…
Meeting someone who would change everything.
Standing alone against the world.
The wonder and the heartache of falling in love.
Waiting for someone to understand.
His team had remembered, for him, for themselves, even though it hurt so much. He had to do the same.
Losing everything dear in the sand.
Memories thick with fear, with bitterness, with nerves, with pain, with ash and desperation.
These were the moments which made them.
Their memories defined them. All of them. He had to go back to who he really was.
He had to let it go.
Jack's heart fought him for every inch — but still he slipped his hand into his pocket, and held up the white amnesia pill for Adam to see.
"I don't want to die!" Adam shouted at him. "You take that pill," he threatened, "and you will lose everything I've given you! Wipe me out now, and you will lose all your memories of your father. He will cease to have existed for you!" he shouted.
Jack rolled the pill between his fingers… but he already knew. "Goodbye, Adam," he said clearly. Bye, Dad; bye, Gray. I love you.
Then he put the Retcon in his mouth and bit down on it.
Adam shrieked as the bitter taste and heady wooziness flooded Jack's senses. He leaned heavily against the wall, watching the alien creature writhe, and felt detached. Already he felt sleepy, tired beyond imagination. The cell in front of him was empty now… surely it was okay to sit here for a minute, close his eyes…
It wasn't like this. But it's too late now. The sun on the sand is gone.
